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CWC Supremacy lulz
Topic Started: Oct 30 2011, 01:55 AM (136 Views)
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THE FOUR DORKSMEN OF PW PROMO:

Pestilence

(Darkness enveloped the locker room he sat in. No lights, just the comforting, silent darkness with which he surrounded himself with. It was his security blanket in a time like this. He had just lost in what many considered ‘a huge upset’ to a man he called Shao Khan. Of course that wasn’t his real name. BAD ASS couldn’t be bothered to look up his real name, or actually train for the match. What resulted was a loss that shouldn’t have happened. At that point, BAD ASS, the team leader, had consequently told everyone that he couldn’t cut it against someone no one had ever heard of before. It crushed him, knowing that one slight miscalculation could lead to his whole team failing.

Specifically instructing Team BAD ASS to “get the fuck out of his face” left him alone as he wanted, sitting there and mulling over what he did wrong. Someone of his level should have never lost to Shao Khan. Ever. But instead of focusing on the loss to an inferior talent, he focused on the, in his mind irreparable damage he had just done. Masaru Inoue was set to face the legendary Level One, and Ash Bombay was set to face one of VWF’s top names, Stoner. Two big matches, much bigger than his. These guys actually had to train for their matches, but BAD ASS? He could take it light and easy, after all, why not? He was given the gift of an ‘easy’ match, might as well take it for granted. Just goes to show you, name value isn’t always what matters in this sport.

The locker room door creaked open a crack, and immediately BAD ASS spouted.)


BAD ASS: FUCK OFF!!! SOMEONE IS IN HERE!!!

(This caused the shadow to open the door a little more, showing off their silhouette. Judging by the Edward Scissorhands hair and silent yet creepy demeanor, this had to be Maz.)

BAD ASS: Oh shit...Maz?

(Nodding his head, the figure flicked on the light switch, invading BAD ASS’s light deprived eyes with fluorescent madness. Immediately he started squinting and rubbing his eyes as the contact wearing maniac approached him. Stopping just four feet short of him, he spoke.)

Masaru: I can tell the loss is getting to you.

(Being the suave dude he is, BAD ASS tried playing it cool by letting out a fake yawn.)

BAD ASS: Naw man, I was just taking a nap after my match. Bustin’ my ass out there is tiring.

(Masaru simply stared at him, getting BAD ASS to reveal the truth with a sigh.)

BAD ASS: Alright, fine. Yeah, I’m fucking pissed.

Masaru: Losses are a part of the game. I’ve lost to lesser men before. Now you have.

BAD ASS: Dude it’s whatever on the loss. What I’m pissed about is I felt I just let down my team.

Masaru: But you didn’t. I’m still facing what’s left of Level One, Ash is still facing that broken down hippie Stoner, and Rayven is facing whatever unlucky fuck they give her. Don’t worry, we will advance. This I assure you of. Look...I know you’re used to to surrounding yourself with losers to make yourself feel better. But I, Ash, and Rayven aren’t losers. We are killers. This loss will only motivate us to come at these pieces of shit even harder than before. Don’t fret BAD ASS, you’re still a good leader. Take this loss, and learn from it.

BAD ASS: I will Maz. This is really cool of you...what can I do to make it up to you?

(Oh no. Those pentagram contacts lit up, and a piercing draped smile crept forth.)

Masaru: Halloween is right around the corner. What are you going as?

BAD ASS: I was thinking Brock Lesnar, post diverticulitis. Have you seen him lately? I make that mothafucka look skinny!

Masaru: No. If you want to make it up to me, you’re going to go as one of the four horsemen.

BAD ASS: Ooh cool! Can I be Dean Milenko? Ohhh shit can I be Mongo!? I can carry around a tiny dog and scream at people with a fake tan!

Masaru: No. Not those horsemen. The four horsemen of the apocalypse.

BAD ASS: Ohhhhhh. Which one?

Masaru: Well, given the circumstances, Pestilence.

BAD ASS: Okay...so where do I get a costume?

Masaru: You don’t. It’s what you do. I want you to commit an act of pestilence or famine on this miserable society we live in. And when you do it, I want to know about it.

BAD ASS: You got it du...

(Masaru left before he could confirm that he would do it. No matter, BAD ASS was a man of his word.)

7 DAYS LATER

(A man of his word as well, Masaru beat Level One, moving the Killers one step closer to contention. On the way out of his locker room, a CWC staff member stopped him, tapping him on the shoulder. Masaru turned around to see a frightened rat of a man, terrified to look into his eyes. He simply handed him the envelop labeled ‘MAZ’, and scampered away. Sliding a fingernail over the edge, Masaru ripped open the envelop and pulled out a newspaper clipping.)

‘EVIL MAN DIPS LOCUSTS IN CHOCOLATE LAXATIVES AND SERVES THEM TO HOMELESS PEOPLE AT THE LOCAL VA’

(This made Masaru smile as he left the arena, sliding the clipping into his pocket.)

Posted Image

Look at those nasty little creatures go. Devouring over any vegetation in their path. Well shit, you’d be hungry too if you hadn’t eaten in seventeen years. I decided to help out the homeless, and the bug problem at once. I am Pestilence and Famine after all. Whichever you choose, I have the ability to infest and break down, yet starve my opposition from offense with my fucking brutal display of ass kickedness that goes absolutely unmatched in this tournament. Yeah, I know I didn’t exactly have the best first round. The team leader of the Killers of PW got his ass beat by some dork vomit in a Shao Khan Halloween costume. Not exactly something I’m proud of. But this is my chance to prove the Killers of PW have what it takes to win this whole fucking thing. I can’t wait to butcher my way through the first team in our path.

Team SCCW, if you couldn’t tell by now, we’re all psychopaths. Every last one of us. We love the sight of your blood. We love the sound of your screams. And we love it the most when we rob you of your consciousness, sending your eyes rolling to the back of your head. That’s what we live for gentlemen. We strive each and every single day to cripple, humiliate, and mutilate any unfortunate soul who is so unbelievably fucking retarded to have signed a contract to face us. We’re that good. Level One got his legacy dissed and pissed on by Masaru Inoue. That’s a former True Experts Champion, punked by my boy. Then Ash Bombay went out to destroy Stoner, a definite name amongst the wrestling community. That’s two mythical creatures, beheaded and bagged courtesy of my team of hand picked mercenaries. What do you got?

You got Thomas Watson, who got his ass beat by some chick who looks like she could be in a Sade cover band. Now, if anything Thomas Watson’s loss could be compared to mine. Out of all the SCCW boys, he’s held the most gold, and is the most acclaimed of the group. So much so he’s got one peroxide blonde beard name Lauri Verne to protect his image as CWC’s bad boy. Which is fine by me, I’ve never been one to discriminate against undercover homos. I beat all ass equally. But this Thomas Watson is no ordinary homo, no, he’s practically one of the cornerstones of SCCW and he knows it. It was evident from his bi polar rant on Sabra last week, where he spent half the promo screaming at her, and the other half telling her how good he is and how his team is all just pawns to his game. See, that right there will do you in Tommy. You can’t see eye to eye with your teammates. Everyone on your team is deemed inferior and weak compared to you.

That’s not the same for my group, as I equally respect every member of my group. We have the international star, and Redemption Champion, Ash Bombay. We have the future PW World Champion and my Empire stablemate, Masaru Inoue. And last but not least we have the talented kid straight out of wrestling school, Rayven Truth. Every single one of them has the ability to beat you one on one. With all of us together, unified, thinking on the same page? Team SCCW is fucked. You can threaten to do silly shit like disembowel your opponents, that’s not my cup of tea. I prefer believable consequences, like broken bones, concussions, and your pompous snake blood all over the mat.

Just ask Alexander Black. He knows what it’s like to step into the ring with BAD ASS. When we met at the Extreme Tournament this year, the result was a double count out after that bald bastard speared me through the barricade. No matter, it’s not like either of us were going to make it to Siberia anyways. If that were a qualifying match he would’ve been beaten half to death. But because there was never a clear victor, I get my chance at redemption. Alex, you are a man who is just starting to hit your stride in SCCW. You finally got a belt in the promotion, becoming the Legacy Champion, and you’re leading this group of jokes out to slaughter. You must feel proud of yourself, aligning the last four Legacy champions in a group. Forget the fact that there isn’t a World Champion present, or a former World Champ for that matter. And forget the fact that Thomas Watson is conspiring against you to fulfill his agenda. Focus on the fact you’re facing four stars, aligned right in your path. I fucked up several weeks ago. You are my way to make it right Alex. What we never finished in Experts, WILL be finished here. I will enjoy busting open that goatee sporting chrome dome of yours and washing the canvas with it. By the way, is Adrian Specter your brother? I swear, too many people in this industry must be either twins separated at birth or celebrity look a likes.

The same can be said for Riki from SCCW. He looks like Jagi, sounds like Jagi, has swagger like Jagi, must be Jagi, right? Nope. Riki is what Ja Gi Kyung-Moon probably was when he first broke into the industry. Goofy, naive, barely confident. But the one constant both share is undeniable wrestling talent. You’re the one man of your group to have a legitimate, worthy victory in the qualify rounds. Well, I hope you can handle the pressure kid, because the crew and I are going to bring it. What you’re facing this week is three men and one woman who will stop at nothing to absolutely plow through an a delicate little Asian twink like you and make you realize you just don’t have the experience to handle a pressure cooker like this. You barely passed against Katie. What are you going to do when you’re teamed with three guys you can’t trust? You’re a good wrestler Riki, but you can’t do it all on your own. And that will be your downfall.

As for Hayden Cross, well you didn’t get to compete in the qualifying rounds. So I know that has to have you all riled up, ready to fuck shit up. Just know this you spray tan rocking, surfboard carrying twat. We have a very talented woman in our group just waiting to prove her worth. She’s not the type to stop with a knock out. She’ll rip those frosted tips out of your head boy and leave your back looking like a Singapore caning victim.

Listen up Team Simho. I have all the motivation I need to wage war. With the Killers by my side, we will not relent in our pursuit to disfigure all of you. From what I can see, you’re all a bunch tan booth patrolling, bath house rolling, corn hole poling Liberaces who need to a severe ass beating to let you know life isn’t all about getting hot guys to check you out. Life is about hating yourself after we’re through with all of you. Every day you look in the mirror, you will cry. You will smash that bathroom mirror multiple times, and you will scrape together every cent you can to afford plastic surgery. But what a scalpel can’t ever fix is the mental and psychological damage done. When I was blasting you bitches you on twitter, I wasn’t playing. I want to put you all into a coma if I can. The best thing about that objective? My team can all agree upon that.


CONQUEST

Conquest - - “The voice of THUNDER”

“Victory was mines …”

To stand tall, the four of us in victorious fashion, I had nothing but a shit-eating grin on my face as the dagger was ready to sink into another soul. The soul of four from the ice tundra in Barrie, Ontario, Canada. To come from there as a former member, then to leave and re-brand myself into the life of a red-headed, non-fearing bird … the transition went well. Time was growing short and with hours left, it was about time to show up and dominate.

“The outfit suits you well, Sir!” The store clerk said, as he stared at my long white coat as it fit my personality well. Shiny spikes on both of the shoulders, a hint of red of the leather belt that closes the coat up. I turned around to look into the mirror behind me.

“Deadly!” Grinning while adoring the ‘ghostly’ white-colored trench coat with the hint of red in the form of the leather tie belt.

Looking up above, my eyes sparkled at the sighting of a king’s crown, but it just wasn’t the usual crown. It held such a dark, secret past with it. Reaching up and grabbing the crown as it sparkled with a few diamonds encased around the edges. The plush material on top was in white, which surely completed my appearance.

“Just right!” I said, slanting it onto my head as it sat ideal.

With the appearance process at cease, the next motion was towards the checkout counter as the tags were taken off and accounted for. Reaching in and taking out the allotted amount which was close to a hundred bucks, I grabbed the receipt and nodded before leaving.

“I shall give this outfit justice.” With a smirk, I exited the costume outlet as my ride was right in front of me. A white saddle horse it was, tied down to one of the columns. It was a rented one for the occasion.

Occasion?

It was my version of a Rolls Royce or a Ferrari. There was no need for gas or tire changes. It ran off of grass and water and rest every few hours. I was geared to conquer the competition that stood in front of me no matter what. It may have looked like a new fad for a Halloween costume, but it was more than a costume, it was a way of life.

Hopping up onto the horse, I adjusted myself as to the other side of the horse was an assembled bow and arrow attached via it’s case that was apart of the saddle. The noises of the horse begun as I grabbed a hold of the steering wheel (rope) and tugged it a bit, the horse had begun taking off.

It was time for battle before the rising of the sun.

Taking to war with the fellow members of SIMCOE, it was going to be an epic showdown of two sides with different personalities. The thing in question was if good could defeat evil. In past, Evil has come out in a fifty-one to forty-nine ratio. Good was what many wanted in this world, denying evil of its ability to take over the world in a wider impact. I plan on widening the gap in days, hours, and minutes.

“I am prepared to fight!”

The horse was slowly galloping across the streets onto the chilled grass. Acres long of wide-open range of grass to travel upon, we were far from being near our destination. An ending to this world, in hopes to create a new one with a new way of life. A new world order one could say.

Tugging harder on the ropes, the legs of the horse sped up a bit as all you could hear was the smooth galloping process with each gallop as with each pull to the left or right, the horse traveled. With each passing moment, I dreamt about the day when we would rule the world, three hundred and sixty-five days a year.

It was coming soon rather than later.

The world looked down on us, not seeing us as a powerful force. Now this day approaches and everyone is leaving their homes for a safer place due to this event. The rumblings of an apocalypse, the world coming to an end. They now fear our power and authority.

They want us to power down.

They don’t want to see the dark side of the moon that has never been showcased. They have become scared and choosing to do whatever it takes to keep the Earth from ablaze and us from reconstructing it. They do not want our hands mingling within it and creating a disastrous effect.

“We have a ways to go, White Lightning”

Whispering to the horse, calling out its name. It roared like a victorious horse should. Galloping with pride, it was just in a dead, straight line, traveling through the grassy terrain before entering the forest of trees ahead. With little light coming from the sky, I was able to lead the horse through without any stumbles. Coming out onto an open road, I tugged hard on the rope, causing the horse to stop as he stood on his hind leg, raising up in the air a bit, again roaring wildly.

It looked like one of those epic moments in a western film where the cowboy rallies through a fight and in victorious fashion, makes his horse do a ‘wheelie’ by standing on it’s hind legs. Deciding to once again take off, we headed East towards what is considered the final destination. The meeting of us four together would be a moment in life that will never be forgotten. Taking down a foe for a greater purpose in life. At the end of the day, they may survive the massacre, but they would not survive with a victory in their possession.

It was about time for the ringing of the bell.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------

:: Brothers Of Anarchy ::

They said we would never make it this far.

They said we would never accomplish shit.

Years have passed and as we’ve progressed …

We’ve become something in the form of a “nightmare”.

This week, I finally get to tag with my family, my crew, my brethrens. It has been a long while, being that each of us fought single-handily the ‘scums’ that were hand-picked by the bosses of this tournament and with each week, we’ve fucking dominated like no other, leading us to where we are right now.

Team EMPIRE and The Gospel. Together we make music with other human’s body parts. We come to Supremacy not only to take over with ease, but to simply add the term “fear” to our names. Against Team Simcoe, sure many see it as a ‘head-to-head’ battle of premier companies, but to me, it’s like Coyotes picking on a lamb, picking it part by part as it screams horribly in pain.

See, I was apart of what they call SIMCOE Country Championship Wrestling. I was momentarily apart of that establishment. It was dry and uninteresting, all of my opponents took one look at me and faded off. Those of higher caliber, they stayed silent, ones like Thomas Watson. They remained in their place, keeping quiet. I left for higher ground and there I found my home, Phoenix Wrestling.

They opened their arms.

I found out they enjoyed ‘different’ personalities. They didn’t mind stepping up to find me challenges. They knew how to USE me to my fullest extent, and right now, I’m not even at my peak, although I’ve risen like dough out of an oven, I’ve got a long way to go. I’ve been in numerous matches that cannot even be showcased elsewhere. I’m the ‘crown jewel’ of hardcore.

As a horsemen, beholding the name as ‘Conquest’, I enjoy murdering every challenge and obstacle in my way to get where I need to be. Come time to battle, Team PW will create a masterpiece in which you four will not be able to withstand or match. We cannot wait to demonstrate our destruction onto you four. You believe you all are bad motherfuckers?

You haven’t witnessed anything yet!

You apply that you do not mess around. Bold words to preach within an interview. I know Watson or Black was behind it, they loved running their mouths a lot from what I saw when I chose to join them briefly. Could you say that this was an act of God making us be together once more in the ring? No, I claim it was all about ‘karma’. You didn’t want to step up in the beginning, now you’re forced to.

I know you’re a bit cynical about facing me now.

As I stand with my white horse in “White Lightning” and my signature bow and arrow, I only hope you fuckers are prepared for war. When it’s all said and done, the bloody mess you all will carry back to SIMCOE will only show how superior Team PW was. Crying with your head down, tongue stuck out like a fucking retard, you look for remorse. You will have to tell your roster mates that you got your ass kicked by four powerful forces of nature.

You will be embarrassed.

Like ‘numskulls’ you probably will try and fight through the pain, knowing damn well your back can’t suffer any more ruptures or your skull being stitched together or your legs being sewn back on. We fuck shit up and we could care less of your complaints in the end. This is about having superiority and receiving national spotlight recognition.

You may think you and your company is superior still over the years but there’s a major downfall. Phoenix has risen from it’s ashes and returned back to where it once was, claiming the throne. Everyone wants to be apart of the company, the fame, the hot spotlight. Only a few can stand the heat. I bet you … I bet as soon as all is over for your group, watch and see, watch and see how quick you will depart and want a piece of the pie.

Don’t feel bad.

It happens to the best, everyone has their days of clinging onto a masterful win streak. Everyone misses a fastball for a home run every now and then. Everyone can fuck up a field goal for a game-winning score. It happens to the best of them. Watson, Black, Kross, and Kuninobu, it’s time to step up now. If you believe in ending the world of evil for the sake of saving the world from a threatening end, I suggest you step in between them ropes and make the most of it.

Opportunity only comes once in lifetime.

WAR / VIOLENCE

War brings forth copious amounts of blood shed that can only be labeled as violence.  Violence that is spread amongst everyone involved with  the only reason of victory and conquest.  War is fought for many different reasons, fought for bragging rights, fought for land, oil, keeping other people in check, or for religious reasons. But in CWC, battles are fought and war is won for one reason, and one reason only, for SUPREMACY.

CLACK!

CLACK!

CLACK!

Gun shots crack in the wind in the distance every few seconds. Sounds of swords clanking against each other is also heard among the gun shots.  The combatants flinging these swords and shooting these guns in an act of offense and defense are young men trying to defend their opinions in this conflict.  One side of the young defenders are clad in blue coats representing the Union Army. The other side of course is clad in gray coats and representing the Confederate Army.  A young Union soldier, maybe fourteen tops, swings his sword and maimes a Confederate soldier from the elbow down. The Confederate soldier screams in agony as the arm goes flying ten feet into the air. Blood splatters across the face and uniform of the Union soldier. He looks at the blood in horror as he wipes the blood off his face with his fingers and looks at his finger tips in shock.

As the young man from the Union side stares in disgust at the massacre he caused a lone bullet speeds through the brisk cool air and hits him in the chest, while a second bullet shoots him in the throat. The  young Union soldier hits the ground very fast as blood spouts out of his wounds. The sound of blood curdling as he attempts to scream for help. One of the Confederate soldiers runs over and grabs him and drags him across the dirt trail behind some cover. The gray coat takes off a bandanna he has and wraps it around the neck of his fallen opponent, more of a way to cover up the grotesque wound then actually treating it.

The other soldiers continue to fight against each other as the two soldiers from the opposing armies take cover.  The wounded soldier is grasping for air as the other soldier is putting pressure on the injured one's chest as his tears are flowing down his face. He can't believe this stupid bitter war has put brothers against brothers. Family against family, friends against friends, and has really proven blood is not thicker then water. I can not believe that slavery has divided not only a country, but divided blood. One fought not because he's a racist, but because this country was founded by slave owners.

The other brother, among many others,  believed that slavery was wrong, believing that no one should own people. Yet slaves didn't have any where to go or any other means to make money, but they fought to not be owned as well. They fought in a different way, fighting against slave owners by simply refusing to do work. The slave owners would cast many of beatings on their slaves, and some times death. But this difference of opinion has cost over a hundred thousand men their lives. It has ruined families and put a country on the verge of collapse. After all they fought for, getting their Independence from the country across the pond, they may come to ruins amongst each other. War is bitter.

The Confederate soldier expresses his remorse and confides to his brother how wrong he was about being a slave owner. He takes all the blame and burdens the fault of the two brothers being in this war because he is the eldest brother.  The wounded soldier can't say anything back due to his injuries but fresh tears stream down his cheeks as he knows he is about to die so young. He wished he and his brother were able to reconcile their differences and rebuild their family, but it has ended way too prematurely. The two brothers hold each others hands and say a silent prayer as the younger brother dies after the prayer ends. Another casualty of war.

In an act of vengeance the Confederate man stands up and lets out a war cry as he starts firing his single action rifle towards all who suffer his wraith of his dead brother, Union and Confederate soldiers a like. He shoots a couple of gray coats in the back and they die from the gun shot upon impact of the ground. He also manages to shoot a couple of blue coats as well who also fall demise from their injuries. Once realizing the immediate threat of a loose cannon with a rifle, soldiers from both armies turn their attention to the war scorn brother. After a hail of bullets are directed at the brother he too fails victim to war. A family divided no more, instead of mourning the death of one, they are mourning the death of two. Another family ended because of violence.

The battle does not stop for investigation however. The Union and Confederate armies refocus and go back to destroying each other in the moral question of right and wrong. Dominance determines who is correct, or atleast that's what we are lead to believe. After many clanks of blade against blade and blade cutting through flesh, as well as the air filling up with thick gun powder, after a few hectic moments the last shot is fired and no one is left standing. The only people who survived this brutal battle were the ones that tucked tail and ran when the first shot was fired.

Riding through the heavy gun smoke with a large grin sprawled across my face as the smell of gun powder and blood tickle my sense of smell.  I sit on top of a glorious red horse, clad in my baby blue camouflage pants and black wife beater. Fitting the part, I am wearing a long black trench coat and black cowboy hat, portraying the real Outlaw from Hell. I give the horse a kick to get it going as I admire the handy work of war as the battle brought forth heavy violence. Bodies are wrecked, and blood is every where, much to my liking. I pull back on the reigns and the horse gives a loud gallop as it perches up on to its two back legs before resting on top of a stack of dead bodies. A large thump followed by a squishing of bodily fluids and breaking of bones is heard after we come to a rest on top of the fallen warriors.

"Behold, I give you the authority to trample on serpents and scorpions, and over all the power of the enemy, and nothing shall by any means hurt you." (Luke 10:19)

"It's time for angels and serpents to dance. The Killers of Phoenix Wrestling bring fourth Pestilence and Plague, Victory and Conquest, War and Violence, but most importantly Death. We are assassins who ride together, fight together, and end things together.  BAS ASS, Masaru Inoue, Ash Bombay, Rayven Truth,  we are the definition of the Four Horsemen of Apocalypse. It has been written and predicted about, we are what have been feared for thousands of years.  Individually we are dangerous, as a unit we are the alpha and the omega, we are the beginning and the end. Stories have been written about us, tales of our legends passed down from generation to generation, and predictions of our destruction spread to the masses. The Revelation has finally came to pass, we have been united to to destroy the teams set in front of us until we have been crowned SUPREME!"
I say with a calm demeanor.

"Team Simcoe, your legacy, well lack their of has already been decided, you will be prosecuted for your sins of false hope and would be glory. You believe because you have Thomas Watson, a man who supposedly is a wrestling legend that you are the front runners to win this entire thing. He isn't a legend, he is more of an urban myth, like the candy man, used as a tool to scare children. Killers of PW aren't children, and we don't get scared, we in fact embrace fear and use it to our advantage. Beyond Dr. Watson you have what Sherlock Holmes? I'd assume Alex Black would take up that mantel, since he was the ring leader who got you in this mess.  There is no turning back Team Simcoe, only time to change your pants and try to keep your knees from knocking together. I'd like to say it will be quick and easy, but we love to bring forth the violence and the pain. " I say as I grit my teeth with a large smile on my face in anticipation.

"Team Simcoe, I know you believe that Hayden Cross is your wild card, since he wasn't featured in the qualifying rounds, but please, don't put too much stock in the great white hope. Because with hope comes shattered dreams, and great failures, much like the disappointment you guys had when you found out that you had Killers of PW as your first round opponents because you knew your time was over.  Who else is on your team? Riki what? You're just a Ja Gi Kyung - Moon clone, and like him, I'll bring my violent gospel to you as well. " I say.

"It is time for a reality check. It has been written and the time has came to pass. Fourteen Fifty-nine it reads, your Fifteen Minutes of Fame are over!" I say with a grin.

"Hallelujah, hallelujah. " I sing.

Kicking the horse once more and pulling on it's reins I bring the horse up on it's hind legs once again. The red horse turns and we ride off into the sun set as the smell of death begins to set in.

DEATH

”I looked, and behold, a pale horse. And he that sat upon it was named Death, and Hell followed at his heels. Authority was given to them over one quarter of the earth, to kill with sword, with hunger, and with plague.”

The voice comes a soft whisper that seems deafening in the quiet hush. These places are always unnaturally quiet, as if life itself holds its breath when daring to tread in the cities of the dead. They dwell here, sleeping beneath the cold earth, in houses of polished granite and marble. Cities of the dead, where the living tread lightly, speaking in hushed whispers as if the mere sound of their voices might bring the fury of the slumbering dead screaming up at them from below. A cemetery might seem a strange choice for a settling, but when one begins to understand the nature of the woman who speaks, it is perhaps, to be expected. But her attention is not on the camera, but on a small gathering of somber clad people, huddled close together, arms about one another, heads bowed. Stupid, foolish, this incessant need to gather and grieve. We never really grieve for the life lost anyway, but always for the ones left behind. Oh yes, the ones that remain. Dejected and abandoned, people grieve for themselves. They can hardly be blamed for it. Life is ugly. It's cold and brutal, it's suffering and agony, pain beyond measure. It's love and loss and everything in between. But Death...death is the release. It is end of all things, sweet reprieve. And still they weep. They wail. Lament in the face of the last great inevitable thing. She does not lurk in the cemetery proper, no, just outside, at the gates, seated on the back of large pale gray gelding. A pale woman, made paler by the dark sweeps of kohl around her eyes, and the fact that she's chosen to dress all in black, in a full skirted gown that covers her from throat to wrist and ankle, the black satin of the skirt pooling across the gelding's back. Dark hair spills down her back, a fall of black ink, slick and almost liquid.

”Man can survive war, he can overcome sickness, triumph over hunger...but all men bow at the feet of Death eventually. It is the one great inevitability in life. All men are born, and so all men must die. Before you stands the greatest challenge you shall ever know. Before you stands an alliance forged not just between four people on the same roster, nor between four friends. Before you stands an alliance forged in the chains of brotherhood, bound in blood and pain and broken bones. We are one in our desires, one in our ambition and our purpose. No one of us stands greater than any of the others. No single member of this team holds power over the others. We are a brotherhood. And we are your end. We are the Horsemen who herald in the end of days, the end of all things. And you...you are insignificant specks who stand before us. Insects to be trampled beneath the hooves of our horses. You are nothing, and after we are finished, all the world will know it.”

She is not, at a glance, an imposing woman, not dressed as she is certainly. She is not exceptionally tall, and while certainly far from a wilting flower, fragile and delicate, neither does she had a frightfully muscular build. Athletic, that's what the way she holds herself suggests. Athletic, and no stranger to pain, either receiving, or dealing out. In her momentary pause, she slips from the back of the big gelding with a rustle of satin and lace. She remains silent as she fastens the reins to the fence to the right of the gate to keep him from wandering off, and then it's off through the gates, letting her steps carry her in a drifting path along the side of the road that winds its way through this quiet place. City of the dead.

”There are three known elements of the four that stand against you. My brothers are well known. They have years of experience and accomplishment to their credit. They are easy to research, google them and you get a half million different pages. But me...well, BAD ASS said it best. I am relatively new. I do not have the time, the experience, the accolades to my name that they do. You cannot study me, you cannot research me...and as such, you cannot begin to hope to know what to expect from me. My brothers laid claim to their aspects in accordance to their natures. War, conquest, famine and pestilence, but my aspect is the greatest of them all. Which is not to say that I am any greater than my brothers in arms, only that I, am not them. I do not have their restraint, their control. When I step within that ring, I have no other purpose than to end each and every person who stands across from me. If you are not my ally, then you are my enemy, and I hold no mercy for those who make themselves my enemy. Death you see, is representative figure of many, many things. Change, mortality, finality...the end. That's what waits for the four of you. The end. The end of your careers, the end of your limelight, your accolades, the end of everything you are. When you step into that ring with me and mine you step into the ring with your end. It doesn't matter who you are, what you think you might have accomplished, you will not stand against our fury. You will not stand against me. I am the unknown element, the ace up the sleeve. You can study my brothers all you want, but it will tell you nothing about me. It will not prepare you for what I'm capable of, what I'm willing to do. It will not prepare you for my tactics or ability.

I don't care who you are. I don't care what you've done. What you think you've accomplished. I don't care how superior you might think that you are because in the end, nothing you think, really matters. Because I, am Death, and all men kneel at the feet of death. You may overcome War, you may slip past Conquest, survive the Pestilence, endure all of this, and you will still find me waiting. My brothers will take you to within an inch of your lives, and then I will tear that last inch from you. We will leave you all beaten, broken, bloody shells, unable to even so much as lift her shoulders from the mat without assistance. Because we can, because we enjoy it. The hot rush of blood, the sickening, wet crack of bones no music sweeter to my ears. I won't stand here and tell you that I'm psychotic, because to be perfectly honest, I'm not sure that the term applies properly. Sadistic, yes. Masochistic...possibly. I'll leave you broken because it amuses me, if for no other reason. This tournament is an opportunity for me, a chance to prove myself, to set the bar for my own performance. But more than that, it is the opportunity to set the...example. To provide a demonstration of all that I am. Your names mean nothing to me, your accolades are words in the wind. Because I will not be shaken, I will not be deterred. I am relentless, unstoppable, unbreakable. There is nothing you can do that will stop me, no amount of pain will slow my assault. The four of you can't even begin to contemplate what you face.”


But they will assume that they can. They will make such assumptions, and spill their brave, bold words laced with arrogance and disbelief. They will make bold claims and they will refuse to see the truth. They will refuse, refuse and in the end they will pay the price. The end of their era, the end of their career. All that they are laid at her feet, the world left with no choice but to recognize the truth. The thought brings a twisted little smile to her lips as she ambles slowly along.

”In a way, I enjoy it so much more when you struggle, when you wrap yourselves in the armor of disbelief. You will tell yourselves that you cannot fail, you cannot be beaten. It makes it all the sweeter to see the hope in your eyes die when the realization sets in. I live for that instant. I live to snuff out that light, to see the hopelessness settle on your face when you finally have no choice but to accept the inevitable. So by all means, make your bold claims, your jokes, whatever words you feel you need to say to reassure yourselves, go right on and say them. Because words alone will not be enough to save you. Words will not stop the onslaught. They will not save you from what waits. Your end draws near, day by day, creeping ever closer. The end of your participation in this tournament, the end of your careers...oh yes. Ever closer. Pray. Pray to whoever will listen that mercy may be granted. But despair in your hearts. Despair and know, that something wicked this way comes.”

That vague little smile grows slightly, a soft little chuckle bubbling forth as she drifts past that little funeral gathering, giggling to herself.

SUPREMACY

Riding up to the edge of a cliff through the bright beams of the sunlight BAD ASS, Masaru Inoue, Ash Bombay and Rayven Truth sit on top of four horses. The horses range from many different colors as one is pale, one is white, one is black and one is red. They are peering off into the distance off the cliff, blood lusting, ready to spill blood in the most violent way possible. Killers of Phoenix Wrestling, it's not just a cute name given to them, it's stone cold facts. They are ready to show the world they are the most complete and devastating team in all of CWC Multiverse. 

"We relate to the Four Horsemen of Apocalypse better then any four bonded individuals have ever before. We each represent the purpose of the Four Horsemen and carry out the mission that each horseman have.  Phoenix Wrestling have unleashed us on to CWC to have no mercy on those who stand before us. Taking out Team SCCW will be the first step into claiming the empty thrones of CWC, as we will reign over our kingdom with Supremacy!" Ash Bombay says to the other three who cheer him on.

"I represent Pestilence, There is a wide spread famine about to sweep the entire Supremacy. Those who are used to feeding their hunger with victories, are about to be hit with a plague of violent losses. My crew are teaching me to skin flesh and appreciate the blood letting that they revel in. Team Simhoe, you guys are fucked because the Killers of PW are here. " BAD ASS says.

"I represent Conquest, and let my voice be heard. Team Simcoe, you believe to be the better team, but you have no idea that I live for the challenge of conquering every one set in front of me. Victory will be mine and my brethrens, because I make it my life's goal to create a beautiful violent master piece with the blood I draw from your very soul less bodies. " Masaru Inoue follows.

"I represent War, because like the tragedy and bitter pain that comes with it, I bring all that and cause traumatic violence. I have preached my gospel  and said my hail Mary's, my father has spoken and released us on the masses. We will not stop until Supremacy is ours, Team Simcoe you are just a sacrificial lamb given to us to sharpen our teeth on, nothing more then that, so don't lose faith, for destiny is ours. " Ash Bombay says.

"I represent Death, because like Death you never see me coming, you walk around claiming to never fear dying but when you are staring face to face with death you soil yourself and pray to the father above to spare your life and to save your soul. I offer no remorse Team SCCW, because I may or may not offer you death, I will be killing your careers. Make peace with those around you because the death warrant has been signed, your careers are over. " Rayven Truth speaks up.

The Killers of PW nod to each other, as each know what they must do. Each has their own mission and they will not fail themselves, most importantly they won't fail each other. Each pull on the reigns of their horse and the horses jump to their back two legs and let out a loud gallop as they all turn and speed off into the sunset. Killers of PW, the new age Four Horsemen of Apocalypse have been unleashed, just call us SUPREME!
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MAD GEAR GANG PROMO VS TEAM SCW:

[The shot opens on a suburban backyard, aglow in lamplight as the last bit of sun disappears over the horizon. Two men are seen standing, quietly chatting as they wait for whatever reason. Those two men happen to be Andrew Karnage and CK Panic, two members of FCW's Mad Gear Gang. CK is wearing his customary suit-and-tie, while Karnage is dressed more for the occasion. He is in a perfect recreation of one of Randy Savage's outrageous outfits. Going by his mannerisms, he is doing his best to act the part as well as he looks it... well, by and large, anyway. He looks over at CK.]

Karnage: So, where’s the Good Witch?

CK: I thought we agreed to not call her that when she’s in earsho--

Natalie: What was that, CK...?

[The Southern Belle steps into view... and she’s wearing a rather convincing, elaborate Glenda the Good Witch costume complete with gossamer wings and a star-capped wand. FCW’s World Champion chuckles to himself.]

CK: Nothin’ at all, Nat. Nothin’ at all.

[Suddenly, a figure swings into the shot using a long piece of rope, as he lands next to Natalie we see he’s wearing a Hamburglar costume with a straw sombrero, a labcoat over the costume with a black cape taped to the back of the labcoat.]

Brandon: Behold! I am... Doctor Professor El Hamburglar-o, PHD!

Natalie: ...uh... HUH.

[Natalie looks over to her boyfriend.]

Natalie: Shouldn’t his concussion be all healed up, by now? Or is this just his normal level of--

Brandon: Head trauma is a hell of a drug.

Natalie: ...duly noted.

CK: So we're supposed to be escorting an alibi for Drew and Brandon's shameless candy grab, are we not?
 
[Joan Evans, six-or-seven year old brunette girl jumps into shot. She's dressed in what appears to be a traditional ninja costume. And over that, is a very pretty princess costume. The girl happily runs over and attaches herself to CK's leg.]
 
CK: Ah! Pirahna!
 
Joan: No! It's me!
 
CK: Ah! A small child!
 
[Joan laughs as CK pretends to try and shake her off. She lets go and then looks up at CK, suddenly upset.]
 
Joan: You're not dressed up, Uncle CK!
 
[CK gestures to his suit-and-tie.]
 
CK: Am too. I'm Agent Smith.
 
Joan: You said that last year!
 
CK: I'm from the Men In Black.
 
[Joan crosses her arms.]
 
CK: Agent Coulson, from SHIELD.
 
[She starts tapping her foot.]
 
CK: Young Frank Sinatra.
 
[Joan now has the most serious face a small child can have.]
 
CK: I could do this all night, but I believe that'll cut into our candy acquiring time.
 
Joan, Drew, & Brandon: CANDY!
 
CK: I've made a terrible mistake.

Natalie: Oh, nonsense! What's the worst that could happen?

[Brandon and Drew share a look.]

Brandon: Methinks Nat forgets who’s she’s hanging around with.

[And it looks like Brandon’s comment has her remembering just who she’s hanging out with... and she facepalms.]

Natalie: ...oh, dear.

CK: We’ll be fine. You and I are here to reign them in.

[Natalie gives CK a disbelieving look.]

Natalie: ...but you encourage them, more often than not.

CK: Well it’s funny when it’s not happening to me.

Natalie: Of course it is. Mm, I suppose it could be worse... we could be going with those-that-shall-not-be-named.

Brandon: Hipster douches?

Natalie: No... WORSE than Misters Vidieux and Von Croy. I speak, of course... of the Shiros.

[Cue the organ chord of doom!]

Brandon: Great, you said it out loud. Two more times and we all get vaporized.

CK: ...Maybe we should get going now.

Drew, Brandon, Joan: CAAAANDY!

[The shot fades to a busy suburban street. Kids in costumes are running house to house, trailed by parents keeping an eye on things and chatting with each other. The Mad Gear Gang escort their young charge, who has dubbed herself "Princess Murdercakes" is happily digging through the candy she already has, as are Karnage and Brandon. Natalie is having fun watching the kids enjoy themselves and CK contents himself to stealing candy from Joan's rapidly growing stash.]

Joan: Stop it! Take some from Uncle Drew!

CK: You're less likely to snap my arm like a Slim Jim.

Karnage: OOH, YEE-UH!

[The five arrive at the next house. The homeowner, one of the moms on the block, is standing on the porch with four other trick-or-treaters. They're dressed in garish costumes, each emulating some horror they've seen on television or the Internet. She has a weary look on her face and seems quite annoyed. One of the kids seems to be wrapping up some sort of mini-speech.]
   
Trick-Or-Treater: I offer no remorse because I may or may not offer you death, I will be killing your jack-o-lanterns. Make peace with those around you, because the death warrant has been signed, your candy is ours.
   
[The homeowner just looks at the kids as they hold their bags out, waiting.]
   
Homeowner: There's no "Conquest" in the Four Horsemen. Now get off my property.
   
[With that, she steps back inside and slams the door. The kids walk away dejectedly as the Mad Gear Gang tries not to laugh too hard while they're still nearby.]
   
Brandon: What the heck were they supposed to be?
   
Karnage: Something really, really stupid.

Natalie: And pretentious. Can’t forget that part, unfortunately.

Brandon: Speaking of stupid and/or pretentious...

CK: How does anyone take a guy named Doug E. Fresh seriously?

Brandon: He’s *points to Drew* Andrew Karnage with a K and his name’s still more credible than that!

Natalie: Now guys, you know that there’s no need to call anyone stupid on account of their names--

Karnage: Not when they said so much stupid shit for us to mock instead.

[The Good Witch glares at her boyfriend.]

Natalie: That’ll be a dollar for the swear jar.

CK: They put a lot of effort into being that stupid. That's quite a feat.

Brandon: Seems all too familiar in our line of work.

Joan: Less talk, more candy!

CK: You heard the Princess, onto the next house!

Brandon: You seem pretty relaxed. I thought you'd be all "this is distracting our focus, rar rar rar!"

CK: I'll "rar rar rar" you. What's to be worried about? You've seen the competition. I mean, it's not a foregone conclusion that we'll win, but we've got such an advantage it's laughable.

Natalie: You really think so?

CK: I know so. Look at these other teams. Most of them simply want to win this for the gloooooooory of Who Gives A Shit Wrestling. All they want is prestige for their employer.

Brandon: And we don't?

CK: We do, but, first and foremost, we're here as a team to stomp the other teams through the---

Joan: ---magic of friendship!

CK: Yeah, pretty much. They may have picked their best people, but I don't think they picked the most cohesive groups.

Karnage: Whereas we are a tower of power!

[CK goes to speak but is drowned out.]

Karnage: Too sweet to be sour!

[CK tries again, with similar results.]

Karnage: Funky like a monkey!

[The group stares at Karnage, waiting to see if he's done. After a long pause, CK goes to speak again.]

Karnage: OOOOHHH YEEEEE-UH!

[Natalie pulls out a mini Twix bar and unwraps it, popping it into the Nightmare’s mouth. While he contentedly munches on the chocolate and caramel goodness, she looks over at her friend.]

Natalie: ...you were saying?

CK:Team SCW is fooling themselves. You see them trying to convince the world that we're not a challenge? You know what I saw? I saw a scared bunch try to make us sound like a non-issue because they know that this bunch of "illiterate, insane" people are more than capable of handing them their asses.

Natalie: Mm, I noticed that... how they said that any and all titles and accolades that any of us, on either team, could hold mean nothing in this tournament, but yet they couldn’t stop talking about theirs. I suppose it’s just another case of ‘If I’m not there, then it doesn’t matter.’ syndrome, running right alongside of ‘If I talk about my opponents like they have no talent, then that will magically make it go away.’-itis.

Brandon: I also saw a major case of “Look at us being all hardcore awesome, I beat up THREE DUDES IN AN ALLEY while my teammates were destroying a casino. We’re SOOO kewl!” -itis.

Karnage: Silly mortals, that only works when I do it! Oooh yeah!

[The rest of the Mad Gear Gang give Da Mang an odd look.]

Natalie: ...maybe I should’ve given him a Jolly Rancher.

Brandon: This is just like the Shir-GAH WHAT AM I DOING?- This is just like those who shall not be named constantly acting like saying swear words was a ginormous thing in a fed where swearing was the LEAST despicable thing that happened on a regular basis.

Karnage: Did you hear where we came from? Nowhere. Out of nowhere. Yeah, we just walked into this off the streets and decided to wrassle, instead of spending years turning raw skill into experience and craftsmanship. And FCW? Sure, that's nowhere too. A nationally recognized pit of nowhere that nobody was aware of at any time ever.

Natalie: Even if you ignore that obvious-- and sadly, all too apt-- comparison to those that shall not be named, their argument makes no sense. Do they deserve to be congratulated for everything that they have collectively accomplished? Absolutely-- and I’d never diminish a single one of them, not for an instant. It’s a big deal to be a champion in ANY company, or to be considered the top man or woman in any given grouping... but what they’re forgetting is something painfully simple.

Brandon: That no matter how many times they tell everyone they are the greatest thing ever, there’s always someone out there better than them?

Natalie: ...well... yes, that’s also true, but that’s not what I was getting at--

CK: That Doug E. Fresh is a terrible name and whoever named him that should be greatly ashamed of themselves?

Natalie: ...that, too. But--

Karnage: That the only reason Shelbi’s the top dog of the CWC Womens’ Rankings is because she hasn’t faced you yet?

Natalie: Flattery will get you nowhere that you already haven’t been, dear. But anyway, my point is that if championships and rankings were set in stone and made someone invincible, then... nothing would change, and none of them would’ve ever so much as gotten a win, much less become champions of anywhere. Take it from someone that has toppled more than her fair share of more experienced, more lauded, more insert-your-accolade-of-choice-here competitors, both male and female, in her career-- they don’t save you. All the more that it does it make it all the more significant when someone comes along to remind you that you’re just as fallible as anyone else.

Brandon: I gotta laugh at Shelbi, and well the rest of Doug E. Fresh and the Funky Bunch, acting like they’re at all unique in this thing while managing to cut the same exact promos that everyone ELSE has been putting out the whole tournament. “We are the bestest because we come from the bestest federation ever and we will crush you because our federation is better than yours!” It’s all the same, ya’ll might as well be clones, because you’re all the same! Four men and/or women thrown together for fed supremacy. And that’s all well and good, but the difference between US and you guys, Team SCW, is we aren’t just four people thrown together to make a good showing for our home fed, we are the Mad Gear Gang. united in more than just “Rah Rah Let’s go FCDUB!”

Karnage: We’re practically family. The kind of family who bonds over beating the everloving hell out of people who think they're going to embarrass us with the likes of what SCW brought. That's why you're not just facing Team FCW. You're facing the Mad Gear Gang and we are no one's stepping stone. We don't accept the lemons that people like Team SCW are trying to hand us and go off and make lemonade. We throw those lemons back in their face and make Fuck-You-Go-Die...ade.

[Natalie nudges her boyfriend, lightly, with her shoulder.]

Natalie: ...that’s another dollar for the swear jar.

Karnage: Yeah, yeah... I know.

CK: The metaphor kind of fell apart at the end there.

Karnage: You mean like Team SCW's chances against us?

Brandon: Zing!

Natalie: I wouldn’t go so far as to say that they have NO chance against us... just not as good a one as they’d like to believe.

CK: There's a difference between teams and TEAMS. They may work well together, for now, while everything is hunky-dory, but we'll see how it goes when they're in the ring. And against us? Spoilers: bad. Think about it-- who's more prone to go the extra mile, someone that's just working with someone else for a paycheck or someone that genuinely gives a damn for that other person? We've had holidays together, traveled together, laughed and cried and bled together, been there for one another through thick and thin... and they honestly think that they've got the edge?

[The Mad Gear Gang collectively roll their eyes... although Brandon frowns.]

Brandon: I wasn't crying!

Karnage: It's okay. You're sensitive. Own it.

Natalie: The ending of Curly Sue IS rather sad, after all.

[Natalie pats the Young Gun’s shoulder gently.]

CK: Oh, and Paradox McSweeney, my name is CK Panic. I just wanted to let you know you have one of the dumbest names I've ever heard. I hope to God it's your given name, because choosing that name makes me weep for people who rely on your ability to think to pay their salaries.

Brandon: Doug E. Fresh likes to call himself the “Professor.” You are about as much of a “professor” as I am a Doctor Professor Hamburglar PHD. The only thing “fresh” about you is that you might’ve had Subway recently. Aren’t Professors supposed to be smart and y’know, resourceful? Research is key in things like that ain’t it? Yet we’ve done more research on you and Team SCW just by watching that mess of a promo than you did on any of us. Bravo.

Karnage: I guess in this case, learning how to "Dougie" means turning into a total fuckwit.

[Natalie snrks a bit despite herself.]

Natalie: Miss Lynn-- or Missus Carter, whichever is correct-- I hate to burst your bubble, but you’re hardly the only woman to bring down a large opponent. Just like you’re not the only woman to ever hold a title that was largely held by men before you, or to win awards, or any of that business because not only have I done all of the above, but so have more than a few of the talented competitors that I’m lucky to know, and have worked with in the past. What you ARE, though, is a young woman that has gotten far too large for her britches... something that I have made a CAREER out of remedying.

Karnage: Hey Roscoe, you're a big guy? Well that's something new to wrestling. I have no idea how we'll be able to cope with this development.

[The 6'5" 273 pound Macho Man Impersonator winds his lariating arm with a smirk.]

Brandon: Yeah since every other team is doin’ it, I’ma play the ‘talk up our individual selves’ gag. Macho Karnage here? Guy’s a giant ball of Badassity wrapped in layers of awesomesauce and sprinkled with a bit of Lariating-your-fucking-face-off! You think just being ‘big’ is something special? Pfftbahahaha, you are sorely mistaken.

[Brandon points over to Natalie.]

Brandon: This gal here, one of the nicest people ever, people tend to overlook her because she’s just gosh darn NICE! But those people are very, very stupid, because she is one of the most badass kick artists in this entire business! And then there’s this guy--

[He pokes CK in the shoulder.]

Brandon: O Captain, My Captain! Nearly undefeated back where we come from-- and one day he’s gonna teach me his magic Gymnastic powers--

CK: I will destroy you!

[Natalie can’t help but giggle a bit as Brandon’s grin widens.]

Brandon: --But that aside, he didn’t get to be the near-unbeatable World Champion of FCDub by being as you all would have everyone believe, a “nobody.”

[The blond reaches out, patting her friend’s shoulder as a sign for him to shush up for a moment.]

Natalie: And last-- but most certainly not least-- is the high-flying, death-defying, fearless Young Gun himself, the ONLY man to ever successfully defend the Evolution Championship amidst ever-changing circumstances... Brandon Young. Sure, there’s times that he shoves his foot firmly in his mouth--

Brandon: HEY!

Natalie: ...but that doesn’t stop him from takin’ a lickin’ and keepin’ on’ tickin’, as they say. And just like the rest of the guys on our team? You’d best BELIEVE that I’m not gonna let them down.

[The Mad Gear Gang looks satisfied with one another and what they've said...until a fierce looking Joan clears her throat.]

Joan: Blah blah blah blah! None of this puts candy in the loot pile, people!  Come on!

Karnage: And lo does the truth come from the lips of children. OOOH YEEEAAH!

[Rounding the corner, Joan (along with Brandon and Karnage) bolt for the door of the next house on the block, a cute little bungalow that is festively decorated. As CK and Natalie catch up, a bespectacled man wearing a sweater vest opens the door... holding what looks to be a large bowl full of paper-wrapped treats.]

Joan: Ooh, homemade taffy!

Natalie: No, sugah, those aren’t candy. Those are...

[A closer look... and Natalie’s keen eye proves to be spot-on since it’s piled high with Chick Tracts, something that the sweater vest-wearing man snags a handful of before thrusting it into the collective face of the Mad Gear Gang.]

Bible Thumper: Hello, friends! Have you found Jesus yet?

Brandon: Is this like “Where’s Waldo?” “Where’s Jesus!”

Karnage: No, Bacon-- it’s totally Hide and Seek. That son of God, such a trickster...

CK: You start with the bushes, I’ll go for the bowl in his hands.

[Clearly, the jokes aren’t going over well with the Jesus Freak whose cheeks are turning redder and redder as the quips go on... not that most of the Gang notices it. Brandon dashes over to the side of the house, poking a ceramic cross hanging off a window sill.]

Brandon: Hey look, I found him! What do I win?

Bible Thumper: Haha, very funny, my son. What you win is eternal--

Natalie: Salvation, as I am well aware. But you, ah... DO know that those pamphlets are awful, hateful things, don’t you?

[Being questioned by another member of his faith startles the bespectacled man, his gaze whipping to the gown-wearing Southern Belle. While he’s distracted, Joan snags the bowl and carries it over to CK, where they begin going through its contents.]

Bible Thumper: ...so you go to church.

Natalie: Every Sunday.

Bible Thumper: ...and you hang around with... with these HEATHENS?!

Natalie: Just about every day, yes. You know what they say... ‘Judge not, lest ye be judged.’ Might I recommend refreshing your memory on--

Karnage: Hey CK, have any luck yet? All I’m findin’ in the bushes is a buncha’ bugs and small, furry critters.

CK: Nope, nothin’ in here but a buncha’ recycling. Gotta admire the commitment to keeping the environment in good shape, though.

Brandon: Pfft, I already found him! Kinda small though... I can see why most people prefer the Raptor version.

[By now, the bible thumper’s face is red enough that one can assume that steam is about to come pouring out of his ears.]

Bible Thumper: OKAY, THAT’S IT! I REFUSE TO PUT UP WITH YOU UNHOLY BASTARDS ANY LONGER! YOU’RE ALL GOING TO HELL, AND I’M GONNA--

[And then an egg pegs him between the eyes, knocking him out cold amidst an explosion of goo. The camera pans back over to reveal that CK, Brandon, and Karnage are all looking at Natalie with shocked expressions while she’s lowering her arm. One of her brows quirk.]

Natalie: ...what?

Brandon: What was that?!

Natalie: One of God’s followers deciding that she’d had about enough of a bad apple ruining it for the rest of us. I mean, did you actually READ what he gave me?

[The Good Witch hands over the Chick tract that she received-- or, rather, she TRIES to hand it to Brandon, but CK snags it.]

CK: Oh, these. Yeah. I’ll be right back.

Natalie: Why?

CK: I left the TP in the car.

[Karnage runs into the house before anyone can think to stop him.]

Natalie: And where are you going?

Karnage: To liberate the candy!

Brandon: Ooh, me too!

[Before Natalie can protest, they run off as CK returns with toilet paper.]

CK: Alright, it’s been a while, but vandalism’s like riding a bike.  We’re making a house mummy.

Joan: What do I do?

[CK hands over the carton of eggs to Joan.]

CK: You peg the guy if he starts moving again.

Joan: YAY!

[Karnage and Brandon return, but not with candy.]

Karnage: No candy. Found a nice TV, though.

Natalie: Now put that back right this instant!

CK: Hey, if you’re going back in, loot me a toaster..

Brandon: What happened to yours?

CK: You did!

[Natalie’s eyes go wide.]

Natalie: B-But you guys, this can’t be setting a good example for--

Karnage: Babe, think about who her dad is, and try that one again.

[The sound of an egg smacking someone’s head is heard.]

Joan: AHAHAHA!

Natalie: ...I’m going to need a couple hundred Hail Marys by the time this night is over, aren’t I?

CK: Oh, that’s right. You’re Catholic.

[CK picks up some of the scattered Chick Tracts and thumbs through them before handing a couple over to Natalie. She reads them, her face darkening with each passing second.]

Natalie: ...I... what...? How does any of this even make sense?!

CK: I’d like to remind you he was handing these out to impressionable young children.

[The Good Witch pauses... before she turns to look up at her boyfriend.]

Natalie: Drew, sugah, do me a favor and... RESCUE any copies of the Bible that are in there for me?

Karnage: I dunno, I’m kind of tired from all the earlier larceny...

CK: Found the one about Mormons!

Karnage: On it.

Natalie: Good man. Now, CK... do we go left-to-right, or right-to-left?

Brandon: Waitwaitwait, you’ve never--

CK: Just grab a roll and start chuckin, Nat.

[Following his advice, the Southern Belle snags a couple of rolls and sets to work, with Brandon joining in while Joan can be seen sprinting around, snagging bits of candy here and there from the others. CK sighs a bit in contentment before he looks over at the camera with a bit of a smirk.]

CK: See? Superior teamwork. We’ll see you soon, Team SCW.

[Rolling up his sleeves, the unofficial team captain joins in on the mischief and mayhem. Everything fades to black as, amidst the laughter and joking comments, the sound of distant sirens can be heard.]
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