The chants and screams of the protestors seemed louder than ever. It'd been two weeks since they'd gathered in front of the White House gate, and the crowd had only grown in size. The President of the United States, Ronald McStrump, sat in the oval office with his fat orange face buried in his tiny palms. His only distraction from the protestors was a raging headache and dark visions of past Presidents accusing him of ruining the country and destroying democracy.
The President had every physician in Washington D.C. examine him. He'd had hundreds of tests run, but no test could detect any drug in his system. Whatever Monica Vastrix had thrown in his face had either done its damage quickly and worked its way out of his system or was a substance unknown to modern medicine. However, no amount of torture seemed to get anything out of the old British bat. The whispers and rumors between his cabinet members that he was "descending into madness" were even more frustrating.
It was clear to him that his Presidency was going down in flames. Multiple members had quit, and he'd even caught Vice President Dense talking about him to that damn priest from Ireland. Desperate times called for drastic measures, so he'd arranged for his top strategist "sloppy" Steve Shannon to help him find a way out of this mess. Steve was an Alt-Right idealist with grass-root connections that went deep into the underbelly of America.
A loud buzz came from his desk intercom system, which jolted him from his miserable self-pity. He quickly glanced down as some reports marked "urgent" about a virus in China. He let out a heavy sigh and then put the papers in his paper shredder. He then hastily pressed a green button at the desk and attempted to adjust the wig on his head to look somewhat presentable.
McStrump: Yes? What is it?
Woman: Sir, Mr. Shannon is here for the 2:00 PM strategy session. Did you forget again?
McStrump: No woman! I'm swamped with paperwork and lost track of time! Just send him...
Woman: Yes... Right away, Mr. President.
McStrump got up out of his chair and went to the window. He stared out over the white house lawn at the massive crowd of protestors calling for his resignation. Suddenly the double doors to the oval office opened, and in walked Steve Shannon with a rather baggy-looking, poorly tailored suit. The President turned his attention from the window to his top strategist, who greeted him formally and made sure to kiss ass the best he could.
McStrump: No, Steve, I haven't lost any weight! If anything, I've put on weight from all the stress eating! I'm sinking in the polls faster than the Titanic. I've got bands of domestic terrorists pillaging the American heartland with no clue who's leading them! I got two million people outside screaming for me to step down! Enough with ass-kissing; we need to get down to business, shall we?
Shannon: Absolutely, Sir.
McStrump: Putin and the Russians sent an agent with a message for me a few months ago. The tape said if I don't retain power, he'll release the damn video from the hotel and tell the world of the deal we made! If we don't come up with a solution soon, not only will I lose the Presidency in 2020, I could end up in jail for treason.
Shannon: Sir, that's not going to happen, I assure you. I have a full-proof plan that will keep you out of jail and in power for the foreseeable future.
McStrump: How, Steve? Fitch has turned on me, members in my cabinet are leaving in droves, and my Vice President spends more time on the phone with the Catholic Church than with me! Boe Liden and Ernie Flanders are creaming me in the polls! I have no allies besides a handful of senators and congress members; it's terrible!
Shannon: Mr. President, that's all true, but you can still hold onto your power by declaring absolute martial law.
McStrump: I thought we went over this last week. Unless things turn violent or destructive out there, I wouldn't be able to call in the military?
Shannon: Sure, here D.C. they are but look at deadlands and the American heartland. Whoever this "Grand Duck" is leading these highwaymen pillaging our farmlands, he's a menace and one worthy of declaring martial law.
McStrump: It's not enough to declare martial law, steve. The local authorities are handling most of it.
Shannon: Yes, but what if the capital and White House were threatened?
McStrump: What are you saying, Steve?
Shannon: The communist and socialists out there right now are peaceful thanks to Flanders's leadership, but things could turn violent if provoked. Mr. President, you still have friends in low places, and I'm your connection to them. Fitch and your fellow Republicans may have turned on you, but the Oathkeepers, the Proud Boys, and another half a dozen patriotic militia still have your back, sir.
McStrump: What are you suggesting, Steven?
Shannon: I suggest we send in our true patriots, your strongest diehard supporters, to confront the protestors. We provoke them into a fight and let chaos break out all over Washington D.C., most likely drawing out the Rebels of Society.
McStrump: With downtown D.C. burning, I could declare martial law...
Shannon: Right, and with Martial Law declared, not only could you send in the military, but your entire Centurion fleet could be mobilized and used as a show of strength, striking fear in everyone who opposes you.
McStrump: So we lay down the law and spill some blood, then what?
Shannon: Then we put pressure on the Republican majority in Congress to vote to give your the power to delay the election until you deem the country safe enough for an election to be held.
McStrump: Hmmm, I think it's a terrific idea, Steve. This was precisely the out-of-the-box thinking I needed to get out of this jam.
Shannon: Just think, Mr. President. If this virus from China turns out to be a Pandemic that lasts for years, you could retain the Presidency for multiple successive terms. America could end up in a never-ending state of emergency where we, the country's rightful owners, are permanently in control!
McStrump: With that much time, I could fix all of this country's problems, turn my Presidency around and win the people back.
Shannon: You'll go down in history as the man who saved western culture in America, sir!
McStrump: I'll do my best to play down the virus as just another flu for now...
Shannon: Brilliant thinking, sir; the markets have only just started to recover from the North Korean attack. We need to prolonge panic from the virus as long as we can. We're lucky it hasn't reached our shores yet, but it's only a matter of time from what my people inside China tell me.
McStrump: I could care less about the Kung Flu, but I welcome it if it helps us secure control over our enemies.
Ultimate Wrestling VP Allen Anderson stood at the loading docks of the Estadio Azteca, watching an unmarked semi-truck back in. Allen anxiously waited for the driver to open the rear door and extend the ramp. Once finished, the driver handed him an electronic signature pad that still sported the old War Hammer logo.
Driver: Cardinal Mariel requested a fingerprint signature for the delivery, Mr. Anderson.
Allen: Not a problem; you can't be too careful when transporting something this dangerous.
Anderson placed his thumb on the pad's screen, and the high-tech hammer software instantly identified him, confirming the delivery. Anderson nodded as the driver and then looked up at the large wooden crate in the back of the truck.
Driver: You were the best, sir; you always understood protocol and procedure. The new management... Well, let's say they have the leadership skills of an orangutan. You're sorely missed, sir.
Allen smiled, knowing that Jeremiah's and Monica's business decisions had caused massive financial losses for Hammer's Industries. The Jeremiah Vastrix wrestling action figure had not sold how they imagined it. Even more costly, their commitment to the United States government to finance and execute the clean-up of the ground zero zones on the West Coast had proved fruitless. McStrump, angry after being exposed by Jeremiah for using slave labor, canceled the government contract that would allow Hammer Industries to rebuild the crater that was now Los Angeles.
With the Neo Los Angeles deal now dead and Monica rotting in a prison cell, Jeremiah was forced to make salary and benefit cuts to his employees. Even this lowly truck driver was angry with him. Allen was impressed by how much sway Mariel still had within Hammer. No wonder the Cardinal was able to hide so much from him. Everyone at Hammer hated Jeremiah. They missed the glory days when he and his father Michael were in charge.
Allen: Stop kissing my ass and unload the Angel from the truck. Deliver it to my office, and then lock the door behind you.
Driver: Yes, sir. The Cardinal also expressed he wanted you to know that the Hammer Industries trucks you requested from Africa should arrive within twenty-four to forty-eight hours.
Allen: Excellent...
The full moon hung ominously in the sky as the Mexican fans eagerly waited in line to pass through security. Suddenly the roar of a motor caught their attention as Chuluun Bold stormed into the parking lot on his Harley Davidson motorcycle. The Mongolian was well recognized amongst the Hispanic wrestling fans from previous tours he'd done for other promotions. Bold wasn't wearing a helmet, and the fans quickly realized who it was and began to point and cheer excitedly.
Bold noticed them and quickly zoomed his bike across the lot to the rear of the Azteca stadium to avoid them. He wasn't in the mood to sign any autographs or pose for selfies. He wasn't in the mood for anything except blood since the night he'd awoken from his hospital bed. No matter how much he fed on others, though, he still felt frail, as if he was slowly dying. He knew if he was going to figure out what was wrong, he had to find the bitch who'd bitten him. Sokolov's wench... he had to find THNG.
Bold shut off his bike's motor and grabbed his gear out of the storage compartment built into his motorcycle. He then flashed his ID badge to the security team, who opened the rear entrance for him immediately. Once inside the Azteca, he began scouring the backstage area for the vicious brunette. To his surprise, he found her alone without Sokolov in the cafeteria break room of all places, watching television.
The vampire was too absorbed in the basketball game and the bottle of blood she was consuming to notice Chuluun. THNG had on a black frilly dress like something out of the Victorian age of England. Even stranger, she was wearing a Lebron James Los Angeles Lakers jersey over it. The sight of this confused Bold until he noticed the newly relocated Buffalo Lakers were taking on the Detroit Pistons at The Palace of Auburn Hills. Bold reached into his duffle bag and pulled out a gun. He then crept forward and pointed it directly at THNG.
Bold: There you are, you bitch!
THNG: Woah, Woah! Easy there, big fellah!
THNG: sprang out of her chair and onto her feet. She snarled at Bold, brandishing her crimson-stained teeth at him. Bold tightened his grip on his 44 Magnum and pointed it dead straight at the vampire's head. The great Khan of Mongolia seemed happy he'd startled her; however, his sense of control over the altercation faded as THNG started to laugh at him.
THNG: Hahaha! You must be joking! Shooting me with that fucking thing is only going to piss me off! Put that stupid toy away before I rip your throat out and finish you off for good!
Bold: You're full of shit! Even a freak of nature like you wouldn't want to be on the receiving end of a 44 Magnum! So if you don't want to spend the rest of the evening on the floor writhing in pain while healing from a tennis ball-sized hole in your head, I suggest you tell me what the fuck is wrong with me!
THNG: You'll have to be more descriptive, dear. From where I'm standing, there are all sorts of things wrong with you. The first is this whole leather daddy look you've got going.
Bold: You test my patience, you vampiric bitch! Answer me now!
Frustrated with Bold, THNG vaulted like a bolt of lightning from where she stood, and hammer clubbed the firearm out of Bold's hand. She then jumped up into the air and grabbed Bold by the throat with her right hand, and slammed him hard to the floor. She then held him down, choking him while staring into the great Khan's fierce eyes.
THNG: You might be a Kahn back in Mongolia, but you're just a snack to me! I suggest you change your tone if you want to live...
Bold: Phishiwhack... ahhh...Kah... kill you...
THNG: Mr. Bold, I'm afraid I infected you with one of the world's oldest viruses when I bit you last week. Sadly it wasn't my intention. I intended to end your miserable life for what you did to my dear, dear Sokolov.
Bold: Leehhh mah gooack!
THNG: Sssshhhh... ssshhhhh... quiet, Mr. Bold, and listen carefully. The vampire virus is coursing through your veins, completely changing your DNA structure. You've no doubt lost your appetite for food; you may have even fed upon the blood of your fellow man. Yet you feel unsatisfied? Weak? More pathetic than usual?
Bold: Ahhchkak...tell... mehhh!
THNG: The truth is, Mr. Bold, you're dying. The transformation is incomplete. You cannot transition from living to Undead without drinking my blood.
Bold: Ahhrrhhh!
THNG: Hmmm? Judging by your complexion, I'd say you've got maybe another day before the cells in your body begin to break down. Lucky for you, Hank is the forgiving type... Please don't ask me why, but he has immense respect for you, probably because you were truly able to go toe to toe with him in that wrestling match.
THNG reached into her corset bra and pulled out a glass vial filled with a thick dark red liquid. She held it up in front of Chuluuns face until his angry expression turned to one of bewilderment, and his eye focused on it.
THNG: This is a vial of my blood, Mr. Bold. Drink it, and not only will you save yourself from a miserable slow death, but you'll be given the dark gift and all the power that comes with it—strength, speed, agility, and most importantly, immortality. However, know that you and I will be tied together as long as we walk the Earth.
THNG released her grip around Bold's throat and dropped the vile on his chest before getting up. Chuluun gasped for air holding his throat before grabbing the blood-filled vial with his left and rolling away from the vampiress. Bold frantically scooted up against the wall with fear in his eyes as he watched THNG take back around and turn her focus to the game.
THNG: YES! That's what I'm talking about; let's go, Lebron!
Bold: What do you mean will be tied together?
THNG: I'll be what's known as your "Maker," the being that birthed your undead existence. Will know where one another is always and feel each other's emotions. Almost like a psychic report, but stronger...
Bold: That sounds like a nightmare!
THNG: Hmph! If that's how you feel, you can choose death instead. Sokolov may have an affinity for you, but I could care less! Now, if you don't mind, please make your decision elsewhere. I'm trying to watch the Lakers!
Bold let out a long sigh, knowing he didn't have much choice. He carefully removed the stopper from the glass vial and downed THNG's dark undead blood. His facial expression soured from the rancid residue left on his taste buds, and it took every ounce of stomach strength he had not to vomit. However, his facial expression changed as he began to feel his strength and will come back to him. As he stood up from the floor, he felt the canines in his mouth elongate from his gum line.
The taste of fresh blood from his gums filled his mouth as he felt every fiber of his body start to burn as if the circulatory system was on fire. At first, it was painful, but a few moments later, the pain faded, and the Great Khan of Mongolia felt more vital than he'd ever felt in his life.
THNG: Well, it looks like you're more intelligent than you look. Now run along. Find my Hank; he has a lot to discuss with you about our future together.
Chuluun nodded and walked out of the room. An overwhelming sense of who he was when he walked into that room had died, and the man walking out had been reborn. Only time would tell what his new undead existence would mean and what Sokolov had to offer him.
Allen stood before the wooden crate delivered the previous day to his office. He had a crowbar in his right hand that he'd just used to pry the crate open. A high-tech-looking translucent capsule sat inside the box with a unique touchpad lock system on the front panel. Inside the capsule rested a WENDE fresh from the Titanium Angels factory in South America.
Allen punched in a 12 digit code, and suddenly the panels on the lock mechanism began to glow bright orange. The sound of multiple adamantium steel bars retracting could be heard before the door popped open. A strange gas sprayed out of tiny holes from the capsule's interior before the Android came online. Unlike the WENDE, who’d participated in wrestling matches, this model's eyes glowed bright red, and her hair was a standard dull brown. It was clear that the previous WENDE had gone to extensive lengths to individualize herself from the other models. To transform herself into the conscious AI, she'd self-created and known the world over now as "Wendy the cyborg wrestler."
Allen pulled out his satellite phone and selected the Cardinal from his contact library.
Allen: Put me through to the Cardinal.
Anderson listened carefully before putting his left hand on his head and letting out a long sigh. He seemed confused about what to do with the Android before him, sitting lifeless in the capsule. As he waited to be transferred, he reached out and flicked the Android in the tip of its nose. Anderson stared disappointedly. The W.E.N.D.E's eyes did not even blink from his action.
Allen: Ah, Cardinal, thank you for taking my call. Yes, yes, the "Angel" arrived safely. I'm standing in front of it right now. Well, sir, it's on, but it's not doing a whole hell of a lot.
Anderson listened for a minute. He turned away from the Android and started pacing back and forth.
Allen: It's not programmed? Yes, I'm fully aware that the rogue W.E.N.D.E destroyed the facility. That's what put me in this predicament in the first place! How the hell am I supposed to convince a worldwide audience and Jeremiah that this is the real Wendy if she's not programmed?
Sweat began to bead on Allen's forehead. His boss Rupert Mudcock was returning from the hospital tonight, and he needed everything to go as smoothly as possible. Rupert had been in a foul mood since the Evolution attack that had almost crippled him.
Allen: Activate the base programming? Press down on its right eyeball for ten seconds? Right, simple objectives got it... Maybe we can use this setback to eliminate Jeremiah once and for all and thrust you into power at Hammer.
Allen turned around and stared at the Android in the capsule.
Allen: Let's just hope the original Wendy is burnt scrap metal under a heap of rubble. That thing was becoming a more considerable pain in the ass than Jeremiah. Don't worry if the "Angel" fails to eliminate him tonight in the ring; then the Mexican cartel will finish the job come next week. War Hammer will be ours once again, I assure you. Godspeed Cardinal.
Anderson snapped his specialized flip phone shut and walked over to the Android. He leaned into the capsule and pressed down on its right eyeball. When he released his thumb from the robot's eye socket, the W.E.N.D.E came to life and blinked its eyes. It then pulled itself out of the capsule and stepped forward.
W.E.N.D.E: What is my primary directive?
Anderson: Let's see... probably best to keep this simple. Your directive is to pretend to be Jeremiah Vastrix's ally in tonight's wrestling match. When the time is right, you will turn on him, preferably by grabbing hold of him and self-destructing. I want him blown to kingdom come, and I could care less if it costs me this shitty job!
W.E.N.D.E: Affirmative. Fool target Jeremiah Vastrix and destroy him at all costs.
Anderson: Muhahaha! YES! HAMMER WILL BE MINE!!!
Stranglehold by Ted Nugent began to play inside the Estadio Azteca stadium located in the massive metropolis of Mexico City. The live feed of an enormous capacity crowd of 80,000 people on their feet waving their Valora Salinas signs came into full view as the cameraman panned around. After the pyrotechnic show ignited and dissipated, the live feed cut to the team of Chris Rodgers and Scott Slade sitting behind their announcer table. Behind them stood a massive set design with "Gang Wars Survivor Series" in big, bold neon red glowing letters.
Scott Slade: We are two weeks away from Ultra Slam Two!!!! Hello, wrestling fans from around the world! Welcome to the first-ever Ultimate Wrestling Gang Wars Survivor Series! I'm your host Scott Slade here tonight with my partner in crime, Chris Rodgers!
Chris Rodgers:What a show we've got for the fans tonight, Scotty! Let them know what they're in store for this evening!
Scott Slade: The rules of the game are very unique tonight, Chris. Four teams of four led by four hand-picked captains will face off in two different tag team elimination-style matches. The winners or "survivors" of these matches will move to the Gang Wars Championship main event match, where the winners have been promised a mystery grand prize!
Chris Rodgers: A prize delivered by Mr. Mudcock himself, Scotty! Truly a most prestigious honor!
Scott Slade: Uhhhh... yeah, I'm sure that's what is on every wrestler's mind, Chris. Anyway, tonight's matches' caveat is that no holds will be barred, and disqualifications will only be in effect for interference during attempted pins. Vice President Allen Anderson has stipulated that there will be a zero-tolerance for pin disruptions from fellow teammates trying to save their partner.
Chris Rodgers: Thank God, otherwise, we'd all be here till dawn! If I understand these rules right, Scott, these fighters will want to keep themselves in the ring. It sounds like literally, anything goes on the outside.
Scott Slade: Probably the most violent event we've had since our roster was forced to compete in the late Kim Jung-un's Death Sport. This is where the "Gang" element comes into play, Chris. The outside of the ring has been littered with weapons like a "Hardcore" match from the late 1990s. Baseball bats, trash cans, steel chairs, steel pipes, brooms, ladders, literally anything that the Ultimate Wrestling crew could find backstage has been scattered around this ring. More than likely, the outside will be full of chaos.
Chris Rodgers: It Looks like the only catch is that weapons will not be allowed inside the squared circle?
Scott Slade: That's right, Chris, another zero-tolerance rule that will be heavily enforced tonight by referee Bob Sigro. Think of the ring as an oasis from the lake of pain surrounding the ring.
Chris Rodgers: Lastly and most importantly, Scott. Pinfalls will only count inside the ring. So perhaps not quite the oasis that you make it out to be?
Scott Slade: Only if you think you can win! Fans, I'm being told by our director that we are ready for the first match. Settle in, everyone, cause I feel that tonight will be an absolute classic!
The live feed transitioned from Scott and Chris to the main stage. "Sgori" by Stvore started to play from the stadium's sound system, and the fans instantly erupted into an onslaught of boos as the captain of the first team, Dasha Ivanova, walked out onto the stage with a confident and stern look on her face. She was dressed in her Russian military-inspired wrestling gear and black Braun boots.
Rose Johnston: Making their way to the ring now, led by one-half of the current tag team champions, captain Dasha Ivanova, weighing in at a combined weight of one thousand one hundred and ninety-two pounds! Her allies Boris Drago, Hank Sokolov, and Takuma Sato!
Directly behind her was Boris Drago in his retro-style Olympic soviet wrestling singlet. Unlike in the past, when Boris would proudly wave the Russian flag, he was waving the old USSR Soviet flag. It was a defiant gesture to Vladimir Putin, who'd just proclaimed himself Tsar of Russia. The tall, muscular Russian and his comrade Dasha proudly sported their newly acquired gold Tag Team Championship belts around their waists and were unperturbed by the fan's negative response.
The giant Hank Sokolov and the Jeet Kune Do savant Takuma Sato slowly followed them. Sokolov looked ready for a fight with his muscles and veins bulging. He flexed and fluttered his oily pecks before defaulting to stroking his massive black beard with a sinister look on his face.
Sato wore his black Japanese GI and his Rebel of Society red vest. His feet were wrapped up to his ankles, and his hands wrapped to his wrists. It was clear that Sato was the most unpopular of the group as the fans cursed his name in Spanish and flung food and drinks at him, which he dodged and weaved his way past.
Scott Slade: Man, it's incredible how quickly the Hispanic fans have turned on Sato.
Chris Rodgers: His feud with Valora and the beat down he gave Abbigail Dresden in Cuba has done wonders for his image here in Mexico. Muahahaha!
Scott Slade: What is even more shocking is that he sided with the Russians for the night's event.
Chris Rodgers: Come on, Slade! I know you're a libtard, but don't be so naive! The man is a member of the red vest movement! He's part of the Rebels of Society! He's a communist through and through, and this proves it!
Scott Slade: I'm not getting in another heated political debate with you on air, Rodgers!
Chris Rodgers: Yeah, that's what I thought. You know I've been right all along! Now you got nothing to say to me!
The team led by Ivanova climbed up the steel steps and made their way to their corner. The feed then cut back to the stage just as "Bring It" by Trapt hit the sound system. A roar from the crowd erupted as they jumped to their feet to welcome their Latina hero and her teammates. Valora jumped out behind the curtain, incredibly fired up and energized by the fans inside the Azteca. The Latina was dressed in her traditional black and purple spandex leotard and was sporting a fluorescent green hard cast on her broken right arm.
Rose Johnston: Their opponents! Making their way to the ring now, led by the current Ultimate Wrestling Submission Champion captain, Valora Salinas! Weighing in at a combined weight of nine hundred and ninety-two pounds! The Salinas gang of None More Black and "The Great Khan" Chuluun Bold!
Eric Dillinger and Johnny Rage walked out from behind the curtain and onto the stage behind Valora. The imposing duo was dressed in black t-shirts with the initials NMB printed on them in bold white text. The Mexican fans seemed confused about why Valora was teamed up with NMB. Their cheers for Valroa’s team suddenly became mixed as a good portion of the Mexican fans began to curse at Eric and Johnny.
Chris Rodgers: Hah! It looks like Rage and his partner Dillinger are getting the Sato treatment!
Scott Slade: It's strange to see None More Black out there teaming with Valora after they helped break her right arm. I struggle to think what could have convinced them to help her in this quest tonight...
Chris Rodgers: Money, you dumb, dumb! What else! These two only care about pieces of paper with dead Presidents on them! My guess is Salinas bought their services tonight. None More Black are like wrestling mercenaries for hire, and I love it. Capitalism at its best!
Scott Slade: How honorable...
Chris Rodgers: Honor? What does honor buy you? Integrity doesn't pay the bills, Scotty!
Behind the tag team, None More Black was a very different-looking Chuulun Bold. The tall and bald Mongolian was dressed in leather motorcycle pants. He also was sporting a black leather vest and black sunglasses. Since being bitten by Hank Sokolov's friend THNG his skin had turned noticeably pale. As he watched the fans curse and yell at None More Black, he smirked, revealing much longer and sharper canine teeth than he used to have.
Scott Slade: It's incredible to see Bold back on his feet after the nasty assault he suffered at the hands of Sokolov's freaky friend THNG.
Chris Rodgers: He's looking pretty sickly, though. The bite to the neck seems to have miraculously healed, but look how pale he looks. I don't know how much help he will be in this match against a powerhouse team like the Russians have put together.
Scott Slade: Well, this thing is about to start, Chris. Dasha Ivanova barking orders at Sato. It seems as if she's demanding that he start this match off.
Chris Rodgers: See, Sato is learning just what it's like to be under the rule of the iron fist of communism firsthand. He can kiss his freedom goodbye! Mrs. Ivanova makes the decisions for him now.
Scott Slade: Well, it looks like Valora Salinas isn't wasting any time! Just look how fired up she is to get a piece of Takuma! If Sato's starting for his team, she wants first dibs at him!
Valora and Sato began to circle one another just as the bell rang, officially starting the match. The “Salinas” chants echoed throughout the Azteca, and Valora let out a primal roar before gritting her teeth and charging Sato. Valora swung her hard green cast on her right arm at Sato’s head as hard as possible but could not connect. Sato nailed her in the chest with a stiff front kick causing Salinas to stumble backward. The Enraged Valora was relentless, full stop on the attack as she hunted for vengeance.
She moved in again with berserker-like rage and wildly swung with another hard right, followed by a strong left. Sato expertly blocked both blows but was taken at back by the power coming from his forty-one-year-old female opponent. Sato darted under a clothesline attack from the Latina and then stopped on a dime and turned to face her. Valora twirled around and came at Takuma with a haymaker which he stopped in motion by nailing the veteran in the face with a stiff front kick to the jaw. The blow rocked Valora, but she shook it off and used her momentum to spin around and bludgeon Sato with a stiff discus elbow that busted Sato open, spilling blood onto the wrestling mat.
Sato shook off the attack just in time to stop another big haymaker from Valora by swiping fists out of his face. He then cocked back his right arm and attempted a massive karate chop aimed at the Latina’s neck, but Valora dodged it at the last moment. Sato’s momentum carried him forward and allowed Valora to wrap her arms around his waist. She then lifted him off of his feet, and German suplexed him into the center of the ring. The slam echoed around the Azteca arena as the Mexican fans let out a massive roar.
Scott Slade: Wow! What a torrid pace here from the onset of this match!
Chris Rodgers: That beast of woman is out for blood, Scotty!
Scott Slade: You’re not lying about that; Sato already has a cut above his left eye. If the bleeding doesn’t stop, his chances of making it to the final will be slim to none.
Chris Rodgers: His only chance is to survive this match so he can get to Dr. Drake for some stitches.
Valora shot back up immediately while Sato rolled away from her defensively. He then attacked by slinging his body into a cartwheel of a spinning back kick. The attack completely whiffed and seemed to keep Valora at bay while Sato found his footing. Sato then delivered a strong sidekick that nailed Valora in the side of her ribcage. Takuma followed it up with another spinning back heel kick that hit Valora in the lower spine just as she was throwing a punch. That allowed Sato to grab hold of her injured right arm in the cast, and Ipponseoi slammed her into the wrestling mat. The fans booed Sato heavily as he held onto Valora’s arm and locked her into a Fujiwara scissored armbar.
Scott Slade: Sato taking the fight to the wrestling mat and locking a submission. Just think, in two weeks, these two will go at it one on one for the Submission Championship!
Chris Rodgers: Sato is trying to send a message here! If he can get Valora to tap right here, it will help psychologically bury her for Ultra Slam!
Valora screamed in pain, and just when it looked as if she was going to tap out, she squirmed out of the hold and clubbed Takuma in the forehead with her cast. The blow knocked Sato onto the mat, and he immediately began holding his bloody forehead with both his hands. Valora got to her feet and began stomping a muddle hole in the martial artist. With Sato on the mat in agony, she pointed at the monstrous Chuluun Bold before sprinting over and tagging him into the match. The big six-foot, eight-inch, three-hundred-pound bald-headed Mongolian stepped over the top rope and immediately made a B-Line for Takuma.
Scott Slade: Oh! Oh! Here comes trouble!
Chris Rodgers: Bold stood toe to toe with the undefeated Hank Sokolov for a reason! This is a bad man!!!
Bold picked up Sato by the back of his neck and lifted him off the wrestling mat with ease. He then slung the Asian American into the corner turnbuckle across from his Russian teammates. The fans cheered him on as he darted in and began slapping the bloodied Sato with massive earth-shattering Mongolian chops to his chest. Bold then climbed up the turnbuckle with Sato trapped in front of him and began pummeling his forehead with strong right hands, opening the cut above his eye even further.
Fans: ONE! TWO! THREE! FOUR! FIVE! SIX! SEVEN! EIGHT! NINE! TEN!!!
Scott Slade: Sato desperately needs to make a tag here. This situation is getting ugly!
Chris Rodgers: Well, I, for one, am enjoying it. Serves that Communist traitor, right!
Bold jumped back down to the wrestling mat with Sato dazed and confused, and Irish whipped Sato toward the opposite turnbuckle. Before reaching the turnbuckle, the martial artist collapsed onto the wrestling mat, a bloody mess, unable to stay on his feet. Bold began to raise his hands and arms up and down, motioning to the Mexicans that he intended to gorilla press slam Sato. Valora, Johnny, and Eric applauded their teammate as he made his way over to Takuma and attempted to pick him up.
When Sato gave the big man a sharp right palm strike straight to his groin, everyone was shocked. The blow caused the big man to hunch over and allowed Sato to hit a massive uppercut to his jaw. This bought the martial artist enough time to get back to his feet. He instantly dashed to the ropes, bounced off them, and then jumped into the air, striking Bold straight in his chest with his patented iron-fisted heart punch. The crowd erupted into jeers and boos as Bold fell flat on his back motionless, and Sato collapsed next to him, breathing erratically and bleeding profusely.
Scott Slade: My God! What intestinal fortitude! What resilience!
Chris Rodgers: That move should be illegal, damn it! They had to bring the crash cart out the last time he used it!
Scott Slade: Bold isn’t moving!
Chris Rodgers: He’s probably dead! I hope they ban Sato from the sport for this!
Scott Slade: Sato needs to get up and get to one of his teammates! Now is his chance!
Sato raised his head up off the mat with a miserable facial expression as he muscled his way up onto his hands and knees. He began a slow crawl toward his corner and reached out desperately to tag in a teammate, but the three Russians stared at him, shaking their heads disapprovingly. All three made no effort to reach out to their fallen comrade. As Sato drew closer, Dasha led Boris and Hank down the steel steps and onto the floor. Then instantly became enraged and started shouting Russian slurs at Takuma.
Scott Slade: What on Earth is going on here? Why are the Russians refusing to tag in and fight?
Chris Rodgers: How should I know? I told you, you can’t trust those Reds! Never trust a Russian! Sato’s learning a valuable lesson right now!
Scott Slade: My Russian isn’t the greatest, but Dasha seems to be dressing Sato down like it’s boot camp. Apparently, his performance has not been up to her standards! She’s refusing to fight until he proves to her he deserves to be part of their team!
Chris Rodgers: Look at the smile on Valora’s face! Something doesn’t smell right here!
Sato pulled himself up by the ring ropes and gave his Russian teammates the forearm jerk, the universal “Fuck You” sign. He then turned around to see Chuluun Bold sit straight up like the undertaker with a fire burning in his eyes and his fangs bared. He immediately took a wobbled fighting stance as Bold stood up and began beating his chest like a gorilla. The fans roared at the incredible sight as Sato stared, shocked at Chuluun’s remarkable recovery.
Chris Rodgers: What in all that is holy? How the hell did he get up from that?
Scott Slade: I don’t think anyone has gotten up from Sato’s heart punch! I know Bold looked sickly when he walked into this match, but he seems unstoppable right now!
Chris Rodgers: Even Ivanova is flabbergasted! Just look at the expression on her face! She can’t believe it!
Sato stormed in like a wild man with a flurry of kicks and punches, but incredibly the Bold managed to block them all. Bold then grabbed Takuma by the throat and choke-slammed him into the ring. With the fans on their feet going nuts, he picked Sato up into a gorilla press and then carried him over to the ropes by his teammates. Then, he tossed him over the top rope onto the floor with no remorse. Sato smacked the concrete floor with a thud chest first, the front of his skull hitting it with concussive force.
Chris Rodgers: Good God! Did you hear that impact, Scotty?
Scott Slade: Sato is in a world of hurt now and seemingly alone…
As soon as Sato hit the floor, None More Black jumped off the ring apron onto the floor and began stomping Sato. The Russians looked on from the other side of the ring with no inclination to help their teammate. Valora jumped down to the floor next and picked up a black baseball bat from off the floor. Rage and Dillinger saw Valora coming with the bat in her hand and a sadistic look in her eye and immediately lifted Sato off the floor by his arms. With None More Black holding him, Valora vindictively went to work on Sato’s ribs taking home run size swings. The fans roared as they soaked up the incredible violence and cursed Sato relentlessly.
Scott Slade: Ooooh! Ooooh!
Chris Rodgers: Man, this is like a scene out of the Sopranos! An absolute mugging, and those cowardly Russians aren’t moving a muscle to help Takuma!
Scott Slade: I guess you were right, Chris. Sokolov is laughing over there! Dasha Ivanova is a snake.
Chris Rodgers: Oh, how good it feels, Scotty, to hear you say I was right. You’ll never know; that was like an orgasm for my ears.
Blood spurted out from Sato's mouth after the fifth violent whack to his ribs. He looked like a war victim or something out of a horror film as the None More Black team delivered a co-vertical suplex onto the floor. After hitting the floor, Sato arched his spine nano-seconds and screamed in agonizing pain. Johnny Rage then slammed a steel trashcan over him before picking him up and tossing him back into the ring like a rag doll. The martial artist now suffered internal bleeding and an exterior cut above his eye to boot.
Valora cast aside her baseball bat and climbed back up onto the ring apron; Chuluun tagged her as the legal man and screamed at her to finish the job while pointing at Sato. Sato laid on the mat a bloody mess, semi-conscious and delirious with pain. Valora stepped in with a sinister smile and bad intentions on her mind.
Scott Slade: Sato’s ribs have to be shattered into a million pieces, Chris.
Chris Rodgers: Look at her, Slade, that’s the “Angel of Death” right there! This was all her doing! Why else would None More Black be working with her?
Scott Slade: You can’t prove that!
Chris Rodgers: Take a look at your hero, liberal America! This is what your feminist icon is all about! Four on one! Nothing but a moralless bitch! I bet she paid off the Russians too! All just for revenge! For her dear poor Abbigail!
Referee Bob sigro made a gesture for Valora to pin Sato and end it, but she gave him the double finger salute and then went back to work stomping on Sato. The fans chanted “Valora” as she picked her former friend up off the wrestling mat and hooked his arms before mounting him up on her back and delivering a brutal “Gringa Killa” vertebreaker that knocked Sato unconscious and out of misery. She pined Takuma and hooked his right leg as the fans stood on their feet and counted every pound of Referee Sigro’s right palm of the wrestling mat.
Scott Slade: One, two, and three… thank God…
Chris Rodgers: Sato has been eliminated from the tournament in what has to be a huge upset.
Scott Slade: Oh, come on! It’s over!
Valora picked Sato up again and tossed him over the top rope and onto the floor as the parametric team led by Dr. Drake rushed out from backstage. Valora then turned her attention toward the Russians and started to taunt them. Ivanova seemed infuriated by some sort of comment insinuating that Salinas owned their greedy asses. Ivanova stormed up the steel steps and got inside the ring with Valora. Just as she did, her distracted teammates were assaulted by None More Black on the outside, who hit Sokolov and Boris with steel chairs. The shots rang out, echoing through the Azteca as both Russian fighters dropped to their knees.
Scott Slade: Well, the Russians are willing to fight now.
Chris Rodgers: Of course, they fulfilled the terms of their agreement. Now all bets are off; it would seem, Scotty. None More Black is giving those comrades a taste of American steel!
Scott Slade: Really?
Rage and Dillinger tossed their chairs aside, and each grabbed a Russian by the back of their head and neck. They then ramed each of their opponents headfirst into the steel post of the ring. Both Sokolov and Drago collapsed to the floor with a thud as Salinas and Ivanova began to trade lefts and rights in the ring center. The Mexican fans were still on their feet cheering on their fellow Latina when she Irish whipped the Russian into the ropes. Dasha bounced off the ropes and ran straight into Valora with a shoulder block that took the Latina off her feet.
Scott Slade: Dasha does not seem intimidated by Valora in the slightest.
Chris Rodgers: These two captains are very similar athletically but have been trained in various fighting styles from opposite ends of the world. Only on M.O.X. Only in Ultimate Wrestling can you see something like this!
Valora took down Dasha to the mat with an arm-drag takedown. She then locked her into an arm-bar submission hold and began to apply the pressure. Dasha screamed out in pain as she tried to free herself from the submission champ's tight grip. Outside, the war between None More Black and the Russian giants continued while Bold stood in the corner to support Valora. Johnny Rage was busy showing Boris Drago what American hardcore wrestling was all about when Hank Sokolov gained the upper hand on Dillinger and power bombed him through the Spanish announcer table.
Knowing his young brother in arms was in trouble, Rage shoved Boris’s head and upper torso inside of a steel trashcan and dropkicked him. Boris stumbled awkwardly backward and smashed into the steel steps, which the Mexican fans found entertaining. He then picked up a ladder, dashed over to where Hank was getting ready to power-bomb Eric again, and drove the ladder straight into his back. The blow sent the gigantic Sokolov stumbling forward and into the steel guard railing. Rage then reached out his hand and pulled Dillinger up off the ground, and the two instantly went to work double-teaming the four hundred fifty-pound Russian phenom.
Rage then grabbed Sokolov by both his arms, holding him wide open for Dillinger, who clubbed him over the head with a steel pipe. Sokolov shook off the first shot and began cussing at Dillinger before spitting in his face. Infuriated, Dilinger kicked Sokolov in the balls and then grabbed his head before DDT’ing him into the concrete. At the same time, Dasha had fought her way back onto her feet, but Valora was still applying the hold as a standing armbar.
However, the crafty Russian reversed it and sent the Latina back into the ropes. Valora bounced off them and then was impaled by Dasha, who took her off her feet with a massive spear. Ivanova got up off the mat with a satisfied look before grabbing Valora’s legs and locking her into the Iron Curtain. As Ivanova rolled her over and sat back, Valora screamed in pain, applying significant pressure to the Latinas legs, joints, and lower back.
Chris Rodgers: The Iron Curtain! The Russian variation of the Sharpshooter! Whatever Valora said to Dasha earlier, it seems to have fired her up. She’s looking to embarrass the Submission Champion by making her tap out!
Scott Slade: How can you even pay attention to what’s going on in the ring? Look at all this chaos around us; I thought Sokolov would put Dillinger through our table!
Chris Rodgers: It’s absolute carnage, and we have a front-row seat, ladies and gentlemen. Undefeated Hank Sokolov is getting a taste of what it's like to be in a street fight with None More Black! He may never be the same man he was before he met them tonight at Gang Wars!
Valora used all her upper body strength to claw tooth and nail toward her corner of the wrestling ring. The nearly seven-foot-tall Mongolian used his incredibly long arms and stretched out as far as possible to try and reach her hand. Only inches apart, Ivanova fought the Latina as hard as possible but lost her footing. This allowed Valora to tag Bold in as the legal man. Dasha immediately released Valora legs and turned around, backing up with fearful body language as the imposing Bold once again stepped over the top rope and into the ring.
With Boris still down on the floor and Sokolov being doubled teamed over by the announce tables, Dasha had no one to tag in. Bold slowly backed Dasha into her corner turnbuckle and then darted in with both hands, arms extended. He grabbed hold of Ivanova by the throat and began choking the Russian team leader. Desperate, Ivanova kneed Bold in the groin, forcing him to release her. She then delivered a devastating ear clap to the Mongolian that completely disoriented him and caused him to fall over to his hands and knees.
With Bold struggling on the mat, Dasha screamed at Boris to pull his shit together. The giant Russian pushed the dented trashcan he found himself in off of his head. After shaking off the cobwebs, he adjusted his singlet and ran up the steel steps, where he tagged Dasha out of the match.
Scott Slade: We’ve received word that Dr. Drake’s team has loaded Sato into Ambulance, and he’s being transported to Mexico City’s largest hospital. We have no further information on his current condition.
Chris Rodgers: Scotty, one has to wonder what condition he will be in for Ultra Slam. Valora did a number on him tonight.
Scott Slade: I never imagined a feud like this between them. It has really spiraled out of control.
Chris Rodgers: The big man from Novosibirsk! Boris is now the legal man in, and he looks ready to even the odds here!
Scott Slade: He’s warming up like a bull reading to charge a matador!
Boris scooted his feet on the wrestling mat as if he was kicking up dirt, waiting for Bold to get back onto his feet. He darted in like a rampaging elephant and rammed Bold with his thick Russian skull straight to the sternum. The impact from the collision made a tremendous thud as Bold hit the wrestling mat seemingly unconscious. The fans booed Boris heavily as Valora clapped her hands and stomped her feet to get Bold to wake up. Boris dove onto bold and hooked his right leg for a pin attempt.
Scott Slade: Boris with a pin after hitting “The Ram” at ring center!
Chris Rodgers: One! Two! NO! Chuluun Bold with a massive kick out! I can’t believe it!
Scott Slade: Drago can’t believe it either!
A frustrated Boris picked up Bold and moved him over to the ropes, where he hit him with a couple of stiff body shots. He then pushed him into the ropes and sent the Mongolian for a ride; Bold bounced off the ropes on the other side of the ring and ducked a big clothesline from Boris. Boris and Bold both stopped on a dime and spun around to face one another, but Bold gained the upper hand when he grabbed Boris by the throat. The fans roared as Chuluun Bold used all his undead strength to lift the big seven-foot, three-inch, 375 pound Russian high into the air before choke slamming him viciously into the wrestling mat.
The fans went Beserk as Bold stood staring down at Boris Drago, breathing heavily with his fangs bared. Dasha looked on, shocked with her hands on her head, unable to fathom what the hell was happening. Meanwhile, Hank Sokolov was still engaged in an epic brawl with None More Black outside of the ring. Johnny Rage had gotten the upper hand on the Russian beast by kicking him in the gut. Sokolov now found his head between Rage’s legs about to be double power-bombed onto the floor with the help of his partner Dillinger.
Using every ounce of his ferocious strength, Hank muscled out of the situation by back-body dropping Johnny into Eric and onto the floor. Hank turned around to see Chuluun Bold pick up Drago, turn him upside down, and tombstone piledrive his skull into the wrestling mat. The fans erupted again and counted as the referee drove to the mat and counted to three.
Scott Slade: Just like that, one-half of the current Tag Team Champions is eliminated, and the Russians now find themselves in a two-on-four situation!
Chris Rodgers: Yeah, and Chuluun Bold looks like a new man despite his appearance! That’s one scary look, S.O.B! I would not want to be in the ring with him now!
Scott Slade: Here comes Hank Sokolov around the corner to help Dasha.
Chris Rodgers: She wants no part of Chuluun Bold, and I don’t blame her!
Dasha gave Sokolov a few instructions and then slapped him on the ass and told him to get in the ring. Chuluun Bold seemed eager to rematch with Sokolov and motioned to come at him. Sokolov extended his right hand in a friendly sportsmen-like notion that surprised the crowd in attendance. Bold raised his hand, and the two shook before nodding. They both began to circle one another, and soon after, they locked into a grapple at the ring center like raging bulls locking horns.
Scott Slade: Just look at the raw power of these two men!
Chris Rodgers: The immovable object just met the unstoppable force!
Scott Slade: These two monsters met for the first two weeks ago in a chain and dog collar match, and Sokolov bested Bold in an impressive victory to remain undefeated. There is no doubt in my mind that Mr. Bold wants to show Hank Sokolov that he got lucky the first time around.
Hank eventually gained the advantage and pushed Bold up against the corner turnbuckle. Once in the corner, the four hundred pounder began to hip check the Mongolian. Each crushing blow knocked the wind out of Bold, leaving him gasping for oxygen. Sokolov exacerbated the problem by taking his size twenty-four boot and putting it up against Chuluun’s throat. The Russian grabbed hold of the ropes and cranked up the pressure as Bold struggled to get Hank’s massive leg off of him but to no avail.
Sokolov finally released Bold from the corner, and the undead warrior collapsed to his knees, holding his throat. Sokolov ran up and kicked Bold in the ribs causing the Mongolian to flip onto his back. The mammoth Russian then lept up into the air and came down like a ton of bricks, dropping a devastating elbow into the Mongolian’s sternum. Sokolov then covered Chuluun and hooked his leg.
Scott Slade: We’ve got a pin here! This could be all she wrote for Bold! ONE! TWO! NO!
Chris Rodgers: Wow! That was insane! The man has shaken off the Sato heart punch, The Drago ram, and now a Sokolov beat down!
Scott Slade: The Mongolian is too stubborn to quit! Sokolov will have to bring the pain if he wants to put him away tonight.
Chris Rodgers: Too stubborn or too stupid? Bold better be careful, or Sokolov will put him in a wheelchair just for laughs.
Scott Slade: He certainly does seem to enjoy hurting people… way more than the rest of the roster.
Chris Rodgers: I know, right? Just look at the smile on his face. Does that look like the face of a mentally stable individual?
Scott Slade: No, Chris… No, I can’t say that it does.
Hank got up off the wrestling mat, grabbed the Mongolian by his neck and throat, and pulled him onto his feet. He then cracked him in the forehead with a devastating headbutt that sent Bold stumbling into his corner. Johnny Rage slapped Bold on the shoulder and tagged himself into the match before hopping over the top rope. Sokolov laughed at Rage as he cracked his knuckles, began talking shit to the Russian, and encouraged him to try to come at him.
Scott Slade: It looks like Johnny Rage isn’t scared of the prominent Russian!
Chris Rodgers: He should be! Sokolov still looks angry from the double team he took earlier tonight!
Sokolov stormed in with a clothesline; Johnny ducked the attack before spinning around just in time to catch Sokolov with a big boot to the face. The blow caused the big man to tumble over the top rope and onto the floor. Sokolov managed to land on his feet, but before getting his barrings, Dillinger ran, jumped off the apron, and smoked him with a diving shoulder block tackle. Valora jumped off the Apron next and walked over to the M.O.X announcer table, and shoved Rodgers out of his chair.
Chris Rodgers: What the hell are you doing, woman!
Valora: SHUT THE BLEEP UP AND GET OUT OF MY WAY, YOU OLD RACIST FART!
Chris Rodgers: This is uncalled for!
Valora folded up the steel chair and then drove it into the back of Sokolov’s spine as he was trying to get up off the floor. She then opened the chair up and placed Hank’s big knee in it before jumping up and down on it like a madwoman. The Russian screamed in agony as Dillinger joined in and began stomping him. Sokolov’s screams finally forced Ivanova to come out of her corner. She stormed the ring only to catch a boot in the face from Johnny Rage.
With Sokolov still taking a beating on the outside, Rage picked up Ivanova, locked her into a bear hug squeeze, and then over the head, belly to belly, suplexed her. Ivanova flew over the ring’s top rope like a rag doll a good eight feet and crash-landed into the M.O.X announcer table. The table shattered, and the Russian lay in the rubble motionless as the fans began to chant “¡Mierda Santa!” throughout the entire Azteca stadium.
Scott Slade: Oh my God! Dasha Ivanova has been broken in half right before our eyes!
Chris Rodgers: She must have flown like eight feet in the air! That mad man in the ring could have killed us!
Scott Slade: Dasha Ivanova just got a taste of Johnny Rage's intensity! The old man still has it!
Chris Rodgers: Still has it? He threw a hundred sixty-pound human being like a freaking sack of potatoes!
Bold climbed down off the ring apron and helped Dillinger and Valora pick up the massive Sokolov and roll him back into the ring. Rage then used all of his strength to pick up the injured Russian and bent him over before placing him between his legs for a powerbomb. Dillinger and Valora got back up onto the apron, and both climbed up into the top rope of the two closest turnbuckles.
Chris Rodgers: He can’t possibly think he can get Sokolov up?
Scott Slade: That’s four hundred and fifty pounds of Russian man meat!
Rage tried to lift Sokolov but winced and quickly put him back down. He then motioned to Chuluun Bold to get in the ring to help him. Bold did as he was asked, and together the two lifted Sokolov up into the air, and double power bombed him hard into the mat. The fans continued to chant ““¡Mierda Santa!” as Eric Dillinger lept off the top rope and nailed a flying leg drop straight across the throat of Sokolov.
Eric quickly rolled out for Valora, who springboarded off the top rope and crushed the Russian giant with a spectacular Aztec Moonsault. The Mexican fans erupted, Valora’s team rolled out the ring, and Rage put his big boot on top of Sokolov’s chest and flexed while sticking his tongue out at the fans.
Scott Slade: It could be all over for Sokolov! ONE!! TWO!!! THREE!!!
Chris Rodgers: I can’t believe it! It took a small army, but Sokolov has been pinned!
Scott Slade: Look at Dasha! She just got up out of the rubble of what was our work station here at ringside, and she can’t believe it. She’s absolutely dumbfounded!
Chris Rodgers: She’s the last Russian standing! She’s on the island all alone! It’s four against one, and the sharks are circling!
With Bold, Dillinger, and Valora closing in on her outside, all with weapons in their hands, Ivanova did what any intelligent person would do. She ran to the bellman and told him she was forfeiting the match. She then hopped the guardrail and took off, running for the exits away from Valora’s team. The bell began to sound repeatedly until Rose Johnston came on over the sound system.
Rose Johnston: Ladies and gentlemen, the last remaining member of the Ivanova Gang, has forfeited! Therefore the Salinas Gang is your winner! Congratulations to Johnny Rage, Eric Dillinger, Chuluun Bold, and Valora Salinas!
Scott Slade: I can’t believe it! What a coward!
Chris Rodgers:* Coward? That might be the smartest thing I’ve ever seen! Live to fight another day! That was a no-win situation!
The crowd booed heavily and began to chant “coño rusos” as the medical team rushed down the ramp for the second time and slid into the ring to provide aid for Sokolov, who was still unconscious. “Bring it” by Trapt started to play as Valora and her teammates celebrated in the ring.
Scott Slade: Well, the first match of the first round is in the books! The Salinas Gang is moving on to the final with all four team members intact! Incredible!
Chris Rodgers: Fans, we’ve got cut for a commercial break, but don’t move a muscle cause we will be back with more Gang Wars action!
To be continued in Part - 2: https://hive.blog/freewriters/@ultimatewrestlin/ultimate-wrestling-season-2-ch-12-gang-wars-survivor-series-part-2