TSC TUESDAY NIGHT WRESTLING #33
16 NOVEMBER 2004

Quinton stared down at his clenched fists.

He sighed. Those hands of his had seen a lot over the last four to five years. And last week, those were the same hands that were seemingly possess in a quest to snuff out the fire of one Christopher Sheffield. Alias.

A man who'd been a shining light to him in ACW and now in TSC. Yet, the frustrations of the last few months pushed Quinton to the edge with regards to his perception of Alias.

"I've got to get a handle of myself."

Quinton looked up, and saw the technical staff running around. He'd decided to head down to the arena a little earlier than usual today, even though he wasn't presently scheduled for a match. Quincy told Linda and Bruno to come a bit later, as he needed some time to think.

Truthfully, Quinton needed space alone to get into his false front mode. The inner turmoil he'd been facing over the last few months was getting to be too much for him to handle. Deep down, the Canadian Gladiator wanted to just drop to his knees and call for God to smite him. Get it over and done with.

It didn't matter to Quinton that he still had people that cared for him.

All he wanted... was for the games and the mayhem and the manipulation of his existence to end.

Natalie Quinston. Fejona Min. Santos Salvatore. Joseph McMillan. Osyrus, to a degree. His so-called evil clone, that hadn't been seen in months. Cornelius, that old fart. And that all led to one man.

Alexander Pemrbidge.

The proclaimed son of his most hated rival, not just in the industry, but in life.

May sighed once more, unclenching his fists and putting his hands into the pockets of his pants. He hadn't seen Alexander Pembridge in weeks. And therein lay the problem. Quinton wanted the little runt to come and get him. He was tired of being the one having to do all the leg-work.

But since Alexander didn't, Quinton had to be content with everybody else and their mother gunning for him. What was so special about him, Quincy wondered.

Quincy also wondered about something more important --

-- what in the world did Alexander Pembridge have in store for him next?

The thought sent a chill down Quinton's spine.

"He's got me by the balls."

Yet, Quinton closed his eyes and took a deep breath. He had to put everything aside. He had to appear normal.

As far as his close friends were concerned, the Canadian Gladiator was just going through a tough ride. As far as they were concerned, there was light at the end of the tunnel. What only Quinton knew was that there was no light.

Alexander was right about one thing. "My blackest night really is here."

"Have I said how sorry I am for being reclusive over the last couple of weeks?"

Linda Connolly turned to look at the source of that out-of-the-blue statement, which so happened to be Quinton May, and nodded her head. "You have, yes. Many times. Not that an apology isn't music to the ears, because we were all worried about you, thinking you'd gone off the deep end.

Especially Bruno, since he had to put up with the full force oflittle 'reign of darkness' for the last couple of months. The poor man almost got a stroke when he heard the things you said about... Christopher, last week.

Speaking of which, are you feeling alright from the match? I mean, Bruno said it was a particularly brutal one, and you haven't talked about it either... but you haven't been all spaced out like you were following the loss to the Santos guy. What gives, Quincy? We're not mind-readers, you know."

Ahhh, then came the sticking-out of the tongue. Right then and there, Quinton wanted to throw his bag aside, knock Linda down, rip her lovely black leather skirt off and... well, you know. Rock the casbah, in the words of Bart Simpson. But, May didn't and simply chuckled at how cute Linda looked when she did that.

"Yeah, my bad." Quincy said as the twosome continued to walk down the hallway, trying to continue to put on a brave false front. "I suppose the loss to Christopher more or less served as a wake-up call. You know, to get me to calm down and take stock of everything and everyone around me, as opposed to being so damn apathetic and angry at the same time.

It's hard to cope with losing to someone you dislike with a passion -- especially after I riled myself up, using mere fleeting rumours of Christopher and that Monet girl and not caring if they weren't concrete, although Chris did more or less clue me in on the fact that he had a daughter -- but I guess I'll have to get used to it.

Every other day, it seems there are people who wish to knock me down and see me stay down. Then, there are those that I just don't like. What I'm trying to say, sans the rambling incoherence, is that I have get used to the fact that I'm not some invincible god, and that while defeat is an extremely bitter pill to swallow... but it's also a part of life."

Linda giggled as she put her arm around Quinton's shoulders, causing the Rising Star's star to rise. Ahem. "Least you didn't dodge the question, and instead tried to lose me with the inconsistent flow of speech. But, I understand what you're saying, and I hope I can help you in any way I can."

May was touched. Really. So he stopped and grabbed Linda by the arm. Linda was quite surprised at the sudden halt, but as she looked into Quinton's penetrating eyes, she knew what he had in store.

Oh yeah. A wet, steaming, passionate, mind-numbing, orgasmic-like, knee-buckling kiss...

"See, Keith, I told you he's straight. You owe me a dinner."

Allison Lindum, folks. And when you see her, you know who is riding shotgun.

"He can't be STRAIGHT. We saw that video from his evil twin in the bizarro world or whatever the fuck that was. He LOVES the cock."

Quinton and Linda hurriedly stepped from each other just a bit, startled by the appearance of Mr Evolutionary and soon-to-be-officially Mrs Evolutionary. Immediately enough, Quincy snarled at the almost-tilde-warranting smirk of Keith Scott Zimmerman, while Linda thought about how feckin' ugly Allison's footwear was.

Oh ho, yes. If only she had the cajones (VICE CITEH~) to actually articulate those thoughts. Would be fun, no?

Folding his arms, Quinton stared Keith down. "Yes, bizarro world. You must be the infamous Keith Scott Zimmerman. Or, as I heard School Girl call you, that cunt with ugly hair. Wait, I think she was actually referring to Allison on that one."

Keith just snickered. "Well, the only thing you'll be hearing from that little fetish bitch is--lessee here--NOTHING. Because last we saw of her, Allison wiped her high heels on her back after I sent her underage ass to bed without supper last week. Per usual. What were you doing again last week?" Keith strummed his fingers against his chin, of course with the hand the belt was on the shoulder on to raise it to Quinton's eye level. "Crap--no, that's your matches...zap--no, that's just a bad 90's WWE character...nap--no, that was me watching it on tape...GOD, I'm close!"

Allison whispered.

Keith nodded in response. "THAT'S what it is--you passed out from the third-rate Royal Treatment. Same as Chiaki. God, that must suck, knowing that Zero Lite owns you like Siegfried owns Roy."

Is Keith too small to be a bully? Can someone give me a ruling on this?

"Funny. I must be important enough for you to know what's going on in my life." Quinton responded quickly, though it certainly wasn't as witty as Keith's quips. "Lest you forget, Keith, that had it not been for YOUR exquisite cock-up...

... Sheffield would have never won the tSC Championship in the first place. Remember Dawning? Hmmm?"

Quinton was now the one with a grin on his face, with Linda firmly adamant about deciding to keep herself out of whatever was transpiring. Firstly, she knew JACK about it. And secondly, she could sense it was quickly going to degenerate into something... not good. Yeah.

Before Keith could shoot back, however, our favourite Canadian had more. "Anyways. I must say, you talk a lot for someone who was a bit too cowardly to give Rook five more minutes at S&S. If I were the Evolutionary Champion, I would have definitely given him at least two more minutes.

Especially for someone who claims he's the best competitor in tSC."

Keith's eyes narrowed. "OK, cockmunch, let's get one thing clear right here and now: you're not me. You're not as good a wrestler..." He gave Linda a once-over, before returning a malevolent gaze upon the M15 survivor. "...you don't pull as good a trim...and for all the shit you talk about HALF A FUCKING YEAR AGO, you faced Jenny Garner last week and she just beat your ass like you paid her by the hour at one of the male strip clubs of your choice." He lifted the title, blowing imaginary dust from it.

"I beat Jenny when she was champion. I beat Fuckface Who Shalt Not Be Named But Does For This Organization What Tara Reid's Doctor Does For Implants right after HE got it." SMIRK~! "Hell, at least I've faced the Champions--you've been locked into shit Russo wouldn't touch with your body double and then the kid from Impanena.

You probably got yourself all psyched up last week thinking this was the moment you were going to show all the stupid SC marks who and what Quinton May's all about..."

He leaned in close. "...and you went down so fast I thought they were going to run THAT on the HarvardTron, too."

Yeah, somebody call the Burn Unit. Tell 'em we need a bed.

"Feeling touchy, are we? It's true what everyone else is saying, then. Impending marriage is making you soft. In more ways than one, I suspect." Quinton casually chuckled. Oh, yes, he wasn't going to play by the rules anymore.

Did Keith's stinging remarks get under his skin. Sure, it did. Linda knew it did, but she also knew that Quincy was someone who was more or less immune to verbal abuse. College was an especially tricky time for him.

Again, Keith shook his head. And again, Quinton spoke before he did. "So, since you're in such a confident mood, and you feel proud toting that silver Evolutionary Title around... why not you and I duke it out, eh? I mean, being the great showman that you are, I don't think you'll want to pass up the chance to further humiliate pathetic ol' me.

Unless, of course, you've got a case of the yellow-belly coming on."

"Better than a case of the white-belly." Keith smirked and then made a hand gesture that will certainly get him fined in the next couple of days. "Fine. Sure. Benoit knows I can take 5 minutes out of my Tuesday to kick your ass." Keith yawned. "Are you done or should I stay around so you can get some sort of weak-ass last word and then walk away all huffy-puffy and whatnot?"

Quincy Mama smiled smugly. God knows why. "Yeah, I'm done. Go on, prance away like a magnificent poof now. We'll see how fast 5 minutes flies by later on. Be sure to say your last prayers to your title, Keith, because you know what? I smell a change in title holder. And as much as you try to deny it, you know it's going to happen. After all... it's evolution, baby."

Keith rolled his eyes, and golf clapped.

V e r y.

S l o w l y.

"Yeah, that was Silver-level weak-ass last word. Excuse me while I fulfill my contractual obligated duties." He turned his face mean, spun away from Quinton & his better ¾ths, and went back down the hall whence they had come through. "GRR! ARGH! GENERIC HEEL THREAT! RAR~!" Allison giggled, following her man out.

The Canadian Gladiator? He shook his head, any indication of smugness having been wiped from his face. Linda, who had been quietly observing all along, cleared her throat. An action that caused Quinton to turn around and look at Linda quizzically.

"So, I have a couple of questions for you." Linda began, drawing a shrug from Quinton. "One, who was that -- and I apologise for this, considering you're going to be fighting him and all -- very funny man? Two, what video was he talking about? Three, is the match you're going to be involved in as important as I think it is? And finally, what was up with your smartassery?"

May was just about to answer, but look! Bruno! Appearing out of thin air. "Hello, folks. Some news for you, Quint. You don't have a match tonight. I talked to Brad, and he said it's more or less alright to even head out if you want, since the new chief is only showing up at the end of the hour."

"Nuh uh! He's got a match now. Against some guy named Keith, and for some Evo-whattamajig Title." Linda chimed in, as blur as ever. Seriously, why the fuck is she here if she & Quincy are only 'friends', and if she knows feck all about wrestling?

Bruno nodded his head, realising that with the latest development, there was no chance to have fun. WAIT A SECOND. "Whoa, whoa, whoa. Keith as in KEITH SCOTT ZIMMERMAN? You have a match with KSZ for the Evolutionary Title? Dude, that is HUGE. This is like the biggest match of your career. Imagine if you win. Fuck imagining, I know you can win!

And damn, what a way to bounce back, Quint! I mean, after several toughly-contested matches that you've ended on the losing side of, winning this match could do massive things for you. Not to mention all the crap that has been piling on your shoulders. Plus, Evolutionary Title! WOW."

Quinton? Suddenly didn't seem so enthusiastic. Linda, on the other hand, was suddenly very excited. She needed a almost-incoherent Bruno to put the situation into perspective for her, but now Linda knew why Quinton was so verbose with his confrontation with Keith a few minutes ago.

The Canadian Gladiator, however, was now looking quite constipated. Like, he just realised what he'd gotten himself into.

So, much to the surprise of Linda and Bruno, with the latter excitedly explaining to the former about the important of the Evo Title and what exactly its status was in the industry, Quinton dropped a bombshell.

"I... can't do this match. I think I have to take myself out of it."

Wellll. That was... interesting?

"What the hell was I thinking? I should have never challenged Zimmerman!"

Quinton May was a nervous wreck right about now, pacing like a cagey rapist who just found out that he's contracted an STD. Yeah, that's it. And both Linda and Bruno looked at Quincy, confused and concerned. No surprise there.

Ever since his confrontation with our great (you know he is!) Evolutionary Champion, Keith Scott Zimmerman, Quinton had been second-guessing himself. Even to the point of chiding his challenging of the Champ for a title match later in the night. But, wouldn't you be second-guessing yourself, if you were in the midst of a winless streak, and crushing back-to-back defeats in matches where you performed oh-so-valiantly? Oh, and being in a state of extreme inner turmoil? Don't forget about that.

Truth was, Quinton wasn't just having it hard in tSC. Professionally and personally, he was going through a defined rough patch.And for some reason, May's hot-headness and desire to shut Zimmerman up earlier resulted in some match-making goodness. The Canadian Gladiator versus the 21st Century Ratings Draw.

"Yes, you should have." Bruno quipped as he stood to his feet with a towel in hand. "And I'm glad you did. Perhaps Mr Patron Saint of Workrate will prove to be the bend in the road. A victory over him will definitely shake things up; and if you do it in less than 15 minutes, you have a shiny new belt to tote around. That'd be cool, I'd imagine.

Now, take this towel and wipe yourself. You're already sweaty from pacing up and down... if you need to pee before facing the biggest challenge in your life, then do it. We won't make fun of you. At least, Linda won't; I won't guarantee that the heckling won't be busted out. Some pointing & laughing could also be in the works."

Quinton frowned as he glanced at Linda, who nodded and smiled as if to indicate that she really wouldn't make fun of Quincy. Right then and there, the Canadian Gladiator wanted to sweep Linda up in his arms and make sweet love to her. Of course, he couldn't, since they were no longer involved in that way. Taking the towel from Bruno with an indignant huff, Quinton got back to thinking.

Was his horny manager correct? Could a win over Zimmerman really change his fortunes, for good? Would have a responsibility like the Evolutionary Championship transform the Rising Star to become even more of a potent force in the ring? So many questions that begged immediate answers.

Trouble was, May still wasn't feeling all that confident. "I don't know, Bruno. I men, I went into that match with Sheffield last week having cut you and Linda and everyone else out for what seemed like an eternity, and I still came up short. I was focused and determined to prove that Sheffield really wasn't all that. I was SURE that I would beat him.

But I didn't. I couldn't even beat Santos when it counted. It's all getting too much for me. I feel as if I don't belong anymore. Sure, I had a good ride for a while there... now, though, everything's changed. I've gone soft or something, and my whole presence inside a wrestling ring has become too damn transparent. No longer am I a bundle of surprise to be taken seriously. Everything that's been happening is just becoming too overwhelming.

It's no use. I'm going to fake an injury or a beatdown or something. Get myself out of the match."

"That's stupid, Quinton." Linda spoke up now, having kept quiet but heard enough. "Doubts are good, yes... but what you're experiencing is normal jitters. It's a part of everyday life. I may not know much about this wrestling thing, but I know that you have what it takes to do us and yourself proud out there.

How will those fans of yours feel if you suddenly just bail? And don't even say you don't care -- they were out in full force for you last week during the match with Alias, despite you not exactly endearing yourself to them with your attitude about Alias. They at least deserve to see you try. How will you know if you don't even put in the effort?"

Quincy shook his head as he sat down on a chair, still dabbing his head with the towel. Linda didn't know ALL of what Quinton was facing, but... she was trying, bless her heart. "All of what you've said is true, Linda. And I appreciate your input; but I can't. I just can't. I've made my mind up; it's just too hard for me right now... can't go through with it."

Bruno snorted as he folded his arms, not believing his ears. Linda bit down on her lip, wanting to retort... but knowing very well that once Quincy made his mind up about something, he would usually always stick to it. An eerie silence hung in the air as the three friends analysed their next move in their respective situations.

Suddenly, Bruno reacted. And by that, I mean he kicked over his own chair in a show of rage. Linda flinched, her heart going a mile a minute. Quinton himself looked up, perplexed and wondering what the holy heck had just happened.

"So, that's it, huh? You're just going to quit and go out in a whimper, after all your scary talk to Zimmerman just now? Well, then, I suggest you hand in your resignation letter as well, and we'll all go into business as joint owners of a theme restaurant. Oh, wait, that won't happen; because I never go into business with a quitter, and I don't think Linda will as well!" Bruno snapped, losing his cool.

Quite understandable. Even Linda, who glanced up at Bruno with those lovely eyes of hers and tried to non-verbally tell him to cease his burst of anger (which Bruno ignored), she knew that deep down... Bruno had every right to blow his top.

Quinton blinked, feeling a bit ashamed now. "I... I'm sorry, Bruno. I realise that you have a right to be angry with me, but you have to understand where I'm coming from. This wrestling business is the only thing I've got going for me that makes me feel like I have a purpose. And I also realise that nobody can have a jolly good winning streak all the time... but it's more than that."

"No, it's not." Bruno cut in, a lot calmer now. "Listen to me, Quinton. I shouldn't have lost my cool like that. Hearing quitter talk like that makes my blood boil, though. Lest of all, from you. Ever since I've known you, Quincy, you've never thrown in the towel. You've come close two or three times, but a combination of my pep-talkery and you coming to your senses have prevented that.

Now, I guess it's time for a pep-talk to help you see the light. This is what's it all about, friend. Chances, and not knowing if you're going to be the big hero at the end of the day.

And, hey, don't feel sorry. I don't, for shouting at you. I don't, for all I've done in my life.

All I feel sorry for is tht I didn't come to realise the impact you've had on my life until just now. See, had it not been for that fateful day where I found you, I would have remained the empty shell of a man I once was. You changed that. You, Quinton, kickstarted the one bit of humanity left inside of me.

And I've become a better man because of it. Because of you. Not in all aspects, I mean... but it's definitely an improvement. One that I'm proud of and happy happened, to be quite honest.

For too long, I was a nobody. Then I became somebody to someone. And that gave me meaning in my life.

Meaning which I lost many years back.

I guess what I'm trying to say here is if you quit, I quit too, by default. You and I have been through a lot together, Quinton. To throw it all away because of one nagging doubt would be quite the waste. So, I'm asking you... begging you, even, to not give up. To not fade away. Not like this.

Not when you've come this far and fought through everything thrown in your way."

Linda had tears streaming down her cheek, because she thought all that was so incredibly touching. Quinton? Oh, he was close to bawling like a baby. He too thought that was uber-touching. Bruno felt like smacking himself in the head, though, because HE felt he sounded like some sappy cocksucker that was going to propose marriage or something.

Nonetheless, the pep-talk had appeared to done the trick. Quinton stood up and hugged Bruno, in a manly way. Linda too stood up and patted Bruno on the back for being man enough to say what was on his mind and in his heart. Awwww, threesome. I MEAN, yeah.

"Thanks, Brun. I needed that." Quinton simply said as he pulled away from Bruno. A glance at Linda made May smile, and the young woman who was the father of his kid smiled back.

All ready to go, and with his doubts behind him, the Rising Star left the locker-room. Once again, he would be manager-less and companion-less at ringside. His choice, and both Bruno and Linda had come to accept that. May never gave either a reason as to why he didn't want Bruno at ringside anymore, but assured it was a temporary thing. Was fine with Bruno.

"You think he'll win?" Bruno suddenly asked, as he turned to Linda.

She took a moment to think about it, and as she turned to Bruno, Linda nodded. Wiping the tears off the face, the woman nodded her head like there was no tomorrow.

Chuckling, Bruno did the same. "I think so too."

A question everybody wants to know the answer to is -- can Keith Scott Zimmerman be beaten?

That's excluding tag team matches, because who can really control the bedlam involved in such a contest? In singles competition, however, Zimmerman was probably the BEST in tSC. A fact that was being disputed after his draw with Rook Black, at the SINNERS & SAINTS PPV. Critics? They called Keith 'weak'. Something which was a by-product of the impending marriage to Ms Lindum.

But hey, there's a reason Keith is the Evolutionary Champion of tSC. And, didja see the way he bounced back against the School Girl last week? Pretty damn impressive, non? That's why KSZ is that damn good. Look up the word 'prodigy' or 'impressive' or 'awesome' in the dictionary. You'll find a picture of Mr Main Event II sneering back at you. Somewhere, Sonny seethes, because his picture is only linked to the word 'evil'.

Speaking of whom, Sonny Silver too has fallen victim to Keith Scott Zimmerman. Sure, some cheating may be involved... who cares, though? At the end of the day, all that counts is the frigging end result.

And that equates to KSZ truly being the 21st Century Ratings Draw. Love him or hate him, you can't deny it. When KSZ appears on your television screen, you all scream like little girls. I know I do. And I ain't afraid to say it. Nope.

His challenger tonight? On the other end of the spectrum. Quinton May's been on a bit of a winless streak, and his confidence has been shattered. Still, it didn't deter the Canadian from letting his emotions get the better of him. And the result? May laid down the challenge to Zimmerman, who in turn accepted. Why? Perhaps KSZ just wanted to further humiliate the Rising Star.

Like they say, though, a wounded animal is a dangerous animal. Okay, so an animal is usually dangerous regardless, except if you count kittens... ah, fuck it. The mood's been ruined. Anywho, what we had coming up? Two young talents, superb in their own right. One more so than the other due to the silver around his waist. Both men are about the same size, in terms of height, and the challenger slightly outweighs the champion.

What does it all mean, you ask? Simple. A battle to the very end.

Time to set it up. The fans cheered, loudly. "Make A Move" by Lostprophets began blaring over the speakers. 17 seconds into the song, the lights in the arena were cut. Cue the excitement from a major section of the fans. 32 seconds into the song, red and white pyrotechnics lit up the arena.

KA - BOOOOM!

And there he was, brushing past the curtains. Quinton May, hicks and shemales. In living colour.

Following his intense battle with Alias last week in the KOS Preliminary, Quincy Mama was in a state of despair. He'd lost to Alias, when he expected and thought he would triumph. And that, on the backs of a crushing defeat to Santos Salvatore at S&S. No wonder the Canadian Gladiator was thinking of backing out of this match-up with the reigning Evolutionary Champion.

Until, of course, a wise man told him not to. And being the trooper that he was, Quinton May was going to go ahead and give KSZ everything he had. Decked out simply in his bluish-purple denim jeans with the white belt, and black boots... Quinton quickly walked down the catwalk, nodding at the fans that adored him so. Even if some of 'em gave him the finger, based on May's behaviour last week with regards to the Original Pulp Hero.

Inside the ring, the odd pairing of Neil Hart and Li Mu Bai were convening. Seemed that the former would be the inside referee, while Li -- who some say is the most electrifying Chink in sports entertainment today, for some reason -- appeared pleased with having control on the outside of the ring. Which meant that he'd have to keep an eye on Ms Lindum.

Quinton, by the by, was aware of Keith's bride-to-be, and as he climbed into the ring to do his whole up-da-turnbuckle routine, was thinking that perhaps he should have had Bruno accompany him. Oh well, too late for that now, right? Especially with Uma's voice resonating off the walls of the arena. Oh yeah, baby, you know what this is. You've been waiting for it allll night long. Especially for the Purple Strobe Apocalypse.

Up came the arms. Jeering? Yes, please. "Do the Evolution" by Pearl Jam started playing and the Digital Mafioso all stood up to welcome their leader. How? Oh, let's just say Hitler taught them well. Ahem.

I'm ahead, I'm the man... I'm the first mammal to wear pants! Didn't take long for the Zimmerman congregration to make their presence felt, and judging by the smirks on their faces the duo were looking to rain down gobs of torture upon the Canadian man standing in the ring.

Allison Lindum? Lovely as ever. Keith Scott Zimmerman? Arrogant as ever. Business as fucking usual, then.

As the Zimmermans made their way down the ramp, Keith unhooked his title and held it up in the air, further mocking all the marks that were hurling abuse at him. While that was happening, the Patron Saint of Workrate set his emerald eyes on Quinton, who was staring back fearlessly at the Evo Champ. You could already feel the tension in the air. May suddenly didn't feel so overawed by the occasion, and even managed a slight smirk of his own.

Keith seethed, before pecking Allison on the cheek and getting a peck of his own. Allison made her way down to ringside, bypassing JT & Greg, and giving Li Mu Bai the evil eye. But back in the ring, which Keith just climbed into, the Champion held his precious title up in the air once more, prior to handing it over to Neil Hart. Cautiously, of course.

Following which, Neil passed it to Shallow for safekeeping, aaand seconds later...

* DING DING DING *

... It was on. Not like Donkey Kong, but on nevertheless.

Keith, who'd slowly retreated into one of the corners of the ring with a bit of a scowl on his secksee mug, charged out of there immediately. Quinton, who so happened to be in the opposite corner, did the same.

And thus, the two men collided in the middle of the ring. Not really, they just got stuck in a collar-and-elbow tie-up. Keith easily came out of there with the advantage, driving his knee into Quinton's ribs. Then came the alternate forearm strikes to the head; left, right. Left, right. Left, right. RIGGGHT.

Yeah, that means extra power behind that particular strike, knocking Quincy into the ropes. And as the Canadian came off those ropes? Standing dropkick, right to the nose. Followed by a pose, in the vein of Craig Miles when he's horny. "Fat chance you have of beating me, dipshit. Chinky Chinkerson out there stands a better chance of scoring with McGourty!"

If you ever want to learn how to insult three people at one go (amongst other things), please call Dr Zimmerman at 555 - OWNED. Calls are charged at $200 a minute, because KSZ > your mother and your mother's pot pie. Word.

Anyways, Keith quickly picked the dazed Quinton up and took him over with a snap suplex, making the ring reveberate upon impact. Was Keith done? Not likely; he picked May up again, but this time... held the Canadian up in the air for a while, before dropping him down to the canvas. Delayed suplex goodness, there.

Vintage, and still effective in this day of age. Zimmerman swiftly floated over, and hooked the outer leg;

ONE.

TWO.

... Yeah, sure.

Keith stood up and blew some snort onto Quinton's recovering lifeform, inciting hateful screams from the crowd. Allison? She laugehd and clapped. Heh. Keith grabbed May by the hair and knocked him silly with a Regal-esque uppercut, sending May staggering back a few steps. Our beloved Evo Champ followed up by wringing Quincy's left arm and yanking the Canadian toward him. Boot to gut followed, and then... SLAP!

Oh, ho. Hoooo. Keith busted out the SMIRK~!, while Quincy Mama just stood there, bamboozled. Until the daft bloke retaliated with a scatching knife-edged chop to Keith's chest. KSZ did not see that coming, and gasped due to the force of the chop. But hey, Keith himself could chop the skin off your chest.

And so, another chop-fest ensued. Fun!

CHOP!

WHOOOO~!

CHOP!

WHOOOO~!

CHOP!

WHOOOO~!

CHOP!

WHOOOO~!

Just so you know, that went like this: Keith, Quinton, Keith, Quinton... and then, Quinton followed up with another especially savage one (WHOOOO~!). Zimmerman was not going to let himself be outdone in a war of chops, though, so he thumbed Quincy in the eyes, and hit back with two chops of his own, with Quincy Mama wide open and ripe for the pickings. CHOP! CHOP!

Once again, May was on the backfoot, and Keith decided to add more insult to injury. How? Another thumb to the eye. A quick glance at Neil saw the inside referee shrug. He didn't care; heck, he himself used to thumb people in the eye for fun. Keith nodded, then took his challenger down with a snapmare takeover. Off into the ropes Keith went, and a few moments later, THE PERFECT TRIBUTE was complete.

Some scattered cheers for that one. Keith didn't care, as he made the cover;

ONE.

TWO.

TH -- SHOULDER.

"And I'm supposed to believe that people should be proud at beating you? I WAS THIS CLOSE, FAG!" Keith shouted at Quinton as the former pulled the latter up, and connected with a series of rapid-fire forearm strikes to the spine. The fans returned to their regularly-scheduled jeering, and Zimmerman made with the middle finger, before forcefully whipping Quinton into the corner.

Whiplash effect? Not as such, no. Keith lunged in, nonetheless, looking to behead Quinton. Somehow, May rolled underneath Zimmerman's arm, and sprung up to his feet immediately after.

The New Millenium Evolutionary was definitely puzzled at not having blood splattered all over his face. Didn't take long to dawn on him what had happened, but by that time, Keith had already made the mistake of turning around.

Quinton was waiting, and the front waistlock was applied. "Believe it, Keith. Because you sure as hell aren't going to experience it."

Overhead belly-to-belly suplex, away! And the fans roared in jubilation, for Keith had walked right into that one. Allison fumed on the outside, especially with Bai staring at her. Creepy chink. Back in the ring, Quinton scrambled to his feet and took the raging-mad Zimmerman down with an armdrag. Classic Quincy move, there.

Keith got back up, determined not to go back down within two seconds. Unfortunately, May had allll the time in the world to measure Keith up, and sure enough, the Patron Saint of Workrate crumbled to the canvas again. Oh, how Keith hates being schooled by, of all things, a pair of armdrags.

Probably why when he got up, and May lunged in to take Keith over for a hiptoss as is the status quo for May's little chain, Zimmerman stood his ground and swung his left forearm around, catching the Canadian Gladiator squarely in the face. Just like that, Quinton's rush of momentum had come to a sudden halt.

"Not so tough now, eh, dipshit?" Keith snarled, lashing out with a snap spinning heel kick. Again, caught Quinton right in the face but the Rising Star was not knocked down to the canvas. Didn't matter much for Keith.

He simply whipped Quincy into one of the four corner turnbuckles. Face first. OUCH. Somehow, though, as May staggered backwards and Keith charged at him with the intent of unleashing harm of the most malevolent kind, Quinton was able to drive his elbow into Keith's secksy face once trapped in the clutches of a rear waistlock.

Result? The 21st Century Ratings Draw stumbled around, checking on his nose. He had a wedding to attend in a short while; his own! Now, how could he possibly get married with a broken nose, eh? "Jesus Christ, that idiot almost ruined my face. MY FACE -- hey, since when do we allow big birds into the are... OH, SHIT."

Yeah, so much for self-indulging. Quinton, realising he was close to the ropes after almost being taken for a ride in a German or whatever KSZ had planned, jumped to the top of the turnbuckle, leapt off it and landed squarely on Keith's shoulders. Despite not even being able to see Keith. And the rest, they say, is hurricaranna.

Keith was out, Quinton crawled over and made the cover;

ONE.

TWO.

TH -- NO BLOODY WAY!

How in the blue hell did Quinton even manage to pull that off? Keith wasn't sticking around to find out, rolling under the bottom rope once May stood to his feet. Of course, the Canadian wasn't going to let Keith off that easy, and reached through the ropes, in a bid to pull Keith back into the ring.

He (Keith) got as far as the apron, before showing his displeasure at having his hair tugged at. Shoulder-thrust into the ribs, which wouldn't normally do much good, but May's as compact Keith, so... nyah. The Castaway was doubled over, and Zimmerman catapaulted himself back into the ring. Oh, and, sunset flip? Always a treat to see in action.

May's shoulders were pinned down to the canvas, and Neil Hart rushed in to count;

ONE.

TWO.

THR -- NOOO!

Quinton rolled out of dodge, and both he and Keith raced back to their feet. The Evo Champion obviously having the advantage of being more streamlined and thereby quicker, so he was the first to attempt an attack, in the form of a spinning heel kick as he bounced himself off the ropes.

May, who had shot himself into the parallel set of ropes, was able to duck underneath Keith's leg, and instantly tried to fire back with a standing sidekick of his own. Much akin to... say, a superkick? And you ALL know how much Keith hates superkicks, right? This time, though, Keith actually managed to evade being hit as he turned around.

Smirking, for he had Quinton's right foot in his grasp, Keith Scott Zimmerman pushed the leg away, forcing Quincy Mama into a 360º spin. And once the latter had gone through ze spin cycle, there was Keith, picking him up... and dropping him throat-first onto the top rope, in a homage to Craig Miles. Yeah, baby, the famous coldCOCKED had been busted out.

And unfortunately for Quincy, as he staggered back, there was more pain in store. Naturally, when Keith decided to follow up with MURDERDEATHKEITH! Fans didn't like that one bit, but really, what in the hell could they do? Nothing. Not a damn thing.

Keith, on the other hand, had all the power in the world. "HA! This is your so-called saviour? The People's Hero? He couldn't even beat Garner, and you all expect HIM to beat ME? I'm one effin' move away, you fools! ONE MOVE AWAY FROM VICTORY! WHOOOO!"

"OMG! BRAINBUSTAAAAAAH~!" JT started convulsing at the announce table, thinking that Keith Scott Zimmerman was about to put Quincy Mama away with his patented and proclaimed 'Best Brainbuster in the Biznass'.

But, noooo. Keith wasn't going for that. Evident, when he pulled the stunned Quinton May up and placed the hapless challenger in a full-nelson. Wow, it had only taken five-plus minutes for Keith Scott Zimmerman to wear down the Canadian Gladiator. Lovely. Allison echoed her fiance's sentiment of only being 'one move away' & commanded everybody to bow down.

For, there was about to be some COMMUNICATION BREAKDO-- MULE KICK TO THE GONADS!

Yeah. Quinton figured he didn't really need three rope-breaks, so he made with the mule kicking. Neil Hart stepped in to inform May of the infringement, while Allison again fumed on the outside. I mean, come on; which lady wouldn't be upset at her man's nuts being violated like that, huh?

Quinton didn't care, as he spun on his heels, slapped on a front facelock on the doubled-over Evolutionary Champion, and scored with a fine snap fisherman's suplex! Hennig, this is for you. Neil Hart, count;

ONE.

TWO.

THREE. NO! SHOULDER! LAST SECOND!

Oh, that was close. You people almost had a new Evolutionary Champion.

But, luckily (for Allison and all of the Don's followers), Keith had powered his shoulder off the canvas at the last possible second, and the match continued. Quinton shook his head as he tried to catch his breath, noting that there was about nine minutes or so left in the portion of the match where the title was up for grabs.

Keith? Oh, he rolled out of the ring, also to catch his breath and to regain his bearings. His claims of being one move away? Well, HE was almost one move away from being defeated. Of course, it would take something mammoth to keep Keith down.

Quinton himself knew this, and as he used the ropes to help himself up to a vertical base, the Canadian Gladiator had an idea. Yes, watching Keith being tended to on the outside by Allison, with Li Mu Bai hovering close by, Quincy Mama suddenly came up with a seemingly brilliant plan.

One that involved Quinton running to the ropes, springboarding off the top, and just as both Allison and Li Mu Bai flee'd the fuck out of harm's way, dove down onto the vulnerable and unsuspecting Evolutionary Champion, who had his back turned on the ring, and a questionable look on his face directed at his sweetheart.

Which was soon replaced with a look of 'UNGH', for Quinton struck with a vicious elbow strike to the back of Keith's head! And from such altitude? Shoulda knocked a normal man out, COLD. Keith isn't a normal man, though; he's the god-damn New Millenium Evolutionary. Doesn't mean that he wasn't sprawled out on the floor, eyes glazed over, however.

And the fans? They were loving this. For all his smack-talk and disrespect that he hurled at Quincy Mama, Keith was now on the backfoot. Quinton slowly got back to his feet, wiping the sweat off his forehead, but swiftly returning back to the task at hand; wearing down Keith Scott Zimmerman. First step? Kick away at the back of the Champion's head. Relentlessly.

STOMP.

STOMP.

STIZZOMP, even. Quinton was letting it all go.

Li Mu Bai? His demands for May and Zimmerman to take their fight back into the ring fell on deaf ears. Until quite abruptly, Quinton stopped and turned to look at Allison. Raising an eyebrow, Ms Lindum backed away further from the scene, whilst silently urging her fiance to get his head in the game and do some damage.

As it was, Quinton would be the one piling on the hurt. And he did this, by pulling KSZ up and executing a swiftly-executed russian leg-sweep. Now, normally, this wouldn't be a big deal. But with the back of Keith's head bouncing off the guard railings? You can imagine by the future Ms Zimmerman had her hands covering her mouth, and fiery rage burning in her eyes.

"HOLY SHIT!"

"HOLY SHIT!"

Bloodthirsty bastards. Quinton, satisfied with his handiwork, pulled the seemingly out-of-it Evolutionary Champion up and rolled him back into the ring, feeling that he was quite possibly one move away from winning this one. Familiar sentiment?

You bet. And despite Allison's attempt to try and confront Quinton, the Canadian Gladiator climbed back onto the apron without any resistance. All thanks to Li Mu Bai. Well, SLAP! How's that feel, Li? Huh?

Back in the ring, Keith was having a nice view of the rafters. Quinton, meanwhile, hopped up onto the top-rope again, in the style that is so uniquely him, and after a bit of a hop, the Canadian let fly with a shooting star press. One usually hits it from the top of the turnbuckle, but, noooo. The big showoff just had to do it from the top-rope itself. Jackass.

But, yeah, it saw the light of day. And Zimmerman was in la-la land. Quinton covered, Neil counted;

ONE.

TWO.

THRE -- KICKOUT! WHOOO!

Again, oh so close. Quinton took a desperate look at the timer on the BLONGitron, which indicated there was only about seven and a half minutes left if the title were to change hands.

And with Keith being so stubborn, May figured he'd have to pull out all the stops now. So, he pulled Zimmerman up and struck with a spinning knife-edged chop to the upper sternum of the Champion, prior to wringing the arm and whipping Keith into the corner turnbuckle. Whiplash effect was, again, not invoked.

Which meant, Quinton had to close in for the kill. Problem with that, was, Keith sidestepped May... and two seconds later, as Quinton's face was fresh from smooching with the corner turnbuckle, the Patron Saint of Workrate flattened the challenger to his crown with a release German suplex. Standing up, Keith snarled at the fans, then did the cut-throat deal.

What came next? Benoit mannerisms, et al. YAY. Keith quickly scaled to the top of the turnbuckle, ready to put the finishing touches to another successful title defense. He was taking a huge risk here, but Keith didn't care. Swandive headbutt, away! Annnd.... SCORE!

Shaking the cobwebs out of his head, Zimmerman hooked the legs, Allison chered her man, and Neil Hart was on hand to count;

ONE.

TWO.

THRE -- FOOT ON THE ROPES!

Our beloved Evolutionary Champion was absolutely enraged. He had to almost risk having his head crushed for the sake of dispelling the most homosexual challenge to his crown (ahem), and Quincy Mama had the nerve to get his foot on the ropes? Oh, Keith was furious, and to show it... he did away with the straps as he stood to his feet.

Quincy, meanwhile, felt sick that he had to give up another rope-break just like that, because he knew Zimmerman would be out for blood now. And with the timer indicating only six minutes and some change left to possibly claim the title, May realised that he was in serious trouble.

WHAM. Especially when Keith rolled May over and let loose with a wheelbarrow suplex (of doom). Yeah, the Don of the Digital Mafia had enough of Quinton, and wasn't even waiting for him to recover. His title, his rules. And right now, it was KSZ's match to win. Swaggering over to the ropes, Keith cockily dropped an elbow down onto the head of May, shooting back to his vertical base and hurling a string of insults at his challenger that aren't fit for print.

So, as he now towered (?) over the downed body of Quinton, Keith again made with the blowing of snot. Then? INTERNET STAR PRESS!. Bitch.

Hooking of the legs came naturally, and Neil Hart did his job;

ONE.

TWO.

THR -- NO! SHOULDER!

"Damn it. Damn you, Quin-TON!" Keith grumbled, en route to pulling the Castaway up and shooting him into the ropes. Clearly frustrated, Keith was going to make sure Quinton paid for his insolence to the King of the Online World. How exactly was that going to be achieved?

I'm glad you asked. Get ready to fuck a rope-break, because -- SHORYUKEN!

So, instead of four rope-breaks, Keith had three. Which is better than two, right? Because Quinton only had two, and right about now, with the latter having crumbled down to the canvas absolutely unaware of the license plate of the truck that hit him, Keith was applying the hold that effectively put the Canadian Gladiator out of commission last week. Keith too had used this move seven days ago, as he defended against the School Girl.

All it meant, though, was that Alias's check was in the mail. ANARCHY'S LULLABY! This one's as good as over, folks.

Quinton immediately tried to fight out of it, but with his jaw having popped out of place from the leaping uppercut, it was just a little difficult to block out allll the pain coarsing through his veins now. Booo effin' hooo. Deal with it, Quincy.

"QUINCY MAMA!"

"QUINCY MAMA!"

"QUINCY MAMA!"

And oooon, they went. "Frigging marks! Tap out, dipshit!" Keith screamed at Quinton, trying to force him to give up. Well, you know what, Keith?

May didn't tap out to this last week, and he wasn't going to do it this week. In fact, Quinton isn't going to give up, period. That includes *not* passing the fuck out, for your information.

Especially when Quinton had just barely managed to grab the bottom rope. Allison, from where she was standing, tried to rush over and swat May's hand away from the rope since Neil Hart hadn't quite seen it yet. Bai, again, was there to put Ms Lindum in her place. Awww, shucks.

Neil Hart finally did notice May's hand on the ropes (a couple of seconds after it had happened), and immediately demanded for Keith to relinquish the hold. Zimmerman, of course, was in fucking disbelief and kept it locked in anyways. Milking the impending 5-count for all its worth, and eventually releasing his vice-grip on Quinton at 4 ^1/2.

Keith did not stop there, though. No, he's a shark, who more often than not, gets the job done.

And with Quinton in a bad way, victory was in the air. Keith backed away from Quinton, waiting for the Canadian Gladiator to get up on his own merit and turn around. May did just that, woozy and unsure of what was awaiting him. Even the cries of the fans couldn't prevent May from getting lifted off his feet by Keith and blasted down to the canvas as he turned around.

Blasted with what? KSZ DRILLER, you fucknuts. The Digital Mafiaso rejoiced, and Allison counted along with Neil Hart, practically sure of victory;

ONE.

TWO.

THRE -- HELL EFFIN' NO!

"What the FUCK? RUAGGHHHH!" Keith gargled as he stood to his feet and mercilessly unloaded a series of stomps down onto Quinton's face. He didn't know May -- that pugnacious, gold-hearted jerkoff -- did it, but the Don was seriously pissed the hell off now. So much so, that he now wanted to beat Quincy into oblivion.

And Keith, being Keith, knew how to do just that. Ceasing the stomping, although it was fun for him, the Patron Saint of Workrate pulled Quinton up to a vertical base and smacked him in the face with a forearm strike. Quinton didn't go down, Keith growled. A sideways glance at Allison was followed by Keith whipping Quincy Mama into the ropes.

Following which? Tilt-a-whirl backbreaker. Cover? Keith thought about it, but shook his head and yoinked Quinton right back up. Another trip into the ropes, ANOTHER tilt-a-whirl backbreaker. Now, then, cover? Neil Hart sure as hell thought so.

But it wasn't to be. Instead, Keith pulled himself up and connected with a snap legdrop across May's throat, chuckling softly to himself as he did so. That was merely the prelude to dragging Quinton back up to his feet and after shooting the challenger to his crown into the ropes, it was time for the THIRD tilt-a-whirl backbreaker.

... Except, this time, Quinton landed on his feet, and swiftly took Keith up into a tilt-a-whirl of his own. Which lead to? PAYBACK BACKBREAKER! Choke on that, Keith!

Now the fans went ballistic, and May dragged himself up, eyes locked on Zimmerman who was crawling away from the Canadian with one hand supporting his back. As Keith stood to his feet, teeth grinding against each other, he made a promise then and there that he would strangle the life out of Quinton the next chance he got.

Too bad that when Keith turned around, all that happened was the execution of May's trademark high-leg clothesline! Zing a ding ding, the tide was turning. Quinton kipped to his feet and wasted no time lunging at Keith from behind, as the Evolutionary Champion scrambled to his feet, thoroughly whooped and turned inside-out on that exchange.

T'was about to get worse; belly-to-back suplex was executed, and the M15 Survivor did not bat an eyelid when he floated over and... did not opt for the cover. Nope, Quinton instead took control of Keith's legs, and sneered as he furiously did what he had to do.

A couple of seconds later, and with about three minutes on the clock to the 15-minute mark, everybody in the arena was on their feet. Why? Had something to do with the locking in of the HAIL TO THE KING or something. I don't know, I am a mere narrator. Ahem. :-)

So, yes. Keith was in trouble. But Keith -- unlike Quinton who had no rope breaks left -- had THREE to spare, and since he was close to the ropes, discarded one of them to keep himself in the match. After all, all he needed to do was last three more minutes and the silver would no longer be in danger of being shipped back to Windsor, right?

Not if Quinton had anything to say about it. Surprisingly, Quincy relinquished the hold almost immediately... but that was because he didn't have time to lose. Once again, May pulled Keith up by tugging on his hair, and Keith did not appreciate that. Thus, Keith swung his right elbow back, hoping it'd be enough to carve out an opening for something drastic-like.

Too bad for Keith, then, that May ducked the rogue elbow swing and countered with a smashing overhead t-bone suplex! To say that Keith was folded up like an accordion would be a gross understatement... but to his credit, King Zimmerman was already trying his damndest to get back to his feet.

The bad part about that? Quinton had ALREADY recovered, and figured it was time to show off again. So, he hopped onto the ropes and actually casually walked the top rope like it was no trouble at all. Agile motherfucker.

And once KSZ turned around, the Rising Star took to a somersault, catching Keith's head in midair and planting him down to the canvas in one hellacious DDT. Know what he calls that? I don't, so let's all say it was motherfuggin awesome and applaud him for a job well done.

"QUINCY MAMA!"

"QUINCY MAMA!"

"QUINCY MAMA!"

Yeah. Would it be enough, though? Let's find out;

ONE.

TWO.

THRE -- GAWD, KEITH KICKED OUT!

At the last possible nanosecond, too. He was treading on thin ice, there, and Quinton knew how bloody close that was. The man had his face buried in his hands... before May rightfully snapped out of it and decided to get back to work. There was still some time left in the title portion of the match, and Quincy was damned if he was going to let him pass it by.

"TWO MORE MINUTES REMAIN IN THE TITLE PORTION OF THIS MATCH! TWO MINUTES!" Johnny Shallow announced, prompting Quinton to pull the slightly dazed Keith up. May wringed Keith's right arm, following up with a quick succession of knee-lifts to the ribs. A third one never materialised, for Zimmerman opportunistically saved himself. THUMB-YOU-EYE.

Uh huh, you read correctly. Neil Hart still didn't care, and neither didn't Quincy Mama, as he instinctively ducked a follow-up clothesline from Keith and lashed out with the Dylan-ator as he turned to face the befuddled Keith.

Don't know what the Dylan-ator is? Shame on you. Essentially, Quinton somersaulted backwards, driving both of his feet upwards into Keith's jaw in mid-flight, and landing expertly on his feet.

The force of the move knocked Zimmerman back into the corner, spine-first, and the whiplash effect was invoked. Quinton, being Quinton, let Keith stagger towards him before shockingly rolling the Evolutionary Champion up in a small package. Hey, losing via small package HAS happened to May before, and successfully, too.

This was merely 'learning from one's mistakes'. Neil, reacting quickly, counted;

ONE.

TWO.

THREEEEE -- NOOOOO!

Dang, Quincy Mama came within a whisker of attaining victory there. Still, not close enough, for Keith had the presence of mind to roll out of the pinning predicament, absolutely pizzased that Quinton had the gall to try the small-package. Both men sprung up to their feet, winded yet the desire to still put the other man down very much alive and pretty much being the proverbial adrenal rush for them.

Quinton was the first to attempt an offensive strike, as he swung his foot at Keith in a spinning heel kick. But as Keith's own one earlier, it found nothing but air. Zimmerman ducked and let his momentum take him into the ropes. Upon his return? ROARING ELBOW. Of doom, no less. Quincy was down... but not for long. No, he would not give up. Not now.

"Yeah, RIGHT." Keith snarled as he glared at me (*gulp*), before kicking the recovering Quincy Mama in the sternum. Which, of course, hurt a lot. Know what else hurt just as much, if not more?

BEST BRAINBUSTER IN THE BIZNASS, bitches! Game, set, match. JT started orgasming at ringside, and Allison jumped up and down, genuinely happy. So were the fans at ringside, because of the jiggle factor. And all. Ahem.

Keith panted as he got his body on top of Quinton's, while Neil got down to his knees;

ONE.

TWO.

THREE -- NUH UH, SHOULDER!

For a second, Keith contemplated taking Neil Hart out to the parking lot for a little lesson in 'HAND HIT MAT! HAND HIT MAT! HAND HIT MAT!'. But a quick look at the timer calmed Zimmerman down.

50 seconds left, in the title-portion of the match. And with what the Don was going to do next, there was no way Quinton was even going to earn a rematch for the title. It was alllll going to be over very soon, and Keith was going to savour every second of this, judging my the mad glint in his eyes.

So, when Keith stood to his feet and dragged the KO-ed Quinton up along with him, there was every reason for the Champion to lay down the law. "THIS IS OVER! OVER! OVER, I SAY... Wait, GARNER? WHAT THE UCKFAY?"

That's right. Right behind the announce table, ALIAS had suddenly appeared. No, he hadn't climbed over the railings, which would technically give Li Mu Bai the right to eject the former tSC Champion out of the ringside area. Still, the mere sight of Alias in the front row, with a giant grin plastered on his face, was enough to make Zimmerman's blood boil.

But was Alias here for Keith, or Quinton? Keith sure as hell thought 'Garner' was there for him... why, though? That's what the 21st Century Ratings Draw didn't know.

"I have no clue what the uckfay you're doing here, you Zero-wannabe. But at least, you get to see how you put away some Canadian bumrusher that's even more of a dipshit than He That Shall Not Be Named Because He's A Cockmeister." Zimmerman shot at Alias, prior to lifting Quinton May up in a suplex. Alias simply nodded, and kept on smiling. Why? Oh... his job was done.

How so? Let's observe. markOU -- DENIED. OMGWTFBBQ?

Just as Keith was about to lay May out with the sit-out powerbomb section of his uber-cool finisher, Quinton squirmed out of the move and landed on his feet, right behind Keith. Without batting an eyelid, Quinton swiftly applied the full-nelson.

... URBANE REPEALMENT!

Every fan in attendance? Stunned, but roaring nonetheless. Neil Hart quickly got to his knees and counted;

14:56

ONE.

14:57

TWO.

14:58

THREE.

...

...

...

It was over. No jokes, no illusions.

"The winner of the match, and NEW Evolutionary Champion of the Squared Circle... QUINTON 'THE CANADIAN GLADIATOR' MAY!" Johnny Shallow announced with great aplomb, and the entire arena exploded in a chorus of deafening cheers.

By GOD, Quinton had done it. A momentary distraction by Alias, the man Quinton swore to take down last week but only just failed, was enough to throw Keith Scott Zimmerman off the pace. And May capitalised. Letting go of Keith, Quinton rolled to his knees and looked up at Neil Hart, as if he needed confirmation.

Neil Hart nodded, having collected the Evolutionary Title from Shallow, and promptly thrust it into the arms of the new Champion. Quinton shook his head, a cooky grin forming on his face, as he tried to comprehend just what had happened.

Alias? He took one look at the grieving Allison Lindum and disappeared, having done his part. Speaking of Allison; the bride-to-be slid into the ring, beside herself, and tried to revive her fiance who was still knocked the fuck out. So, Alli made with the whining, repulsed that her man had lost the Evolutionary Title completely out of the blue.

Meanwhile, Quinton stood to his feet, kissed his new prize, and raised it up in the air, to even more roars of jubilation from the crowd. Bruno and Linda came running out from the back, quickly climbing into the ring elatedly. Quinton turned around and was immediately hugged by Linda, while Bruno patted his friend/client on the back... congratulating May on a job well done..

For a man that had almost not wanted to go through with this match, Quinton sure as hell put up one heck of a fight, and the end of it all, had ended up as the new Evolutionary Champion.

Looks like a new Championship era has begun.

Ya know, some say beating Keith Scott Zimmerman cleanly (ahem) 1-on-1 is an excellent aphrosidiac.

But for Quinton May, it proved to be an instrument of forgetfulness. Or something like that. Anyways, with Linda and Bruno waiting in the rental car in the parking garage of the arena, Quincy Mama was rushing out to retrieve his cellphone that he had left in the locker-room.

In the excitement of being the NEW Evolutionary Champion, Quinton had neglected to pack all his belongings properly as he and Linda and Bruno trooped out towards their vehicle. A job well done, after the Canadian Gladiator had originally wanted to back down from his challenge to Zimmerman. Good thing for Bruno and his inspiring/touching pep-talk, eh?

Anyways, having charged into his locker-room and found his cell on the table, Quincy sighed in relief. He couldn't afford to lose it, since he just bought the damn thing and made the mistake of choosing a pricey plan. That's the drawback of being Canadian, I hear. Ahem, please don't kill me.

So, Quinton swiped his phone from the table and quickly walked out of the room, as happy as a... happy git. Oh, and, his Evolutionary Title? Yeah, it was around his waist. Of course. Think he tossed it into his bag? Nuh uh, the fucker was going to carry it around wherever he went now. Even the toilet, probably.

"Awww, baby. I'll never leave you behind. Can't live without you." Quinton coo-ed to his cell, as if it was capable of experiencing emotions and shit. Guess someone has a thing for inanimate objects, eh? Somewhere, someone laughs at me. Bah.

Suddenly stopping all motion, Quinton placed his cell into the pocket of his jeans and unhooked his title belt from around his waist. Damn, did it look good on him, or what? :-)

At any rate, the Canadian now made with the creepy talk again: "Awwww, new baby. You know you're my number one now. I care about you soooo much. All those months with Zimmerman must have been tough on you, eh? Don't worry, I'll take good care of you, and polish you every day, and bring you to the movies with me. Okay?"

Geez, what a sap. Quinton even went so far as to raise his newly-procured title and kissed it. With his lips. As he pryed those lips of his away from the silver, though, the Rising Star found someone staring at him bemusedly. And rightfully so, because Quinton was acting very bizarrely.

Want to know who it was? Only the other person who's had the Evolutionary Title; unofficially and illegally, of course. Yes, hicks and shemales, I am talking about... MICHELLE MASTERS! The sexy Cali goddess of giggles and terror (sometimes).

Speaking of giggles...she did giggle. "And what movies does the belt want to see?" She asked with her arms crossed. "I'm kinda thinking The Incredibles is an Evo Title date type of movie."

Quinton shot back a sheepish grin at 'Chelle. "I, uh, just got swept up in the emotion. It's not everyday you beat someone like KSZ, and for this title he's basically had a stranglehold on, no less. In other unrelated news, though, you're looking as great as ever."

Michelle continued to needle him. "Are you sure you want to flirt with me in front of her?" The California Daredevil uncrossed her arms and rested one hand on her slim hip. "I must say, happy you is as strange but still a vast improvement over psychotic jerk you."

She glared at May, still with a hand posed on one hip.

"Ahhh, yes. My little 'reign of darkness' a while back." Quinton responded as a tinge of guilt started to flood his heart. That, and the hard-on he was trying to hide due to Michelle's sexiness. Contrary to popular belief (*cough*Butch*cough*), Quinton DOES like the ladies now. "I've never really, sincerely, apologised for being such a cockhead to you, have I? I remember blubbering something resembeling an apology... but not a sincere one."

The Fiery Thunder Girl put the free hand to her chin, as if in deep thought. "No, not really." She agreed.

'Chelle smiled. "Though I hear late is better than never. Especially when it comes to apologies." That one....Michelle knew from personal experience, as she had been making a few of her own lately.

"Well, I agree with you there. I've been trying to rectify the respective messes I've made. And since we're here? Heh, I'm sorry. Really. What I did to you was inexcusable, considering I didn't even know you, and I didn't have the right to invade your personal space like that. So... yes. I'm very, VERY sorry. And, can I say it? You pack a mean slap, Michelle." Quinton remarked after a second of two of running things over in his head, grinning at the last part.

'Chelle smiled widely. "That's very sweet of you. Apology accepted. And hopefully, I won't have to slap you again." She paused, taking a moment or two to reflect on it. "I did a lot of things last month I hope I don't have to do again." She added.

Quinton nodded his head vigorously at this point, and glanced over his shoulder, just to see if anyone else was watching. Nobody was. Michelle looked a tad bit confused by this... thinking the Canadian was possibly going to something drastic. DUN DUN DUN.

As it was, May just didn't want anyone to hear him. "I know that feeling. I too have done things I regret. Don't tell anyone this, but just earlier tonight, I was about to walk out of here and back out of my challenge to Zimmerman. I felt like such a wreck, emotionally and physically. In terms of mental psyche, I was a spent force.

But then, I had a friend put me in my place. Much like how you did with your slap. Only, with words that stung like a thousand daggers through your heart. Did the trick, though. Which was when I realised something -- no man can be an island. You know what I mean?"

'Chelle nodded. "And no man...or woman can totally protect the ones they love." She replied, adding in the lesson she had learned the hard way. "I really didn't mean anything by the slap, though. You really didn't know what was going down."

Michelle shook her head, causing her hair to fly this way and that. "I'm glad things are better for you, now." She added sort of belatedly. "You're already a better champion than that asshole was." Michelle's face took on an angry tint, remembering the shenanigans that had led to her stealing the belt and kicking it into Keith's face.

"Hahaha, thanks. So says Bruno, my manager. Heh. And yeah, I really didn't know what was going down, because I was a grade A moron." Quinton replied, now putting the Evolutionary Title on his left shoulder. "But I'm glad it happened. Sometimes, the good guys get a little mixed up in the murky gray areas, and they need a little help. You were there when I needed help.

And I thank you for that, from the bottom of.

Anyways, are we officially cool now, and even friends-like? Guy like me, place like this; need all the friends I can get."

Michelle half-grinned; she was a bit surprised. No less, at the Candian's outstretched right hand, as he waited for the Cali girl to shake it.

Michelle did take May's hand and shake it. "Friends, we are. You might want to talk to Rob, though." She smiled easily as she thought of her husband, who was an oddball kind of like May was.

"That I will do, for I'm told he's one cooky joker. Don't want him stabbing me, either, for me taking up his wife's time. Which reminds me; I best let you get back to your own devices. I've got hungry people waiting for me in a car. Until we meet again, Michelle!" Quinton followed up with a chuckle, as he and Michelle stopped their shaking (of hands, you sicko!). 'Chelle nodded politely, and May was on his way.

Until, of course, the sweet Cali goddess of giggles thought of something. "Oh, and Quinton? Remember this; heroes don't accept the way the world is -- they fight it. I think you'll find it useful for whatever you're going through right now, as I hear it's quite tricky."

The Canadian Gladiator halted in his tracks and blinked. Before he turned to look back at Michelle, who had that oh-so-sweet smile imprinted on her face. Once again, she had done it. She had, in an instant, changed May's train of thought. This girl should venture out into public speaking (and stripping), eh?

"That sounds like an Angel-esque quote, but I've only watched until the middle of Season 4..." Quincy replied after a moment's thought.

"It is." Michelle nodded. "And there's another one I like."

She took a deep breath. "Screw destiny! If this evil thing comes, we'll fight it and we'll keep fighting it until we whoop it. Cuz destiny is just another word for inevitable, and nothing's inevitable as long as you stand up, look it in the eye, and say 'you're evitable!'... and, yeah!"

'Chelle grinned. "I blame Max. He got me and Rob hooked on it."

"Hahaha. I'll definitely take that under advisement, Michelle. Thanks, and see ya next week!" Quinton replied as he bade Masters farewell with a wave of his hand. What is he, the Queen of England?

Michelle giggled at how gosh-darned bizarre May was, and turned on her heels, leaving in the opposite direction. Looks like someone has made a new friend, eh? Despite thinking that Quincy was very strange and weird, 'Chelle figured he was a good enough guy, and was pleased someone other than Zimmerman was now the Evolutionary Champ. Seriously, in Argentina, people are celebrating.

Anyways, Quinton was racing back to Linda & Brun, still thinking about what 'Chelle had said. And in some way, the Canadian was glad that he had run into Michelle. Not only did he have a chance to clear the air with the Cali goddess, but she managed to dish out some good advice; inadvertently or not, Quinton didn't care. Not when he now knew that there would be more people than ever gunning for him, with this latest development.

Still, Quincy had to admit, he liked the inference Michelle made.

"Hero." the Canadian Gladiator echoed. "I'm a... hero? Definitely sounds cool."

***

Quinton May was on top of the world. What a difference a single night made.

He was still on a buzz after winning the Evolutionary Title, and having conversed with the infectious and good-hearted Michelle Masters. As he finished urinating and flushed the toilet, Quincy Mama wondered rather cheekily to himself if he and Michelle would have made a good couple should circumstances have been completely different.

Nonetheless, May went over to the wash basin and grinned as he glanced at himself in the mirror. A hero. With the Evolutionary Title slung on his shoulder. Suddenly, every single bad thing of the last four months of his life appeared to be meaningless. There was hope.

There was the promise of a new tomorrow.

Quinton turned the tap on and wet his hands for a bit, before bending down and splashing the water in his face. Linda and Bruno had been waiting for him for a long time now, but the Canadian Gladiator figured they could hang on just a few seconds. Plus, the Evolutionary Title was heavy. It wasn't that Quinton never had a title belt before; hello, 2-time ACW Televsion Champion, and single-handedly made that division one to watch.

It was that he beat arguably the best in the business for it, with a hiiiint of help from Alias.

"Guess I owe Sheffield a thank you AND an apology." Quinton remarked to himself.

Turning off the tap, Quinton stood up straight and took a good look at himself in the mirror. There was a tiny problem.

There was someone standing behind him.

... Alexander Pembridge.

May quickly spun around, hands springing up and ready to fight! The Evolutionary Title almost slid off his shoulder in the process, but... uhm, it didn't? Anyways, FIGHT TIME.

But, wait. There was nobody there. Quinton's brows furrowed, confused. He swore he'd seen him.

He swore.

Quinton started to sweat. "W-What... the hell... is going on?"

And then, altogether, Quinton's shoulders slumped. It had sunk in. There was no new tomorrow.

Something big was about to happen. Quinton didn't know what, but somehow, the Rising Star had an itchy feeling that Alexander Pembridge was just waiting in the wings, screwing around with his mind.

"So much for thinking I'd turned the corner."

Oh, Quinton. You naive little fool.