Intergalactic Wrestling Federation: Apocalypse

[Gongsun Zan]

Fight For Your Life

4 Days since the Return of the IWF

Nigel McGuiness vs. William Regal

The show began with some European action, as Nigel McGuiness and William Regal faced each other in a stiff, but worked match. Earlier that day, Nigel had been approached by Vince McMahon himself, who had offered to leave him alone if he agreed to job to Regal. Nigel had quickly accepted, not wanting to get involved in the tangled web of alliances and betrayal many a combatant had already found themselves in. As the match continued, it seemed to him an even more and more of a fair trade, as he and Regal managed to pull out a pretty decent match, even if the crowd didn’t quite approve of it.

They had been instructed to keep the match short, but with the crowd heavily against them, even eight minutes of wrestling seemed to stretch out forever. After what had seemed like an eternity, Regal signalled for the end of the match, and Nigel was quick to oblige. Having just escaped a series of knee strikes, Nigel dropped to one knee, selling the pain in his gut even as Regal dug into his boot, revealing his signature pair of brass knuckles. The roar of the crowd was his cue to turn around, bracing for the loaded punch that would end the match. When he turned around however, he couldn’t help but sense that something was wrong, the malice in Regal’s eyes perhaps, but by then it was too late, the brass knuckles came crashing into his face, and everything when black.

When he opened his eyes once more, his vision was blurred, and his mouth tasted of blood and dirt. Spit ran down his forehead – Regal’s, no doubt. The crowd was cheering, and Regal was celebrating his win, but other than that, Nigel McGuiness could not be certain of what was going on. He struggled to his feet, but collapsed again, giddy, and felt the world fading from sight. The last thing he remembered was a pair of hands grabbing hold of him, dragging him backstage, before losing consciousness once more.

Winner: William Regal

Styles: “Oh my god! I think William Regal nearly killed his opponent there!”

Varys: “He’s smart Styles, that’s what he is! You’re not just fighting a match out there, you’re fighting to get rid of your opponent. Soften him up like that, and others are bound to finish to job for you.”

Seconds after Nigel McGuiness disappeared backstage, Kenny Dykstra strode out to the arena, arms outspread, basking in the energy of the crowd.

“Behold,” he yelled into a microphone he had picked up along the way. “Your champion to be!”

To his surprise, the crowd didn’t quite respond in his favour – instead, some were booing him, while others appeared to be laughing. Even those who were cheering him on seemed to be doing so in jest. ‘You couldn’t kill Eric’, they were chanting, and Kenny felt his face redden. “You wanted me to spare him!” he shouted back, but the crowd simply shot his response down with series of boos, before chanting even louder than before.

They are mocking me, Kenny fumed, as the chant began to fade away, now replaced by calls for CM Punk. Fuck him, and fuck them. “Enough!” he screamed, losing control of himself. “You want blood and violence, right? Well, I swear to you, I shall give you what you want! I don’t care who steps out from that curtain, be it Bill Goldberg, Eric Young, or even your damned CM Punk, I will tear him to shreds! I will put him in so much pain, that he will beg me to turn him into stone!”

The crowd appeared to be satisfied by his promise, and started to cheer him on once more. Their support also managed to calm Kenny somewhat, and he dropped the microphone, preparing for his fight. This one is mine, he thought to himself, and they shall learn to love me. His claims had been bold, but he had seen both card and opponent beforehand, and one look at Jimmy Jacobs petite figure was enough to convince Kenny that he would be walking away the winner. He would gladly give them an elimination too, but Vince had made his intentions clear, and the prospect of taking on the likes of Batista and Scott Hall was enough to put Kenny off the idea.

Jimmy Jacobs vs. Kenny Dykstra

Unfortunately, Jimmy Jacobs hadn’t quite taken to Kenny’s predictions, rushing out and attacking him with a series of vicious right hands. He certainly had the size advantage, and could block some of Jacobs’ offence easily enough, but Jacobs was relentless, attacking with such speed and ferocity that Kenny had no choice but to fall back, buying him the space needed to launch an attack of his own. This time, he proved far more successful, going so far as to lift Jacobs up and slamming him into the ground.

Unfortunately, his advantage didn’t last long, as by then, Jacobs had begun to put the various weapons scattered about the arena to good use. Weight advantage or not, there was little Kenny could do as Jacobs drove a kendo stick into the back of his knee, before wrapping it around his neck and trying to choke him out. Flailing his arms in desperation, Kenny tried to rally the crowd, but once again, they abandoned him, cheering his opponent on instead. Furious, Kenny forced himself to his feet, before diving back, slamming Jacobs into the ground, but still the kendo stick remained pressed again his neck, and without air, he knew he had to submit.

Winner: Jimmy Jacobs

Styles: “Kenny underestimated his opponent, and paid the price. He’s definitely got a long way to go if he wants to call himself the next CM Punk.”

Varys: “The crowd may agree with you Styles, but I don’t think Kenny does, look!”

Jacobs had begun to walk away, satisfied with his victory, but Kenny, embarrassed by his loss, immediately tried to make up for him by lunging towards Jacobs, planting his face into the ground with a bulldog. Unfortunately, his offence was just as short lived as before, as he felt something hard slam into the back of his head, and then he was on the ground again, being kicked hard by Nick Gage and Altar Boy Luke. The crowd was spurring them on eagerly, calling for his elimination, but before Gage could give them what they wanted, the crowd began to cheer even louder, as Kenny caught sight of The Undertaker rushing towards him. I don’t need any rescue! Kenney wanted to shout, but all he could do was groan in pain, even as he saw his attackers fleeing backstage. I could have taken them myself, you stupid bastard!

None of his silent protests had any effect on The Undertaker, who anyway had run out not for Kenny’s sake, but to deal with Nick Gage, who unfortunately by then had already disappeared backstage. With not much left to do, settled on helping Kenny stand up, before giving him a light shove towards the exit and telling him to get lost. The crowd seemed pleased by this, and cheered him on as he paced the arena, pausing only to pick up a microphone.

“Back on Earth – we have something we call respect.” The crowd shut up, taking his hint, though partly because they wanted to hear what he had to say. “I’ve been in this business for twenty years. I’ve paid my dues, and earned that respect. But Nick Gage, in our match – you disrespected me. You think you can call yourself a wrestler, just because you know how to swing a chair, or cut yourself on barbed wire? I’ve been headlining Wrestlemania even before you learnt to walk the ropes, and believe me when I say you don’t know a thing about this business! You’re just like the hundreds of others I’ve seen trying to make it big, thinking they can defeat The Undertaker, thinking that they’re the next big thing – I’ve seen them all, yet I’m the one standing here, and they’re all at home, cripples and has-beens, all of them. Well, you better learn to respect me boy, because the day you step into the arena with me again, is the day you take your place on top of that wall.”

The threat of elimination was enough to wake the crowd, who had begun to grow restless with The Undertaker’s notion of respect. The Undertaker hung around for a little one longer, running his thumb along his throat as the crowd cheered him on, before finally disappearing backstage.

The Hardy Boyz vs. Alex Shelley & Jack Evans

The Hardy Boyz entered the arena first, still hurting from their beat down at the hands of LAX, but were feeling confident none the less. The frozen form of Hernandez, now overlooking the arena, stood testament against all those who opposed them, Alex Shelley and Jack Evans included, who entered the arena reluctantly, as though afraid of the fate in store for them. Their unease only served to stir The Hardy Boyz into a killing frenzy however, as Matt and Jeff rushed towards them, planning to take them out before they could even reach the centre of the arena.

Instead, their opponent’s fear turned out to be a ruse, as Alex Shelley met a charging Jeff Hardy with a dropkick to the jaw. Jack Evans followed suit, but had leapt a second too late, allowing Matt to catch him in midair and fling him aside. Meanwhile, Shelley quickly delivered a few kicks to Jeff’s fallen form, before rushing over to save his partner. By then, Matt had done a good job of grounding Evans, trapping him in a headlock and using his size to drag him to the ground. Shelley was still fresh though, and larger too, and when Matt saw him coming, he quickly released Evans, deciding to deal with the bigger threat first.

By then, Jeff had recovered, catching Evans with a spinning kick before he could double team Matt Hardy. And so the match split into two separate brawls, with Matt Hardy and Alex Shelley wrestling a more ground based affair, while Jeff Hardy took on Jack Evans in a more aerial based assault. With all four men being equally proficient at what they did, neither team could get a clear advantage, and it seemed like the match would go on until a worker broke from exhaustion.

Instead, the turning point of the match came when Jack Evans tried to catch Jeff Hardy unawares with a shooting star press, but Jeff had managed to get his knees up in time, leaving Evans to bounce off, clutching his gut in pain. It would have been the perfect opportunity to try and help his brother, but instead, Jeff Hardy simply paused, a frown on his face, before walking away backstage. Confused, Evans began to take several steps towards him, but reconsidered, deciding to help out Alex Shelley instead. Meanwhile, Matt Hardy was just as puzzled at Jeff’s sudden disappearance, abandoning the fight and trying to call his brother back. The distraction soon cost him the match, with Alex Shelley rushing in for the Shellshock, topped off by a 450 splash from Evans, ending the match.

Winner: Alex Shelley & Jack Evans

Styles: “I can’t believe Jeff Hardy just left his brother to the wolves like that!”

Varys: “I’m not surprised Styles, I’ve been hearing rumours that tension between them is running high backstage. It seems that Vince McMahon was right in questioning Jeff Hardy’s loyalty.”

Styles flinched, as he thought the tapes he’d been watching. No doubt Varys had been paying attention to his cameras. He had no time to think about it though, as Lance Hoyt entered the arena next for his match.

Lance Hoyt vs. Trish Stratus

Words had failed Lance Hoyt when he had glanced at the booking, yet before he knew it, he was already out in the arena. Somebody was messing with him, he decided. There was no other way to it. Unfortunately, there was little he could do as he was ushered into the arena, but try to wrap the match up as quickly and safely as possible.

Fortunately, things turned out a little better this time, with Trish immediately whispering a word of encouragement in his ear, telling him to wrestle (or try his best, at least) as ordinary a match as he could. It was a little strange seeing Trish getting some offence in against the much larger Lance Hoyt, but the ‘boring’ chant from the crowd was better than what either of them had hoped for.

At least they’re not rioting, Lance Hoyt thought to himself, as he rushed forward with a big boot. Unfortunately, things took a turn for the worse, as Trish ducked a second too late, catching a mouthful of boot in the process. By the time Lance had realized his mistake, he saw that Trish was bleeding from the mouth, and suddenly the crowd was cheering him, causing him to panic, unsure of what to do. He fumbled, nearly tripping over himself as he dropped to his knees, and made a half-hearted cover for the three.

Winner: Lance Hoyt

After the match, Lance Hoyt offered to help Trish backstage, but froze, as he thought of the advice he had received, not to mention how much the crowd had shat on him the last time he had been nice to Trish. Not that it bothered him, but a riot would certainly hurt Trish, nor did he want to upset Jarrett and the others either, and so he just stood there, gaping, not knowing quite sure what to do. By the time he had made up his mind to help Trish, she was already gone, and the next few combatants were already getting ready for their match. Sighing, he tried to convince himself to forget about Trish, before jogging off backstage.

Scott Hall soon took his place, taking up the centre of the arena with a microphone in hand, and the crowd fell silent, anticipating what he had to say. Instead, Scott Hall joined in their silence, staring incredulously at the crowd, his smug smile disappearing, replaced by a look of confusion, and then disgust.

“Damn,” he said at last, cutting off the restless murmurs of the crowd. “You sure are an ugly lot.” The crowd booed, but the noise died down when it appeared that Scott Hall wasn’t going to speak until they had calmed down. Even when they did, it took a while for him to get going, with a few false starts and nervous glances about the arena. Finally, he seemed to remember what he had come out to do, and brought the microphone up to his lips once more. “Man, that kid was right – this is one fucked up dream. Musta had too much to drink again, or something. You guys are fucked up, you know that?” He shrugged, waving the microphone about at random, as the crowd stared back at him, confused, before finally breaking out in a chorus of boos. Scott Hall didn’t seem to mind the least though, smiling and laughing to himself as he pointed at several of the stranger members of the audience. Between his promo and the previous match, the crowd seemed about ready to pour into the arena and kill him themselves, but thankfully Rob Conway ran out from behind, starting the match before anything else could happen.

Rob Conway vs. Scot Hall vs. Homicide vs. Eric Young

The match may have been billed as a four way, but it didn’t remain that way for long. Scott Hall had managed to dominate early on, throwing punches at all three of his opponents, but for reasons unknown he suddenly abandoned his attack, instead choosing to stumble over to a corner of the arena and sit down. Occasionally, he would mutter to himself, looking about confusedly, but the other three men were too caught up in the fight than to pay him any attention.

Meanwhile, Eric Young, who had been faring reasonably well against alternate attacks from Homicide and Rob Conway, decided to take Scott Hall’s disappearance as his cue to chicken out as well, fleeing backstage and leaving Homicide and Rob Conway to entertain the crowd by themselves. Fortunately, both men had no qualms with beating the crap out of each other, more than making up for the crowd’s disappointment with Scott Hall and Eric Young. In the end, Homicide proved to be the tougher of the two, nailing Conway with Cop Killa, but before he could make the pin, Scott Hall came right at him, knocking him down with a clothesline and half diving, half falling on top of Rob Conway for the pin.

Winner: Scott Hall

Varys: “That’s smart thinking right there, hide in a corner, and sneak in for the win!”

Styles: “I wouldn’t be too sure about that, I don’t think Scott Hall has even realized he’s won!”

Back in the arena, Scott Hall had stood up, though by the looks of things, he had no clue as to what to do next. Homicide was furious, and shoved him against the wall, but Scott Hall simply put his hands up and muttered a confused apology. Frustrated, Homicide glared at him for a moment longer, before returning backstage.

Batista vs. Jeff Jarrett

Triple H had named Batista as his second champion, with Vince being the first, but none of it mattered for the moment, for Jeff Jarrett had agreed to job again, and Batista was glad for it. He could certainly hold his own in a fight, if need be, but if he had a choice, he’d much preferred to stick with worked matches for as long as he could. Jarrett seemed to share the same sentiment, and the match went as smoothly as it could with several thousand aliens booing both men every step of the way, but they were easily ignored, as long as nobody tried to jump the barricade. In the end however, it was not a member of the crowd, but Homicide who interfered first, brandishing a steel pipe as he rushed into the arena. Batista spotted Homicide first, and put his arms up to defend himself, but Jarrett was a tad slower, and felt the cold steel slam into his back, knocking him down.

“How do you like that now, foo!” Homicide yelled as he brought the pipe down once more, this time into Jarrett’s head. By then, Alex Shelley and Jack Evans had come to the rescue, and Homicide knew better than to stick around, and so did Batista, who quickly made the cover before running off backstage.

Winner: Batista

Varys: “That’s the type of action these fans paid to see!”

Styles: “Jarrett isn’t stupid though, he’d much rather piss the crowd off than to risk getting hurt.”

Varys: “You don’t understand Styles, you piss the crowd off, you are at risk!”

Back in the arena, Alex Shelley and Jack Evans were helping Jarrett to his feet. “Thanks,” he had mumbled, leaning on Shelley for support. As he stood up however, he realized something was wrong. “Where’s the others?” he asked, looking around for Lance Hoyt or Sonjay Dutt.

Alex Shelley laughed, and drove a closed fist into his gut.

Jeff Jarrett fell to his knees, coughing, and suddenly all he could feel was pain, as Alex Shelley and Jack Evans began to stomp away at their former leader. After what seemed like forever, a lull in their attack finally allowed him to stand, only for Jack Evans to dropkick him in the knee, dropping him to the ground once more. When he looked up, he saw that Alex Shelley was laughing, placing a boot on his head in mock triumph.

“Not so tough are you now?” Jack Evans joined in the laughter, slapping him mockingly across the face, before hoisting him up so Jarrett could get a good look at his attackers. Meanwhile, Shelley had found himself a microphone, and turned to face Jarrett, staring right into his eyes as he spoke.

“I’ve had enough of this bullshit! Hiding from the WWE, telling us to suck up and play nice – well, I saw your match with Triple H, and saw you begging for mercy as he tried to eliminate you. The thing is Jarrett, you’re nothing but a coward, afraid to stand up for yourself, and more importantly, afraid to stand up for the good of TNA – for us. And yet you expect us to follow you, to join you as you cower in a corner? No, I say it’s time somebody better took your spot, someone who’s not afraid to fight, someone like us!” He marked his declaration by punching Jarrett in the face, continuing until Jarrett’s face was a bloody mess. Satisfied, Alex Shelley turned to face the crowd.

“That’s right, you love it, don’t you?” The crowd roared, as Shelley kicked Jarrett in the chest once more, before signalling for Jack Evans to release him. Jarrett fell to the ground unceremoniously, dragging himself slowly towards the exit. Instead of trying to eliminate him, Shelley only laughed. “But what a disappointment this must be, to be watching this sorry lot of losers pretending to fight.” The crowd made their agreement clear. “Chris Jericho, did not become a superstar by sitting back and faking his punches. CM Punk, didn’t become a legend by hiding in a corner, playing pretend with the men he swore to eliminate. No, these men, your heroes, they took control of the game, and brought the fight to those who deserved to die!” The crowd cheered at the mention of the previous winners, but Shelley cut them off. “Cheer all you want, but those men aren’t here.” The crowd booed. “Instead, you’ve got people like Jarrett, like Eric Young, like Vince McMahon, all scared, and all afraid, every last one of them. Hit them once, and they go down bleeding, crying like the losers they are. Well, I’m sick of it, and I know you’re sick of it too! It’s time Dimension X ushered in a new generation of combatants, men who are prepared to do whatever it takes to win! Men like us, Alex Shelley and Jack Evans!” He gestured to himself. “A man who’s stolen God’s talent and brought it halfway across the universe!” He pointed to Evans. “And a man not even your damn plugs can keep grounded! And anyone who opposes us shall be destroyed, for Generation Next is here to shake up the competition, and to turn this joke into a true battle for survival!”

By then, Jarrett had disappeared backstage, but Shelley couldn’t care less. The warning had been made, and would only a matter of time before Jarrett would fall. A cocky smile plastered across his face, he tossed the microphone aside, and walked away.

Immunity: Vince McMahon vs. Triple H ©

“Remember what I told you,” Vince growled at Triple H when both men had entered the arena. Triple H nodded, but decided it would be better to work the match, at least for the first few minutes, even going so far as to lie down for Vince after a short offence from his boss. It wasn’t long before things heated up, however, as Triple H kicked Vince in the face as he went for the cover, springing to his feet and diving at his boss. It had only been a light blow, but Vince didn’t seem to care as he met Triple H with all his might, causing him to stumble back. The crowd cheered as Vince moved forward, pressing the attack, as Triple H struggled to defend himself. He’s really serious about this, Triple H thought as he fought to regain his balance. He finally did, but not for long, as Vince lunged at him, tying him up in a grapple.

Triple H struggled to break free, but suddenly realized that Vince was trying to say something. “They’re watching us backstage.” Triple H understood, and pushed Vince away, so as to not seem suspicious. The match continued for awhile longer, before Triple H managed to knock Vince down again, dropping to his knees and pretending to choke him out. “Rest hold,” Vince muttered.

Triple H did what as he was told, trapping Vince in a chin lock, as Vince continued to mouth his demands. “I need to know who we can trust. Three names.”

Triple H gave Vince’s chin a sharp wrench, so that Vince’s screams would drown out his words. “Batista,” he named, making sure Vince could hear him. “Taker, Hall.”

Vince struggled, clawing at Triple H’s face. “Not Scott.”

Triple H was surprised, but after seeing what had happened earlier, he figured Vince may have a point. Still, Scott was probably the best choice, as he struggled to think of a replacement. Trish was useless, and Matt Hardy was too smart to be trusted. Kenny was delusional, and Rob Conway had been keeping too quiet for his own good. “Regal then,” he said at last.

If Vince heard him, he showed no sign of it, as he powered out of the hold. He had accomplished what he came for though, and as he stood up, he gave leave for Triple H to end the match with a pedigree.

Winner: Triple H

Styles: “I’m not quite sure what’s going on, it looks like Triple H and Vince are having some sort of disagreement!”

Varys: “With immunity on the line, I wouldn’t be surprised, Styles!”

Back in the arena, Triple H began to stagger towards the exit, immunity slung proudly across his shoulder, but halted as he caught sight of Batista and The Undertaker blocking the entryway. Confused, he turned to Vince. “What is the meaning of this?” Vince simply grinned, and replied by slamming a steel chair into his head. He’s trying to draw my allies out, Triple H remembered, but by then, it was too late.

Suddenly, Taker and Batista were all over him, kicking him repeatedly as several more combatants joined them in the ring. In between blows, Triple H could see Matt Hardy, Joey Mercury, William Regal, Jeff Hardy, and several others, but something didn’t seem right. He was hurting from the beating, but somehow, he figured it would be much worse. That’s funny, it’s almost as though they were fighting each other. When he did look up, he did so in confusion, hardly able to think from the pain, but still, he thought he saw Matt and Jeff brawling with each other, and there was also someone else, steel chair in hand, and systematically taking out the remaining WWE workers.

Not Jarrett, Triple H feared. If he comes out now, he’ll ruin everything. By then, his attackers had left him, to join in the fight proper. They had done a good job though, as blood leaked from his forehead, stinging his eyes and blurring as vision as he fought to see what was going on. It wasn’t Jeff Jarrett who had come to his rescue, he decided at last, but what he saw made no sense at all. The WWE was fighting each other now, with Matt now on the receiving end of the beat down, but his rescuer was even stranger still.

Hell, it almost looked like Rob Conway.

Overall Rating for Fight For Your Life: C-

[Plankton]

I'm really enjoying this so far, Zan. All of the twists and turns have been great and you've really set yourself in a good position. I have absolutely no idea where you will go with this, and as a reader, that's the best thing you can hope for. The political stuff is great and makes sense. You got me really nostalgic with all of that talk about Null, Jericho, and Punk. This diary is reminding me of how much fun it was to write the original.

Also, I loved the cliff hanger. It's definitely one of the many things I've read here so far that I wish I would have thought of. And Alex Shelley's promo was awesome. I was a little worried this would be too much of a two-faction war, but you're mixing it up very nicely.

Anyways, keep up the good work and I'll keep reading.

[Mysterio2000X]

This just keeps getting better and better with every update, Zan, and you've actually managed to do something I thought wouldn't be possible, and that's give both direction and a character to each of the people involved, which individualises them and, thus, makes them stand out in my head more and makes me care about them more. Great job, Zan.

That being said, I can't help but feel that Roderick Strong would have been better off in this than Evans - a legit tough (or at least hard striker) is a much better partner/bodyguard/accomplice to Alex Shelley than somebody who, for all intents and purposes, would probably get his ass handed to him in nearly any legit fight.

[Gongsun Zan]

Alex Shelley strutted about backstage, full of himself.

All in all, it had been a good day for him. Jarrett was beaten, and the WWE was falling apart all on its own. The fight had continued after the show had officially ended, but not for much longer, as Vince had quickly called his boys off the moment he and Jack Evans had entered the fray. Not that they had actually done anything of note, but the fact that Mr. McMahon had backed down simply because they were there made Alex Shelley swell with pride.

Unfortunately, not even Vince McMahon could maintain control of the aftermath, another fact which Alex Shelley relished with joy. The last of the fight Shelley had seen was a battered Rob Conway dragging an unconscious Triple H away from the fight, with a moody Jeff Hardy trailing behind. The bedding arrangements had been altered to match the latest developments in the arena, with the combatants swapping rooms with one another amidst an air of open hostility. It was the perfect time to take advantage of the chaos, Shelley decided, and the perfect time to bolster their numbers.

Finding people to talk to was easy enough. Eric Young had fallen back to a corner of the living area, presumably waiting for the smoke to clear before staking out a new room. When he caught sight of Generation Next approaching him, he fastened his gaze securely to the ground, trying his best to avoid any potential conflict. It wasn’t enough to deter Shelley, however, who strode up to him, snapping his fingers in front of his face to capture his attention. Eric jerked his head up, and mumbled something that might have passed as a greeting.

“How’s it going?” Shelley began, trying his best to sound amiable. Eric didn’t quite seem to share his sentiment, however.

“I know what you want.”

Shelley grimaced, bothered by Eric’s lack of respect. Still, he decided to play nice. “Well then, let’s cut to the chase.” He smiled, hoping he looked sincere as he continued. “I am giving you an offer, a chance to join the next generation of Dimension X legends, a chance to make a name for yourself on this godforsaken planet. Unlike the rest of these jokers out there, we’re out to win this thing, Jack and I, and we could really use a man like you to bolster our ranks.”

“I don’t know,” Eric began, but Shelley cut him off before he could continue.

“Think about it,” Shelley offered impatiently. “Jeff Jarrett, Lance Hoyt – do you really think those losers can help you? Jarrett can barely walk, and Lance can barely wrestling a match without creaming himself. Stick with us, and we’ll win this thing together, I promise.”

“The only reason Jarrett can barely walk is because of traitors like you.” Suddenly Eric seemed much more confident. “I’m not stupid, you’re just going to betray me the first chance you get.”

“Traitors?” Shelley made an expression of mock horror. “Don’t be an idiot, Eric, this is your life at stake.” Shelley frowned, opting for a change of strategy. “Don’t make me eliminate you,” he threatened, staring down Eric. “If you’re not with us, you’re against us.”

Eric Young didn’t back down. “I’ve made my choice, and the two of you can go screw yourselves.”

“How intimidating.” Shelley laughed. “I wonder what kind of crap Sonjay has been feeding you, but never mind, you’ve made your choice.” He smiled. “Guess you’ll have to die like the rest of them, then.” When he saw that he wasn’t going to get much more of a reaction out of Eric Young, Shelley turned around and began to walk away, gesturing for his partner to follow.

“Yeah, you’re going down, punk!” Evans chimed in, before trotting after Shelley. Eric Young simply sighed, and turned away, surprised to see that Lance Hoyt and Sonjay Dutt had been watching him.

“You made the right choice.” Sonjay Dutt walked up, and patted him on the back. “The two of them will be gone before you know it, at the rate they’re going.”

“I don’t know, they seemed really sure of themselves.” Whatever confidence Eric had had quickly faded away.

“Don’t they all,” Sonjay laughed. “I doubt they’ll last long along against Vince and his cronies, anyway. Or Goldberg for that matter.”

Eric Young shrugged, and said nothing. Fortunately Sonjay broke the tension once more. “Hey Lance, look who’s coming.”

Lance turned, and blushed immediately as he saw Trish Stratus crossing the living area, slightly bruised from the kick he had given her, but pretty none the less. Before he could defend himself, let alone say anything, Eric and Sonjay quickly disappeared, leaving him with Trish.

“Um, h-hey,” he stammered, before doing his best to regain his composure. “You alright? From our match, I mean. I guess I kinda screwed up there, sorry.”

“It’s nothing.“ Trish smiled. “Besides, the crowd probably would have killed us otherwise.”

“You sure?” Lance paused, not knowing what to say next. “Well, that’s good, I guess.”

This time, Trish paused. “Look, I can take care of myself, you know?” Suddenly, she was touching his hand, leaving Lance even more stunned than before. “But thanks for asking though, it’s nice to see somebody showing some care around here.”

“Really?”

Trish shrugged. “Yeah, most of the boys care more about winning than anything else, and I guess I’m just expendable to their game plans.”

“Your welcome,” Lance managed to get out, as Trish gave him a parting smile, and then headed back up to her room.

“Real smooth, Lance.” he heard Sonjay call out from behind him.

“Shut up.”

Meanwhile, Alex Shelley was still trying to make new friends, with just as much success.

“The hell you lookin’ at?” Homicide had declared when Shelley approached him. Shelley stuck out his hands, palms open, trying to calm him down, with not much success.

“Relax, I’m not here to fight,” he said as soothingly as he could, which only seemed to tick Homicide off more.

“Then get lost.”

“Wait,” Shelley’s lips tightened in frustration, as he did his best to stop himself from swinging at Homicide. “We could use a man like you, in our alliance. After all, don’t you want to get back at Jarrett after he left you out there?”

Homicide was less than impressed. “Man, you deaf or something? I said get lost, fool!”

“But–”

“All this talk about alliances and shit, when you’re just as bad as Jarrett. Where the fuck were you when I was in trouble man?”

“Ok–”

“Hiding with Jarrett, too afraid to come out and fight like a real man?”

“It’s not–”

“Your just as useless as he is! You want to come here and spout all this bullshit about revenge and shit? It’s your ass I’m gonna kick, your ass I’m gonna eliminate first chance I get!”

“Alright.” This time, Homicide didn’t cut him off, and Shelley knew better than to say anything else, quietly backing away before breaking into a brisk walk, as far as he could get from Homicide. There was no disputing his anger now – everyone he had approached had turned him down, even that naïve idiot Nigel McGuiness. His roommates hadn’t been much more pleasant either, refusing to work with them despite their promises to help take down The Undertaker. Their excuse had been the same – “Don’t need no fucking pussies like you two.”

“What now?” It was Jack Evans, who was starting to show signs of annoyance, though Shelley convinced himself that it was directed at their foes, as opposed to his inability to convince anyone to join their alliance. It was a feeling he definitely shared, but with all of his offers turned down, he was starting to run low on options. Frustrated, he stared the rooms taken up by the WWE superstars, but dismissed the idea immediately. Even his former allies had turned him down, and after Eric Young’s stalwart refusal, there was no way any of the others would work with him.

Or would they? Alex Shelley took pause, as a thought crossed his mind. A smile crept across his face, as the details began to fill themselves out, blossoming into a full fledged scheme.

Perhaps things might not be so bad after all.

[Gongsun Zan]

Death Campaign

8 Days since the return of the IWF

Matt Hardy & Joey Mercury vs. Eric Young & Sonjay Dutt vs. Nick Gage & Altar Boy Luke vs. Jeff Hardy & Rob Conway

The premise of the match was simple: The last team standing would be allowed to nominate a worker to face either Batista or Vince McMahon, with eliminations occurring by pinfall, submission, or by turning a worker to stone. Fortunately, all eight men shied away from any button pressing, sticking to what they knew best, though the action was certainly violent enough the get the crowd going.

Matt and Jeff soon broke off from the main crowd to settle their own dispute, leaving Rob Conway and Joey Mercury to fend for themselves as the other two teams began to isolate both workers, with Nick Gage and Altar Boy Luke teaming up on Rob Conway, while Team TNA took on Joey Mercury in a worked match up. However, Nick Gage and Altar Boy Luke were playing to win, quickly crushing Rob Conway beneath a barrage of foreign objects and high risk manoeuvres. Overwhelmed, Conway called out to Jeff Hardy for assistance, but his partner was too far gone, intent only in brawling with his brother, and seemingly oblivious to Conway’s plight. Fortunately, Nick Gage had no intention of prolonging his suffering, smacking him across the forehead with a steel chair, before holding it in position over Conway’s face as Altar Boy Luke came crashing off a ladder in a devastating double stomp. Conway’s screams were soon drowned out by the cheers of the crowd, blood sticking to the chair as Nick Gage pulled it away, Conway’s face a bloodied, shapeless, mess. He coughed, choking on his own blood, tooth and blood dripping across the arena floor.

And the crowd cheered even louder.

Styles: “Oh my god! Even turning him to stone would be an act of mercy now!”

But mercy was never one of Gage’s strong suits, who seemed more then content with a simple three count, leaving the broken Conway to drag himself slowly backstage, a trail of blood marking his path. Fearing for their safety, Team TNA quickly dove away from a celebrating Nick Gage, dragging Joey Mercury with them. Confused, Mercury soon fell victim to a hard clothesline from Eric Young, only to be dragged on top of a prone Sonjay Dutt. Reluctantly, the referee made the three count as Young held Mercury down, before darting off with Sonjay Dutt the moment their elimination was confirmed.

Varys: “Eric Young and Sonjay Dutt just eliminated themselves from the match!”

Styles: “I would too, if it meant getting away from those pair of psychos in the arena!”

His victims denied, Nick Gage hollered in anger, giving chase to Eric Young, a mistake that soon cost him the match, as Mercury quickly snuck up behind Altar Boy Luke, sneaking in a quick roll up for the win. Knowing better than to stick around to face Nick Gage’s wrath, Mercury quickly darted backstage, leaving in the arena both Hardy Boyz, Altar Boy Luke, and a furious Nick Gage. However, with nobody left to prey on, Nick Gage soon retreated backstage, as the respective allies of Matt and Jeff Hardy rushed into the arena to pull them apart in order for the next match to continue.

Winner: Matt Hardy & Joey Mercury

As the combatants finally dispersed, Kenny Dykstra stepped out to fill the void. Instead of his usual cocky self, however, his jaws were clenched, face red with anger and intensity even as the crowd assaulted him with their disdain. Upon reaching the middle of the arena, he paused, staring intently at the crowd, which he was almost certain was laughing at him.

“I’ve had enough of this bullshit!” he said at last, stomping his foot against the ground. “I’ve given you ungrateful bastards more than any of those men back there, and for what? You think I am some kind of a joke? You think I’m weak, just because I let a man go? This – this is bullshit! You wouldn’t know greatness if it hit you in the face! Well guess what – I’m here now, and I’m the best thing to a hero you lot will ever hope of seeing! Jimmy Jacobs, Eric Young – fuck them! You want proof that I can hang in there? You want proof that I’m not a joke? I don’t care who I face next in this bullshit game of yours, because this is it – I’m taking him out, right now, and if any one of you dares beg for that man’s life, I will personally climb into the rafters myself and tear that man’s throat out right where he stands! So–”

The rest of his words were drowned out by the crowd, as they cheered for the arrival of Kenny’s opponent – Homicide.

Kenny Dykstra vs. Homicide

The moment Homicide approached him, Kenny tried to rush him with a steel chair, only for Homicide to slap him in the face before he could swing it. Desperate, Kenny quickly fired back with a series of elbows, slowly managing to force Homicide back, but whatever offence he had managed to achieve was quickly cut short by a dropkick to the knee, cutting Kenny’s legs out from under him. From there, whatever size advantage he may have had was gone, as Homicide began to lay into his knee with a series of brutal stomps, before slowing things down with a leglock.

Pain turned to fury however, as Kenny realized the crowd was cheering no longer cheering for him, but for the beating he was receiving, and suddenly, none of the pain in his leg mattered any more. Screaming, his face red, he trashed about wildly, ignoring the pain as he fought to get back on his feet. Even Homicide was taken aback at Kenny’s sudden intensity, releasing the hold and backing away, but not far, as Kenny grabbed him by the face, still screaming, striking him again and again with his free hand, thirsty for blood, but Homicide would have none of that, and drove a knee into Kenny’s gut, bringing his assault to an abrupt end.

His adrenaline gone, the pain he had managed to suppress came rushing back in, forcing him to one knee as he cried out in agony, even as Homicide struck him from beneath with a hard uppercut, knocking him over. Somehow, he managed to bring himself back up again, only to walk right into a Cop Killa, and that was that.

Winner: Homicide

Styles: “Does he ever give up?”

Varys: “I don’t think so, look!”

The crowd cheered for Homicide’s victory, or Kenny’s defeat – it didn’t matter which. Kenny was slamming his fist against the ground in frustration, crying for justice he would never receive. Deciding that the only way to salvage the situation would be to take up the fight once more, he charged towards Homicide, reaching for his button. It was a futile gesture, however, as Homicide spun around, knocking Kenny away with an elbow to the face, much to the amusement of the crowd. This time, Kenny didn’t bother to stick around, fleeing backstage with tears in his eyes, but not without making a promise to himself:

All of them would pay.

Jack Evans vs. Trish Stratus

By the time the next match began, Jack Evans could not decide which he found more amusing – Kenny’s defeat, or the opponent he had been assigned for the night. He decided that it was the latter, and strolled out to the ring as cocky as a skinny white kid could ever be, mouthing off to the crowd, the referee, and Trish Stratus as he waited for the bell to ring. It finally did, but he made no move to attack, instead taking his time to verbally harass Trish over everything he could possibly think off (which is to say, not very much), before moving in for a playful slap. Trish had other ideas, however, suddenly lashing out with a kick to the face that sent Evans stumbling back, dazed, but not deterred, as he danced forward again, taking up an exaggerated boxing position as he lashed out with several fake jabs. This time, she wasted no time in taking him down, connecting with a beautiful dropkick that caused Evans to cry out in shock, or pain, or both, and when he popped back up, his face was red with embarrassment. His chauvinistic fury only served to work to Trish’s advantage, however, as his counter attack, as serious as it was, was wild and clumsy, allowing Trish plenty of time to duck away and pepper him with several kicks, enraging him all the more. Jack Evans was floundering now, furious at his poor showing, but before he could make up for it, Alex Shelley ran out to the arena and struck Trish Stratus with a steel chain, putting his humiliation to an end.

Winner: Jack Evans

“Not quite the cocky little slut are you now?” Jack Evans laughed, slapping Trish playfully as Alex Shelley hoisted her up in a full nelson. Unsurprisingly, she struggled against her captor, and struggled hard, but Shelley knew better to underestimate her, keeping her securely trapped. “Hit her,” he said to Evans. “Properly, this time.”

Evans did as he was told, or at least, attempted to, but Lance Hoyt had dashed out to the ring, alone, nailing a lariat on Evans before he could so much as take a step towards Trish. Right on cue, thought Shelley, making no move to help his partner as Lace Hoyt beat him down, stopping only to address Shelley.

“Let her go!” he cried, but Shelley simply smiled, seizing Trish’s hair and wrenching her head back. The horror on Lance’s face was unmistakable, as he slid his hand down her back, letting his fingertips rest ever so delicately on her button.

“You know what we want,” he laughed, teasing an elimination. “Join us, and she lives.”

For a moment, Lance Hoyt hesitated, chewing on his lip as he stared at the ground, then Trish, then Shelley, then back at Trish again.

And then he made his choice.

He was in motion even before Shelley could register it, letting his charge carry his boot into Shelley’s face, as Trish quickly twisted away, breaking free of his grasp. Within seconds, she was free, nearly leaping into Lance’s arms as he delivered a second kick to a downed Shelley, knocking him out. The rest seemed almost surreal – as Trish hugged him in appreciation, sneaking in a kiss even as the crowd jeered as act of heroism. Lance Hoyt couldn’t care less though, as he escorted Trish backstage, grinning from ear to ear.

Varys: “No doubt Alex Shelley is going to be pissed when he wakes up – that man just can’t make any friends!”

Styles: “And it’s not hard to see why – he’s as untrustworthy as they come!”

But Varys couldn’t have been any more wrong, for when Alex Shelley stood up, it was not anger, or even frustration his face conveyed, but a smile.

Scott Hall vs. Vince McMahon

Scott Hall entered the arena to tremendous heat, no doubt earned from his antics on the previous show, but the reaction he received was nothing compared to that of Vince McMahon, who’s mere presence seemed to drive the fans wild with contempt. A few had even taken to pelting the arena with garbage at the sight of Earth’s most renowned wrestling promoter, but Mr. McMahon was all business as he strode out to a giddy Scott Hall, punched him once, twice, before nailing a simple stunner and making a three count for the win.

The fans of course, were most displeased.

Winner: Vince McMahon

Varys: “The fans may hate his tactics, but this is why Vince McMahon is the smartest man in the business. If he keeps scoring easy wins like this, I wouldn’t be surprised to seem him make it to his finals!”

Styles: “True, he’s also inadvertently given Triple H a break from defending Immunity, and that’s something you don’t want to do, especially after you’ve just taken the trouble of beating him down!”

Varys: “Well, Batista is set to face him, and I’m sure Vince is counting on him to take the title home – wait, looks like we’re about to hear it from the man himself!”

“Enough!” the owner of the WWE screamed at the crowd. “I’m Vince McMahon dammit, and the whole damn lot of you better start showing me some respect!” In retaliation, the crowd only jeered all the more louder. Even Varys was taken back by their disdain, glancing nervously at the security guards he had scattered throughout the arena, as they jostled for position against the more rowdy members of the crowd. Terror shook him as he spotted a section of a crowd overwhelm one of his guards, only to be beaten back by the remainder of his security staff.

Vince however, seemed unfazed by their reaction. Realizing that they weren’t going to give him pause to speak, he decided to continue anyway. “As much of you hate to admit it, none of you would be sitting there if it wasn’t for me. I made this business, and there’s not a single one of you out there who can do what I’ve done!” The guards finally managed to get the crowd back in line, though keeping them quiet was another thing altogether. A rallying call for Null spread throughout the arena, but Vince continued to keep his cool. “Is that who you compare me to?” He was smiling now, taunting them. “A man defeated by one of my own warriors?” He wondered if CM Punk was under his employ when he killed Null, but then he decided it didn’t matter anyway. “Because like it or not, it was not one of you who defeated the greatest champion you ever had, but one of my boys, a man who belonged in the greatest wrestling empire of all time – mine! And soon, all of you shall understand just why it was me – not Jeff Jarrett, not Ted Turner, not Null, not nobody – who created the greatest promotion in the universe, and the next time you decide to chant a man’s name, it’s going to be mine: Vincent – Kennedy – McMahon!” He thumped his chest in open defiance of the crowd’s jeers, embracing their cries. Smiling to himself, he strutted backstage, safe in the knowledge that one day they would be his.

Bill Goldberg vs. William Regal

Bill Goldberg entered the arena with tremendous energy, punching the air as he set his sights on destroying his opponent, striking a pose for the crowd as William Regal shuffled into view. Spoiling for a fight, Goldberg rushed forward, but William Regal was more interesting in preserving his health than to waste his energy in an ill-fought battle he probably could not win. Instead, he decided to take the spear, albeit grudgingly, offering a few token punches to get Goldberg going, before sitting back and taking two Jackhammers in quick succession, before Goldberg was finally satisfied with a win. From there, he quickly scrambled out of the arena before Goldberg could do any further harm.

Winner: Bill Goldberg

Styles: “Once again, William Regal demonstrates his intelligence, ducking out of the match to survive the in the long run.”

Varys: “He may be smart, true, but the real test lies in maintaining that plan when the others catch on to his game! We’ve seen the best of plans fall apart in an instant, and William Regal better watch out that he isn’t next!”

Jimmy Jacobs vs. The Undertaker

Jimmy Jacobs seemed strangely unnerved as he walked out to the arena, though Varys suggested it probably had to do with the fact that his opponent was The Dead Man himself. The Undertaker must have thought that too, for baited by the easy prey, he quickly darted across the arena and nearly decapitated Jacobs with a diving lariat. Somehow, Jacobs managed to clamber back on his feet, but The Undertaker merely took it as a sign of insolence, driving a stiff forearm into his head, once, twice, before finishing with a big boot. It still wasn’t enough however, as Jacobs pulled himself up again – only to receive a tombstone piledriver for his heroic efforts. His head met the arena floor with a sickening crunch, and everyone, The Undertaker included thought that would be it, but before he could make the cover he felt something slam into him from behind, causing him to stumble forward unsteadily, costing him the opportunity for a pin.

That something turned out to be Altar Boy Luke, fresh off from a dropkick, though he seemed somewhat surprised that The Undertaker had remained on his feet. Surprised turned to fear, as The Undertaker approached, murder in his eyes, but suddenly Nick Gage was at his side, kendo stick in hand, and even The Undertaker took pause.

Not for long, though, as he dove forward, taking out both men with a double clothesline, as Jacobs stood up for the third and final time, only for The Undertaker to spin around, kick him in the gut, and put him away with The Last Ride. Unfortunately, pinning him was a far trickier task when dealing with a three on one affair, as Altar Boy Luke leapfrogged off Nick Gage’s shoulders for a flying cross body, while Nick Gage himself was trying to chip away at The Undertaker’s knees with his kendo stick. Rather than trying to fend both men off at the same time, The Undertaker decided to use one against the other, snatching Altar Boy Luke out of the air and swinging him by the legs as he bludgeoned Nick Gage with his own ally. A few more stomps had both men reeling in pain, but the fight was far from over, as Goldberg stormed the arena, ready for another fight.

Goldberg rushed forward, yelling, but it didn’t take long for him to notice his allies were sprawled about the arena, unconscious, and suddenly his run slowed to a walk, before halting entirely, as he raised his hands in a gesture of peace. Seemingly satisfied by his opponent’s sudden placidity, The Undertaker strode over to Altar Boy Luke, callously stepping on top of his button, and bringing his foot down.

Goldberg didn’t so much as bat an eyelid in protest.

Styles: “The Undertaker just eliminated Altar Boy Luke without so much as a hint of remorse! Has he no soul?”

Varys: “Well, that’s just the sort of superstars these fans want to see!”

The rest was merely a formality, as The Undertaker dropped to his knees, just enough for the referee to make the three count on Jimmy Jacobs.

Winner: The Undertaker

It was not until The Undertaker had begun his slow walk backstage, did Nick Gage finally regain consciousness. He had not understood what was going on at first – where was Goldberg, for one – until he heard the frenzied cheers of the crowd, and then he finally turned to where Altar Boy Luke had been, he saw that his face was frozen stone, his features forever warped in a cry of desperation. Altar Boy Luke was dead.

“You killed him,” he muttered, as realization dawned on his face, and suddenly all he could think of was revenge – of The Undertaker, and how Goldberg had abandoned him. “You killed him, you fucking asshole!” He was on his feet now, half charging, half staggering towards The Undertaker, fuelled by rage, fingers clenched tightly around his kendo stick. “I’ll tear your fucking head off myself!”

The Phenom’s parry was almost lazy in comparison, as he swatted Nick Gage aside with the back of his hand. A club to the back of his neck put out him out good, and The Undertaker finally headed to the back, satisfied.

It would be awhile before the main event, as Nick Gage and Jimmy Jacobs stumbled to the back, defeated, while workers began the arduous task of hauling Altar Boy Luke away. Looking to earn the support of the fans, Triple H decided to enter the arena early, snatching up a microphone along the way.

“So it seems like Mr. McMahon is afraid of me.” The crowd cheered, more for what he had said than for that fact that he was he who said it. “I must admit, he was right in thinking that I was a threat, because in the end, once you get pass all these niceties of fake wrestling and false alliances, that’s what I really am. And not just any ordinary threat, but the man who’s going to eliminate everyone who stands in his way – the man who’s going to go home a champion.” He paused, giving time for the crowd to cheer him on. “I did not take this title by playing nice. When push comes to shove, I’m ready to eliminate anyone out there, to defend what’s mine by right. Because, no matter what Vince McMahon may think, no matter what Jeff Jarrett may think, or any one of those pathetic fools who call themselves superstars may think – I deserve to win, and I will. Yes, they can plot all they want, but in the end, it doesn’t matter. You see, what nobody else around here seems to understand, is that I am the game, and in the end, no matter how hard anyone else may try, with their little alliances and deceptions – I always win.”

The crowd cheered for his promo, as Batista joined him in the arena, a grim look on his face. Triple H shot him a confused look, and Batista quickly walked over to him, pretending to stretch.

“Vince wants the belt back. He wants it to look real, sorry.”

Triple H nodded, his mood darkened. He understood.

Immunity: Triple H © vs. Batista

As promised, Batista held nothing back, showering Triple H with blow after blow the moment the bell rang, doing his best to keep Triple H on the defensive. It was a moot point, since Triple H had no intention of going against Vince’s orders – for as weakened as Vince’s position was from the defection of Rob Conway and Jeff Hardy’s departure, his was even weaker still, and to incur Vince’s wrath at this point of time would be far worse than the beating he was currently receiving. Instead, he bit back his rage and allowed Batista to dominate the match, trying his best to avoid any serious injury. His comeback was merely a formality, and the Batista Bomb that put the match away even more so.

Winner: Batista

Styles: “And Batista takes it! Could this be Vince McMahon’s first step to power?”

Varys: “The real question is, without immunity to protect him, how much longer can Triple H last?”

No, Triple H thought, as he limped back towards his room. The real question was how long Vince could.

Overall Rating for Death Campaign: C+

[Hajjhowe]

- Death Campaign

- Matt Hardy & Joey Mercury vs. Eric Young & Sonjay Dutt vs. Nick Gage & Altar Boy Luke vs. Jeff Hardy & Rob Conway. Good series of stories here, as Gage/Luke were made to look really strong. I liked Eric Young eliminating his partner in fear, as it was an interesting tactic. The shock win for Mercury/Hardy was ok, but I would have prefered Gage & Luke to get total domination.

- Nice to see Kenny being made to look like something of a bitch. He seems like he'd be kind of useless, and him getting his ass kicked over and over again is funny stuff.

- Kenny Dykstra vs. Homicide. Funny stuff, with Homicide looking like a badass and Kenny looking a bit tougher, but ultimatly useless. His 'I will get my revenge' stuff will hopefully lead to him actually getting even more embaressed, although with you I doubt that will happen.

- Jack Evans vs. Trish Stratus. Speaking of looking useless, hi Generation Next. I'm happy to see you making Trish look lik ea compatent fighter, but I am thankful that you had Hoyt come and save the day. The whole big boot saving scene was well written stuff, and had a lot of drama. Curious to see Shelly smileing.

- Scott Hall vs. Vince McMahon. This was clearly more about the aftermath than the match itself. How is Scott Hall still drugged up?

- Great promo by Vince, and I loved the way you described the fans being out of control to the point of almost storming the arena. I can't wait to see Vince's ultimate plan really start to take shape.

- Bill Goldberg vs. William Regal. Eh, ok to see Regal using the cowardly tactic, and Goldberg looks like a badass (Until later).

- Jimmy Jacobs vs. The Undertaker. Man, talk about horrible plans. Not that Taker isn't tough, but the idea of him just pummeling three guys like even (Even if two of them are fiarly small) seems a little far fetched. Still, losing Alter Boy Luke is no big deal, and leaves gage open to looking weak. I also loved Goldberg just leaving him to get eliminated. Totally badass stuff.

- Ok promo, Triple H is in a bit of a mess. I'm curious as to where he will go, and when (If ever) he gets eliminated.

- Immunity: Triple H © vs. Batista. I liked the "How long could Vince" last bit at the end, and I had no problem with the immunity switching around. It's not like it stayed around anywhere too long in the old IWF either.

- Good show, and seems to be leading towards some other big story arcs (Trsish/Hoty, Goldberg, Gage, Triple H...) Well worth the wait, and the series of plans by various people leaves a nice suspense that makes you want to read the nexe entry, like most good stories do.

Keep up the good work, and don't let Goldberg die anytime soon