Welcome to the last stop before Certified Greatness.
There is an uprising happening tonight.
Turmoil opens with a view of The Crown strategizing in their dressing room. Shepherd is surrounded by beautiful women that were the property of Seb. Meanwhile, Large Edward is once again...spit shining his Tag Team Championship...with real spit, as Cort looked on.
The group looked up as the Television Champion entered the dressing room, flanked by Code Terror. Cort immediately stands and addresses the duo.
Cort: You boys look a bit lost.
Seb: They’re with me.
Cort: Eh…
Cort: Making money off of male sex workers too? Capitalism at its finest!
Ed: Sixty bucks!
Seb: No, not like that. They’re here to help with a six hundred pound oaf.
Ed: Fifty!
Code and Tay: It’s not like that!
The group banter quickly died down as Madison, Dennis, and Troy Smith entered the scene. Troy Smith cleared his throat loudly for good measure and closed the door with his heel.
Madison: Shall we begin, Gentlemen? Good. I’m glad to see you all are in such high spirits. Even while we are under siege.
Shepherd: Been a great day. Made some new friends, and even -
Madison folded her arms and Cort nudged the rookie with his elbow to shut him up.
Madison: The Young Drakes, Poets of Pain, Bentley, B-17, O'Donnell, and Bill Ding…
Madison: what do these men have in common?
Ed: AIDS!
Madison rolled her eyes at Ed’s outburst. Thankfully for all involved, the ever level headed Cort Marshall stood up.
Cort: They seek to bring harm to our administration. They threaten this country and our very way of life! Luckily for us, our enemies are fractured. These Insurgents -
Shepherd: Wha?
Seb nudged Shepherd.
Cort: - lack organization. You’ve got the Young Drakes who are a missed moonsault away from early retirement. O’Donnell, a young boy trying to make his name off of Seb’s back. He looks as if he should be selling newspapers in a film about prohibition.
Cort: The Poets Of Pain are in the same category as O’Donnell, minimal threats to Crown held Championships that need to be dealt with once and for all.
Ed: Squashed like bugs!
Cort: Then we have the threats the we should be a bit more concerned about. B-17 and RD Money.
Cort: While Dennis here has already bested RD, he did manage to get one up on Dennis and Madison a year later. The man has positioned himself at the end of an unfair gauntlet.
Seb: We’ve all had hemorrhoids around the ass crack that just won’t go away, yea? No matter how many times you or others poke at it, the damned thing just won’t go away.
The room remains silent as everyone just stares as Seb.
Seb: Well anyway, that’s what B-17 has become. A bump on my ass. Moving on to the top threat, Bill -
Dennis: No.
Dennis takes a step forward and addresses the room.
Dennis: He isn’t a threat to anything other than a buffet. Seb, I have no doubt that you, along with Code Terror will force B-17, O’Donnell, and that fat bastard to bend the knee.
Dennis: And you three.
Dennis points to Cort, Ed, and Shepherd.
Dennis: Tonight, the three of you will be facing off against my challengers for this Sunday. It goes without saying that I need all three of them softened up to level the playing field.
Dennis: There is nothing that these guys can do that we haven’t already planned for, keep that in mind. B-17, Poets of Pain, the Irishman, The Drakes, and fatty are looking up at us while we look down on them for a reason. We are superior in every way.
Dennis:Even after tonight and this Sunday, none of that changes.
Madison: You see that, Troy!? We’ve turned your blunder into an opportunity for success. Alright Gentlemen, please give us the room. I’d like to speak with Dennis in private.
Dennis: Good luck tonight, everyone. I’ll be watching. Tonight is a big night.
Troy frowned at Madison when she turned her back to him. Slowly but surely, members of The Crown and Code Terror dispersed. When the door finally closed, Madison kicked off her heels and jumped on the couch.
Madison: Finally, peace and quiet. Let's get something from catering. I’m staaaaarving!
Dennis: We need to change our approach.
Madison: No arena catering? I suppose we could order something. Chinese? Anything that doesn’t involve me having to cook. Anything but Mexican...
Dennis: N-No. Our approach to the people trying to bring us down, Madison.
Madison: Oh?… yeah, that was my next guess.
Dennis: The Crown has been too passive. We’re letting our enemies gain confidence. We’ve been playing defense ever since the assault on the rookies. Why?
Madison: Is there no merit in the strategy of affording our rivals a false sense of security?
Dennis: We should have our boots on the necks of B-17 and company. You’re not giving our enemies enough credit. I think you’re giving them more momentum rather than a false sense of security. I think we need to take a different approach to -
Madison: Lover. Dearest. Schnookums…
Madison: Who is the strategist here?
Dennis rolled his eyes before before Madison reached out and grabbed Our Humble Hero’s nether regions. Pain shot through his body and he stood there, stunned.
Madison: Please do not forget who created The Crown. The very same group that made you the first man in OCW’s storied history to hold both the Turmoil Heavyweight Championship and the OCW Championship. Not only that, you will go down as the only man to hold them both at the same time.
Madison: OCW politics would never allow such a thing to take place again unless it is Nate Ortiz.
Madison squeezed a little tighter, causing Dennis to drop the Turmoil Championship in her lap. He leaned forward and used the couch for support to remain upright.
Madison: Now please, lover. Go get me a glass of wine, then join me on your Obsidian Throne and watch these matches from the safety that The Crown has provided you.
***
We find ourselves in the locker room of the hero Turmoil didn’t want or need in this thrilling installment of Turmoil. Corey Ford sat eagerly awaiting his moment to face new comer Kit Anderson, when the door opened and a stagehand handed a note to Corey’s tag partner Ragnarath.
Rags: Ah cool what is this?
The stagehand pointed to Corey who looked up glaring at the kid. Ragnarath was reading the note.
Corey: What is it? I have to watch this footage of Kit fighting Capo last week.
Rags: This says Kit hurt his elbow last week and that your opponent tonight is..
Ragnarath paused his eyes widening.
Rags: Looks like we ain’t done with these guys yet.. You’re facing Tay Terror, need any help?
The stagehand once again handed a new note to Ragnarath and left.
Corey: What’s that one say?
Rags: I have to face Archer…
Corey laughed and turned off the tv showing the Kit vs Capo match.
Corey: I’m looking forward to pummeling Tay in singles and hopefully getting the win over the Terror.
Corey stood after lacing his boots and grabbed his gloves.
Corey: Well I better get out there and put on a show.
He clapped Ragnarath on the back who returned the gesture with a bump of fists. Corey left the locker room and proceeded to the backstage area as the camera fades out to the announce team….
The camera pans to the announce team.
Ford versus a newby.
Lets see how it goes.
Corey Ford vs Kit Anderson
The camera pans to the announce team.
He finished it.
Someone has to.
Code Terror had stewed in a fever of rage since their failed attack the previous week on Riot. An informant had pointed them to the lower levels of the arena. After the attack, B17 had supposedly made a new haven in the basement. Neglected, the decrepit hallways were partially blocked by discarded trash.
As they descended further into the depths of ruin and cast away objects they started to notice an insignia stamped onto VCRS, 8-track players, and a busted phone booth, but in the dim light cast from a far away light, but they couldn’t quite read it.
It wasn’t until they clambered over a ratty futon that the light became bright enough to read the bright purple letters stamped everywhere.
Code: The damn fool is leading right to him.
A faint noise could now be heard. A steady beat of music.
It was a dead give away to Bingo’s position. They began to rush with anticipation towards a far door where the music seemed to be coming from.
Reaching the door they hesitated briefly before crashing their shoulders into the heavy metal door. It swings with a screech on its hinges.
An overwhelming heat hits them. They stumble briefly. An antique boiler throws off waves of intensity. But it wasn’t the heat that caused them to stumble. Instead the awkward sight of nude Bingo catches them off guard. His body is streaked with sweat, it appears that he has been using the room as a workout room as well and he moves through the motions of his combat skills. He jumps for his Bingo punch, seemingly unaware. He jumps again and Code shouts in horror and disgust.
Bingo botches the landing and rolls. He pops up and stares at his unwelcome visitors.
They stare back at him, determined not to look down.
B17: WELL! Lookie at this. CODE TERROR! You wanna hurt me? Go right ahead if it makes you feel any better. I’m an easy target. Yeah, you’re right, I talk too much.
Code and Tay look at each other confused: What the hell are you talking about?
B17 begins to pace from side to side of the small room.
B17: I’m talking about you and I! And him! You wanna get nuts! Let’s get nuts!
B17 launches himself at Code Terror.
In the ferocity of the attack, the camera man is shoved outside of the room and the door crashes shut.
From behind the door the sounds of a intense scuffle breaks out. Confused shouts of and sickening thuds of flesh on concrete and metal is all the audience is treated to.
B17: AHHH. You liked that! You li--
SMACK!
Terror: SHUT UP!
A gagging noise, right before the sound of vomiting brings the fight to standstill.
Code: hmm. Ummm…..oh..oh! I touched it!
B17: BINGO PUNCH!
B17 gives a mighty war cry before a loud crack and the clank of a metal on the floor ends the noises all together.
Code Terror forces the door open. They stumbled over each others feet as they come stumbling out, both trying to support the other.
Code: I touched it! I touched it!
Terror: Come on! Before he wakes up!
A distant shout causes both men to jump and look over their shoulders. From the other end of the dark, creepy hallway comes a the vividly white CJ Irish.
Irish: HEY!
He comes running as Code Terror make their retreat.
Irish: BINGO! BINGO! ARE YOU OK?
CJ makes it to the door and looks in. Sprawled spread eagle is a naked, and fully erect due thoughts of Lotus Flojo, B17.
He slams the door shut: NOPE!
James H. North vs Thomas Archer
The camera pans to the announce team.
Decisive victory.
Winnner, winner, chicken dinner.
Backstage on Riot, the camera shows Cort Marshall standing alone in the promo room. Cort cracks his knuckles and begins his schpiel.
Cort: Tobin. I'm sure you're just itching to get a shot at the man who took your tag title. I'm sure you can't wait to take down physical manifestation of America's honest truth, that being that someone like you doesn't get to beat someone like me! But don't forget that you have a very big opportunity coming up at Certified Greatness. Don't let it slip from your mind for one moment! You have a shot at our King, Dennis Black's turmoil title. A shot you undoubtedly do not deserve. And better yet, it will be in a gauntlet match, so when he beats you, it'll be even more shameful! I'm sure you're worried. So please, I beg you, don't get distracted. Don't make a mistake! Don't slip up! Because it would be absolutely terrible if the man with the most patriotic biceps in OCW made an example out of you on the Riot before Greatness!
Cort flexes for the camera.
Cort: You see that? That is what a diet of Red, White, and Pabst Blue Ribbon gets you. Get ready, brother, 'cause the storm is coming and its name is SERGEANT! CORT! MARSHALL! Hoo-rah!
Cort goes to walk off stage but suddenly holds up a finger, spins on his heel and strides back into frame.
Cort: I almost forgot. Even if, by some miracle of random chance and certainly not skill or intelligence, you beat me tonight? Ed is going to give your tag partner the reaming of his life. I hope you have a new partner in line... because Ed doesn't tend to leave people in one piece.
He makes the cutthroat gesture and smiles as the camera fades to black.
