((The Pepsi Center, mere moments after the finale of Monday Madness. The crowd is worn out, exhausted from the action. From bell to bell, as usual, Madness was a roller coaster of close calls, near finishes and sudden death victories. One of the biggest fan favorites in the company, Television Champion Gator, has just finished barely retaining his prized title over the strong newcomer, Dr. Louis D’Ville. However, earlier in the night, the Madness crowd was caught completely off guard when another favorite, “Loverboy” Vinnie Lane, for the first time left the ring without having his hand raised.))

Both men fall away from each other and get back to their feet at around the same time. And sprint towards each other. Luca hangs out his arm for a lariat but Vinnie slides on his knees like a fucking rockstar out of harm’s way. Vinnie quickly hops up and hits Luca with a devastating superkick to Luca’s jaw as he turns around. The sound of boot hitting flesh echoes throughout the arena and the crowd roars and chants! “THIS IS AWESOME! - - - THIS IS AWESOME!” Vinnie rests his hands on his knees sucking in air as Luca slowly crawls to the ropes. JOEY STYLES: “Shadows from out of nowhere!” Loverboy manages to counter with a kick to Shadows' gut. He then plants Mosier with the vertebreaker. JOEY STYLES: “Black Label Driver!” Loverboy hooks the leg. 1... 2... JOEY STYLES: “Fuck you in your stupid face!” Luca nails the Phoenix Spalsh on both Vinnie and Shadows, breaking the pin. Lane rolls off and Luca hooks the leg of Shadows. 1... 2... 3! WINNER: “4x Better” Luca Arzegotti JOEY STYLES: “Luca wins it! Lane and Arzegotti are going to need a one on one to settle this thing once and for all!” Madness fades to commercial.

((An alternate angle shows what happened as the show went to commercial. Luca Arzegotti’s arm is raised by the referee as the lifeless body of David Mosier lies beneath him. Outside of the ring, “Loverboy” Vinnie Lane is holding the back of his head and is screaming in a rage. He pounds his fist into the apron repeatedly, and slides into the ring again as Luca is leaving, rushing towards the ropes and yelling at Arzegotti as he walks backward up the ramp with a cocky grin and his arms over his head. Loverboy is incensed. The referee walks up behind him and grabs him by the arm, but Loverboy shakes him off and spins around, getting into his face and shouting obscenities at him, poking him in the chest and admonishing the counts he gave. The referee backs away, but clearly is adamant in his position of having called the match correctly and having counted properly. Still in an angry rage, Loverboy catches sight of David Mosier, who has finally begun to stir on the mat and rolled to his side. Loverboy jumps at him and starts to stomp on him, and the referee is forced to intervene, pulling him away.))

Loverboy: What the hell do you think you’re doing? You don’t fucking touch me!

Referee: Leave him alone, the match is over!

Loverboy: This is all your fault! All you did was impede me! IT’S ALL YOUR FAULT!

((Loverboy throws a wild left haymaker into the jaw of the referee, dropping him like an old sack of potatoes. Not stopping there, the rocker drags the limp form of the referee up and puts him in position, crushing him into the canvas with the Black Label Driver! Loverboy rolls the unconscious official onto his back and covers him, making a three count himself before standing and spitting down into his face.))

Loverboy: THAT’S HOW YOU COUNT TO THREE, JACKASS!

((Loverboy then walks to his corner and retrieves his two Trios Championship belts, holding them high over his head with an evil grin as the crowd boos loudly.))



((Now, back in the arena after the fans have barely begun to leave their seats, the sudden blaring chords of “I Wanna Rock” by Twisted Sister scream from the PA system, and a stern, serious looking Loverboy walks without his usual antics to the ring, marching quickly and with a hard scowl across his usually fun-filled visage. The crowd has a mixed reaction, popping for the typical entrance theme but also recalling the events from earlier and the evening and raining a scattering of boos aimed towards the megastar as he demands a microphone from the ringside area and slides under the bottom rope. Loverboy tosses his aviator sunglasses to the mat and rips open his denim jacket to display the two belts again around his waist as he moves to the center of the ring and brings the mic to his lips.))

Loverboy: That’s enough! Cut my god damn music! Cut it!

((The music abruptly ends, leaving a void of hushed silence from the confused crowd.))

Loverboy: All of you pieces of crap get back in your seats! This show ain’t over, man! You! Fatty, with your two stupid kids! Get back in the fucking seat!

((The crowd then starts to boo the Loverboy, who immediately sneers and moves forward, leaning his upper body against the top rope and finding a camera to look into.))

Loverboy: Yeah, you boo me now, right? Now that you have someone else to cheer for? Now that good old Luca Arzegotti finally got that warm welcome from the XWF that he probably insisted on in his new, huge contract? How many of you people bought up the new Luca t-shirts at the vendors’ stands before the show, huh? I see them all over you! You, right there, take that piece of crap off! And you! And you too, you ugly bitch! Make sure you have a spare muumuu in that cheap purse of yours to cover up those fat, nasty tits of yours so you don’t blind all the men in the building with your ugliness. Maybe you should just come over here and grab the ring apron to hide under? It might be big enough.

((Loverboy backs up into the center of the ring again, holding the jacket open wide and showing off the gold as the crowd continues to boo him.))

Loverboy: Yeah, yeah, yeah… you all picked yourself a new hero, right? A new god to throw your money at? Pathetic. You’re all pathetic. Do you even see what I do for you? Do you not even give a damn about the way I put my body on the line week after week? Where has that piece of garbage Luca been until now, huh? Taking a paid vacation with the blessings of the XWF brass? I know where he wasn’t, dude… I know he wasn’t in Phoenix to put on the match of the decade like I was. I know he wasn’t in Illinois. I know he wasn’t in South Korea. But you damn well know who was, don’t you? I WAS. And when Luca decided to finally show his pretty little face in Los Angeles, it was ME who crashed his party and sent him home to momma to whine about not getting to win on TV. So the XWF bigwigs tried to set him up with a patsy like Davey Shadows for a free confidence boost, but I wasn’t about to let that happen, man. What do I get for my trouble, dude? What kind of bullshit happened tonight to repay me for all the hard work and sacrifice I’ve done for this company and for you losers in the stands? I get a fucking referee with Luca’s money in his back pocket giving me a slow count after I did the dirty work on Mosier and letting Luca’s ass take a cheap win, that’s what. And then I get to listen while YOU cheer for him. You don’t even care about a damn thing I’ve done! You don’t deserve to watch a megastar like me busting my ass in front of you! You don’t have any IDEA what it takes to hold a championship in the XWF, how much you have to break yourself down and then lift yourself back up just to hold one of THESE.

((Loverboy unfastens one of the belts from his waist and extends it over his head where it gleams in the spotlights. A grin spreads over his face.))

Loverboy: And what DO I get for my trouble? What does the magnanimous XWF see fit to reward me with for my constant hard work? Oh, well, first I get to go straight from here in godforsaken Denver, Colorado to the airport and fly all fucking night to get to Moscow! Yeah, that’s right, I get to go to Russia, so it must be good, right? It must be that title shot I so clearly deserve, right? But no, it’s just to be a prop in another match with shithead Pest and Clean Lucena, a guy I thought was my friend. Well, joke’s on them, man, because not only is the hottest porn star in the world flying to Moscow with ME, but she’s leaving after the match with me as well. And the only guy ramming any dildos into her perfect snatch on Wednesday night is gonna be me too, because if you think I’m letting that shitty match even happen then you’re dead ass wrong, man.

((The boos start to intensify as Loverboy sneers again and moves the belt onto his shoulder.))

Loverboy: That match tonight with Luca and Shadows was a five star, match of the year quality event! I heard all of you with your awesome chants during the show, so you can’t deny it. But was it the main event? No. No, no, no, the main event was Gator, a guy I beat last week, defending a title against my opponent next week Dr. D’Ville, who just got lucky enough to be booked in title shot earning battles royal in his first two matches with the company. His FIRST TWO. Do you remember my first two? BOTH times I was saddled with some deadweight against lackluster competition. BOTH times I had to carry the work and carry the team and BOTH times it was ME that finished off my opponents and won. The XWF tries to bury me every week with random opponents, they tried to bury me at Relentless to show off their crown jewels Azrael Erebus, Enigma and Sebastian Duke but I messed up their little plans didn’t I? I beat their prized possessions and I took their titles while the world watched on in shock. This one here, the one I wear around my waist? This is my favorite, because it was Azrael’s. The guy I was definitely never supposed to have a chance with. And this one here? The belt I took from my worthless partner Zoey? This was Duke’s. The XWF legend. The legend I PINNED in the middle of the ring. And what happened next? Oh, Loverboy, you must have gone straight to the top of the rankings after Relentless, after such an amazing display of ability and athleticism… but NO. I stuck around in the midcard burying flotsam and jetsam like Johnathan Heartsford and Darren Dangerous. And then last week I got to play spoiler again in a match with the TV champ and the returning legend, Mr. PPV sales himself, Luca Arzegotti. Did I get the shot at the TV title after BEATING the TV champion? Hell no. I got to deal with the screwjob that went on tonight instead. I got to distract myself with Pest and his bullshit instead of getting to fight for the titles I deserve. So Doctor D’Ville gets to waltz in here, take my spot, take my title match, and he isn’t even good enough to win the damn thing so I can finally get a go at it next week! Well let me explain something to my upcoming opponent, Doctor D’Ville… I don’t care if you’re the next big thing according to this company – I’m the CURRENT big thing that they are working their asses off to keep holding down. And I don’t care if my back hurts, or if my head has been ringing for weeks, or if I have to fly around the world twice in one week. Next Monday, in Houston, Texas, I’m going to pick you up, spin you around, and drop you on your bald head so hard that your glass eye pops out of your head, and THEN I’m going to kick Pest’s ass on the 24th at Warfare too. After that there’s no way that Shane and his fucking goons can pretend I don’t deserve a shot at the singles titles here and I’ll get EXACTLY what I deserve. Count on it, Doc. You’re not the future of the XWF, dude, you’re just my next victim.

((Loverboy drops the mic with a thud and leans into the ropes, flipping over them and walking to the back holding his belts over his wild, blond hair without looking back.))