FPW and The Temple of Doom Match Promos

[Jim Houston]

The following video has been posted on freedomprowrestling.com



OOC:

The card for Temple of Doom is as follows:

Adam Thompson v TJ Cole- FPW Title
The Invaders v Pain and Gain- FPW Tag Team Titles
Edward Dessius v Azazel v Nick Jameson v Davey Jones- FPW Hardcore Title
MDE v Graham Baker
Sons of Cerberus v Anarchy

For stipulations and back story, please see the above video.

Normally, I'd be asking people which matches they'd like to write, but I'm going to do this show myself. This will probably be the only time this happens, but I want to make sure that I can show how I want the promos to impact the matches, and feel it's best to model that myself first.

As we're on a slightly compacted schedule for this one, please could the bulk of the promo work come this week? I'll be beginning to write matches next week, so, to guarantee that they have an impact on the story of the match, they need to be up by next Monday.

As always, if you have any questions, please let me know. Happy promoing.

[Jim Houston]

MDE stands inside a ring in his training room. Around the ring are several objects, including a barbed wire baseball bat, a barbed wire board, a table covered in lighter fluid, light tubes, a staple gun and several forks.

"So Jim Houston has made our match official, Graham. A Bourbon Street Street Fight. A match where the only legal weapons are ones which we choose to bring to the ring. I've been spending the past week investigating a lot of different weapons and working out which would be best to inflict enough pain to win this match."

MDE bends over and picks up the barbed wire bat.

"It's a little crude... but it's effective. The impact of a baseball bat combined with the ripping and tearing of the barbs. This isn't the precise weapon that I'd like it to be, but I can see how it would be useful when you come diving at me. Imagine being taken out of the air by a baseball bat only to find the bat embedded inside your stomach and your blood pouring onto the canvas..."

MDE swings the bat, imagining Graham Baker going for a springboard move. He drops the bat and picks up the board, holding it alongside himself.

"Now this... this I like. A gutwrench powerbomb... some kind of suplex... anything that knocks you down. I wonder what it's like to be tangled up in this barbed wire, unable to move, only then to find that I'm standing over you ready to lock in whatever submission will tear your skin the most."

MDE drops the board and goes through the motions of hitting a gutwrench powerbomb onto it. He then moves towards the table and takes a lighter out of his pocket, lighting the table on fire and staring down at it for a while.

"This... I suppose some people see it and try to use it too early. This is to be used later. After the bat. After the board. Once I've torn your skin open and exposed your flesh... that's when I can light this up and sear that flesh. I can almost hear your screams now."

MDE drops a fire blanket over the table and picks up a light tube.

"A classic. Tiny shards of glass embedding themselves into your entire body. Glass in your mouth, your ears, your eyes. Maybe a good place to start. If I blind you early on, I can pick you apart without you even knowing it. I can see how this one will work."

MDE then moves over to the staple gun and the forks.

"And then the accessories. Not exactly high impact but they can wear you down. These are the headlocks of the hardcore world. I can see how this match could come together. Could. Could. But it won't."

MDE throws the staple gun and the forks out of the ring. He picks up the bat and launches it at the wall. He slides the board out of the ring and the table follows. He drops the light tubes to the floor and watches as one of them breaks in half, a puff of dust billowing upwards.

"It won't go that way because I won't allow it to. I'm a wrestler. If I do what I do best, you won't get a single shot in. This Bourbon Street Street Fight... I hate to tell you, Graham, but this won't be at all what you think it'll be. I'll ground you and keep you down until you give up and you won't get a single shot in. All of this junk is just that- junk. It belongs in a skip and that's where it'll stay. So you bring whatever weapons you like because I won't be bringing any at all and I'll still beat you one more time."

MDE turns to look past the camera.

"Now get on in here."

[Pizza Ant]

TJ Cole sits on his signature throne, smoking a cigar.

TJC: Ahhhh yes.. At long last.. crowning moment is here! An FPW World Championship match! And I liked this a lot.. a lumberjack match where I get to have anyone I want in my corner. And yes, I know.. Thompson has Dwyer in his corner but he’s insignificant. He’s OUT of the Friendmigos and he is NEVER SPEAKING TO JERRY AGAIN!

Cole composes himself.

TJC: As for my next 2 lumberjacks? I choose Mark Anderson and Paul Meyers, the NEWEST Friendmigos, The Hardcases! Now I just need 2 more..

[Deleted]

Adam Thompson is sat in the living room of his apartment, drinking whisky with the FPW World Championship belt sat on the coffee table and facing the camera.

AT: So I've been told that TJ Cole went ahead and straight up announced his first two lumberjacks. His one largest advantage going into Temple of Doom, the element of surprise, and he blows half of it right out of the gate. It's ridiculous.

He sips his drink and casually puts his feet up on the table. He seems relaxed, confident.

AT: Luckily for you, I believe in a fair fight. I'm not taking any bonuses that you won't, if I'm going to continue to carry this belt with my head held high than I have to show with every step I take that I deserve to hold it. TJ Cole, if you've got your Friendmigos than I suppose I've got my round table. You show your Hardcases, I show my knights: King Cole Black and Kam Kellington. They impressed me against each other, Kam impressed me against MAJ, lets see if they can impress me when you and I meet face to face.

[Deleted]

We open with a shot of the inside of Davis Reynolds' shitty little car. He's in the driver's seat with Kassius Boone, his passenger and cameraman, next to him.

KB: Where we going Davis?

DR: The fucking hardware store!

KB: What are we getting Davis?

DR: Well, they've got allen wrenches, gerbil feeders, toilet seats, electric heaters, trash compactors, juice extractors, shower rods and water meters, walkie-talkies, copper wires, safety goggles, radial tires, BB pellets, rubber mallets, fans and dehumidifiers, picture hangers, paper cutters, waffle irons, window shutters, paint removers, window louvres, masking tape and plastic gutters, kitchen faucets, folding tables, weather stripping, jumper cables, hooks and tackle, grout and spackle, power foggers, spoons and ladles, pesticides for fumigation, high-performance lubrication, metal roofing, waterproofing, multi-purpose insulation, air compressors, brass connectors, wrecking chisels, smoke detectors, tire guages, hamster cages, thermostats and bug deflectors, trailer hitch demagnetizers, automatic circumcisers, tennis rackets, angle brackets, Duracells and Energizers, soffit panels, circuit breakers, vacuum cleaners, coffee makers, calculators, generators and matching salt and pepper shakers, but we're mostly there for things to cave Hannibal and Cannibals skulls in with.

KB: What the fuck?

DR: I really like DIY, for my best friend you don't know much about my interests outside of wrestling and alcohol.

KB: Right. Updates as they come Freedom Fighters.

[The_Aviator_GB]

When the camera opens up on Baker, he's in the same gym as the last promo. He places a few things in a metal garbage can, looking at a few light tubes that poke out from the top. He examines them carefully, and then places them in, speaking without looking at the camera. He organizes a bag of tacks as he does so.

MDE, you're still a brazen man, stubborn as all hell and bullheaded. Houston may have opted to make this match favor you in the sense that I can only fight with what I bring...but that doesn't make life any easier for you, because i'm bringing the whole fucking stockpile. 

Baker examines a reel of barbed wire, and drops it in the garbage can, landing with a loose 'thud'.

You see, you comment on wrestling, you comment on how you're gonna 'out-wrestle' me, how you're gonna 'not let me get a shot in', but you're in unfamiliar territory. Our first match, MDE, I'll admit, I walked into your house. I trespassed on your ground. I tried to match you in technical wrestling and submissions, I brought my whole arsenal and brought you to the limit...but I slipped up. I fell short, and you took advantage with that last powerbomb. You said it yourself, though-you weren't sure you could put me away, you weren't sure i'd stay down for the one-two-three-but I did. Now, you think I will again. You think that this fight will be so easy, that you'll come in with that smug smile, that cocky fucking mug of yours, and tap me out in a matter of minutes. You think that this ring, when we step in it, will still be your home.

Baker stops for a moment as he examines a cricket bat. The sparse light in the room reflects off of its surface, revealing rows upon rows of thumbtacks adhered to it. Graham holds it up to the light, and the bat shimmers as the light hits it. 

It won't. This match, MDE, this is not a 'wrestling' match. Submissions and moves are still effective as they are under normal rules, sure, and perhaps even moreso depending on what implements I bring into this match with me. No, MDE, this is a street fight. This is my home, my field. In coming into my home, I hoped you would respect me...but you've spit in my face by refusing to even consider using weaponry. You'll come in dressed for a wrestling match, your singlet and your typical gear, ready to wrestle circles around me until you pin me clean in the center of the ring or tap me out on the outside...but you won't.

Baker runs his hand along the surface of a table that appears to have been fashioned to break upon strong impact. It's lined with tacks and barbed wire, and he glances over it at a pane of glass before shaking his head. The table will do.

You need a different mindset when you step into my world, MDE. Because when you take me down and lock in an armbar, i'm going to throw both of us into a field of tacks and thrash until you let go. When you go for a shoulder tackle or a suplex, i'm going to respond with a suplex onto a light tube. You'll be in position for a powerbomb, i'll eject you through a fucking barbed wire table. You're the monkey on my back, MDE, but i'm willing to go back-first into a bed of nails if it gets you to fucking let go. You've taken up residence in my head, but seeing you act like you are? Seeing you discard this challenge and bring yourself as your only 'weapon'...well, i'm honestly surprised. You refuse to adapt, and that doesn't mean i'll go down easy, because i'm going to fight like a wild fucking dog.

I'm going to bite and gnash and gnaw and tear and put you in the ground. I'm going to trap you in a nest of barbed wire and wrench your neck while it flays the flesh from your torso. I'm going to beat you with my bat until you dye the ring mat red. I'm going to whack you with light tube after light tube, drop those fucking things on you, smash them openly against you...until your face is covered with so many glass shards and so much dust that you can't see. And, when you least expect it, I'm going to pull you down in the center of that ring, facedown on tacks, and i'm going to lock in the Emergency Landing. You might not want to tap out, MDE, but this is no-disqualification. This is street fight rules.

If you don't tap out, i'm going to tear your arm out of your fucking socket. 

You and I? We've met once, and I lost. You cost me my second match. But now? I'm getting my win back, because i'm fighting under my rules, and i'm taking you to the woodshed.

See you at the Temple, MDE. 

The footage begins to distort and turn to static as Baker's flaming skull logo appears with an electric whine behind it, before the footage cuts out entirely. 

[Deleted]

We're in a generic hardware store, the camera once again in the hands of Kassius Boone. He's pushing a trolley containing a collection of different items.

KB: So we've been here a little while, I've picked up a few things that could come in handy. I'm going pretty hardcore with it, I found a staple gun, thumbtacks, even been looking into where I can get some kendo sticks and-

He turns the corner straight into Davis Reynolds, and his own trolley filled with violent shit: Light tubes, glass panes, a weed wacker and a small box of scorpions. He's taking a handsaw off the shelf just as he turns and notices Kassius. Davis opens his mouth, presents the saw and begins to offer an explanation.

DR: I'm gonna take Lecter Manson's fucking head off and he's gonna be my fucking lucha mask.

Kassius stares in silence for a brief few moments.

KB: You put that back young man.

DR: I don't fucking wanna.

KB: Don't make me call your mother!

DR: You wouldn't dare...

KB: Try me Davis. Try me.

Davis slowly and reluctantly places the handsaw in its place.

[Deleted]

The camera view is shaky as a shadowy figure apparently powers on the device capturing this video. The figure backs up, revealing himself to be "The Real Horror" Nick Jameson, standing in a black wifebeater and black pants in a room dimly illuminated by a single, low wattage lamp. On the wall of the room are three pictures tacked up; the pictures of Jameson's opponents at "Temple of Doom", the men he will face in a Barbed Wire Rope Exploding Deathmatch for the Hardcore championship: Edward Dessius, Davey Jones, and Azazel.

Nick Jameson:
I know the view is a bit grainy, but no, wrestling fans, that's not shit on my walls, those are actually head shots of my opponents at Temple of Doom. And no, this isn't some kind of weird love shrine or some kind of stalker shit, no matter how much Edward Dessius' raging hard on wishes it was; I just felt a visual aid might be nice for this presentation, as I'm breaking these fuckers down one by one, and explaining exactly why I'm going to destroy each and every one of them.

Jameson turns, pointing at the photos, smiling wide.

Nick Jameson:
I mean, look at these pathetic pieces of shit. Brought to you by Hot Topic and Aquanet, we've got three losers nearly beyond my grasp, and yet I'm going to break 'em down to the best of my ability. I'm going to put my mind through that level of strife because I'm a dedicated professional, and it's just part of the job, folks, and believe it or not, it might be the most painful part of it, trying to figure out what makes these talentless hacks take on ridiculous gimmicks and virtually steal your money, week in and week out. With seemingly no sense of self awareness or dignity to speak of, mind you that, people, mind you fucking that!

We'll start by talking about the match itself, and the stipulations on this thing. Sparing no expense here, Houston, I like that. Giving me a pyrotechnic show as I beat the living Hell out of these jabronies, that's a nice touch. You want to big league everybody else, and I respect that, and honestly, that might be the first nice thing I've ever said to you. But fuck you, cause I heard you sucking Davey Jones' dick with all the humility and shamelessness of a teenage crackwhore trying to get a dimebag, and it was embarrassing.

The theme is really overarching here from top to bottom, but I'll digress and move on, because I'm not sure how much longer I can stomach this shit.

Uhmm, well, let's see, where to start here, hmmm... Ahhh, okay, let's start with this fuckin' clown.

Davey Jones.

Now, for those of you with the benefit of streaming or whatever, I don't fucking know, whatever it is you need to watch 60 Minutes of Freedom, you got to watch me demoralize and nearly decapitate Graham Baker. And you're welcome for that, because that guy is awful. Boring, stupid, you name it. BUT, as some may recall, that match wasn't supposed to be a one-on-one deal. In fact, Baker wasn't even the man who accepted my open challenge first for that particular match. No, Davey Jones dead ass was supposed to be there, but once he got a look at me and what I did to Edward Dessius is my title match at the New Batch, Davey Jones pissed his pants and called in sick that day. It didn't matter, though. I demolished Baker and made my point any way. To hear Jim Houston shilling the "greatness" of Davey Jones, though, proclaiming that he would give that spineless, sackless coward any title match he wants, well that tells you just how out of touch with reality the brass in this shithole really are.

And you want me to back up WHAT I SAY, Houston!?

Who the fuck do you think is selling tickets?

Did Edward Dessius get off of his ass to sell The New Batch? Did he show up at all to promote anything, say a single word before stepping out to that ring? That lazy pusscake knew he couldn't hold my jock, and for fuck's sake, he can take a beating, but am I wrong? Am I fucking wrong? HE DID NOTHING. And then he almost lost that match. As luck would have it, he survived, but that's on me. My bad, guys. My bad. I've made my case for you, Edward. Instead of giving me my match, they've stuck this in my path, but I'm relishing the opportunity. To not only kick the shit out of you again, but put to bed the running myths that Davey Jones and Azazel are anything more than cheap gimmicks and a facades. Dessius, I'm still looking to fulfill your death wish, and it very well might happen at Temple of Doom.

Let's cross our fingers, buddy.

"The White Devil" proceeds to turn, throwing a small knife into the picture of Davey Jones. He turns to the camera and then whips around again, sticking another knife into his wall, this time through the picture of Dessius. He turns back to the camera, chuckling and smiling sarcastically.

Nick Jameson:
I guess that just leaves one, huh? I guess that leaves us with the pseudo-philosophical fucktard that is Azazel. Azazel, the biggest walking gimmick around, full of shit as anybody ever was, and he wants you all to buy in. Why doesn't Davey Jones show up to fight me? Why doesn't Edward Dessius want to try to talk shit to me? In this business, in 2018, when you know damn well what it is we do, these guys think I'm too unhinged, too REAL, and they think I'm going to take them to the woodshed out there. These guys want to walk around and play dress up, play make believe, and they want to feel like a big shot because who the fuck knows... daddy touched 'em? They got bullied at school?

Who the fuck cares?

These guys don't want to see me, because they know I'm real, and they know I'm not fucking around. They are legit scared of me, which is part insulting, wholly pathetic, but they just don't know what's going to happen. I'm not some angel, I'm not some cartoon character, I'm not acting like a psychopath, kidnapping people and shit... It's easy to face the "LOONEY BIN" guy, or the "I'M GONNA CUT MYSELF" guy, or the supposed "ANGEL" GUY, whatever the fuck he claims to be. Azazel, you know, you're right. Nobody is really all that good. Nobody's all that bad. But I am the baddest man here, and I'm going to kick your fucking ass. Your karate gimmick is played out, you ain't got shit to say that I give two fucks about, and everything you do falls pretty flat with me.When you step into that ring at Temple of Doom, your eyeliner shouldn't be the only thing running when you see Nick Jameson, pals, cause I'm going to smash you and blow your ass up, along with your big reputation, in one satisfying cloud of smoke and debris.

You can go ahead, stand there, fight me, I don't give a fuck. It doesn't matter. You all, you can hate me. Old timers, you can say I'm killing the business. You can say whatever you want, because you always do. But I'm here. I'm making a living. A modest one, but it's enough... for now. I'll take that champion's purse, though, because I deserve it. I'm selling tickets. Why shouldn't I make more than you? In 2018, in America, that's what matters. Who gets results, who's getting the money, who's keeping the jobs... who's grabbing this promotion by the balls and these fans by the pussy?

"America's Pro Wrestler" Nick Jameson, at your service. Now suck my cock and I'll make you famous, wrestlesluts.

Jameson puts a bigger knife through the face of Azazel on the wall, not even looking back to do so, and then walks out of view as the promo comes to an end.

[Deleted]

2Pac’s Final Round almost breaks the speakers of the PA. Once Rocky’s speech ends, Jeremiah Johnson bursts through the curtains from Gorilla Position. Without punches, without remorse, and without a smile, Johnson heads down the ramp. He climbs into the ring and grabs a mic from a stagehand.

“Here I am. Here I am,” Johnson looks around the arena at the yelling and screaming fans, “HERE! I! AM!”

The crowd goes wild. Johnson lowers the mic to his side, standing still; motionless in the moment. When Johnson brings the mic up to his mouth, the crowd goes silent, “First things first. Let’s talk about the FPW World Championship. Everyone knows that the title should be around my waist. Everyone knows that the best thing for business is Johnson versus Thompson, one on one!” The crowd cheers through tears and excitement, “But they decide to get some middle of the card place holder, who’s not even good enough to get a build a character slot on a video game; they decide to give him a shot at MY title.” Close up of a guy holding his hand in front of his mouth, blowing on it to cool off the burn. “And here I am. The man with the magnificent mind. The man who fought a fucking bear and LIVED! And my championship match is nowhere to be seen.” A woman hurls boos at FPW elite.

Johnson walks around the ring until the crowd settles down. “And how about my other championship match? The tag titles are on the line in a match without tags. Perfect since my partner is about as useless as the shit I take before each match. Wait, at least the shit doesn’t come to the ring with me.” Security stands by with fire extinguishers. “Clutchin Macloud; you better not fuck this up and get pinned! We’re going against some guys that read a book about Ponyboy and thought they were being clever by changing Outsiders to Invaders. Change your name to Invaders, change your name to Player Haters, change your name to Mastuerbaters. It doesn’t matter what you change your name to; because the only place you’re going to be invading is the emergency room when I’m done with you. You’ll be nothing but a pile of broken dreams and bones. I’ll crack your fucking skulls; I’ll break your fucking necks; I’ll rip your fucking arms out of your disgustingly out of shape bodies, you pieces of wet garbage.” The crowd cheers out of respect.

“My time has come. I’m through doing what’s right. My grandmother passed away recently; and the only light I had in my world has faded. So prepare for the next installment of Jeremiah Johnson. Prepare for the man with nothing to gain and nothing to lose. There will be absolute chaos during the tornado tag. There will be two NEW TAG TEAM CHAMPIONS when the dust settles. Oh yeah...There will be blood.” Johnson throws down the mic; he walks up the ramp with a new ferocity about him. Cut to commercial.

[Deleted]

We join Davis Reynolds and Kassius Boone once again. This time Boone is not the acting cameraman and is instead sitting opposite Davis with what appears to be an office desk between them. An unfamiliar voice speaks, and sounds to be reading directly off a card.

?: S-so, Anarchy, how do you feel about you about your upcoming bout with the... Sorry, what does this say?

KB: The Sons of Cerberus.

?: Yeah, that.

DR: Well you see Mr. Interview Guy, the Sons of Cerberus are a pair of tough motherfuckers and they've had us beat multiple times in the past. However, about 73 years of experience on them-

KB: Their date of birth is listed as unknown, you can't prove it's false.

DR: -so with the right game plan we should be able to pull out the win once and for all.

MIG: And what exactly is your game plan?

KB: It's a combination of our respective skill sets. On my end, anyone will stop moving if you drop them on their heads enough times.

DR: And I have enough experience to know that big men fall over when you snap their ankles. If all else fails, we're gonna bring those fuckers down with force like the Bruttii.

MIG: Oddly specific historical reference.

KB: Something to do with that Brutus dude?

DR: No actually, completely unrelated.

Suddenly we hear the sound of a door bursting open, and the store manager flies in angry as fuck.

M: Who the fuck are you two? John, why the fuck are you holding a camera?

Davis and Boone dash for the door behind the desk, leaving the two men stood there in confusion.

MIG/John: They wouldn't let me leave.

[Jim Houston]

MDE stands close up to a camera. He seems to be in his training ring, but the location isn't clear. Only his face is showing.

"Graham... you spent a great deal of time recently telling me your plans for our match next Sunday. You want to wrap me in barbed wire and tear off my flesh. You want to break light tubes over my head until I'm blinded by the dust and the shards of glass. You want to embed thumbtacks into my body until I'm more tack than man. Notice the verb in each sentence. You want to. You want to do a lot of things Graham. You wanted to beat me the first time we wrestled. You didn't. You wanted to face Adam Thompson for the FPW Title. You didn't. You wanted to win the Young Lions Cup. And guess what? You didn't. Graham... you are a class case of eyes bigger than your stomach. Just like each and every time before, you want to do all of things to me and just like each and every time before, you'll fail."

The camera zooms out to show MDE in the ring with a wrestler holding a bag of thumbtacks.

"Graham... you say that I'll get you into a hold and you'll thrash around in these tacks until I break it?"

The wrestler pours the tacks into the ring and lays down. MDE locks in the Simply Great Stretch and the wrestler tries to resist but MDE keeps him locked in place. After the wrestler verbally submits, MDE stands up.

"Once I have you in a hold, you won't be able to get anywhere near the tacks. I can control and manipulate you for days in this ring. If I don't want you to get to the tacks, you won't get to the tacks. Get the table."

MDE's training partner pulls out a table wrapped in barbed wire which he slides into the ring. MDE sets up the table and he and the wrestler lock up. The opponent goes for a standing switch and looks for a German suplex through the table, but MDE easily counters into a roll up, which he transitions into a knee bar. MDE then lets his opponent up and feeds his arm. His opponent pulls him in and looks for a scoop slam through the table, but MDE continues to rotate, dropping to his feet and lifting his opponent for a suplex. MDE let's him down again before his opponent pushes him into the ropes and tries a drop toe hold onto the table, but MDE transitions into a single leg crab.

"You see, Graham. It's that simple. If you're hoping for my blood to stain the canvas in New Orleans, it'll be just like everything else you've been hoping for here in FPW... A failure."

[The_Aviator_GB]

Graham Baker sits facing a camera, looking it straight on with his hands in his pockets. He's sitting in the middle of a ring on a folded steel chair, with several tables set up in the corners of the ring. He pulls off his glasses, and pulls off his jacket, leaning them both on the chair behind him. He looks around at the tables leaning against the turnbuckles, sighs, and then begins addressing the camera.

MDE, you love to display your talents on 'wrestlers like me'. You like to show how 'in control' you're gonna be, but you've never faced me down like this before. You've beaten me, and I've lost twice now, because of you. I'm not going to repeat the same shtick I did before-that you're in my head and that i'm so overwhelmed by you that I'm going to let you get another win over on me. You're coming into this match with a win on your shoulders, with experience over me...but honestly? Experience isn't going to get you shit in this environment. Against this Graham Baker. 

Graham looks off camera, and motions for a man to enter the ring with him, of similar size and build to MDE. He throws a bag of tacks across the ring floor, stomping so that they spread out a bit equally, and then looks back to the camera again. 

You want to flex your training? How you've found 'a dozen wrestlers like me' to train against? To hold in place? To show how inferior I am? To show how none of my strategies work? Well, i've done the same. 

Baker nods to the man, who comes at him and wrestles him to the ground, but at first Baker clearly isn't trying. Moments later, the man locks in the Simply Great stretch on him, and Baker struggles for only a moment, before calming. He shuffles, not with any discernable pattern, getting his knee close enough to land a few strikes in on the man. The man switches the hold, locking Baker in an armbar, but Baker flails and throws himself back first into the tacks, landing both he and the man on them. The man curses in pain, and releases the hold, moving quickly but not enough as Baker takes the advantage and slams the man down with a snap suplex onto the tacks again. Baker kicks the chair he was sitting in out, and slides it out of the ring, looking at the writhing man before delivering a stomp onto his arm while it's lain in the tacks. The man gets back to his feet, and manages to get a leg up on Baker, rolling him up, but Baker quickly kicks out, rebounding off the ropes and hitting a dropkick to the man's back quickly. Baker takes advantage once again, landing the man with another suplex into the tacks and rolling through, following with a suplex into a table in the corner, breaking the table cleanly in half. Blood runs down Baker's exposed back and tacks stick free of it, but the man lays still for a moment. Baker confirms that he's alright, and then looks back to the camera.

No more fucking wants, MDE. I'm going to do this. First, i'm going to reverse every hold you put me in. I'm going to tear the skin off your arms, rag at your muscles, wreck every limb you have that you dare to leave exposed, and then I'm going to destroy your ability to lock in any fucking hold you want. You're going to try your magnificent 'in-ring surgery' on me once again, that doesn't fucking work here. I'm a wild animal in a street fight, MDE, and i'm going to show you just how wild I can get.

Live in the illusion that you'll have me under control. Train against however many men you can, i'll be doing the same. 

Baker looks off camera, and another man rolls into to replace the first. He and Baker shake hands.

And MDE? Think carefully about your preparations for this match. You're in my playground.

[Jim Houston]

The screen shows a corridor with an office door slightly ajar. A voice can be heard coming out of the office.

"... yes.... I know it's a risk.... but... look, it's totally safe. I'll have guys surrounding the ring... ok... fine... yes, you can supply extra..."

All of a sudden the camera turns as MDE, dressed in workout gear, walks down he corridor. When he looks up and sees the camera, he sighs.

DB: MDE... fancy seeing you here.

MDE: I wasn't expecting you either.

DB: Well I was waiting for an interview with the General Manager, but seeing as you're here, how are your preparations for you match next weekend?

MDE: As always, I'm expecting to be fully prepared. Graham Baker can bring all the toys he likes but I'm ready to make him tap out and finally start getting some proper competitions around here.

DB: Do you really plan to go into this match empty handed? That seems a little risky.

MDE: On the contrary, it's genius. A good wrestler will always be able to beat someone swinging an object. Every single time. Graham Baker is going to try and manipulate me in ways which aren't totally natural or instinctive. When I lock in a hold, I'll be making sure that the natural escapes don't lead to where Graham wants to go. When he tries to fight against the current, I'll still have the advantage. I'll be wrestling within my plan and with my instincts while he'll be avoiding natural instincts and trying to force things which he can't force against someone as good as me. By the end of the match, he'll be regretting making that challenge.

DB: He seems very set on turning this match into a hardcore match. Can you really stop him?

MDE: Quite frankly I'm bored of his constant references to hardcore wrestling. Hardcore wrestling is for those who aren't good enough to wrestle properly. Look at the kind of wrestlers who made their names in ECW or the infamous death match 'wrestlers' of CZW. Put them in with a true wrestler and they can't keep up. Graham Baker can have his toys, his tables, his barbed wire and those little drawing pins that he's so fond of. I tell you now that he won't be able to use a single one of them in our match. I won't be touched by a weapon. He may think he can turn this match his way, but he's up against someone who's a master at controlling a wrestling match.

DB: MDE, you-

DB: You know what... I'm bored of you too. I'm going to see Jim Houston.

MDE pushed Houston's door open and closes it deliberately behind him.

[The_Aviator_GB]

Baker watches MDE's last promo from Dasha's camera, and he replays the clip of MDE saying he's not 'a true wrestler' over three times. He sighs, pausing the video and turning toward the camera. Baker looks incensed and sweaty, as if he's been training, but a fire still burns in his eyes.

Brian Pillman. Mick Foley. Steve Austin. Rey Mysterio. Eddie Guerrero. 

Baker runs a hand through his hair.

I could name a dozen more if I wanted to, MDE. But I won't. I bore you when I speak on my hardcore expertise, the men I look up to, the men who've paved the way for me. When I was younger, I chose to get into wrestling-obviously, through PROGRESS-but I never admired the usual technical British style. I didn't watch Jim Breaks or Steve Regal or Davey Boy Smith. Sure, I took inspiration from it, I can't deny. My idea to wrestle based around submissions, well, that was at least partially inspired by British wrestling. But I always admired those who put their bodies on the line, who didn't play the safest game. Those who were willing to do whatever they needed to to win a match. 

You said before, in that fancy documentary you were off filming while I was busting my ass for the Young Lion's Cup, that you didn't watch WWF or WCW. You watched All Japan. You watched Aja Kong, because she just won. I guess you can say I was similar, because I, too, watched those who won. Not through ease of combat-no, that's too easy. I'm a smaller guy, I'd never match that strength. I'd never be able to win through brute force alone. I'd never be able to powerbomb someone for an easy win. No, MDE, I knew I would be an underdog. No matter how talented I got, there was a chance the guy across the ring from me was gonna be way bigger, and I'd have to outmaneuver him. Use every tool in my arsenal, every move to chop him down to size. I'd do what I needed to to win.

Baker glances back to the screen behind him, and flicks on a match. In it, Graham Baker takes on David Starr in a match for the CZW Wired Title. Starr appears to have the match won, and goes for a piledriver onto a chair for the win, but Baker reverses the piledriver through struggling, slipping out of Starr's grasp and hitting him with a suplex, back-first, onto the chair. Starr holds his neck, and Baker quickly moves for the top rope, landing a picture-perfect double stomp on Starr's arm as it lays on the chair. Starr goes for his wounded arm, holding it, but Baker quickly locks in the Emergency Landing and taps Starr out seconds later. The footage pauses.

MDE, when I went into our first match, I wanted to outlast you. I was brazen, foolish, I wanted to prove I could outlast you. I could outwrestle you. I was in over my head against one of the most proficient technical specialists of the modern era. I got cocky, I stole your moves on shows that I knew you'd watch. I figured I could get in your head, and for a while, it worked. I almost had you on the ropes-you admit it yourself, I impressed you. But I slipped up. I went a minute too long. I tried to put you down for the count, and I couldn't do it. You took advantage, hit a powerbomb, one-two-three, I was done. 

I spent nights after that thinking of what i'd done wrong. I let you in my head. I let you cost me the match at the YLC against Saturn, because I wanted to call you out once again. But losing there, looking up at those lights when I knew I could've gone far further...that cleared my head. I called out Thompson to a match for the title, because I knew you were too prideful to accept a challenge from me on my terms if I hadn't pissed you off first. But here we are, and going into this match, MDE, you need to know two things. 

Baker plays another match on the screen-this one vs. Joey Janela. This match appears more evenly-matched, but Janela manages to send Baker through a glass-pane with a sudden spear. Baker lays in the glass, and Janela goes for the pin, but Baker manages to get his foot on the rope, causing the referee to break the pinfall. He gives the referee the finger, and picks Baker up, getting him in position for a Canadian destroyer. Baker, however, has other plans, and somehow reverses the destroyer, stopping Janela from starting the flip and landing a few vicious elbows on him. Baker picks Janela up for a buckle bomb through a table set up in the corner with light tubes on it, sending him through the table and tubes, before pulling him back from the wreckage and hitting a tiger bomb on him into a pin, completing the Ground Zero. Baker pins Janela in the center of the ring, one-two-three. 

One, you're making a grave mistake by not immersing yourself in my world. By not getting into my mindset. You're coming into this thinking it'll be an easy match, that just because I can't bring any and all weapons out from the ring, that you have some advantage. You're wrong, because i've got all the tools I need in that ring, and the toys I do bring are just extras. You're going to be surprised at the Baker you face in New Orleans, because he's like nothing you've seen before.

Baker takes a moment and breathes.

And two, in this match, i'm not proving a goddamn thing except the fact that i'm beating you in the ring. There's no showmanship here, not from me. You might try to lock me in and keep yourself from taking a single weapon hit, but that's not how this is going to go. Any hold you go for could be your last, so make them count, because once I get the advantage i'm not letting up for anything. I'm coming in this match to win, and when I do, when I finally get you off my fucking back, big things are coming to Freedom Pro Wrestling from Graham Baker. 

MDE, this is your notice. Don't slip up, because i'll be right on task. 

Baker turns on footage from another match, focusing on it as the camera cuts out after a few seconds. 

[Deleted]

Nick Jameson can be seen walking down the road, wearing a gray jacket and jeans, looking irritated. He cups his hand to his ear.

Nick Jameson:
What's that I hear? You guys hear that in video land? For the uninitiated, I'll explain: That's the sound of NOTHIN', cause nobody's got shit to say to me.

Days have passed now, and I'm in a familiar situation. It's been days since I called out every man put up against me at Temple of Doom, and not one of them, NOT ONE, has stood up and defended themselves; not one has come out and said shit about me, shit about anybody else, nothing. They haven't said shit about anything. And that leaves me selling everything, AGAIN, because I actually know how to show up to work. The fuck is wrong with these kids, man?

Once again, HERE I AM, being THAT GUY who's carrying the whole damn match on my back.

Azazel? Davey Jones? The fucking "champion" Edward Dessius?

Worthless, baby shit soft, no showing slackers. Coming to a show with their hands out, ready to phone it in, while I'm grinding week in and week out, and for what?

You know, I travel a lot in this business. Whispers follow me everywhere I go. Every city, every town, every arena, bingo hall, armory, wherever. But when it comes to my face? Silence. That's what it is. And if somebody's got something to say, like a Davey Jones, they shut the fuck up pretty quick when it comes time to man up and face their demise.

You all can see it. Take a good look. Take a look at this face, listen to this voice, because it's the sound of the REAL Hardcore champion of Freedom Pro, "THE REAL HORROR" NICK JAMESON!

All they've gotta do now is do the right thing in the front office, cause this is bullshit. Pay me what I'm owed, and show some God damn respect.

All day, all night, what do we get on FPW's website, on the social media, what am I looking at here? A bunch of MDE and Graham Baker shit for months at a time. You'd think that'd be the title match. You'd think I would have the damn title match. Oh, but we ain't earned it, huh?

Nick Jameson and Graham Baker go out and shred their bodies for this company for peanuts, but you think we're the pieces of shit around here? Fuck Graham Baker, but fuck you even more, Houston. Who's putting in the work around here? Who's really getting it in? I don't see anybody else jumping at that opportunity.

I'm the "60 Minute Man", "America's Pro Wrestler", I'm sending all these fuckers over the wall who think they can take my spot, take my fucking job, cause nobody can do what I do. At Temple of Doom, full exposure, all around, all day, all night; you motherfuckers are getting blown up, bagged up, and shipped the fuck out, and feed me somebody ready to work when my waist is shining.

These low rent clowns need to find a new circus, cause there's a new ring master in Freedom Pro, and to steal a line, I'm the "Whole Fuckin' Show".

Jameson sticks out his tongue and mockingly does the Rob Van Dam thumb points before walking past the camera as this promo comes to a close.