Samsoni waves.

Wrestler Junkee says, “Hi BB.”

Blue Belle replies, “Hello Junkee.”

Samsoni adds, “Hi junkshop.”

Brute snickers. “Evening boss lady.”

Blue Belle nods. “So Brute, are you about ready to become an official member of the SHOCK team?”

Brute retorts, “The question might be is SHOCK ready for me?”

Morgan Drakewing shakes his head. “He better not be getting health benefits from you, Belle.”

Blue Belle replies, “Well this evening will be the transition. You can comment on the matches as we build up to your match with Angel in a few weeks.”

Samsoni lassos Billie.

Bobcat Billie Hart swings Samsoni around before launching him away.

Samsoni yells, “Whooooaaaaaaaa!”

Wrestler Junkee notes he could make a good commentator or a fighter.

Blue Belle smiles.

Bobcat Billie Hart retorts, “If ya wait long enough I’m sure SHOCK'll be begging jus about anyone ta join ‘em.”

Samsoni lands in a heap in the corner.

Brute nods. “Why that sounds like a good idea. Not as much fun as squeezing the pop into Angel's spine... but close.”

Blue Belle sighs, “So just take a seat and add expert analysis while I get this show started.”

Bobcat Billie Hart takes a seat in the back.

Brute has a seat and chuckles. "You gotta tell me who the heels are so I know who to be unbiasedly in favor of."

Blue Belle points Brute to his seat as the house lights dim then come up on the ring only. “I think that will be painfully obvious.”

Blue Belle steps though the ropes, showing off a flex of shimmering nylon-clad thigh in the process. She struts to the microphone hanging over the center of the ring in a costume a lady magician or a hatcheck girl might wear. She smiles despite the catcalls and takes out her cue cards, fumbling and dropping them. “Oh goodness, please excuse me while I retrieve my cue cards...”

Wrestler Junkee exclaims, “Doh!”

Brute laughs. "Well, we are off to a blazing start. Nice accidental drop of the cards to give Belle a chance to bend over and display ass and cleavage at the same time."

Blue Belle makes a major production of retrieving her cue cards. She bends over from the waist with her legs straight and picks up the cards one by one, showing off her shapely assets as she does so, and then promptly drops the cards again as she straightens. “I seem to have fumblitis!”

Brute comments, “The girl has talent. Just not as a wrestler.”

Wrestler Junkee adds, “And not as a ring announcer.”

Blue Belle gives each side of the arena a good look, bending the other direction this time. As she bends over the tails of her jacket part like curtains to reveal her round bottom. The seam up the back of her nylon stockings defines the sublime curves of her legs. She returns to the microphone as the audience titters and jokes.

Morgan Drakewing has taken control of the camera, and makes the best of the situation to make Belle's gaffe look sexy yet tasteful.

Blue Belle addresses the audience. “Welcome denizens of Empire, fans of Super Humans Of Crazy Kombat, assorted rasslin’ nuttahs! You are about to witness the beginning of a new era of SHOCK. I guarantee more action, more drama and more violence than ever. But would DDSTV broadcast a program without the occasional costume malfunction?”

Samsoni mutters, “Nice titters!”

Brute grumbles. “Now that we have the cheap ratings pop moment out of the way, we might get on with some wrestling action.”

Blue Belle nods to the fans and Brute with a smirk on her lips, realizing she lampoons her own operation by asking such a rhetorical question.

Wrestler Junkee throws peanuts at sam!

Samsoni eats them. “Mmmm peanuts!”

TessCivilian gets some concessions and takes a seat at the bleachers.

“Tonight’s program is entitled “Twill Cutie Kill the Creep.” We have four matches scheduled. Each is a battle of the sexes, of wile versus brawn, of speed versus power, perhaps even good versus evil! In this war of heroines versus villains who will prevail?” Blue Belle smiles and winks.

Wrestler Junkee looks for something harder to throw at Sam for his wisecracks.

Brute laughs, "Funny, there are those who would rather see Belle herself wrestle. One can only wonder why. Those are the same people who believe that Ashley Massaro was a worthy female wrestler as well."

Wrestler Junkee complains, “OI! Just get the matches started!”

Blue Belle continues, “I think you all know where I stand on that one. And now, without further ado, in our first match, at 5’ 4” 116 pounds, we have naughty Nefertitties...”

Nefertitties dances barefoot to the ring in rustling silk, waving a scimitar at the crowd as ‘Walk Like an Egyptian’ plays. She rolls into the ring and up to her feet, the sword flashing all about her as she demonstrates a form, the lovely silhouette of her nubile dark body flowing under the demure silk that veils it.

Morgan Drakewing hums a little as he pans across the semi-raucous crowd, making sure he gets some quality shots of folks making complete asses of themselves in the process, then notes the entrances starting, zooming in on the Egyptian Goddess.

Brute chuckles. “I've seen one very impressive match with this girl. She stripped US Angel naked! Who cares that she got pinned.”

Blue Belle sweeps a gloved hand the other way. “And her opponent, at 6’ 7” and nearly 300 pounds, Leatherneck...”

Wrestler Junkee exclaims, “Oi, it matters!”

Leatherneck walks menacingly down the aisle toward the ring while Pantera's “Immorally Insane” plays, a hulk who would be even taller if not for his lack of neck, his grayish shaved head seemingly welded right into the leathery skin of his warty torso. He seems to be constantly giving sideways sneers as he stalks the ring.

“Wow, that is one ugly looking dude!” Brute completely misses out on the irony of himself being the one to say that.

Wrestler Junkee prods Samsoni. “Oi Sams, he looks like your cousin!”

Samsoni growls, “Junk, go back to your playpen!”

Nefertitties contorts her face in disgust at Leatherneck’s appearance and points her curved blade. “I’ll cut your grotesque head off your shoulders and carve my initials in your hide!”

Leatherneck is forced to turn his shoulders to turn his head. He looks at her and grins. "Nice body."

Nefertitties narrows her big dark chocolate eyes.

Leatherneck leans down to duck through the ropes.

Morgan Drakewing goes back and forth between the two wrestlers as they meet in the center of the ring. He makes sure to keep all three figures in the shot. All the while, he sips some bottled water.

Blue Belle sounds the bell.

Brute notes, “She better strike now and fast or else this could be quick and very painful for the Egypytian Goddess.”

Nefertitties hears the bell and steps forward, her blade flashing as she brings it down in an arc designed to deliver on her promise to behead the mutant.

Leatherneck grunts, scowling as he straightens up inside the ring. He reaches with his right hand to free the scimitar wedged in the leathery skin of his left shoulder. He points the bloody blade at its owner. "Not nice."

Wrestler Junkee blinks. “Eh?”

Brute continues, “And she tried to but it looks like Leatherneck is about to teach her the error in her ways.”

Nefertitties backs away until she bumps against the ropes. “Don’t even think about it!”

Wrestler Junkee yells at the announcer, "That be ‘Tis a flesh wound!’"

Brute replies, “Tis going to be one bloody Nile River unless Nefrititties runs!”

“Why do you think they call me Leatherneck?” Leatherneck attacks Nefertittie with her own blade, the flashing steel blurring, not trying to rend flesh, but pieces of shredded silk flying.

Nefertitties is left in nothing but a jewel-encrusted brass bikini, her breasts on full display, nipples waving back and forth like fingers being shaken at a naughty schoolboy. “You animal!”

Leatherneck licks his lips. "Nice tits."

Nefertitties gulps and looks down.

Leatherneck bludgeons her over the head with the hilt of her sword.

Brute fails to provide proper vocal commentary.

Nefertitties lurches, dark hair exploding away from the impact. She falls forward and face plants the canvas. She is out before she hits the canvas, lying still in something like a horizontal hip out pose.

Wrestler Junkee gasps, “Oi! Well then...”

Leatherneck prods her glutes with the tip of the scimitar. "Nice ass."

Wrestler Junkee elbows Samsoni. “Sams! You go save the girl! I will try to go save the commentary!”

Blue Belle announces, “And the winner of our first match is Leatherneck!”

Leatherneck tosses the weapon aside and kneels, lifting the unfortunate girl into his arms, using her ass crack and one boob as handholds as he carries her from the ring making nom nom sounds.

Morgan Drakewing makes sure to get some good camera time on the drama playing out in the ring...just making sure the angles of his shots are quality focused. And as the lady is carried out, he takes another sip.

Samsoni is too tired to save anyone.

Blue Belle observes, “Is that some kind of good sportsmanship or what? Even after she tried to cut him it looks like he’s going to take her to dinner.”

Morgan Drakewing hrmphs. "What, all the good stuff is done off-stage? Curse those standards and practices."

Brute's voice is sarcastic. "Ah ah ah....yeah, and we have just witnessed the opening match of what will surely be the federation that puts Vince McMannequin out of business...

Wrestler Junkee walks over to the commentator's desk and slips on the other set of headphones and adjusts the mike. “Brute, you need to call the match better buddy. Let me do this one to show you how its done.”

Up in the ring Blue Belle continues, “Well that was interesting. But let's keep things moving. Let’s get straight to our second match. At 5’ 9” 166 pounds, Mexican heroine and women’s champion La Aguila...”

La Aguila rushes to the ring to the sound of Red Hot Chili Pepper’s ‘Suck My Kiss.’, plum plume swishing. She wears a white mask, tight midriff t-shirt and short shorts all trimmed in purple to match her boots. She dives over the ropes, somersaulting to her feet inside the ring, shaking her fists at the crowd as she pumps herself up.

Brute notes, “Now, I hear that La Aguila has tremendous potential. And has been banned from ever appearing in Arizona.”

Blue Belle has Junkee escorted out of her seat as she adds, “Aguila means eagle in Spanish. La Aguila and our US Angel are actually friendly rivals I hear.”

Brute laughs. “Maybe I should use her as a tune-up match.”

Morgan Drakewing jerks around and gets back to filming the entrances, angling back and forth. Amazing how he can keep that big-ass camera straight and focused.

Blue Belle gestures to the other side of the arena as The Cult’s version of ‘Born To Be Wild’ begins to play. “Versus the man with the Mohawk, at 6’ 2” 230 pounds, Rockhopper...

Rockhopper struts slowly to the ring in full tuxedo, twirling a nightstick. He indeed wears a Mohawk, the spiked hair colored like a rainbow.

Wrestler Junkee shakes his head at Samsoni as he returns to his seat. “The penguin?”

Brute says, “I've never heard of this Rockhopper. IRS meets the Nasty Boys?”

Blue Belle laughs as the bell rings. "I don't know, but he's having a bad hair day..."

La Aguila circles cautiously as the bell rings, keeping her distance.

Rockhopper charges her, swinging the nightstick.

La Aguila ducks inside the wild blow and pounds her forearms against the bright red cummerbund.

Brute notes, “See, much smarter wrestler than the Egyptian. But I bet the Egyptian's 15 seconds of wrestling gets higher ratings.”

Blue Belle sighs. “Oh pulease... it's action the fans want these days!”

Rockhopper holds his ground defiantly against the blows almost as if wearing body armor. He raises the nightstick and aims to bring it down over the masked head.

La Aguila grunts and goes to a knee as she is wobbled by the blow.

Morgan Drakewing hrmphs as he gets a good angle of the lady getting beaten by the nightstick. "Not too much to say about foreign objects in this fed..."

Brute chuckles, “Yeah, as long as that action involves jello pudding and Triple Ds.”

“Do you plan to wrestle US Angel in jello or pudding, Brute?” Blue Belle asks, “Really, I don't think anyone wants to see that...”

Brute agrees, “Yeah, would be a bad idea. Don't want her ass getting too big before it's put on display.”

Rockhopper grabs the plume of hair protruding from the mask and aims to flip La Aguila by it.

La Aguila reaches up with both hands, catching hold of the wrist that flips her, sending her sprawling on her back.

Rockhopper laughs and decides to try flipping her repeatedly about the ring by this cruel hold of her hair, waving his nightstick to the crowd.

La Aguila wails as she is tossed about the ring by the hair, digging her fingers into the man’s wrist through the sleeve of his tuxedo.

Rockhopper roars in pain as his jacket darkens with blood around her clawing fingers. He lets go, sending her flying through the ropes toward the announcer's table.

Brute growls, “Too bad La Aguila didn't listen to me. Stick and move is the only chance she has.”

“No, it doesn't look good for our heroin... nngh!” Blue Belle takes one for the team. “Hey! That hurt. I’m just announcing. Keep it in the ring!”

Brute grumbles, “Yeah, don't get me involved! Even I know better than to punch the broad writing the checks!”

Morgan Drakewing gets a good close-up of the sprawled La Aguila as she lays there senseless on the table then gets up, but not before trying to get an "accidental" upskirt of Belle in the process.

Blue Belle adjusts her skirt. “Well that's more smarts than I thought you had...”

La Aguila rolls off the table, shakes her head to clear it, scowls at Blue Belle and grabs the round bell. With a determined look she heads back to the ring, rolling under the bottom rope.

Rockhopper poses for the crowd, smirking and spinning to kick the heroine as she rolls back in off the apron.

Brute grins. "Why thanks! I...think... was I just insulted?"

Blue Belle smiles. “Not as far as you know...”

La Aguila comes flying up from the canvas like a big bird, aiming to clock Rockhopper upside the head with the ring bell.

Rockhopper hears the ding and growls as he tries to watch the circling birdies, but his legs turn to rubber and he crumples, blood gushing from the side of his head.

La Aguila plops her ass down on his chest and slides forward, knees pinning his arms.

Rockhopper groans into her crotch and flails rather than trying to kick out.

“Okay, good. What a shot! Hey, if a nightstick is legal then a ring bell is legal!” Brute laughs. “But I'm not so sure about how legal that crotch face plant sit is.”

Blue Belle explains, “Well we've loosen the rules a bit in the new SHOCK!”

Morgan Drakewing looks around, and to his embarrassment sees no referee. “Oh wait, he's hiding under the debris there... SNEAKY REF!”

La Aguila catches hold of a flailing leg and traps it under her armpit as she looks for the ref.

Rockhopper hears the count to three off in the distance beyond the ringing in his ears.

Brute sighs. “Old Rockhopper gonna have to loosen his own rules after that pin.”

La Aguila smiles and waves to the crowd as her arm is raised.

Brute grins. “Look at all the men... women too...asking for a match with La Aguila!”

Blue Belle smiles. “How about that, Brute? That’s one for the superheroines! Maybe you should worry a little about Angel...”

Brute snorts. “I am worried about Angel. She has such a hot bod. Hate to ruin it for all her fans.”

Blue Belle enters the ring and bends to retrieve the bell before announcing the next match. Like before the tails of her coat part from the bulging curve of her nylon-clad derriere.

Morgan Drakewing gets a close up on the embarrassed ref's face, then at Aguila's tits, then Belle's butt.

“Really now? His face rang a bell, but do you prefer his tails or mine?” Blue Belle winks and smiles as she moves to the microphone.

Brute rolls his eyes. “Good grief Belle. Must you encourage him?”

Blue Belle laughs. "Now in match three we have our jungle queen, at 5’ 8” 136 pounds, Julianna..."

Jungle Julie runs down the aisle in a leopard print bikini as the beginning of ‘Jungle Love’ whistles from the PA system, quickly mounting the stairs and ducking through the ropes, bouncing around the ring to show off her fitness model body, constantly shaking back waves of dark brown hair from her pearly white smile.

Morgan Drakewing erks and is almost run over by Julie, staggering back, keeping camera steady...oh wait, was that Lex Luthor in the stands? He focuses on the shiny head and the reaction shots. Then... back to the action.

Blue Belle continues, “Versus another fellow whose face rings a bell, at 6’ 9” 255 pounds, El Carne Asada...”

El Carne Asada strides to the ring confidently as Pink Floyd’s 'One of These Days' plays, a lean angular man in a leather duster under which he wears a dark t-shirt tucked into denim jeans in turn tucked into big leather boots. He points at Jungle Julie from outside the ropes. "You will be mine!"

“I heard of this Jungle Julie before.” Brute asks, “There is a name for wrestlers like her...ummm...what is that term?

Blue Belle smirks. “Eye candy?”

Brute stumbles. “Oh yeah. Jobber. Yes, eye candy jobber. Also known as Ashley Massaro Disease.”

Wrestler Junkee screams, “Hey! But Ashley is HOT!”

Jungle Julie bites her lip and waits for the bell.

Blue Belle rings the retrieved bell and the match is underway.

El Carne Asada puts a hand on the top rope and vaults into the ring.

Jungle Julie runs forward on bare feet and aims to meet him with a snap kick to the midsection.

El Carne Asada twists aside, dodging the kick, duster flaring out behind. He reaches inside the flaring duster and draws out a baseball bat with which he tries to club the heroine over the head.

Jungle Julie gets conked over the head, collapsing into her opponent’s arms.

El Carne Asada tosses her over his shoulder, pats her bikini-clad bottom and gives everyone a goofy grin. "I win."

Bobcat Billie Hart laughs out loud. “Poor Jungle Julie... hahaha!”

Brute notes, “Usually I condone this sort of thing but if you need a baseball bat to beat Jungle Julie, then you pretty well are lower mid-card status and nothing more.”

Blue Belle nods. “Yes, well, I guess so. But still EL Carne Asada wins our third match in record time.”

El Carne Asada leaves the ring with his prize away still draped over his shoulder, his hand clutching her ass as he disappears into the back.

Brute adds, “Indeed. Course, if Julie faced me, I'd win even faster as she would just faint from fear!”

Blue Belle elbows Brute. “Possibly, unless it were a bikini match and then everyone would faint in disgust.”

Brute blinks. “Wait, did I just get insulted again?”

Morgan Drakewing hrmphs. "This is reminding me of the Vince Russo years of WCW."

“Vince Russo? Never heard of him,” Sovereign insists, “Nope. Never ever.”

Blue Belle is back in the ring pulling down the overhead microphone. “And that brings us to our final match of the evening. Superheroine cover model and SHOCK champion, at 5’ 1” 114 pounds, the one and only US Angel...

Morgan Drakewing ahs. THERE we go. He turns the camera to the entrance area, giving Callie the best angle she deserves as she comes down the ramp.

Samsoni stares at US Angel’s big butt.

US Angel runs into the arena carrying her red white and blue staff that she uses to vault all the way from the floor over the top rope into the ring. ‘Angel’ by Aerosmith plays as she salutes her fans with a blue-gloved hand, beaming from ear to ear, then bounces to each corner to wave.

Brute grins as Angel heads down to the ring. "Well, now, what easy victim did you hand pick for her tonight? Samsoni?"

Samsoni grumbles at Brute.

Blue Belle shakes her head. “No, the girl told me she was ready for real tough matches and we found her one!”

Brute snorts. “Longshot is her opponent?”

“Not hardly!” Blue Belle gestures to the other side of the arena as a cage with a containment cell is lowered over the ring. “Versus the man with the steel mask, the villain who must be kept caged, at 7’ 345 pounds, Slaughterhouse..."

Slaughterhouse stands there menacingly in his mask as 'Violence Fetish' by Disturbed plays and the portcullis slowly rises to release him from his containment. He struts slowly into the ring in heavy boots, leather vest and pants stained with engine oil, arms bulging against the chains wrapped about them as he punches knuckledusters together. He never blinks the angry eyes behind the steel mask that are his most menacing feature. "I HATE SUPERHEROINES!"

Morgan Drakewing turns the camera on Slaughterhouse...but wisely stays downwind. He then turns the camera back to Lex Luthor's shiny shiny head.

Brute scowls. “Yeah, keep him chained up. Doubt he gets a chance to work out and stretch before the match.”

Blue Belle points. “Care to ring the bell, Brute?”

“Heh...ding ... ding!” Brute thumps the bell.

US Angel circles cautiously as the bell rings, keeping her distance.

Slaughterhouse cuts her off and aims to bully her to the corner.

US Angel is pushed into the corner, lurching as she hits the turnbuckle.

Morgan Drakewing turns the camera back onto the fight...eventually...

Slaughterhouse is right there, bringing a big arm wrapped in steel chain down across the flag emblem over her heart.

MissPurple falls asleep under a tree in the park somewhere, obviously not a big fan.

Brute observes and boasts, “See, brute strength will crush your champion. And Brute Strength will hurt her!”

US Angel grunts as the shape of her chest in the white costume is left wobbly by the blow.

Blue Belle winces. "We'll see."

Slaughterhouse grabs her arm and whips her across the ring toward the far corner, following with a shoulder dipped to drive into her there.

US Angel runs up the ropes of the far corner like the rungs of a ladder, throwing herself spinning back toward her foe, grabbing at his masked head as she flies, aiming to take it hard to the canvas as she comes down.

Slaughterhouse rattles the entire ring as he face plants the mat. His steel mask protects him from the worst of it, but still he shakes his head as he gets to his knees.

“That's the way, Angel,” Blue Belle cries!

Brute notes, "I won't make that same mistake. Once I cut the ring off, she'll never get the chance at any of her acrobatics."

Morgan Drakewing hrms. That Angel looks so aerodynamic, yet still so jiggly. He focuses, making sure to get the proper amount of butt shots as well.

US Angel wastes no time grabbing one big wrist and twisting it into an armbar to try to keep the big man on his knees.

Slaughterhouse roars and rises to his feet anyway, straining to overpower the hold and turn it into a wristlock challenge of strength.

US Angel maintains the hold for a split second, her body shaking with the effort, but realizes she cannot match his power so she plants a boot on his thigh and pushes off, climbing up and flipping over the shoulder, aiming to maintain the armbar and flip the big man to the canvas as her body rotates around the shoulder.

Slaughterhouse is flipped flat on his back, legs sprawling out, his free hand pounding on the canvas in rage.

Blue Belle exclaims, “Look at that move!”

Brute comments, “She made a big mistake trying to match power with him. She tries that with me and I'll crush her little body.”

Blue Belle smiles. “She seems to be doing okay!”

Morgan Drakewing pans the camera around and focuses on the ref... mesmerized by Lex Luthor's bald head. He gives the oaf a smack on the leg and points. "On the MATCH, idiot! On the MATCH!"

US Angel plants a footie into the man’s shoulder and tries to wrench his arm out of socket.

Slaughterhouse growls and rolls toward the heroine as he flexes his wrenched arm, curling himself toward her with pure power, bringing the knucklebuster on his free hand around in a brutal overhand right at her pretty face.

US Angel lurches as the punch explodes in her consciousness, the whole ring spinning as she falls back, her grip on his arm forgotten, the throbbing pain in her jaw all that matters.

Slaughterhouse reaches for the heroine’s arm, aiming to twist it between his powerful legs as he scissors her head and takes her to her back.

Brute snorts. “She WAS doing okay, until she got punched into dreamland.”

Blue Belle winces. “Yeowsa!”

US Angel wails out in pain as her shoulder pops audibly, pounding her free fist against the canvas, powerful shimmering legs kicking wildly.

Slaughterhouse demands, “HOW DO YOU LIKE IT!?”

US Angel twists and turns, trying to wriggle free, face contorted in agony as she tries bridging up and flipping her self over.

Brute observes, “Now, see, Slaughterhouse should use his power and size advantage to break her entire body, not just her arm.”

Slaughterhouse sneers as he loses hold of her wrist. She goes from back to front with a nasty flop but does not break the scissors of oil-stained leather pants.

US Angel gasps for air, sweating profusely as she struggles against this much larger opponent. She brings both hands up under the knee locked at her chin and pushes up with all her might, trying to slip her head out.

Slaughterhouse frowns as the sweaty heroine slips away from the head scissors.

Arik Cabral watches quietly.

US Angel gets to her knees, wiping a bit of blood from her lip with her right glove, chest heaving against a now sweat-soaked white leotard, left arm dangling uselessly.

Morgan Drakewing gets a good shot of the pain on Angel's face as she struggles under that meaty doughy guy. Zoooooming in there. Yes...yes...there we go...she's out now.

Brute notes, “She's using up a lot of energy, but she's fighting a dumber opponent. He has no ring presence.”

Blue Belle’s voice sounds nervous. “I hope so for her sake...”

Slaughterhouse grabs Angel’s arm and drags her up to her feet, whipping her toward the ropes and waiting for her to rebound.

US Angel squeals as her damaged shoulder receives more abuse, but rebounds off the ropes with all the momentum of the monstrous whip, throwing her body into the air in a flying crossbody tackle.

Slaughterhouse steps back with one foot to brace himself and catches her at shoulder height, holding her there for several seconds, showing her squirming nylon-clad ass to the crowd, before slamming her unceremoniously down.

US Angel flails helplessly as she is held up, oophing as she hits the mat, just lying there stunned at the huge man’s feet for several seconds.

Brute is matter of fact. “Yep. That kind of move would meet with a similar fate if she meets up with me.”

Arik Cabral mutters, “Such a spectacle.”

Blue Belle grimaces. “Oh my... that's surely gonna do it!”

Slaughterhouse reaches down to pull her up by a handful of blond hair, easily lifting her into a towering suplex, taking her up and over so that she crashes down again.

US Angel bicycles her shimmering stout legs while inverted, then hits the mat harder than before, writhing at the monster’s feet, seemingly unable to roll off her back, glistening with sweat that has soaked through every stitch of her costume.

Slaughterhouse reaches down with a smirk, dragging her up again. With a violent jerk he whips her around into the corner. He charges her. “I'M NOT FINISHED PUNISHING YOU YET!”

Morgan Drakewing readjusts the camera, taking note of the situation, no doubt he's seen more brutal matches, but still...ouch...there Callie goes into the corner.

US Angel lurches into the corner, her arms draped limply over the ropes. Instinctively she grabs the ropes for support and swings up her stout legs, aiming to walk kicks up the massive chest of Slaughterhouse as he approaches so she can lock her ankles about his throat and go for a flying spin.

Slaughterhouse is completely surprised by this improvised hurricanrana move, his head snapping around and his torso following, rolling over as it slams to the mat. He comes up to his knees and begins to stand.

Blue Belle excitedly punches Brute in the shoulder. “How about that, Brute!?”

Brute is droll. “Very impressive. Yes, but there is just one problem with that move, Blue Belle.”

Blue Belle blinks. “What's that?”

Morgan Drakewing asks, “Camel toe?”

Brute scowls. “She tries that shit on me and I'll powerbomb her ass through this announce table.”

US Angel is already airborne again as Slaughterhouse rises, going horizontal, her churning legs driving white footies toward his chest in a flying dropkick.

Slaughterhouse comes up into the series of kicks, staggering backwards from repeated blows, and finally going over backwards, shaking his head as he begins to rise again.

US Angel runs up the ropes, crouching atop the turnbuckle, throwing herself into a flying crossbody tackle off the top rope as he rises.

Slaughterhouse is off-balance and doesn't even see the flying woman that hits him until he is crashing down under her sweaty squirming body.

US Angel frantically tries to catch one wrist with her hands and hold it while scissoring the other arm between her legs, grinding her sweaty chest in his face and going for the pin.

Slaughterhouse is confused by the smell of grinding darkness for several seconds, regaining his senses just in time to hear the count of "three."

US Angel groans in pain as the referee lifts her arm, but forces a smile for her fans.

Brute admits, “Although, if she were to get me in that position, I might just let her pin me. Could be worth it to have those breasts all in my face.”

Blue Belle chuckles. “You wish, Brute.”

Brute laughs and waves at Angel in the ring.

US Angel does a hip out pose, blows Slaughterhouse a kiss, and pats her bottom before waving back at Brute with her good arm.

Arik Cabral shakes his head and laughs.

Morgan Drakewing hrms as he gets a good view of the finale, angling the camera, before waving in security to straitjacket Slaughterhouse.

Blue Belle sighs. "How about that? Our superheroine evened up the score! I hope everyone enjoyed the show and will join us again next time!"

Slaughterhouse grumbles, the eyes behind the steel mask angrier than ever as security ushers him back to his containment. “YOU ARE SO DEAD, BITCH!”

Brute jokes, “Maybe she needs to face someone not as dumb as him. He couldn't spell cat if you gave him the c and the a.

Samsoni enjoyed the show so much he stopped eating momentarily.

Belle joins US Angel in the ring as the cage is lifted away. “And still SHOCK champion, US Angel!”

Brute stand and applauds. "Good match, Angel. Impressive win. Guess you are a bit more than a tits and ass show."

Morgan Drakewing sets up in front of a three for the post-match interview.

US Angel grins at Brute. "Being SHOCK Champ is great! I’m like ready for La Aguila and Mimi Honda! And I like can’t wait to put you in your place, Brute! And if that creepy slug, Killer Croc, dares come up out of his sewer I’ll like put him down too!”

Arik Cabral chuckles quietly at the boasting.

Brute snorts. “Well, Angel, here, we got the camera right there. How abouts we do a little promo right here. All big main events need a good promo, right? Come on down here and we'll pose for the camera.

US Angel nods and joins Brute, clutching at her shoulder. "Sure, why not... you'll get the same as Slaughteredmouse in a couple of weeks!"

Blue Belle announces, “That's right folks... soon Angel will face Brute in a championship match like no other.”

Morgan Drakewing turns the camera back and forth, back and forth, to Brute, to Angel, to Belle, to Lex Luthor's shiny shiny head.

Wrestler Junkee exits the arena.

Brute winks at the camera and then turns and delivers a cheap shot right to Angel's gut to double the tired and hurt champion over.

US Angel oophs, her eyes bulging, then blinking as she clutches at her midsection, sweaty shape of her heaving chest spilling over the clutching arm. “Nngh... you...”

Brute reaches over Angel, grabbing her at the waist and lifting, trying to turn her upside down as he brings her up to sit crotch to face on his shoulders.

US Angel slumps over his face, just trying to catch her breath, weakly clutching at his head.

“Brute! Stop that! You can't...” Blue Belle moves to intercede. “Put her down this instant!”

Brute then falls forwards, driving Angel down towards, into and through the announcer's table.

Blue Belle winces.

Morgan Drakewing follows the slam, down to the pained look on Angel's face.

US Angel squeals as she feels the downward motion and realizes what's coming. The sound becomes a gurgle after the cracking sound, hopefully of table, not bone.

Brute grabs the microphone with one hand and kneels beside the fallen Angel. "Now, THAT is how you promote a main event!"

US Angel lies there, sweaty, broken, almost peaceful.

Brute gently places the microphone between her heaving breasts, making sure the attention is placed on her tits by Drakewing’s camera. "See you in the ring."

Blue Belle fumes. “Brute, you monster! Get away from my champion!”

US Angel has to be carted off on a stretcher.

Samsoni looks over Angel. “She ain’t no Muscle Girl...”

Blue Belle addresses the audience. “You'll all get your chance to see if Brute can do that to our champ when she's ready for him in a couple of weeks... hope to see you then SHOCK fans!”

Brute slips out the back.

Bobcat Billie Hart waits to shake Belle’s hand. “Good job with the show!”

Blue Belle nods. “Thanks. Don't know if I want to try that again any time soon!”

Bobcat Billie Hart grins and tips her hat. “Just let me know if you need some serious talent!”

Blue Belle hurries off to check on her star property.

Morgan Drakewing stays with Angel as she is rolled out of the arena with Belle in tow.

(June 2010)