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 Posted: Mon Apr 10, 2023 12:55 pm
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Posted: Mon Apr 10, 2023 1:33 pm
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The lights suddenly going out and a surge of cell phone flashes alongside an inquisitive pop wasn't exactly a foreign sight at Wrestlemania -- it often gave way to returns, unexpected or otherwise, and other times to a rather elaborate entrance of some kind. There was much to be considered in this instance though, as the powerful and mystifying sounds of a saxophone played out of So-Fi Stadium's speaker system.
The fans knew not what they were to experience, save for less than a handful. The biggest music fans in the crowd knew exactly what this song was, what album it was from, who's voice they were about to hear. Bob Seger & the Silver Bullet Band, 1975. Cobo Hall, in Detroit, Michigan. The album...Live Bullet. The saxophone soon gave way to the vibration of the crowd which was growing antsy, but also more and more hyped up by the second; an inquisitive rumble took over as fan after fan would turn to the next after hearing a single word repeated by those around them. A never-forgotten name, which was all but confirmed as Bob Seger began.
On a long and lonesome highway, east of Omaha
You can listen to the engine moanin' out its one-note song
You can think about the woman, or the girl you knew the night before
But your thoughts will soon be wandering, the way they always do
When you're riding sixteen hours and there's nothing much to do
And you don't feel much like riding, you just wish the trip was through, mmm...
The sound in the arena slowly started to shift as something more akin to a hush took over a crowd waiting with baited breath. They knew this song, they'd heard it plenty of times before, albeit a much harder cover preformed by Metallica. They knew who this song belonged too -- but they couldn't believe it would be him. They wouldn't believe it until they saw with their own eyes that their ears nor their brains were playing a cruel collective trick on them. There was a cold breeze that coincided with a feeling most people shared tonight: the fear that they were about to face down with a reality from far too long ago that perhaps many were still just not over. The titantron slowly would light back up with smoky graphics, not showing anything in particular, but to a viewer with a keen eye they could see what seemed to be a word blending in with the background. The lights in the arena dimmed up from none to slight, a spotlight adjusting itself to cover the area just outside of the gorilla position where several others had entered already from this evening.
Well, you walk into a restaurant all strung-out from the road
And you feel the eyes upon you as you're shaking off the cold
You pretend it doesn't bother you, but you just want to explode
Most times you can't hear 'em talk, other times you can
All the same old clichés, is it woman, is it man?
And you always seem outnumbered, so you don't dare make a stand
Oddly enough, the chorus of the song was seemingly skipped, going right into the next set of lyrics. This was of course a curious choice, leading to the near-silence of the crowd to be broken as their cacophony once again would take hold of the situation. It was clear that this was, in fact, the song "Turn the Page" -- but what could it mean that there was no chorus, and more importantly no arrival? This could all be a disgusting gag, as the world knew that Midnight Marauders International would be here tonight to make an announcement and perhaps their cruel way of mocking the past would be to trick the masses into believing they even had the slightest chance of seeing their hero one last time.
Out there in the spotlight you're a million miles away
Every ounce of energy you try to give away
As the sweat pours out your body like the music that you play
Later in the evening as you lie awake in bed
With the echoes from the amplifiers ringin' in your head
You smoke the day's last cigarette, remembering what she said...
Backstage as the song continued, many stagehands were scattered about, continuing on with their work as they tried hard to keep things running smoothly tonight at Wrestlemania. They weren't sure what this spectacle was all about, seeing as it wasn't hinted at on rundowns or in the pre-show production meeting. As the song began again after skipping the chorus, a group of men in black huddle together with a large sheet over their upper bodies, seemingly concealing something from within. They reached gorilla, and quickly pulled away the sheet while spreading apart, revealing there was in fact someone they were hiding from the world. It came as a shock to several as they got a good look at the man -- he would adjust his black and orange tights, pulling them up to the point where they're directly below his belly button. This mystery man was handed a coat by one of the men he arrived with, slipping into it with ease as it seemed to drag across the floor. It's as if it were made for someone with a larger back, no doubt. He looked directly at the x taped onto the curtain with blood-shot eyes, perhaps from crying, perhaps from allergies, who knows? As the song reached the end of yet another set of lines, it became clear that it was now or never.
Ah, here I am
On the road again
There I am
Up on the stage
Here I go
Playin' star again
There I go
Turn the page
As Bob Seger's voice roared out, the fans finally were able to release a pent-up cheer as the words they wanted to hear once again finally bellowed from the high hanging speakers. "HIRO", in bright orange letters, popped in on the Titantron and the lights began to pulsate all around the arena, signaling that for the first time since the Legacies taping on July 8th, 2016...he was back. The cheering wouldn't die down, not now or in the next moment, as Hiro Shin-Mozas would take three steps into the spotlight and stare out at the humanity all lumped up here tonight in Los Angeles. He began to tear up, his eyes so quickly giving way to emotion as they seemingly had earlier in the night, and several times over the last week, months, years. Hiro would take a little more time to soak in the high that came with surprising thousands, but in doing so began his slow decent down the ramp which resulted in the cameramen finally zooming in on him to give the fans at home and those in the far-off seats a good look at the two-time world champion...
...and it was not what was expected, at all. Hiro was smaller than he once was, clearly lacking some of the muscle mass that he had built up and was certainly no longer as youthful as he once looked. There were definitely more wrinkles on the face of the now 40-year-old, mixing with his scars to produce a look that has seemingly lived several lifetimes, with several more to come. His abdominal muscles were still very noticeable, but not due to being particularly toned -- more so because this man was clearly a bit malnourished. His ring coat, brand new but definitely retro in style, was being dragged behind him and his hands barely popped out of the sleeves. It was something akin to a child wearing their father's tuxedo that was clearly too large for them.
Hiro reached the ringside area and began to climb the steps, a cameraman getting in close to get his face and upper body right in view. He looked down and caught view, silently mouthing "Thank You" as he popped up onto the apron and slowly stepped through the ropes and into the ring. A grimace overcame him for a moment, his knee hurting a little bit but not enough to deter him. The fans cheering never really stopped, only dying down a little bit after they got a good look at Hiro's condition. He was fully in his wrestling gear, and yet was a retired man. Surely, that would be the first thing the legend would address! The music would start dying down as Hiro found himself with microphone in hand, once again taking a second to observe his surroundings. Things always looked a little different when you stood in the ring, more so than just being up on the stage or watching from the back. You got to experience the feeling of fans metaphorically putting you on a pedestal...while actually being on one, too. His eyes had finally dried once more, but again would tear up as the music fully petered away and chants of "Welcome Back" would take over. It was too much for Hiro, he took a few steps forward and used the top rope to hold himself up as he started to sob, making sure to keep the mic as far from his face as he could. The fans merely cheered more, some in tears themselves, as they understood what this moment meant to everyone. Hiro finally started to regain his composure, at least enough to stop crying, as his shaking hand brought the microphone up to his quivering lips.
"I...I did say I'll see you later."
There was yet another monstrous pop as Hiro choked out his words, quickly pulling the mic away and dropping it to his side as he buried his face in his arm, still leaning on the top rope. He heaved a bit as his face lifted up to again show he was completely failing at holding back his emotions. It took another long bit for Hiro to regather his composure and for the fans to die down enough for the two-time World Champion to speak.
"Ahem...well, I think for the rest of this I can probably hold things together. I'm about to say a lot which is why I'm glad they put me on after you guys got your fill of wrestling already, and still have a great main event to come. So...I guess I wanna take things back to July 8th, 2016. I had walked out on you guys with my head held high because doctors told me I should never wrestle again. I was diagnosed with Cervical Spinal Stenosis, which was by far the most serious thing I'd even been told I had. Through all the broken noses, broken bones, broken ribs, the countless concussions, and lacking a whole ACL in this here right leg -- I had never really been faced with something that would end up taking the ability to walk away from me. It came as such a shock, but I knew that it would be best at the time to heed the warnings of my doctors and walk away before I had to be carted away permanently. It was without a doubt the hardest thing I had to ever do in my life, because it finally felt like having the iron will of a god, who said he would get to the top and never leave...well, it just wasn't enough this time. I don't want to sound too corny, but guys -- I quite literally was able to convince the world that I went from Zero to Hero, and that was probably my life's greatest achievement, all I ever wanted. I haven't been blessed with a wife, children, or anything like that...but a successful career would do me just as proud."
While he addressed the crowd, Hiro pushed off the rope and began to pace around the ring a little bit while he talked. Despite looking a lot less spry than he had in the past, he definitely seemed to have collected quite a bit of pent-up energy during his time away as he just couldn't stay still as he spoke. His breathing labored ever so slightly, but not enough to distract from his first public words in over half a decade.
"So I made that painful decision and spent the last few years at home, on a wonderful piece of land in South Dakota that the WWF:G specifically helped me afford, wearing clothes, eating food, and partaking in hobbies that were only available to me because of all that I left in this ring -- the things that I did, which you great people rewarded me for with your support. I lived a blessed life, and I then was experiencing a blessed retirement...or at least it was blessed until it wasn't. See I had surgery the day after I retired, correcting a lot of issues with my neck and spine and after not too long, damn did I feel fantastic! I was able to heal from nearly everything that had been ailing me, my body finally got as close to 100% healthy as possible, which shocked the hell out of me. I sat at home for years and just couldn't help but marvel at the fact that, hey...this is what it feels like to be normal, what it feels like to be someone who doesn't do crazy stuff like getting tossed off of ladders into tables or leaping from the top of a huge steel structure for no good reason. It was a bit liberating, honestly...but one thing wouldn't heal, no matter how much time would pass. It didn't matter what I did to distract myself, no matter what the next hobby was, or how much wrestling I would sit down and consume...my mind wouldn't heal. My emotions, a driving force for much of my career, they just couldn't heal. I could not shake the fact that I had to leave this business, all of you fans, and that world heavyweight championship in this ring on July 8th, 2016. It doesn't matter what I told myself that night...that I was doing what was for the best for me, for the business, by getting out while I still could to prevent a tragedy...Truthfully, I don't really think I did what was best for me. I think me leaving this all behind was the biggest tragedy. I don't belong outside of a wrestling ring, and the fact that I managed to pull off that facade for the past six plus years just tells me one thing...boy, do I still got it."
The fans let out another pop as they got the affirmation to a hunch they'd had since Hiro first set foot out on the stage. He was in his gear, after all. It seemed as though the impossible had indeed become not just probable, but a reality. Was this truly the case? Was Hiro trying to tell them that he was once again going to be an active competitor?
"I do in fact still have the will to go on. I may have thought it was gone, but boy, if being alone with myself and my loud as hell thoughts for the last few years has taught me anything it's that will power is something I've got a whole damn abundance of. Though of course...that was the will of my mind and not the will of my body. Let's just say, that physically things are a bit fuzzier."
As one would assume, that comment drew a bit of ire and some boos from the crowd. Hiro was a long-time removed from purposely trying to upset the fans or gain a negative reaction, so he could only sheepishly pull back on his hair a little bit while they got their feelings out. It was surprising to see him with any hair at all, as for a majority of the later part of his career he kept a nearly shaved head, but now he had grown it back out as best as it would, some of it black and bits of it grey. He sighed and let the disappointment flow away before he continued.
"Unfortunately, I'm not actually a god. I know I called myself one, the God of Will to be exact, and yeah -- you'll waste a millennia trying to find someone who can match the mental fortitude I've built up. I take an immense amount of pride in that, but you gotta remember that my body was virtually knocking on death's door when I retired, but all those years were able to heal me up pretty damn well. The issue isn't even my neck, or the spine -- it's merely the fact that I just spent years getting older. You think I trained everyday? Trust me, the fact that I look the way I do now is a blessing because I became quite the chubster while I was at home. You ever have steak everyday for three consecutive weeks? It was delicious, but you're asking for a heart-attack and about eight inches added on to your waist-line if you ever gave it a go. Lucky for me, I gained the weight but didn't end up keeling over early. As I said, I'm no god. I don't have control over punks or nuclear fission...or is it fusion? When I get backstage, I'll have to ask Nuke straight up what exactly he was the god of...and probably about a certain event from seven years ago, too. Ah, and well...I certainly don't have control over Time, or none of this would even be an issue."
That last line, in another world -- perhaps another universe, carried a deeper meaning than that of which it did here. Hiro's eyes lit-up a little with a fire unseen in sometime, showing a glimpse of his past as he made mention of the God of Time, causing the crowd to react with a rather tumultuous cheer. The Ethnic Enigma would rub his dried eyes a bit before turning to face the crowd once more, this time with his back to the hard-cam.
"I suppose it was on January 1st of this year that I decided I would get back into ring shape again. I would make up for all that lost time, trying to will myself along just through memories. If I did it once before, if I spent years in fighting shape, surely I could easily get back to it! Well, I have some BREAKING NEWS for you guys: getting stronger does not happen JUST because you want it to. My body hit a limit sometime along the way these last couple of months, and I realized there was just no way I'd ever look the way I used to. Sure, there were certain methods I could have used to attain that, but after everything I've been through, I figured putting that stuff in my body wasn't worth doing. I just ended up packing it in and leaving my home gym just a few weeks after I started. It wasn't long after that I would find myself walking down a darkened hallway to my kitchen -- on the way to eat yet ANOTHER steak, mind you -- and my glances kept meeting pictures that were barely lit by the light at the end of this tunnel. They were of me winning the world championship seven years ago at this very event, me and some fans outside of a show, at least a dozen photos that reminded me of who I believed I should be and not who I was in that very moment. So, to quote another, much bigger legend than I when he left shortly before I did, never looking back...I reached the kitchen, looked in the mirror, and said..."
Hiro waited a moment, leaving the fans hanging on his words. He lifted the microphone to his mouth, ready to give the goods -- but hesitated. His lips quivered a little, but seemingly more intentionally than prior in the promo when he tried to speak through tears. The fans steadily rumbled as they were, at this point, at the Ethnic Enigma's beck and call. Finally, he gave them what they wanted as he stared directly into the nearest camera, locking eyes with his own reflection in the lens.
With those two syllables, Hiro Shin-Mozas dropped the microphone and backed away from the camera.
The reaction was a combination of understanding and frustration from those that recalled the iconic and cult-favorite promo that Matt Shanahan had cut just a little over a month prior to Hiro leaving the industry. However, on that night, The Storm had left the building with those words -- and when repeated tonight they seemed to cause a storm to brew within the once retired wrestler in the ring. Hiro flung off his ring coat, reveaing his entire body -- a still impressively in-shape, now 228 pound frame, clearly smaller from what it once was but still with quite a bit of the strength, agility, and knowledge that it once always had. The fans began to soak in the excess enthusiasm and hints of fear that were radiating from the former world champion as he started running the ropes, culminating in doing a big flat-back bump in the center of the ring. It took two seconds for him to get back up, though it felt like an eternity to those who were finally convinced that tonight was the night that their hero was back in the saddle. Hiro scooped the microphone back up as he stood, adjusting his tights to fit back right below the belly button.
"I said '******** THIS', because if I can't wrestle, than why should I be able to walk?! I damn well believe that if I can't use these legs to throw one more superkick, then I don't even DESERVE to have them! If I am not right here in the middle of this ring, risking my life with each and every GOD DAMN bump I take, then WHY SHOULD I BE ALIVE? I wasn't born to die, I was born to LIVE, and my life BEGINS and ENDS in this ring! That's why tonight at Wrestlemania, Los Angeles will play host to the RETURN OF HIRO SHIN-MOZAS! I'm no God, I'm no Miracle, I'm NOTHING SPECIAL -- I'M JUST A GUY WHO WENT FROM ZERO TO HERO, AND IF YOU THINK YOU'VE GOT WHAT IT TAKES TO MAKE ME REGRET THIS...THEN GET YOUR a** OUT TO THIS RING AND LETS WRESTLE!!!!"
Hiro tossed the microphone out of the ring and off into the white hot crowd which was just thrown into it's biggest frenzy of the night. The Ethnic Enigma started to tug on his elbow pads, fussing them into place as a referee joined him in the ring, offering Hiro a handshake that he was more than happy to accept. The fans cheering would be cut into as the ring announcer got on with their job.
"The following contest is an OPEN CHALLENGE, and it's scheduled for ONE FALL! Introducing first, fighting out of McIntosh, South Dakota, standing 6'3 and weighing in at 228 pounds...
HE HAS THE WILL TO GO OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOONNNN, HIRO...SHIN...MOOOOOOOOOZAS!!!!!!"
Hiro threw out his arms and would pull from the electricity that flowed in the air around him. The doubts he had been feeling during the lead up to this promo and challenge were almost entirely washed away by what was a greater response than he ever could have imagined. He took the time to walk over to the ring announcer and pat them on the shoulder, thanking them for a tremendous introduction. Hiro again pulled upon his elbow pads as he made his way to a corner, awaiting whoever would be his first opponent in nearly seven years!
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Posted: Mon Apr 10, 2023 6:31 pm
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This is how we do it
(This is how we do it)
(This is how we do it)
This is how we do it
It's Friday night and I feel all right
The party is here on the West side
So I reach for my 40 and I turn it up
Designated driver take the keys to my truck
Pyro explodes and dry ice shoots from canisters pre-loaded in the stage. All heads turn towards the entrance as men start filing through in a single column line. Heavily tattooed, bald men in referee shirts emerge pushing forward on wheels a monitor with a curtain hanging over it not dissimilar to the review booths one would see in the National Football League. As the large crew of officials descend down the ramp, spilling to the ringside area Palmer Cannon and Michael Tarver emerge on the top of the ramp to loud boo's. It only gets louder as behind them Staffmember Russo emerges. Slowly clapping his hands together, loudly smacking his lips mashing bubblegum between his teeth as he stares down into the ring at a familiar old foe. As crew members set up the review booth at ringside, the music dies down and Russo raises the microphone to his lips as the crowd erupts in booing. Smiling, the greatest creative mind in the history of professional wrestling pauses mouthing I can do this all day as for almost a minute he holds the pose, letting the the crowd tire themselves out.
"Nothing Special, huh?! You know what bro? For once in my life, I agree with you. You're right, Hiro. You ARE nothing special. And neither are we. The difference is, we never needed to ask for anyone to call us Gods to be treated like them. You don't believe me, bro? Why don't I give you a little history lesson, kid.. Let me take you back to when our founder, peace be upon him, first broke into this business. Nearly 20 years ago today.. When you were still jerking off into socks, slumming it in that backwater of New York City that well call New Jersey, the man that revolutionized this very business got his start in a little company called OECW. You may have heard of it?!"
The crowd groans, it was the same old s**t. The revisionist history, the glorification of lost causes and future's that could've been. Not only had it been years that had passed since the good old days, but just as many years that had passed since the good old days had came back.. Same as they ever were, the Midnight Marauders clung to their dreams of revanchist glory , of resurrecting an order that spoon fed them success. Dreams that would be achieved by renewal of ancient lines of conflict and division long preceding the short memories of the fans at home. A familiar chant of bullshit breaks out. Russo waits for it to die down again.
"Management saw something in him. One match. He was too big for the backyard, for the mudshows. One match. That's all it took before he was in the big leagues. 4th overall draft pick in the RWA draft. The crown jewel of SWA. He ran point on our invasions. He won us belts. He was our future. The hottest rookie in the business. That's the kind of treatment he got. Silver spoon. Meanwhile, your Punkass God stayed in the backyard. He got an office job, pushing pencils and carrying bags for the real titans of this business. He met his best friend, who by the way KILLED HIMSELF. Yeah, that's your guy. Your guy worked Speed, while our worked Drown. Your guy cut his teeth, while our guy was handed one of the most prestigious prizes in the history of this business--
At that moment another man comes through the curtain. Clad in a high collared, glittery robe, none other than Nicky Delabonte slithered through the curtain with a belt around his waist for once in his life. A big, cheesy grin plastered on his face as he unbuckles the title from around his waist. Holding it in both of his hands, he lets out some kind of strange hissing noise as he raises the accolade high in the sky for everyone to see it.
The PAW Crimson King Title. Now I'll get back to you in a second, Nicky. But let's fastforward a bit. See, in a perfect world it would've stayed that way. wouldn't it? But a new God.. Or should I say an old God.. came upon the scene, upending established. natural order. No more hand outs. No more gimmes. Some of us got ran out of the business. Other's, like our immaculate brother Freakshow, kept a low profile. He became a journeyman. A good hand. Not unlike yourself, Hiro. Meanwhile, the Punk's of the world's stars would only shine brighter, and brighter. Winning award after award, some of them in this very company. To be honest, bro, it makes me ******** sick just thinking about it... After our territories got bought up, the playing field was leveled and quite frankly, that didn't work for us brother.."
The casual fans stare blank faced at the self important, ahistorical diatribe of Russo. Young children doze off, completely alienated and confused by the inside baseball nature of the New Yorker's esoteric references. No one cared about the palace intrigue of territories era g-fedding, all they wanted to see was the action that the newly returned star had promised them. Likewise, the older, hardcore fans who would be hip to all of this stared dumbfounded at the inaccuracies, half truths and unverifiable claims being slung at them by the Staffmember.
"It took us years to get back to where we started. And I'll admit, we couldn't do it on our own. That old god? The same one you were so desperate to prove yourself to all those years? He became one of our closest business partners. It couldn't have come in a more timely manner. He helped us get back on our feet, back in the good graces. We helped him with some.. Domestic issues.. He got us back in the big leagues. For awhile it was nice. We added to our numbers, even got a succession plan worked out. But do you know what happened when we got in his way? When we got a little too big for our britches? That God handled it, not with a lightning bolt. Not with a great flood. He handled it like a mere mortal. With lead pipes and labor strikes. That's right, our guy won the big one and your guy took his ball and went home. Him, his friends, and all the other so called god's quibbling over a prop that I wouldn't wipe my clean New York a** with.. But they didn't just walk out on us did he bro?"
The fans groan again as Staffmember Russo goes through his re-litigation of one of the more controversial, and for WWFG fans, shameful events in the history of the company. A reminder of the institutional corruption and politics that the product was so many times at the mercy of, no moreso than the first time the CEO of Midnight Marauders won the WWFG title. A time of sectarianism, chaos and humiliation. Where division and decadence reigned, when injustice reached it's peak and the divine were reduced to rolling in the mud like the rest of the pigs on earth. That's what works for us, brother.
"He walked out on you, too! You, and all of these good for nothing fans. And maybe, just maybe if you had a good... Hispanic... head on your shoulders, that would've been your lesson. Maybe, just maybe, that could've been the moment to send you back to earth. But you didn't learn your lesson, did you bro? You still wanted to be more than what you were, when what you really are is nothing different from the rest of us. A mere mortal. That's why we had to teach you a lesson. 2016. Years had gone by, and you had finally won the big one, didn't you? You finally reached the mountaintop. Not only that, but one of those Gods, the one that you trusted more than anyone came back to the one place we can never really leave.. He came back to HELP you bro.. Or so you thought. It's funny how history has a way of repeating itself, isn't it bro? Because that god went nuclear on your a** when you needed him most. He solved our problem the same way his brother solved his, a lead pipe to the head, and at the peak of your career you were Forsaken, as many have been before..."
As Russo rounds out his cataloguing, Nicky Delabonte bounces back and forth on his heels, hyping himself up the PAW Crimson King Title clenched in his hands. The young man was practically shaking with excitement at the opportunity to defend the heirloom of the Midnight Marauders. He'd been waiting for this moment from the very beginning, the day's he spent washing dishes at Vito's place, toiling in obscurity waiting for his moment in the sun. It was so close he could taste it.
"Are ya starting to get the picture, kid? We've got somethings in common don't we? You and the old boss. Peas in a pod. The only difference is it took you years to figure out what we knew from the start. You were always a mark for the business. Always a mark for the gods. A mark for these fans. A mark for your fake belts. And now you want to come out here and say you're Nothing Special?!! We were Nothing Special when it meant something. You should've figured that out down in Mexico when you broke into this rotten game. So now you know your place, huh? Well I guess we ought to reward that, huh fellas? Why don't we give you a shot at a real belt, why don't we give you a shot at the PAW-----"
Just at that moment, Palmer Cannon cuts in. Swallowing hard, a little red in the face, a thick textbook in his hands the network executive grabs the microphone. As upset as the fans were to hear from Russo, they were twice as upset to hear from the network executive. Tugging at his collar nervously, h apologizes under his breath cutting in trying to speak away from the mic--
"Uhh.. Mr Russo... Look, I know we had this all planned out, but uh.. We've got a problem. See I've got the company bylaws for the belt... And well... It states here, clearly under subsection A-25 that the title can only change hands when the blood of the former champion has been shed!!! There's no legal precedent for this, it's not going to hold up in court... What are we going to do Vince? We can't strip a dead man--"
As the Marauders argue amongst themselves, Russo looks over the shoulder of Delabonte nodding his head at Michael Tarver who stood behind the young man. Reaching into the pocket of his pants, the heavy produces a switchblade exposing the blade as the fans gasp in shock. Tarver's aim was perfect; he'd planned this moment from the very beginning. The blade would sink into Delabonte's right side, barely an inch from the spine. It's thin sharp edge would fit perfectly between Delabonte's second and third rib, allowing it to puncture a deep gash through the back and front of Delabonte's right lung. Then he did the unthinkable, Tarver twisted the handle, lodging the blade into Nicky's ribs, and allowing Tarver to snap the blade off inside the interim Champion's back. Delabonte lets out a ghastly cry collapsing forward as the camera quickly swivels away from the scene focusing on the challengers reaction. Off screen, Palmer Cannon doubles over, cheeks swelling up with nausea.
As Nicky lays on the ground, twitching and thrashing about Russo steps over his body reaching down and grabbing the belt. Unstrapping the placeholder, fighting through security guards his spits in the mic as the fans watch on in stunned silence at the grizzly crime that had just been committed. Screaming red faced, Russo concludes--
"A SHOT... At the PAW Crimson King Title!!! Under OUR rules. With OUR video assistant referee. In OUR house. You want to prove yourself against the best, huh? You want to EARN it don't you?! Did you forget where the ******** you are, bro?! Nothing is EARNED in this COMPANY. This is WWFG. This is a good old boys club. Where legacies are passed down through the blood of aristocrats, bro. Where nothing is at it seems. Where the past never stays the past. The graveyard of your holy and profane empires! Because in this company, in this organization, we are all MARAUDERS. And when you're a MARAUDER, there's only one Allah, the almighty dollar. No GODS. No MASTERS. Only one MAN. Only one BOSS in this BUSINESS. That's right, ladies and gentleman. Get up and give your seasons greeting to our NEW CEO, our NEW CHAMPION and the GREATEST wrestler in the HISTORY of this BUSINESS!!! Give it up for--AGHH!!"
The security, finally having apprehended Tarver, seizes Russo who drops the belt on the stage. Dragging both culprits to the back, leaving Palmer Cannon in a sweat on the ground next to the title as the lights in the arena dim.. |
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Posted: Wed Apr 12, 2023 6:23 pm
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So-Fi Stadium was up for Hiro's return. A former multiple time world champion and current WWFG Hall of Famer taken down by no one but himself. Wrestlemania had already proved to be the night of returns between the arrival of Nuke Fusion in the opener and this. If someone else were to return for Hiro's challenge they'd have to be of similar stature. The sensation in the air was titillating. Anticipation was swelling for who would come out.
During Russo's introduction, the production truck is in a frenzy. Calls for camera cuts, one after another are being shouted "We tsuh tsuh can't play his music tsuh tsuh," chittered Kevin Dunn from the production truck. "tsuh tsuh We're in different times. We'll piss tsuh tsuh the shareholders off." The light reflected off his gargantuan incisors. While gnawing on a piece of wood to take off some of the dead parts that can't survive so far from the mouth, Dunn continued, "Get something fast. tsuh tsuh"
"The crowll in Los Angeles will see the earony in iviry facet, b. Truss me, Imma legend in calwmedy here," gargles out of the mouth of one of the special guest host of Wrestlemania's mouths. It could only be one man, the King of the LA Comedy scene Brendan Schaub himself. "Dere gon be thiggg with it, b. Tell 'em Brine."
"I'm not so sure Brendan, there's a lot of those Hollywood liberal types in LA y'know," Brian Callen the successful Hollywood star and noted theologian responds. The Fighter and the Kid duo was all set to keep Wrestlemania rolling as smoothly as possible and this stand up veteran saw the show would get dragged into shallow waters in today's climate with the song.
"Yeah cucks juss like you!" Brendan snorts as he grabs a handful of Callen's manhood. You could see the exasperation Brian's face as he accepted the move, understanding it's the schtick now.
Kevin Dunn, giddy about the conversation turning towards cuckoldry saw this opportunity to interject. "Yeah tsuh tsuh call him a cuck again tsuh tsuh!" A reminder of the good old days of him producing, cuck angles, choppy choppy your pee pee, like when wrestling was really wrestling. "tsuh tsuh tsuh Do you guys know him? What should we tsuh tsuh use? tsuh tsuh tsuh tsuh tsuh"
"The badass white boy who fights too much and makes too much money bud isin me? Great guy never meddum." Brendan slurs out without offering anything. "Sounds dicey dicey to me though. Axe Jay." Schaub continues as he completely changes his opinion. Brian only nods his head in agreement when all their heads turn to the monitor. Dunn becomes screaming out for camera cuts again as there has just been a murder on the grandest stage of them all. The supposed boss of Midnight Marauders International, Nicky Delabonte, was just stabbed in the back by the most physically dominate force in today's backstage wrestling scene. Russo's tired diatribe had been putting the fans to a lull until this. Huge pop. Tarver will come out of this a massive babyface. The fans cut the cheers when Russo begins his final introduction.
The security, capable as usual, finally manages to drag Tarver and Russo backstage and the production truck is in shambles. Callen cannot believe what he just saw. Schaub takes a shot of some serious liquid, Tiger Thiccc Whissy, and leans back into his chair. "This s**t's fake bro." He taps Brian's chest. "You're a ******** p***y dude." Brian can only shake his head, still in disbelief. Dunn, red in the face with his entire bottom lip enveloped by his front teeth yells out, "tsuh tsuh tsuh tsuh tsuh Play the backup music! tsuh tsuh It's ******** Jannetty, there won't be a pop anyway! tsuh tsuh tsuh tsuh tsuh tsuh tsuh tsuh tsuh tsuh"
IIIIIIIIIIII CAN'T STAND IT
I KNOW YOU PLANNED IT
The crowd is not in shock about who it is, but why he used the Main Event Midnight Marauder theme. While it fit the scenario, he was the B-Side of the team. Truly a brilliant move to hitch his wagon to the man who moved mountains with a smile in this business. A man who was a mentor, a coach, a bestfriend, and most importantly, a man who was able to show someone how to run the business. It was no surprise that the only man who could bring back the glory days of MMI, the man who would take down Hiro tonight was walking out the entrance ramp now. Fans at home saw a screen that transitioned from black and white to color. The crowd saw full color Palmer Cannon losing his lunch while smoke filled the entrance way. Out from the smoke walked a man with full handlebar mustache, soul patch, receding hairline, and glistening Thiccc Boy merch robe. Brantley Summers has made his return to WWFG.
Walking out like he never left, a former multiple time champ around the world, multiple time Hall of Famer, Summers grabs the PAW Crimson King title, wraps it around his waist, and starts to strut his way to the ring. Half way through, he removes the robe to show that he had been hitting the gym, and maybe some other perfectly legal at the time of consumption strength gainers. This created a confusing mess for him to remove the belt, take off the robe, show his 'roid belly, and put the belt back on. The newly minted boss of MMI slick style slides up the stairs into the ring. Asking for a microphone he waits fans his arms down to quiet the crowd who were mild at most. Summers would smirk at Hiro before raising his microphone and beginning his almost certainly inevitable pontification.
"Los Angeles! Sin City! Of course a hero would make his return here!" The crowd mildly confused by the comments, doesn't give much a reaction except a few boos from fans who still remember or read in the rag sheets about him politicking his way into a Wrestlemania main event against world champ Landry and Rumble winner Zarel Damone. You could also hear one fan wearing a Cornette face tee shirt in the front row who was loudly telling everyone who'd listen that Summers was 'one of the best workers in the business'. "Hiro, my man, compadre. Like the creative mastermind Vince Russo said, it's all about who you know when you get to the Fed'." The crowd groans, it's obvious Summers has fallen back to regurgitating others' words. Generally decent on the stick but got lazy later on. Cheap pop, pay day, leave. Beached Whales? That's peak phoning it in on that Legend's Contract.
"Talk about a swerve, huh?" The body of Delabonte gets carries away by security. "When my mentor and a gen-u-wine genius Freakshow passed, may he be at peace, I had been... out of the country on official International business. When I come back I get a call to see the sad state of affairs my business is in! Then I get word that Hiro, the man who was a jobber in NBWA, was punked out of every push he almost had, finally wins the big one? More than once? Clean? Never lost?? Excuse me if I'm out of my mind but, what were the ratings? See I'm a numbers guy, b." Brendan Schaub, who had made his way to ringside with Bryan Callen as guest commentators, stands up and raises his hand to thunderous ovation. Summers waits for the crowd to die down before continuing.
"They put you in the Hall of Fame with the likes of the Midnight Marauders, Kalos, Bad Boy... Saint Joey.. Draze?.. Mike.. Landry." Summers pauses while questioning how good of an argument this was. "When things get tough and the money gets tight, I'm the one they ask for. The bottom line is I increase the bottom line. Hiro, you coming back for this last charade is just Freakshow's final joke on you. To watch you flail in the wind, broken and battered like you always do. The only thing is, Cartwright's business offers some lucrative income flows for Marauders International and I can't let you kill it again." The crowd boos, solidly behind Hiro as a chant breaks out. A dueling Tarver chant erupts to combat this. He's so over after that move.
"So I find myself here after hearing through the grapevine that you may be in So-Fi tonight, to do what the company should have done a long time ago. I'm here for money Hiro, I can't have a a human hemorrhoid walking around making that harder for me." Summers, what a cunning linguist. The crowd gives him a pass as a former pirate. Some deeper fans remember the Monk and expected more. Clearly some rust on the mic, but how would this less nimble, less technically sound Summers be able to work. "So Hiro, you heard it. Your challenge," a few miscellaneous members of MMI, including Dave, make their way down in support. Summers takes the belt off and slowly raises it. "Our belt," Schaub and Callen stand and applause. "Our rules. Simple and broken down, just like you." Summers lowers his microphone and drapes the belt around his shoulder to let Hiro respond.
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Posted: Wed Apr 12, 2023 6:58 pm
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As Nicky Delabonte Jr. was carried from the building, his consciousness fading, he could hear the voice of MMI's new CEO Brantley Summers. He looked up through his blurred vision at the titantron, the stupid face of his successor lighting it up as cut his promo on Hiro...and it was then that he understood. The visions he'd bee having, the voices he'd been hearing...they were all related to this moment. He knew he'd be swerved, he understood what Russo was planning and it was entirely on the young geriatric that he did nothing to stop it. It's almost like...in his mind, through the paranoia and fear, he knew that this was for the best. Despite his inability to watch the throne, he was doing what was always expected of a Marauder -- giving it up for Allah, that ******** ALMIGHTY dollar, baby. He coughed up some blood as he was brought backstage and loaded into an ambulance, slipping out of consciousness but remaining alive for now.
Hiro Shin-Mozas was at a loss for words as MMI had come out to the ring, all starting with the words of Staff Member Russo. It was a burial that was par for the course, followed by a string of bizarre sentences linking Matt Shanahan, EEW, Freakshow, Hiro, New Jersey, and some weird championship. That could have been enough for the Ethnic Enigma to just deal with as nothing different than what he'd dealt with before, but it was then that a man was stabbed at the top of the ramp. Hiro had no idea who Nicky was, had never met him and wasn't familiar with what his connection to MMI was, but the stab was something Hiro knew well as he doubled over and leaned into the ropes, using them to support him as psychological all he could feel was his own stab wound delivered to him by Blackjack in BBW nearly a decade prior.
Russo had just barely choked out yet another introduction as he was tackled and removed by security alongside the assailant, and as he did Hiro had managed to fight back his own disgust enough to pay attention to the Beastie Boys playing from the So-Fi speakers, signifying that his MMI nightmare was not only still a thing, but also was QUITE different from the main event of Wrestlemania seven years prior. Brantley Summers made his way out and the color all but left the face of the former Legacies Champion. BS was a legend in the business, and someone that Hiro had interactions with more early in his career as opposed to when he really had his footing, so this interaction was not going to be some walk in the park. However, just as he started to talk, he said something that caught Hiro more off guard than he'd ever expected: Freakshow was dead? He hadn't heard anything about that, and it was such an internal shock he froze in place for a moment, ignoring the rest of the promo. How could he not have been told? How was he so removed from the business, from F:G, from EVERYTHING, that a man he'd spent his entire career connected with would die and he'd not even received a proverbial dear john letter?
Summers had reached his apex as he made it clear that this open challenge would be accepted under certain conditions, with the ball all in MMI's court again just like Hiro had been so used to. The Ethnic Enigma's expression remained a mix of confusion and depression, not wanting his return to have played out this way. He didn't want it to be completely overshadowed by MMI's negativity and bullshit, just as they had tried to overtake the greatest moment of his career seven years ago. The ref would come over to Hiro and ask him if he was truly prepared for this match, and was willing to accept it, showing the only bit of empathy for him that anyone this side of the barricade would be willing to. Hiro thought, and he thought, and then he thought just a little more in the span of a few seconds -- and all he could inevitably do was nod and lean into a corner, refusing to give Brantley a verbal response. The ref checked again, received the same nod, and went to the CEO of MMI, asking him to explain his rules and hand over the championship.
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Posted: Wed Apr 12, 2023 7:38 pm
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The sound of head sets rumbling can be heard as Ronda Rousey's ex-boyfriend and Bryan Callen get situated at the commentators table. Meanwhile, quietly, Paul Summers walked down the ramp with a towel around his neck and a suede tracksuit with the word SUMMERS stitched on the back in marvelous golden font. Clearly Hiro didn't get the memo that under the new regime of video assistant referee's each competitor would be entitled to a corner man, as well as a cut man. That cut man, trailing behind the lesser man of the Summer's family, was none other than Vaseline Man. Leaving a trail of slippery vaseline in his path, the crew members slip and slide in the viscus fluid.
SCHAUB: Hey yaalknow I'v got a big prawblem with what tha Hiro kid said about tha use of anabolic staaroids... Whass this guy think he's fuccin.. Bettur than me fah not taking jooose?!! Listen... These guys shoull be joooosed to the gills... YaknowhatImean? Bryan, look at these guys bodies... Which one doyuu thing is getting GIRLS??!
Paul Summers hops up onto the apron in the corner of his families favorite son. Reaching into the bag of his medical kit, he pulls out his Turinabol based skin cream, lathering it in his hands and reaching over the ropes to lather up his mans back with the medicinal product, an extremely legal product that didn't make anyone who took it less of a man no matter what little potshots certain Puerto Ricans took at the supplements community. Vaseline Man claps his hands wetly in support as the referee converses with Summers. Callen clears his throat, carefully choosing his words.
CALLEN: Yeah I mean, I don't know man... They say it really does wonders once you hit your 30's and 40's, you know? Lots of studies... I'm honestly not sure why this Mexican guy is acting like it's some taboo thing to be ashamed of. Especially in such a physically demanding sport...I don't know man... If I'm a girl... I'm for SURE getting with Summers.. heh...
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Posted: Thu Apr 13, 2023 3:50 am
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The crew was set with the arrival of Paul and Vaseline Man. Summers was the real big time. Entourage, fast cars, women, and a reliable source of baddies and digg juice with Vaseline Man's return to FG. The referee waddles over after coddling Hiro to see if he really wanted this action. Summers would lean back into the corner and whisper into Paul's ear and hand him a little note before obliging to the referee's inquiry into what the particulars of the match. However while BS was about to begin spewing most likely more BS, Dave is handed the note and begins to run up the ramp, slipping in Vaseline Man's trail along the way. Summers gave a small chuckle, confident that MMI had every play needed at this point to take Hiro down, all he needed to do now was execute.
"Ya see sweetheart," Summers begins to the rotund Charles Robinson looking referee, "For something as prestigious as the PAW Crimson King Championship, an honor passed down from the man who helped me to create the Midnight Marauders and took it worldwide, we can't rely on some bulbous, slow human to be the be all end all. There's been some issues with the consistency of officiating in WWFG. This seemingly blatant malpractice has gotten the company a lot of heat with the audience, no one wants to tune in to see a missed call or zebra ball. That's why Marauders International decided it was time to bring trust back to the WWFG. All it takes is a little faith in knowing the right thing will be done and the audience will come back in droves. Executive statistician, network representative, and official Wrestlenomics ratings collaborator Palmer Cannon showed me the data and all I had to do was okay the purchase for this little demo tonight." Summers pointed at the video assistant referee booth. The crowd was a little apprehensive about a Marauder funded replay system, but if it was able to regain the lost integrity of officials in WWFG, they could stomach it.
"The rules are simple. No disqualification? No-sir, LAAAAAAAZY booking. One fall or submission after blood is drawn. If there's so shady business on your ends," he gestures with his finger to the referee and Hiro, "well, we'll just have to cross that bridge when we come to it. Let's keep it clean boys." The crowd is so excited for Hiro's return and Michael Tarver that they ignore the clear attempt to set up chicanery and screw their hero. Summers removes his belt and slowly hands it to the referee eyeing him down, wondering if be recognized this guy from somewhere. The referee would grab the belt and give a shifty eye in response, wondering why Summers was staring him down. From there the referee waddled towards the middle of the ring, showed the strap to both competitors, and raised it for the rabid Los Angeles crowd to see, buncha belt marks they are. The official then walks over to ropes to hand the belt off while Palmer Cannon, starting to regain his color, makes his way to booth. It was cool, this was an official capacity for Palmer, Executive Vice President of Regulation.
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Posted: Thu Apr 13, 2023 5:33 am
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What a never ending nightmare. All Hiro wanted to do to was return to what he loved, and it had devolved into something he'd love to get away from. The crowd was mixed between loving him as they once did, and cheering on the actions of attempted murder -- even in BBW, when Hiro had been stabbed, the fans weren't in support of such a thing. However, things were different, while somehow being all the damn same. Hiro would look around wide eyed at the crowd, perhaps not believing all of this was real. I mean, damn...no one ever thought it would go down like this. the PAW Crimson King Championship was about to be on the line, and Brantley Summers stood across the ring. The only way for Hiro to get out of this would be to walk away now, or draw as much blood as he could on the new CEO and pin him right in the center of the ring, much like he had Freakshow back in the main event in 2016. It would mean that, perhaps then, the last bits of the Midnight Marauder cancer would be eradicated from Hiro's life and he could move on, both as a professional and as a person.
The bell was suddenly called for, and Hiro snapped back to a mindset he hadn't experienced in a long time. It was clear as day: his body may not live up to what his mind would in this case, but to be fair to the situation -- BS was just as removed from the ring as the Ethnic Enigma, so this match was potentially going to end quickly as two rusty guys were bound to get cut on a jagged edge or two from their collective rust. Hiro would run his hands through his hair and shake his wrists free of jitters, looking to lock up with BS to start this match...haha, as if this could ever start normally, okay bro.
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Posted: Thu Apr 13, 2023 6:12 am
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Summers wasn't one to ease right into a lock up, but he looked to oblige the equally rusty veteran. With his hands up, BS slowly inched his way towards Hiro. However before reaching Hiro's grasps, Summers backed himself into his corner and called for Vaseline Man. The Man of Many lubricants slapped his hands and pantomimed the belt around the waist of the champ. Summers raised his arms up to a chorus of boos while Paul kept his hands on the ends of the towel wrapped around his neck and shouted out some classic shoot style holds. Paul was a real hooker in his days. The old school type of cat who knew how to take care of himself and others in the ring. The raucous crew of MMI were beside themself watching one of the originals back in action. Cornette face fan is beside himself, screaming in the suited man beside him's ear about how well Summers was milking this and what a veteran and pro he is. When Vaseline Man was done, the protruding abs of Summers were glistening ten fold. Grabbing the top rope and walking along it, the CEO would stare hero down a bit more trying to take as much time as he could.
"Lemme warm up a bit." Summers starts a Backlund-style duck walk around the ring, never breaking eye contact with Hiro. This pops Paul tremendously.
SCHAUB: Look at dat wresslin Brine. I'd work him bro, bud he'd mayguh the crossover afda the merger. Reminds me of training at my BJJ gym in Cororadoro. Ya know Hiro's kida lieguh Messigan sushi. Thass sushi with duh picadegayaaaa!"
CALLEN: Haha that's great man. You should use that on the next special! No doubt Brendan, it's kind of like in the bible when Moses crossed the desert. Summers could crossover into MMA easy. I th-
SCHAUB: Bud I'd get him right Brine?
CALLEN: Hahaha yeah definitely dude!
SCHAUB: And I get more baddies?
KING: HAHA YEAH BRENDAN BADDIES AND PUPPIES HAHA YEAH
Summers starts getting a sweat worked, taking some time to learn from Vaseline Man, he was getting slick with it. BS began to make his way back towards the center of the ring and waved Hiro towards him with a roll of his wrist. "Come on, I'm ready. We don't get paid by the minute."
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Posted: Thu Apr 13, 2023 6:21 am
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Hiro rolled his eyes as his lock up was completely blown off, classic heel shenanigans from one of the best to ever do it. He went back to his corner and got much needed prepping from Vaseline Man, which would of course draw the ire of the majority of these fans who were just desperate at this point to see what an unretired Hiro looked like in motion. It wasn't just Hiro vs BS tonight of course, it was the Ethnic Enigma vs the Midnight Marauders, that includes the men calling commentary, Palmer Cannon, Paul and Vaseline Man, and that son of a b***h the review booth. Hiro dropped his head back and let out a loud sigh, putting his hands on his hips as he was circled by Summers, until finally the new CEO was all warmed up and ready to go. Though, to be fair, a keen eye'd fan could have guess he actually just blew himself up, but for the sake of hoping for a wonderful match here, most people overlooked that. BS called out Hiro this time center ring, and it looked like it was finally time.
Once again, Hiro tried to force Summers into a lock up, hoping this time it would be accepted and the feelings of wrestling would come rushing back.
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Posted: Thu Apr 13, 2023 11:20 am
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Meanwhile, at the WWFG replay center in New York...
CRASH CRASH CRASH!!!!
The sound of metal clashing together can be heard throughout an abandoned office building as a chimp dressed in a bow tie with a keffiyeh on his little head screams into a microphone in front of an assortment of monitors. Standing behind him, former SWA commissioner Mick Foley stands, rubbing his shoulders. "OHHHH....OH AHHH AHHH!! AHHHH AHHHHH!! OHHHH" The chimp cries into the mic as Foley reaches over the enterprising animals shoulder, feeding him an unpeeled banana. Brushing his hand away, the intelligent simian grabs the banana himself, refusing to be fed by a human he demonstrates his superior intelligence by breaking a piece off before handing it back to Foley.
Back at So-Fi Stadium...
Palmer sits in his review booth sponsored by Nugenix, coated in sweat, flinching as the sound of crashing metal reverberates through his headset. Closing his eyes, he exhales deeply remembering what they told him during the networks corporate synergy seminar: Pain is only temporary. A state of mind. What happens in this world is fleeting compared to the infinite bounties of the world to come. Relaxing a bit, he flips a switch to relays the message from New York to the referee crew speaking softly:
"Uh, hey guys... Just got our points of emphasis from the bosses. Keep an eye on the challenger, make sure he's opening up those fists ok? This guy has a record. Set the precedent early, and if that doesn't work, don't be afraid to get physical with him. This is a wrestling match, not a street fight." |
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Posted: Thu Apr 13, 2023 1:00 pm
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Summers slaps each of his shoulders once as he walks up to Hiro with his arms up ready for the lock up. When he gets near, he wags his finger at Hiro, instead of locking up, Summers raised one hand while twinkling his fingers offering a test of strength. Summers wanted to see Hiro was now, he needed to know if Hiro could match the force his vascular biceps were about to produce. As self-deprecating as the Ethnic Enigma was, the Bottom Line was going to try and see if the crowd's hero's hubris was the same as the kid he knew years ago. Summers was more tangential to the Hiro Story Arc, providing support for MMI from afar without knowing, but a pivotal role in keeping the man down.
CALLEN: You could cut the sexual tension between these two with a knife right now! This reminds me of my nights in Thailand, being a worldwide celebrity, finding myself in the company of a young, but definitely of ag-
SCHAUB: Thissisis kinda gay bro. Water weed dune hair, b?"
Summers keeps his fingers up and twinkling towards the long time nemesis of his company. The crowd was swelling with anticipation to see these two titans of the squared circle finally interlock and get this match underway, or maybe not brother.
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Posted: Thu Apr 13, 2023 5:14 pm
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Hiro was disappointed that his lock up was again denied, dropping his arms down out of position as suddenly Summers was thinking about running the ol' test of strength. Hiro looked around at a crowd that, to this point, didn't seem to be as strong as they were when he cut his promo. It looks like, whether it be the fault of MMI and their shenanigans or not, the crowd had potentially already been lost. Hiro locked his eyes on Summers twinkling hand, and then looked around at the fans, knowing at least some of them were wanting this to get going already...so he was prepared to finally oblige.
Hiro Shin-Mozas would reach out his hand to lock into BS's, and then quickly aim a left handed hook at the CEO's face, trying to catch him off guard with a COMPLETELY balled up fist, wanting to rock him for a second so the pace could finally be dictated by the former world champion.
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Posted: Thu Apr 13, 2023 6:31 pm
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Posted: Thu Apr 13, 2023 6:57 pm
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The momentum shift played right into the beloved worker's wheelhouse, giving him a chance to mock BS by stepping back into his own corner, kicking up on to the top rope to lay across it and shrug, the fans cheers fueling him a bit here. He didn't need a contingent in his corner, his best work as it turned out always came alone -- but that didn't mean he would completely write off what was going on here. Brantley Summers had the MACHINE behind him, out of in-ring shape or not didn't really matter. He held all the cards, a hand with six aces and a jack, and despite the fact the environment was as pro-Hiro as it could get, this still felt very much like home field for the MMI.
Hiro would get down from the rope as the ref came up to him to warn him about the closed fist punches, but Hiro responded with a little confusion. "I thought this match was no DQ, isn't it? I have to make him bleed? What the hell was he even talking about earlier?" The ref explained things a little better -- despite the fact that the match required someone to be bloodied before they were able to lose the match, there was to be no illegal maneuvers, foreign objects, or dubious affairs within the squared circle. That wasn't too big of a deal for El Cubano de Japon, but still -- the idea that someone was gonna have to be busted open the hardway tonight was perhaps just not what Hiro expected for his first night back on the job. He also had a serious target dead-center on his face, as his nose was prone to easily breaking and thus bleeding all over. He'd have to be even more defensive than usual here. He would take a few steps forward past the ref, again waiting in center ring for Summers to get back into the action.
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