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AntiMatter vs. EMPIRE
Topic Started: Feb 10 2013, 01:20 PM (257 Views)
Bobbie Hearst
Administrator
One Rp per team member.

Tournament Deadline: Thursday, February 28th, 2013
 
DirrtyRican

“THE EMPIRE TAKEOVER: WHEN SWORDS MEET BODIES”


Yo, I was schooled by the hood, raised by the wolves
Trained by the pain, adopted by guerillas
Gotta tank for a car, ice for a arm
Got tattoos wit' skin and scars from brawls
Gotta buildin' for a crib, Manhattan for a backyard



Do they even know just what the hell is about to go down in a couple of days? Can they even sense the smell of catastrophic destruction that is pressing down on the gas pedal heading their way at a hundred and fifty mile per hour speed? The answer is …

NO.

They hear nothing, they see nothing. All they see is only themselves being the lone survivors of this warfare. They don’t look to see what’s coming for them or that is on their heels. No, they don’t care. They could care less because they have what it takes to be the best, they have the skills to survive in the wilderness like this. But reality finds truth in everything. Reality will filter out all the bullshit and bring complete truth.

Mike Voland and Brian Harris, reality is going to hit them so goddamn hard. Their eyes are peeled for completing this upset over the crafty and highly-skilled vets. They are looking to take down this EMPIRE and do what no one else has been able to do.

Defeat us.

They see the names Santana and Juan Ramirez and their eyes glow big with ‘dollar’ symbols because they know, getting even the cheapest pinfall over this duo could create a tremendous amount of fame and praise. While that would be the common goal for a team like that, they tend to overlook things. They see themselves winning but their gameplan is bleak. It’s empty, there’s no strategy. You NEED a strategy if you plan on taking out one of the greatest, hall of fame-worthy stables.

Everybody has dreams. For Mike and Brian, they’re about to live one crazy ass dream.

Don’t dream too long though, EMPIRE’s fitting to stomp on those ‘balloon dreams’.


=================================


Feb. 25 2013 + 1:35 PM + Upper Manhattan, New York

It was another ‘weekly visit’ to the towers that is now fully-owned by Ramirez’s agent, Mark Bianci. Mark was the man who kept eye on all of Ramirez’s works, his money, even his reputation as both a wrestler and a celebrity. Mark was like the ‘hard-working’ CPU in the background while Juan did his thing and brought in the cash flow. In realness, Mark was like the ‘Father’ Ramirez never had growing up. Mark made sure that JR was out of trouble and always focused. Doing all he could to make sure things rolled smoothly for both himself and for Juan’s sake.

Today, Juan flying back in town for the last minute work before taking off to Paris, France for “Collision Course”. Juan sat comfortably, not worried or anything as he was dressed down in his favorite, navy blue with pinstripes. Juan sat in front of the cherry-oak wood office desk of Mark as they looked to be going over some things.

“So buddy, are you ready to nail the moniker “Titan” to your long list?” Mark asked, shooting it out without filler.

Ramirez nodded confidently.

“You know I am. I mean this schedule I’m on is loaded to the top. From this ‘Clash of the Titans’ to “Iron King” tournament. I need more than just some 5 hour energy booster or Red Bull. I need nitrous oxide.”

Mark carried a short laugh as he shook his head. “Juan, I don’t know what to do with you and your one-liner’s sometimes.”

Ramirez just displayed a smirk.

“Me and Santana have things covered. Afterall, we are a team, a family. Plus, check this out, we both come from Santa Ana. Remember I was born there and raised in Harlem…”

Mark waved.

“Yeah I know, the neglectful mother that didn’t take care of her responsibilities. Yeah, I know. But I bet she’s smiling down on you with all your recent success.”

As Mark said that, Ramirez smirk had disappeared and now showcased more of a ‘careless’ approach.

“Yeah, right …” Juan said, not choosing to indulge into that subject. “Fact is, me and Santana have that ‘connection’. It’s like knowing someone who was your childhood friend.”

Mark smiled.

“I’m happy for the both of you. You know you didn’t like teaming with others at one point and time but you’ve grown into it. Just be careful with Santana. That man can snap in a moments notice. If things get nasty, he will let loose.” Mark said, as if warning me of the behavior.

“Mark, I know. I mean shit, I seen the man’s actions. Hell, he set my girl Arkia Fisk on fire pretty much and doused me and her both with snakes. The man is creatively talented when it comes to violence. It’s a level of violence we can use in EMPIRE. It’s a level of violence we can use going into this little tournament. Trust me Mark, I know.”

Giving his agent that ‘trustworthy’ smile, Mark let everything be and said nothing else as he glanced over the papers scattered on his table.

“Okay, fine deal. Just do well man and PLEASE … Plenty of rest and liquids. No staying out late and partying. You have two huge, important tournaments and you need to be at your best.” Mark spoke, giving out words of advice.

Ramirez just nodded to all of what he was saying.

“I gotcha’ Mark!” Again with that ‘trustworthy’ grin Juan gave Mark.

“I understand the reasons of his doing. He was establishing his brand and if only his partner would’ve believed in it, Santana would probably still be attacking the members of EMPIRE but he’s learned to adapt into a professional setting we have and he is a valuable asset. We’re going far.”

Mark just nodded, saying nothing.

“I’ll call you when I get to Dall—Arlington, I mean.” Juan said to Mark as he got up, ready to depart.

“Alright buddy, take care and have a safe flight!”

Ramirez nodded his head as he exited out of his agent’s office.



Mar. 1 2013 + 5:55 PM + Arlington, Texas

Six days past, the flight to Arlington was quite the ride. Not a long, long distance but within a few hours, he arrived. Enjoying some of the city’s night scenery as Ramirez tried to adapt to the weather change and the other aspects that come when traveling all over. There was this moment of ‘wobbliness’ coming off the plane but that was all. Everything else was smooth transition.

The perks of traveling was finding the right spot to ‘rest your head’ and Ramirez had been on a lucky streak as far as finding great spots with low cost but high productivity and great service. Ramirez remained in his hotel room most of the later part of the day. Times like these, close to showtime, he stayed in his room to stay focused. It was just him in the room as Santana was down the hall from him.

“I can hear that infamous Chicago Bull theme play in my head right now, telling me it’s GAME TIME! Ready to fight, brawl, stir shit up and go all in.” Juan said as he had his hands balled up in a fist and the other wrapped around it, like rock and paper.

“Throughout my troubled childhood and teen years, never did I think I’d make it this far in life. To be good at everything I touch? To be champion damn near in every company I’ve been signed to? To be an Internationally-known icon around the world?”

Juan laughs.

“I’d never believe that bullshit! I had no genes of being great. I just lived a foul, young life. Being on the run twenty-four seven as if being a Marathon runner. I never stopped running from the law. Hanging around those folks, man … We were rebels. Stealing shit, beating up people, dealing drugs. We did it all … just to survive the jungle that is Harlem, Brooklyn. We did it all to make it to the next day.”

“Being introduced to that jail life, it changed me but temptations kept me coming back to that same damn prison for more time. Teen years, juvenile sentence. Usually 15 to 30 days in and I was out. When they told me about what would come with that third strike, I completely rid of everything around me. It was just me, on my own finding other ways to survive and adapt. I never knew underground boxing would lead me to here when I originally thought I’d be a hell of prospect in the boxing industry but I was denied that shot. Wrestling came out of the thinnest air.”

He laughed again.

“Amazing where life can place you without even realizing. I never expected to be ‘big time’. I never expected to have a hellacious schedule to combat with. All of this gold, jewelry, I never expected to have the money to afford it. I was looked out for and with some work, I’m here where I stand. Some people these days don’t realize just how difficult it is to be superior, they don’t understand the time spent to get where you want to be, the sacrifices that have to be made. Not many understand it and probably never will … until it’s too late.”

Sitting on the edge of the bed, Juan held his head downward with his hands covering his face almost entirely. Unexpectedly, the hotel door was knocked on lightly. Getting up, Juan walked over, somewhat cautious to the door. Before he could even look through the peephole…”

“Room Service!” Said the black man with the british-like accent.

Looking through the peephole anyways, it was indeed the waiter. Juan opened the door and there was the silver rolling tray with the meals on top as you could smell the zinging fragrance from the meat. The waiter came in, rolling the tray as he then bowed.”

“There you are Sir, enjoy!” The waiter said before going to exit. Juan held him up.

“Hey man, thanks for that but has anyone told you that you resemble Jeffrey from Fresh Prince of Bel Air?” Juan asked, knowing it would cause a laugh.

The waiter had that look on his face, not surprised, not pissed.

“I get that every now and then Sir. I appreciate it. Also, good luck on your match Sunday night. I’ve heard a lot of buzz about you since you entered this hotel. Do well!”

Juan nodded with a smile as he ‘high-fived’ the waiter.

“Most definitely!” Juan replied as the waiter finally made his exit out of the room.

Closing the door back before locking it, Ramirez headed towards the silver tray as the savoring smell poured through the silver platters that were covered. He rolled the tray over onto the side of the bed, the opposite of where he first sat as he had a wide smile on his face.

“Así hambre!” Ramirez said within a sigh as he began rubbing his stomach, still holding onto that wide grin.

“Just like this meal, I plan to take this match come Sunday night as my dinner. I’m going on a starving period after this meal until Sunday night. Me and Santana … We’re advancing. We have the tools, the talent to defeat these two. They may have their qualities but they remain inferior to our standards. Not overlooking the field, just stating the facts. We’re hungrier than those two. They want this but I question their value of wanting it. They’ll be questioning their own when they find out just how hard the task at hand will be.”

Juan takes off all the lids on the platters as his eyes widen.

“My goodness gracious. This is a ‘champion-like’ meal here. This will surely take me up until Sunday night!”

As Ramirez picked up that fork, he said his prayers before quickly tearing into the piece of beef that was sided with vegetables in carrots and broccoli. Stuffing his face full, the cameras zoomed out as it deemed the end of the transmission feed a quote then seconds later popped up…


“Eat your breakfast heartly, for tonight we dine in HELL!!”King Leonidas from the movie “300”


===============================================

“DON’T SHOOT, WE AREN’T ARMED!”


“Yeah right, like we’re going into this thing unarmed. Be serious!”

Ramirez, who had just shortly arrived into Arlington, after getting settled in for a bit, he made his way over to the billion dollar stadium that part of him despised, being his roots and where he grew up. “Big Blue”, his home team was nicknamed instead of saying New York Giants. This was a rival stadium but the other part of him saw it as a big opportunity as everyone would get to see him and his compadre on a big ass 100 million dollar high-definition big screen. More spotlight, more showtime. The game plan? Demolish this so-called ‘tag team’, “AntiMatter” and make sure that they don’t matter in this matchup.

To Juan, it was bad enough they were placed in this preliminary round. They get that people were somewhat ‘blunt’ about them and the power they have but this being the conditions, it only made it perfect after some time to think. This was going to be the ‘warning shot’ to the rest of the teams partaking in this event. This was the notice that everybody was going to see and feel a little uncomfortable watching.

For Juan and his partner Santana, it was all about representing the brand Phoenix Wrestling and the stable within the organization, EMPIRE. Taking down this task would only push them closer and closer to the next stage and the stage after. Timing was everything when it came to these kind of matches.


“This state smells like someone’s unwashed ‘bun-buns’. This city isn’t the best. Hell, even this damn billion dollar place isn’t the best. It’s just overshadowed by the glossy finish and the ‘larger than life’ television screen hanging above. Without it, this place is trash. Sure, half of me says this being from New York and raised up as a Giants fan but for this occasion, I’m looking to ‘pretty’ this place up. This event is star-studded and with EMPIRE being participants in here, this event will only get better and ‘one-sided’.”

“Putting us in a preliminary contest against some ‘jokes’ to be determined as the holder of the 18th spot, it’s kind of disrespectful. We worked too hard be put in some preliminary round against some punks. But you know what, we thrive off of being disrespected. We thrive off of being considered “underdogs”. This motivation leads to some great things but for those that are the targets, in this case Mr. Voland and Mr. Harris, things are going to go southward for them. Sure, they can be confident too, they can jump and down, pose, act as if they are a cerebral threat to their opposition but it doesn’t phase a veteran group like us, EMPIRE. We’ve put dudes like “Anti-Matter” to shame. Made them bleed, cry, make them plead for mercy. This isn’t EA Sports, it’s not a game. This event means a lot to our name, our brand, who we represent and the future. We like being considered “greedy collectors”. We charge after anything that adds value to our legacy.”

Standing on the lot of the Dallas Cowboys stadium, it was Ramirez and his film crew. There were a couple of trucks further placed out near the stadium that were obviously labeled as the maintenance crew. The sun was nearly setting as it grew closer and closer to getting dark. Ramirez with his prideful attire, a black shirt with torn sleeves with the Twitter Hashtag “#EMPIRETAKEOVER” in gold, bold print and a pair of black jeans.

“It’s been a very stressful week for me. Being under heavy criticism and having to worry about other shit, it’s a toll but I’m built for this type of weather. Pressure can come hard as much as it wants but like in previous cases, I’ve succeeded. Pressure has been with me since birth. I came out the womb stressing and I’m still here.”

“Mike, Brian … I appreciate your time and effort of putting your names into the basket of being or attempting to become a “Titan” but sorry to ‘spoil your milk’, it’s not going to happen this year. Maybe next time when and if we choose not to show up will you two maybe have a shot at progressing further through these stages. Me and Santana appreciate it but it’s not your time yet, fellas!”

Ramirez snickers before continuing on…

“Reason why? You two have some serious ‘ironing out’ to do. You two, I can sense trouble. Not for us, but between you two. You both have different mindsets of what you want to do to us. One mind wants to be aggressive, the other wants to win conservatively. Things aren’t going to mesh properly. I’ve been through those times before. You’re not going to work properly, function well, you’re going to have ‘crinkles’ in your game.”

“Sorry, you two just aren’t going to pass “Go” and collect your earnings. Voland, you’re going back to your company heart-broken in defeat and your partner will go wherever the hell he surfaced from. Again, this challenge is appreciable but it’s going to take more than a cute, scientific name to equal to this amount of chemistry and production.”

“When you wake up, you’ll be forced to look at yourself on the big screen and the replay that recaps what the hell just happened and the reason both of you were ‘ blacked out’. It wasn’t a matter of science, it was a matter of being at the wrong place and the wrong time. You’ll learn this later in life and maybe you can rebound … or maybe you won’t. From the ‘Harlem Shake’ to the ‘Two-Step’, my feet and fists will be flying in unison with my partner’s brash and violent style. Enjoy this ass-whipping, fellas! Be sure to tell your friends about this achievement.”


 
PapaPancho

EMPIRE CELEBRATION TOUR


The flight out of Las Vegas in the dead of night had been rough. Santana hadn’t waited long after the Charity Bash of 2013 had ended when he boarded the private jet straight. You don’t get much sleep when you’re on tour and the #EMPIRECelebration tour 2013 had to get to its next stop date. March 3rd, 2013 – Arlington, Texas – Visionary Wrestling Incorporated Presents Clash of the Titans! Both Santana and Juan Ramirez were coming off singles victories at Phoenix Wrestling’s Collision Course 13’ with Santana defeating a man who had put him out of commission in Chris Chaos and Juan Ramirez retaining that beautiful International Championship. Right now nothing was more beautiful than what was right before his eyes as he stepped on the plane.

“Oh baby I’ve missed you. You’re exactly what I need to see right now.”

Santana slid his hand down the side feeling her every inch of her curves. He looked her up and down as she marveled in the rising sun. There she was. The most beautiful 1940 Ford Coupe money could buy and hands could build. He popped open her doors and sat right in the beautiful leather interior. He let out a sigh as he rested in the groove his body had made in the seat over time. He turned the ignition in the key and heard the engine purr like a slumbering lion. Music to his ears.

Music! I know exactly what to play

Santana popped open his glove compartment and pulled out a CD case. He flipped through his collection till he came to his favorite 2Pac album “All Eyez on Me.” He pushed the CD into the player jumped to track 6 and pulled the car into drive as the song intro began to play.



“Ain’t nuttin but a gangsta party … Ahh shit, you done fucked up now – You done put two of America’s most wanted in the same motherfuckin place at the same motherfuckin time … Y’all niggaz about to feel this …. Break out the champagne glasses and the motherfuckin condoms. Have one on us aight?”



The bass pumped through the speakers as he rolled out of the airport and into the Arlington community.

That’s right Visionary Wrestling you done fucked up. Putting EMPIRE in a preliminary bout? It didn’t matter if we faced Matter, Anti-Matter, or Doesn’t-Matter because you just did the one thing nobody in this tournament could afford to do; you motivated us. Me and Juan come from a whole ‘nother world than the rest of these clowns and things like disses, offenses, and slights have strong consequences where we come from. You are officially on notice. What happens to our opponent’s is YOUR fault.

*******************

Santana turned heads wherever he went in Arlington, Texas. Perhaps it was the “Go Fuck Yourself” look on his face or the fact that there wasn’t a bare piece of skin between his neck, torso, and fingers. But he never cared for what other people thought of him what was important was the run. For too long he had relied on his ruthlessness to set him apart from the pack. When first entering Phoenix Wrestling Santana couldn’t care about training, working out, or learning any kind of technique he was just a pissed off ex con looking to make a few bucks and hurt a few people in the process. Looking back now he almost pitied that version of himself. He was simple minded then but not anymore. He knew what Clash of the Titans represented. Exposure, money, and good old fashioned championship gold and leather.

So in pursuit of that fame, money and gold he was running at ten o’clock in the morning shirtless down the busiest street in Arlington. Chingon’s La Malaguena blasted in his head phones as his feet pounded the pavement. He could see the townsfolk stare at him like he belonged in a carnival freak show. It’s been that way his whole life. If it wasn’t the guero’s at school picking on him for being Mexican it was the Mexican’s picking on him for being gay or it was the both of them picking on him for being poor. Everywhere he went Santana couldn’t help but piss somebody off. He used to care about fitting in thinking there was something wrong with him but everything was fine as long as he could be with Steve. But life had other plans for him so three boys beat Steve within an inch of his life. It was the breaking point. It’s when *censored* died and Santana was born. It cost him ten years of his life and the man that he loved but the revenge was a lesson he never forgot. People respond to violence; if they do not respect you out of love then they will respect you out of fear.

Santana made a right onto Cooper Street running all the way from his hotel down to Title Boxing Club. The place was empty just as he had requested it except for the few trainers that were there to work him out and sharpen his striking skills. He got his hands wrapped properly and taped up right as he worked from speed bags to heavy bags to double end bags. He wasn’t near the level of striking that Juan Ramirez was, that man was a gold glover but he wasn’t a slouch neither. Jump ropes and Medicine Balls used for plyometric training helped him mix and build speed with power. It was all a continuing transformation and evolving for the convict. That had always been life’s lesson to him. “Evolve or Die.” If he had wanted to survive Santana couldn’t have remained that scared bullied 16 year old. Life hadn’t granted him that luxury that some of his competitors had. Nothing was ever given to him. Every skill, every muscle and every ounce of toughness Santana had was earned over time. He trained, he fought, he battled until finally standing here in the Title Boxing Club stood a warrior. A warrior who knew that losing meant dying.

*********************


Part of promoting the event for Visionary Wrestling was doing media cycles with podcasts, television and radio interviews. Santana HATED the media.

”Welcome back to 103.3 KESN FM Radio this is ESPN Dallas and today we have been covering the competitors who have traveled from all over the globe to compete in Visionary Wrestling’s Clash of the Titans taking place in the Mecca of stadiums – the house that Jerry built – Cowboys Stadium. Today with us right now we have Phoenix Wrestling … am I getting this right Santa Ana?”

“That’s Santana. One word.”

”My apologies well welcome to the show Santana. So we’ve interviewed some of the biggest names in the wrestling world today; Terry Marvin, Kurt Noble, James Stall, the list goes on and on and on …”

“There a question somewhere in there or you just plan on talking the whole interview?”

”Well my question for you is with not a lot of people knowing who you are what do you hope or expect to accomplish at Clash of the Titans with names like these on the event?”

”You really expect me to take that question seriously? What do I HOPE to accomplish? I don’t hope. Save that for the gullible losers you have interviewed. I expect to win it all. Nothing less than that is acceptable. See me and my boi Juan Ramirez have been seeing a real ugly trend around here and it’s nothing short of disrespectful that we have to compete in a prelimary bout. EMPIRE is the cash cow of PW and for use to be relegated like a couple of green horns … downright insulting.”

”Well in fairness that decision was made in large because PW is not officially recognized as a member of Visionary Wrestling.”

”I suppose being one of only six members recognized by the Experts meant nothing. It’s a bullshit excuse to try and squeeze a free match out of EMPIRE. Visionary isn’t stupid they know that when EMPIRE shows up there’s money to be made. But in their greed they made a terrible mistake by insulting us”

”Insulted?”

”The team they matched up couldn’t be any more obvious. Anti-Matter? Of course a team that faces EMPIRE doesn’t matter. Visionary knows what the hell it was doing when it booked the show. Juan Ramirez is the current PW International Championship and the first ever Experts Tag Team Champion with MDK. Juan barely liked MDK … think of the damage he can do with his homeboy as his partner.”

”Indeed your tag team partner’s resume is extensive but to be quite honest yours is lacking.”

”What you say?

”I’m saying that despite your partners glorious accomplishments you personally have never held championship gold of any kind.”

The radio air goes silent as no one talks for a few seconds. The hosts and producers watch not knowing how Santana would react and security was prepared in case he flipped out.

“Thank you for that.”

The wild convict known for his flashes of rage and showings of violence calmly removed his headphones and stepped away from the radio interview. The host was flabbergasted but relieved that no physical altercation took place.

*****************


“We tradin war stories, we Outlawz on the rise … Jealous niggaz I despise, look in my eyes …. We tradin war stories, we Outlawz on the rise … Jealous niggaz I despise, look in my eyes ….



2Pac’s “Trading War Stories” chorus repeats for a bit as the music fades out. Santana walks into the view of the camera sporting a black pin stripe suit. His jacket is open and he wears nothing underneath showing off his tattooed body as always.

“What separates me and Juan from 18 other teams? What makes EMPIRE that much better? Let’s start at the beginning. For a tag team to be worth any team there has to be cohesiveness a seamlessness between the partners into one single goal, Tag Team Gold. Me and Juan not only share that goal but we share a history unlike any other team. Both raised in a ghetto by mothers who didn’t care for us we grew up not in a ring but in the streets where the stakes were much higher. Juan like to call it the “Santa Ana Connection.” We are both men who were never handed anything in our lives. Everything we have is because we took it. Just like we’re going to take the Tag Team Championships.

Next, styles makes fights and for tag teams to work they have to complement one another. I see some teams look at EMPIRE and think to themselves and see two strikers on a team. But don’t judge a book by its cover because we are more than strikers. Me and Juan might use our fists to cause the most amount of damage but we are two entirely different men. Juan’s a hustler but more importantly he’s a businessman. And like a business man he handles his business … man. With precision, technique, he’ll chop you up and break you down. He can get real surgical with those fists. Those are lessons he learned on the streets of New York City. He grew up a Ghetto King out of his war. Me? I’m more the sledgehammer type. I’m into causing a lot of damage so you better make sure I don’t get my hands on you because whatever I touch … I break. That’s the man I needed to become to survive ten years in the Texas State Penitentiary System. I grew up a Ghetto Soldier out of my way.


Santana removes his jacket extending his arms showcasing his body of scars and tattoos. He spins slowly so that the viewer can take in his life experience by watching the scars weave in and out of the enormous amount of ink he has.

But that’s not enough. Being unified and being talented can only get you so far in a one night tournament. You have to believe that no matter who stands across from you in that ring the outcome remains the same. I was in Las Vegas before coming here and I know the heavy favorites are Kurt Noble and Doug E Fresh. How do you battle with someone who thinks he’s a God? Or maybe their rivals in the tournament Adrien Specter and James Stall? How do you submit someone whose willing to cut his own tongue out just to keep fighting. Any number of these teams could meet us at any stage in the tournament but we are EMPIRE. We are the absolute best TEAM in the world. No super-team can hold a candle to us because we are unified and ready to fight. We’ve got the brain, the brawn, and the heart to take what rightfully belongs to us and to EMPIRE.

But still I’m reminded of a goal I have yet to fulfill. I’ve taken revenge on those who wronged me. I’ve injured those who’ve offended me. I’ve even ended careers of people I never thought about twice but never … ever … have I wrapped gold around my waist. The only metal this body is used to feeling is the cold iron cuffs of the law or the feeling of a blade as it digs into my skin …


Santana rubs a very prominent scar on his chest as the viewer realizes the scars on Santana’s chest form into an Anarchy symbol. His right hand tugs at the skin wanting to rip it off but the mark is permanent and reminds Santana daily that he is not immortal.

And that brings me to the secret ingredient for the recipe that is going to get EMPIRE to take home tag team gold. HUNGER. A lot of individuals and a lot of teams know the feeling of gold around their waist whether its individually or as a team. I have no idea what it feels like. And to be quite honest … I’m fucking dying to find out. I want these championships. I survived in hell for ten years making my way through the shit so that I could come out the other side with a middle finger raised and a title to hold up. As you can see my middle finger works just fine but my hand is empty. Juan knows what a title means to me and what having one will mean. He’ll have my back and we’ll be coming back to Phoenix Wrestling with as the new ViW Tag Team Champions… because we’re EMPIRE. That’s what we do.

Santana picks up his jacket from the floor. He walks away but not before flipping off the camera and holding his jacket up as a mock title.
 
AntiMatter


Insert Meaningless Title Designed to Intimidate Nobody Right Here

**

The scene opens up to show a wrestling ring. Quite a few people are in that ring and half of them seem to be overweight men wearing skintight singlets. Not very appetizing to the eye regardless of one's preference, really. Still, those apparently stereotypical fat guys just happen to be hip tossing, Irish whipping, or body slamming young and athletic looking men. One such young man, looking to have the build of a linebacker dressed in speedos, charges across the ring and goes for a spear on one of the “fatties.” The big guy sidesteps and plants the muscular young jock with a DDT.

The camera pans right a bit, showing, from behind, a tall and muscular man with long black hair pulled into a ponytail and wearing nothing but a pair of black gym shorts perched upon the top turnbuckle. He's holding a cell phone up to his right ear.

"Seriously, Brian, if you don't manage to get away from your motocross shit and into a real fight for this, you ain't gonna bang my sister for a month. Fuck no, she told me to tell you that. Dude! I don't need to hear that! Seriously, should I start talking about when your sister was sharing a room with me at that ski lodge and the power went out? All we had were a few 'sensually scented candles,' a blanket, and some ski wax so we-okay. Good to know we're on the same page, punkass. Yeah, call me that as much as you want. Hold on a second.”

The speaker drops his phone to the mat and launches himself from the second rope, where his bare feet have been resting, and hits a spinning leg lariat on one of the “big guys,” leveling him just before the big guy in question was about to clobber a trainee. Now facing the camera, dark wraparound shades clearly visible over his eyes, Mike Voland yells at the downed man.

"Weak, Steve! Your footwork was totally out of time! This kid tries to copy that and he'll get clobbered!”

Mike jumps back up onto the top of the corner, snapping his fingers. The phone he dropped has disappeared but he catches a Bluetooth earpiece and sticks it on his right ear.

"Sorry about that, Red, I had to remind a three hundred pound guy how to properly hit a clothesline. No, a normal one. Seriously, I'm tempted to start drinking during these sessions again except for...what's that? Don't deny it, man, I know your sister's voice anywhere. So-...good to know you're on board. What? I'm not her keeper, she went down to Pittsburgh with some friends a few hours ago. You've got her number, call her yourself. Do that later.

Yeah, I'm with a promotion called New Era Wrestling now. NEW. Yeah, sounds gimmicky but what in this business doesn't, Wyld Chyld? Seriously, how many logos do you have sewn onto your jacket when you do any of those big air stunts? Whatever, if you want a real race I still have that Ducati in the garage and all you have to do is name the city, but that's beside the point...well for a start that poser Roric Draygon or Eric Donovan or whatever he's calling himself now's involved and I'll be fucked by a saguaro cactus before I let that assmunch be the best representing any company I'm with! His partner's a guy that goes by the name of Tombstone. Yeah, I know, but he's actually better than Eric. Yeah, I know that a bag of shit hitting a lawnmower is as good as Donovan, but this Tombstone guy actually has cred here. Then again, he picked a guy that failed to beat the local Champion as his partner, so he has to be reaching.

This is an inter-fed tournament. Most of the teams involved are guys that hate each other and are just in it to try to curry favor with their bosses. Fuck my boss, I just want to kick some ass! And since you know as well as I do that my other option for a partner is likely chewing on scrap metal in a junkyard in Canton...shut the fuck up, we defended the Tag titles against you and Kyle until he got jumped on the w- okay, just making sure we're on the same page. You think I'm an asshole, I think you're a punkass, we're probably both right and we can both say 'I'm screwing your sister.' We both know that the latter comes with its own risks. You have that crazy 'I can't feel fear' thing and I just don't give a fuck. That and a short, busty blonde that can teach me a move like a cobra punch as a way of flirting is just plain sexy.

We know how to work together. First time we met I told you you'd need a stretcher and you actually brought one to the ring. That almost impressed me as much as when you started dating my sister. Seriously, man, having me slam you through a stretcher with a shooting star press is one thing, but even trying to kiss that psycho bitch and living to tell about it is impressive. We need to be more impressive. I'm talking like like those countless times we smacked down Kyle Travis' flunkies, never mind that time our sisters spanked them...okay, bad example.

Pretty much nobody in this tournament knows how to really work as a team. The few that do, I'm sure we can beat. The ones that don't, well, easy pickings. Back at our old gig in ACW you were the longest reigning single holder of the Tag Team Titles, I was the second longest holder of the same, and the two of us together, as AntiMatter, were the longest reigning team in the history of that promotion. So get your ass over here and let's get warmed up already!"


He snickered and shook his head.

"Okay, just make sure to bring Megan along, I'm kinda horny and you don't wanna be in the ring with me whil- oh yeah, she said something about turning her workshop into a 'flammably lubricated funhouse' but that's after we work out and she isn't allowed to hurt you before the tournament...well deal with it! We good? Alright, see you then.”

Mike Voland pulls the bluetooth device off his ear and flicks it aside before hopping up into a crouch with his feet atop the turnbuckle, yelling something that gets bleeped out, and administering a missile dropkick to one of the students.

**

Sometimes Less is More, Guys. For serious.

 
AntiMatter






an·ti·mat·ter
/ˈantēˌmatər/
Noun

Antimatter is any substance that, when combined with an equal amount of matter, results in the complete and direct conversion of all substance to energy. Antimatter is composed of antiparticles. Each particle of matter has a corresponding antiparticle of antimatter.

-*-


"And here are your winners via pinfall and NEW TRUE EXPERT TAG TEAM CHAMPIONS ... Juan Ramirez of Phoenix Wrestling and MDK of TFWF!"

To say that the room was Mancave of the Year worthy was an understatement. Dark woods made up the paneling, black leather couches were arranged around various TV screens all dedicated to different things. One for the X-Box, one for the PS, and so on. A fully stocked wet bar with a black marble top ran along one wall, one corner was a dedicated gym, the opposite corner held tastefully arranged shelves that held the titles and trophies earned by the Harris Family. Here were found the ACW Tag Team belts that said Razors Edge, with a placard that read: June 14, 2009 - 224 days, and the addendum that when Kyle had had to retire that Brian had picked a new tag team partner - Mike Voland, formerly of Frenzy. A new set of belts designed for the AntiMatter team were next to those, and the placard read: June 14, 2009 - April 25th 2010, Brian Harris. We congratulate you on setting the new record for longest reigning champion of any type in ACW history at 315 days.

On a shelf to the side of that rested something else. Brian Harris had also been the greatest United States Champion in ACW's run. They'd called him the King of America, and much to his chagrin he'd once again become a hero to the fans that he'd felt had turned on him in the past. He'd held that belt for 196 days, after they'd told him that he'd never do it. That his reign would be over before it started. Brian Harris had a way of beating the absolute bloody fuck out of the odds. The camera panned back, taking in his "Comeback of the Year" trophy - though really he always felt that was weird as shit to get, considering the entire stable they'd been in had been suspended at the time, Jack Marrow attempting to flex nuts at the entity known as the Church of Anarchy. Once they'd been reinstated though, Marrow had learned the true meaning of 'payback is a bitch' from having a donkey show shipped to him from Mexico to being hit in the face with a whipped cream pie with a frozen squid in the middle.

Light gleamed off his other accolades, most of which were in motocross and X-Games style competitions, a shelf was devoted to Kyle's work and his sister Megan Harris' MMA belts and trophies. This family was more than fame-worthy in what they'd done, ignoring that was just ignorant but then, what can you do? Megan crossed in front of the camera and hit stop on the remote, rewound the video a few minutes and then handed her brother Brian a bowl of popcorn as she went to the wet bar and got two cans of ice cold Pepsi. Product placement, bitches! She cranked her arm like a major league pitcher and launched it at Brian's head full force, and at the last second his hand shot up and caught the Pepsi, and he immediately brought it down and cracked it open, taking a long pull before grinning at his sister.

There was a trick to this of course. If you didn't catch the can you'd get smacked in the head or torso with it, bad. If you DID catch the can and didn't catch it just right, when you opened it right after (part of the rules of said game) you'd get showered in Pepsi, bad. Brian was a master of making that happen to others even though he swore up and down that he never pre-shook the soda. Megan sauntered over to the couch, the Firecracker jumping the back to settle herself in before hitting play on the remote.

As the siblings watch the video play on the huge plasma TV hung on the wall, Megan is taking a few notes and nodding her head. EMPIRE's own Juan Ramirez tossed into a tag team with former SCW owner Danny Tenegra, aka MDK for the Experts Rival Factions. They'd managed to do something no one thought they could, and become the True Expert Tag Team Champions. A thoughtful look came to Megan Harris' face, she was short, curvy and stacked in a way that could make a man walk into a light pole, but behind those crystalline blue eyes dwelt one of the most evil wrestling genius minds ever to be born. Megan made Precious Paul look like a fucking Saint.

"Huh. So you're not facing MDK, right? Just this tool Ramirez? Dude, how did he not know what his role in that match was?"

"His role?"

"Yup. MDK used him as bait. Bitch ass bait. Puerto Rican Puff Daddy there, he's not bad. Got some good footwork off the top, keeps his balance decently. Here watch when he comes off with that double stomp, see how his heels hit evenly? That's good and bad, and not just bad for Damien Baine's dick n' balls. What that means of course is that if he's going for that and you stick your leg up he can't dodge and then bye bye any future legacy for the Ramirez line."

Brian gave a sympathy wince. He might be a bastard, but he had a full set of Man Cards.

"What IS IT with you bitches and nut shots? I swear to God next you're going to tell me you taught Mike Voland the Johnny Cage Special."

Megan arched a blonde brow at her second oldest brother.

"You assume of course that I didn't."

"Jesus Wept, Megan. So how long did they successfully hold those titles, how many defenses, come on with the dirt baby sister.”

A wicked little smile curled those sweet lips.

"They didn't. Now Juan, he's a man that knows how to hold gold, he's held that belt of his in PW for assloads of time, no joke. He just retained that fuckin' thing at their latest PPV over the guy that I'm laying pre-bets on will take it from him the next time they face. Point is though? He retained it. But see, Ramirez didn't defend those belts at all. He let Evan Envi step in for him, from what I gather because it was political suicide to step up and stand next to MDK after all that shit went down at the Experts Extreme Tournament. In a way that's admirable. It's fucking smart to distance yourself from the sinking ship. But it also makes you a rat. And you know, I don't know how Santana stands him. They're trolling everyone to make them believe they're bros just because they're both EMPIRE but you know what? One of these days Santana is going to catch Ramirez looking down his nose at him and then he's going to yank one of Juan's eyes out and show it to him.”

Brian drank the rest of his Pepsi while she was talking and pitched the can at the trash bin, shaking his head.

"Hey maybe it won't be Rowyn Star that takes that International Championship belt off Juan. Santana, he's damn hungry he's got that look in his eyes. He's never had a taste of gold, and if I'm Juan? I'd kill myself making sure he gets it here so he doesn't get it into his head that maybe he got asked to join EMPIRE so that Juan could keep him from challenging him for that singles strap.”

Megan grinned.

"Why Brian, that was a lovely piece of deductive reasoning. I'm so impressed that I promise...” Megan squirmed to get her phone out of her pocket, and then checked the calendar. After going to meet with Mike and Tee they'd all be traveling together to Dallas before going to Arlington for the ViW show. And in Dallas was GatSplat, an indoor paintball range. "That I won't shoot you directly in the mask when we go to GatSplat.”

-*-

50 caliber paint guns? Check.

Indoor out of the weather set up? Check.

Dead men walking? (Mike Voland and Brian Harris) Check.

Their girlfriends stood across from them gearing up, the taller Tee Voland helping Megan with her backplate armor. It was a long story really on how two men that had started out bitter rivals had ended up dating each other's sister and becoming the most successful tag team combination in ACW's history. It made for interesting family gatherings if nothing else, and the never ending series of one-liner’s and insults were always good for a little entertainment. Brian was geared up, ready to roll but he paused to look up at the camera Mike had brought along, one of his students having traveled with the team to Dallas holding it to record everything going on and thought … hey, why not as he smirked in Harris Family style.

"We who are about to die, salute you and all that jazz. I've been keeping up with what's going on for ViW's Clash of the Titans and man, that is one stacked show. Eighteen teams, for the most part thrown together by their companies to compete for the first ever ViW Tag Team Championship belts. As far as I can tell, only Mike and myself and WARPED's CarnyConnect are even tag teams with any real experience working together. And I'm fine with that. You've got teams like The Dark Choir from NEW – how are you Eric you old fraud, anyway? And EMPIRE, the guys we'll be facing to see if we can even get IN this thing, way to go 'bros'; that are talking it up like they're the second coming of the Tag Team Christs, pulling out all the stops to show everyone why they're real teams too and can put aside differences between each other to work together. Kudos, guys. Serious. But we'll see what happens when the chips are tossed in the pot.

You may be individually beasts, but working together and putting aside differences takes time. Even if you can do it, whether or not you can overcome a team like AntiMatter that's actually held tag team gold is a whole other story.

Everyone is overlooking us, and we're fine with that. What we've done where we're from is past history, but at least we know how to survive in that ring as a cohesive unit, a fucking successful team. Whether or not you guys can hang against that remains to be seen. Smart money in this thing is laying success at the feet of the super teams created just for this event, teams like Doug E Fresh and Kurt Noble, James Stall and Adrien Specter. You have a huge threat in Mania / Gates from APW, man that place showed up to fight didn't it?

Bottom line is, those straps are up for grabs for whoever can make it through, and we're gonna be damned if we don't do our best to shock the world. We're not also-rans, Mike and I. We're considered the underdogs against EMPIRE, a team that hasn't even had one match under their belts as a team. But if EMPIRE isn't careful we won't be the underdogs, we'll be the dark horses, the spoilers that no one saw coming. I'm fine with that too.”


Brian checked his gear one last time, making sure his CO was capped off and he had plenty of extra ammo.

"These people have chosen to try and judge a book by it's fucking cover. They see Mike being from NEW Era and me being a Free Agent as if that was all we are, as if what we did in the past doesn't matter because it didn't happen where they are. Well okay, so there it is. But I'm telling you all, ignore us at your peril, because there was a reason that we were champions for as long as we were no matter what teams came up against our brick wall. See you in Arlington, boys and girls. We're going to try and pull off the upset of the century and show you all when Matter and AntiMatter are in the same space why AntiMatter always wins.”

Brian pulled his helmet on and donned his mask and goggles before taking position on the field of combat, ready as he'd ever be. The shot faded just as the alert to start went off.



 
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