Lessons In Gravity

[v]

—(Isolated Area/Northern Parts Of Canada)—



NVW's Main Event P.P.V. :

DEEP FREEZE


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

Match Card:

Ladies Singles

Devia Le-stat vs. Joyce Love
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Street Fight

Yuan Habbo vs. Stryker
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Mixed Tag Team Tornado Chaos

Last Resort {Jacky Boy-Led & Alexis} vs. Darksyde {Thoris Black & Giselle}
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NVW Mid-Atlantic Championship/Ladder Match

Lancer Kade {Champion} vs. Dan Halette
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Paddle On A Pole Match

Karyn Kade vs. Jenna Jones
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NVW Hardcore Championship/Falls Count Anywhere Match

Ken Lexington vs. Keith O' Haire {Champion}
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Non-Title Hell In A Cell Match

Alexander Cross {NVW World Champion} vs. Dragunov



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Footsteps echo the hallowed halls, step by step by step, the sound draws near. The poster scaled on the wall is abruptly torn from it's surface in one fell swoop. Crumpling it slowly, a man of defined stature tosses it aside. NVW was it? Northern Valley Wrestling. Pathetic, it was bad enough wrestling had been degraded to the point of no one truly caring anymore. Now those in "The North" had the odasidy to believe they had any right? He frowns with grimace before the aftertaste of the situation truly begins to settle. The long black trench coat draped over his frame waves down and scrapes the top of the concrete ground below. The silent sound of nothing but him walking down the hollow corridor, step by step by step.

NVW's PPV Event would be soon, why was that of a matter to him? Why would it be a matter to anyone? Was this man even affiliated with the company in question? Did it matter? People care to much about what others think... that is a mistake. The top edge of his right glove scrapes against the wall as he presses his hand against it, trailing against it while he walks. A large chain wrapped around both his right and left forearms. A dark cloak-like hood draping over his head. Impact, statements, wins, losses, titles. You think these things matter? You're in the wrong business, leave now.

The man walks on down the corridor, eventually leaving it as if nothing were to happen. He was aware of the event, that was what mattered to him. He would undoubtedly... make his presence into the wrestling world known. Even if it took going through every, federation, he could find.


To Be Continued.





You think it's about Winning

You think it's about Losing

You think it's about Titles

You think it's about Glory

None of these things matter, none of them count, Wins and Losses?

Irrelevant

Titles? Your name in a history book long after you're gone?

Pointless

Making a Statement? Making an Impact?

Childish

It's not about Winning

It's not about Losing



It's about who's left standing.

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[v]

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The P.P.V event had gone off without a hitch, the main event was coming up soon fast. Yes, the main event. The man tightens his fingerless gloves on his fingers while grinning. Archer had been sent all over the place, he was doing his job. It was now time for this man to do what he considered to be, his "job". He sits, waiting in the crowd. Bought a ticket and all, he's allowed to be there. The coat still covering his face, the hood draped down. The chains had been removed for aesthetic purposes, you can't fit into a crowd very well if you're lugging steel around either forearm now can you? Well... depending on the crowd. He sits back in his chair, his eyes closed. The man breathes in and out deeply, his frame slightly moving with each passing breath. Showtime.

"Hailing from deep in the heart of Germany. He is the reigning and defending North Valley Wrestling World Champion, he is 6 feet and 4 inches tall. Weighing in at 280 lbs, Alexander, Cross!"

The man grins as his head, along with the bulk of the crowds' turns to the stage. It didn't make much sense did it? A wrestling company that specifically classes itself in one area, has a "World Heavyweight Champion". Yet, they have already designated themselves to being "North Valley". Like he cared about idiocy between the owners of the company. The "champ" walks out, belt slung over his shoulder with pride, his hair slicked back with water. The man rolls his jaw a bit from side to side, moving it around as he watches Alexander make his oh so arrogant and cocky entrance down to the ring. The smoke covering most of the ramp way. Cheap tricks and useless trinkets in a pathetic effort to garner an emotional reaction from the crowd. Gimmicks and sides, "faces" "heels". Pathetic. The man had no interest in what anyone thought about him or his purpose, hence... he had no respect for those who tried to make a living off of smoke and mirrors.

"And his opponent, from the harsh land of Russia. He is the current number one contender, he stands 6 feet even. He weighs in at 275 lbs. He is simply, Dragunov!"

Russia? The man's gaze is directed back to the stage with post haste. That would make him... unique, wouldn't it? In a world where most wrestlers are from the United States, or England or Japan. Russia? Interesting. He folds his arms over his chest as the one known as "Dragunov" begins to make his way down the ramp. No cheap tricks, his music plays, his titan-tron rolls. His black hair hangs down over one side of his face, long bangs. The man watches as Dragunov slides into the ring slowly. The announcer takes his leave, the ref slides in. The massive steel structure above them is slowly lowered around the ring. Another difference, as far as the man's knowledge goes. Most HIAC matches involve the participants entering the door, not having it lowered down around them. Hm... unique. The bell rings, the crowd begins to cheer. All the while, the main grins and watches on. Waiting, waiting.

"... This will be fun."

[v]

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The match well underway now, the men giving it their all so to speak. The man watches on from the front row, not standing, not clapping nor cheering. He simply watches the contest between the two men standing in the middle of the ring, caged within a steel prison. It seemed, "business was about to pick up". He grins in anticipation.

"Oh oh do you think it could be Mick!"

"It looks like the champ may be setting up Dragunov for a little Crossfyre!"

It's at this point, the man leans forward in his seat. Alexander Irish whips Dragunov with a large amount of force into the opposing side of ropes. Basically whipping Dragunov into the West side ropes. From there Alexander runs and bounces off of the North side ropes around the ring. The man grins a bit and rolls his jaw again, misdirection running attacks. Unique. As Dragunov comes back with his own momentum, Alexander seems to rush off his own momentum and is seemingly set for a collision course with his number one contender. Time seems to almost slow down, the crowd cheers loudly. It's a simple fact in wrestling, be you hated or loved whenever you go for your Finishing Move; the cameras flash and people roar like Lions.

"Missed."

The man could tell even before it became evident to the rest of the fan base sitting in the seats. At the last second, before Alexander's outstretched right boot is able to connect with Dragunov's face, more than likely which would have caused an automatic Knockout. Dragunov turns away from the attack, wraps his right arm around Alexander's neck and "Switchblade"s Alexander down to the mat, all within a split second, saving his neck from a nasty looking running Big Boot off of a misdirected angle. The crowd somewhat boos, but seems to almost respect the counter attack. The man shakes his head softly in a sense of disgust, fickle fans were a plague upon the face of Wrestling. Back in the ring Dragunov begins to capitalize on Alexander's mistake. Mounting Alex's waist, Dragunov begins to slam into the champs face and jaw with rapid fire like forearm smashes. No ground and pound, this was more of a seek and destroy mission being filled out by the number one contenders forearms.

The man grins a bit at the action and leans forward in his seat a bit more. Interesting. Dragunov lifts Alexander up and begins to work away at him with repeated European style uppercuts. Not letting the champs body fall after any of them, he keeps him up and mobile by grabbing hold of his neck during and after each hit. Slinging the champ off to the South side of the ropes, on the bounce back Dragunov hits a leaping Leg Lariat on the champ. Knocking him down. The crowd, half for one half for the other, breaks out into an eruption for either way. Yet this wasn't what the man was waiting for, no no. Dragunov rolls down out of the ring and forcefully, after a couple tries, kicks the door of the Cell wide open. He walks around the sides of it and makes his way over to the announcers tables. Meanwhile the champ Alexander rolls out of the ring himself, knocking off a slight daze he reaches under the ring and grabs the first thing that comes into contact with his fingers. Just so happened to be the World infamous... "Barbie". A 2 X 4 wrapped in barbed wire, fun indeed.

"There we go.... just a little more.."

He was waiting, waiting for the opening. It wouldn't be long now, not long at all. Alexander rushes out of the Cell door opening, seeing Dragunov rampaging around the announce tables, taking the covering off and trying to clear away the useless things. Mics, the video prompters. The bottles of water, what have you. Alexander rushes him from behind and takes what could be called a Major League swing with "Barbie" at Dragunov's back. The number one contender contorts in pain, dropping to his knees instantly. Alexander removes the bat from the partly shredded clothing on the number one contenders back and gets ready to take another "Deathblow" like swing. Dragunov manages to move this time, ducking and rolling away. Once he has even the slightest ability to tread his feet he lunges at Alexander, taking him down in a spear like motion. The bat tumbles away and hits the barricades wall. The man grins a bit, tightening his gloves again as he nods his head slowly, almost to the beat of some tune he can hear in his own head.

The two men scuffle a bit, exchanging rights and lefts once both make it to their feet again. Slowly making their way around the outside of the Cell. This, is when the opening is visible. The man stands up out of his seat and hops over the barricade separating the fans from the superstars. The security guard closest tries to restrain him, he pushes him back and turns around with a spin kick, nailing the security member in the abdomen with force. His trench coat and cloak still on, the two superstars notice him. Alexander tries to rush the man. He takes one step and then lifts his right leg somewhat off of the ground. Catching Alexander across his collarbone and throat with his right arm, the man then sweeps out the back of the champs legs with the aforementioned raised leg. Dropping the champ in a combination of an STO Sweep on the outside. From that knelt position of rising, he rushes at Dragunov who in turn has now rushed at him. Ducking under the number one contenders attempted clothesline, the man violently wraps his arms around Dragunov's throat in a kind of sleeper. He from there jumps up a bit and wraps his legs around the number one contenders waist, causing both him and Dragunov to slam down onto the ground below them.

From there the man shifts his body weight to the right and ends up mounting Dragunov from behind on the ground, his legs still wrapped tightly as he begins to pummel Dragunov in the back of the head, causing his face to smash against the thin matting under it. He releases his legs and slams his right knee into Dragunov's ribcage from one angle, then he shifts and spins, rotating 180 degrees and slams his left knee into Dragunov's ribcage from another angle. Alexander now up takes no time at all to rush over and peg the man with a straight running kick to his chest. The man is knocked off of Dragunov and rolls back for a minute. The champ points to the ref in a hope to get help down, as if it wasn't already on the way. More refs and security guards had already been called, and were more than likely post hastily rushing to try and hit the stage. The man gets to his feet and spins on a slight angle as he extends his right arm, his hand extended out flat. He nails Alexander with a spinning back chop in the throat dead on. The champ staggers back a step or two, coughing.

Dragunov however was now up and pissed. He rushes the man and catches him by the stomach, pushing him back kidney first into the barricade behind them. The man lets out a grunt as Dragunov then grabs hold of the man's wrist and Irish whips him into the side of the Cell with extreme force. He hits it back first and staggers a couple steps forward in a haze. The extra security had shown up, a bad sign. Dragunov however waves them off as he grabs hold of the man by his shoulders, and buries his knee into the man's abdomen. It seemed the two enemies Dragunov and Alexander, for the time being had a united cause for team work in this intruder upon their match. They end up shuffling him into the Cell structure, rolling him into the ring. The man stands up and immediately takes advantage of this situation. Alexander rolls into the ring only to be met by vicious stomps. The man holds onto the top rope with his fingerless gloves and begins to "go to town" on the champ with vicious right stomps, reigning them down upon Alexander. Dragunov slides into the ring from another angle, the man turns and ducks under the number one contenders attempted right hook. He lifts Dragunov by the waist once he turns around, and spins him in a semi-circle before slamming him down to the mat below with force. Landing in what most call a "Arn Anderson" Spinebuster.

The champ rolls into the ring successfully this time, he grabs hold of the man from behind and tries to Irish whip him into the far side East ropes. The man reverses it halfway there and pulls Alexander to him, he buries his knee deep in the champs abdomen and instantly snakes his way behind him. He clutches his right forearm under the champs throat and locks his left arm up under Alexander's own left arm. Clasping his own hands together in a sadistic choke like move. He spins the champ180 degrees and causes him to lose balance, the man then proceeds to sit down on Alexanders back, keeping the choke in. A kind of sadistic modified camel's clutch. Wrenching it violently the man puts all of his force into the move. Almost as if to try and cause the champion to pass out. Dragunov springs up and attacks the man from behind, causing him to break the hold. The damage had been done to Alexander though, so it was of no matter to the hooded man. He spins around and nails Dragunov with a REAL European uppercut, dropping the number one contender to the mat. He stands over him and lifts him up by his neck and shoulders. The man looks at the dazed Dragunov for a moment before picking him up in what looks to be a scoop slam position. From there he turns slightly and ends up driving Dragunov head and neck first into the mat below. Another sickeningly modified move, this time what seems to be a Scoop Brainbuster like maneuver.

The man stands up in the middle of the ring, breathing shallowly as he grins under the cloak. The crowd erupting in boos loud enough you could swear the World over could hear them. He grins and grins, nodding his head slightly as he looks at his handy work. The champion, down. The number one contender, down. A statement? A impact? Useless childish things, thought I told you that already. It's not about any of that now is it? The man shakes his head from left to right in disappointment as he nudges the fallen body of Dragunov with his foot. Pathetic. No... it was all about.....

"Who's left... standing."

End