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Post by LankyLefty17 on Sept 8, 2020 12:31:44 GMT -8
SPECIAL NOTE: This "season" was a part of a larger story that took place in the world of La Guerra de Sangre Season Two. This thread will contain posts from the larger season, but for full details around La Guerra and its stars, head over here: twopointnine.boards.net/board/3/la-guerra-de-sangre |
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Post by LankyLefty17 on Sept 8, 2020 12:32:29 GMT -8
La Guerra de Sangre: A Lucha Libre Telenovela
Season 2, Episode 1
"Family Dinner: A Prelude to Season Two"
Orig. Air Date: April 17, 2019All the luchadors on the La Guerra de Sangre roster thought it was awful nice of David Harley to treat them to dinner at a fancy restaurant in an affluent pocket of Juarez. They’d all received expensive-looking invitation cards in the mail. It was the weekend before training camp was set to begin; in a few days they’d all report to Rancho Imperio to prepare for season two. Needless to say, everyone was rather surprised when the one person conspicuously absent from the dinner turned out to be David Harley himself. They also found it odd that a gang of black-suited security guards posted at the door to the private dining room demanded they hand in their cell phones before entering, but everyone just went along with it. About two dozen luchadors sat at a long banquet table, eating from enormous taco platters and drinking margaritas, trying to enjoy themselves even though they were beginning to feel deeply uneasy. Why would David arrange a dinner like this and not attend it himself? The chair at the head of the table stood empty for nearly an hour as everyone did their best to eat and drink and be merry and pretend it wasn't. Suddenly a short, stocky man wearing a pair of ridiculous-looking Trival boots, the toes of which ended in two-foot-long pointed tips, shuffled into the room and sat himself down in that empty seat at the head of the table. He wore his hair in an unflattering bowl-cut and his paintbrush mustache hung well over his upper lip. He was wearing an ornately rhinestoned cowboy shirt tucked into skintight black jeans, and one of the largest belt buckles anyone at the table had ever seen. All conversation in the room slowly tapered off into silence, and every eye made its way over to the goofy-looking guy with the funny boots. He cleared his throat and offered up a gap-toothed smile, then grabbed the nearest wine glass and rapped on it with a fork, which was completely and utterly unnecessary since he already had everyone’s rapt attention. “Ladies and gentlemen, I arrive with very important news for you. First and foremost, I must regretfully inform you that David Harley will not be joining us for dinner. He shan't be joining us tonight, nor ever again, for he is no longer the owner of La Guerra de Sangre. He told me to thank you all for your hard work, and wish you the best of luck in your wrestling careers.” The room exploded in a cacophony of uncertain murmurs and worried grumbling. The chubby guy clanked his wine glass again. “Don’t fret, my friends. You all still have jobs, because David Harley has handed over ownership of La Guerra de Sangre to someone with a very keen interest in keeping this promotion alive,” the stranger said. “And I know this for a fact, because the man he sold his stake to… is me.” “And who the hell are you, then?” a luchador at the far end of the table shouted, and soon half the room was shouting the same thing. The stocky guy stood up from his seat, which hardly made him seem any taller. “My friends, my name is Adalberto Bonilla. You may have heard of me.” All at once, the room fell completely and utterly silent. One could’ve heard a pin drop, had one been dropped, but one wasn’t. Everyone around the table was familiar with that name. They’d all heard it before. In the papers. On the news. In the streets. In scary stories told in hushed voices around campfires, about bad men who terrorized whole towns and killed just about anyone who crossed them or even looked at them side-eyed. Adalberto Bonilla. None of the guys around the banquet table ever had a face to attach to that name; it had always been the unspeakable name of an unseen evil you’d been told from a young age you never wanted to encounter. Indeed, there were a lot of law enforcement agencies in both Mexico and the United States to whom Adalberto Bonilla was little more than a faceless apparition. Detectives all across the continent wished they could one day be so lucky as to finally see the face who belonged to that name. But nobody at the table that night, seeing that face for themselves, felt lucky in the least. “ El Herrero de Guerrero,” one of the luchadors mumbled, sounding awestruck. “Just as I suspected,” Adalberto Bonilla said while his squinty little eyes scanned the room and a wry smile touched his lips. “You have heard of me.” Suddenly every luchador in the room was staring down at the tabletop. They all inspected their silverware intently, or gazed forlornly out over the taco platters and nacho bowls. Nobody dared look directly at the notorious drug lord as he continued to speak. “David Harley ended up owing me a little more than he was able to come up with in cash, so I had no choice but to seize some other valuable assets of his,” Mr. Bonilla told the room. “And while I find it distasteful to discuss fellow human beings as though they are livestock, I do want to make one thing abundantly clear from the very beginning: Everyone at this table belongs to me now.” The room remained silent for a long while. Just about everyone in attendance was too scared to even breathe, but one young luchador foolishly felt a sudden surge of courage and stood from his seat. “Nobody owns me,” cried Alhambra, the youngest wrestler on the roster. He pounded a fist on the table. “I don’t give a damn what your name is.” In the split-second it took for the security guards to draw their guns on him, Alhambra realized he’d made a grave mistake. Every which way he looked, he was staring down the barrel of a pistol. The other guys ducked their heads under the table. Alhambra sheepishly sat back down, and twenty frightened faces reluctantly resurfaced from beneath the tablecloth. “Make no mistake,” Adalberto Bonilla continued, now with a distinct hint of menace to his voice. “Whether you like it or not, I own all of you now. And from this moment forward, we do things my way.”
Yes, ladies & gentlemen.
Allow me to confirm your suspicions.
In precisely one week from today...
LA GUERRA DE SANGRE: SEASON TWO
BEGINS!
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Post by LankyLefty17 on Sept 8, 2020 12:32:56 GMT -8
La Guerra de Sangre: A Lucha Libre Telenovela
Season 2, Episode 2
"A Reunion of Rivals"
Orig. Air Date: April 18, 2019As they made their way up that last leg of dusty ranch road and the sprawling expanse of Rancho Imperio spread out before them, Motosierra and his midget twin Minisierra breathed a sigh of relief. It had been a very pleasant motorcycle ride on this fine and unseasonably warm spring day, Motosierra at the helm and his brother on the back, but after a few hours of riding their legs and groins were cramping and their bodies abuzz from the constant rumbling of the chopper’s powerful engine. They couldn’t wait to stand on steady ground again. Motosierra’s back was absolutely soaked with sweat due to his brother clinging to him for dear life for the last several hours on end, and Minisierra’s belly was damp for precisely the same reason. Motosierra pulled the chopper into the dirt lot in front of Rancho Imperio’s main building, the training facility. There were a surprising number of cars parked there, considering the remoteness of the ranch. Clearly, not a single soul dared skip out on training camp this year, now that Adalberto Bonilla was in charge. Ignoring where everyone else had parked, he pulled up right in front of the building and cut the motor. Minisierra leaped off the bike and started flapping his T-shirt in an attempt to dry it out a bit. Motosierra was just starting to swing his leg over the gas tank to climb off the bike himself when he heard an odd sound. It was the crunch of gravel beneath some wildly spinning tires, approaching rapidly. Minisierra cried out, trying to get his brother’s attention, right before an enormous impact sent Motosierra flying ten feet across the lot. In the split second before he was sent soaring, Motosierra turned his head in time to see a familiar white Rolls Royce convertible hurtling towards him at speed. He didn’t even need to see the man at the wheel to know exactly who was in the driver’s seat. There was the sound of metal crashing against metal, the well-polished chrome grill of the Rolls Royce colliding with the chassis of the chopper. The next thing he knew, Motosierra was airborne. He landed on the hard, unforgiving dirt with a thud and writhed around in agony. Minisierra, hysterically screaming his head off, kneeled beside his brother to try and help him. The Rolls Royce, now with a crumpled motorcycle under its front wheels, came to a grinding halt just inches from the two brothers, and Sal de Roca leaped out of the driver’s seat, vaulted over the windshield, ran down the hood of the car and pounced on the two like a panther, raining savage blows down upon them both. A half-dozen gangsterish-looking fellows, led by Adalberto Bonilla, came running over from the training facility, and it took every single one of them working together to pry Sal de Roca off of the two Sierras. “What is going on here?” Adalberto Bonilla cried, sounding more amused by the wild scene he’d stumbled upon than anything else. He certainly didn’t seem upset. “Sal, did you just try to murder two of my luchadors?” Sal, still catching his breath from all the excitement, looked down sheepishly and kicked at the dirt. “I mean… I wasn’t necessarily going to kill them… I just….” “You were trying to kill two of my employees in cold blood,” Adalberto Bonilla said, matter-of-factly. “I respect that.” Sal’s head swung up, looking a little puzzled. He wasn’t sure he’d heard correctly. “Excuse me, sir?” “I admire your fighting spirit, Sal,” Mr. Bonilla continued, beaming. “And your creativity! Using an automobile as a weapon in an ambush... as a literal vehicle of destruction. Brilliant! You seem to have an almost unparalleled passion for violence, and I like that. I like it a lot. It translates well to the art of lucha libre.” Sal couldn’t keep from grinning, being praised in this way by someone who’d long been a hero to him. Motosierra and Minisierra, bruised and bloodied and still sitting in the dirt, looked perturbed but did not dare to say so aloud. “Gentlemen,” Mr. Bonilla said, now addressing all the belligerents in the brouhaha. “I’ve been doing my homework and I know that you guys have quite a rivalry brewing. I’ve personally found this rivalry of yours riveting, as it has included some of my most favorite pastimes: kidnapping, extortion, grand larceny, narco-trafficking, attempted murder. The works. It’s been a glorious sight to behold.” Sal, Moto, and Mini all took a moment to smile at the praise being heaped upon them by their new boss. It had been a vicious lucha feud they could all take pride in, that much they could all agree on. “But no rivalry can continue indefinitely in lucha libre,” Mr. Bonilla said. “At a certain point, there is but one honorable way to conclude a feud. To settle the matter once and for all. And the only way to do so is.... una lucha de apuestas!” Motosierra and Sal turned to each other, looking more than a little dismayed. “Your mask…” Mr. Bonilla said, pointing at Sal. Then he slowly swung his finger around to Motosierra. “Against yours. Miércoles.” Sure, they’d been literally trying to kill one another just moments ago, but to any true luchador, losing one’s mask in a lucha de apuestas was a fate far worse than death! Were they really prepared to take things that far?
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Post by LankyLefty17 on Sept 8, 2020 12:34:04 GMT -8
La Guerra de Sangre: A Lucha Libre Telenovela
Season 2, Episode 3
"Rules of the Ranch"
Orig. Air Date: April 19, 2019After wrapping up the first night of training, Adalberto Bonilla gathered all his luchadors in the mess hall for another feast of epic proportions. If there was one thing that could be said of the notorious drug lord, it was that he knew how to put together an extravagant spread of food. His pudgy potbelly, which jutted out over the top of his skintight jeans, stood as testament to that. The guys were really enjoying all this eating well; many of them had gone to bed hungry nearly every night of their impoverished lives. The day had been a great one. Training had been lighthearted and casual. Everyone thoroughly enjoyed hanging around in the gym, joking and chatting. They arrived to dinner in high spirits. The wrestlers strolled along a buffet line, overloading paper plates with sky-high towers of fresh tamales and chimichangas, then took to their seats and began to gorge themselves while Adalberto took to the floor to discuss a few matters. The first thing he told them was that La Guerra de Sangre headquarters would be relocating from Juarez to Chilpancingo, effective immediately. One could feel all the air escape from the room right after he’d said it, as the luchadors realized what that meant for them. Chilpancingo was considerably smaller than Juarez, little more than a tenth the size, and way down south as well. Attendance at shows would certainly suffer. They’d have virtually no access at all to the American market, certainly not in the way they’d had before, straddling the border. And what visiting wrestlers could they possibly attract way down there, aside from some regional rubes? The negatives seemed to overwhelmingly outweigh the positives, but everyone already knew exactly why Mr. Bonilla was doing this. It was area on the map that he controlled personally. Adalberto Bonilla’s second proclamation wasn’t nearly as shocking as the first, but still quite the cause for concern. “I forbid you all from associating with any luchador who works for a promotion other than this one,” he told them. “As far as any of you are concerned, La Guerra is the only wrestling organization on Earth.” The guys all looked alarmed and exchanged nervous glances. Many of their friends and family members worked for other pro-wrestling promotions. There were hundreds of them scattered throughout Mexico. And the United States - where half the roster had relatives - was much the same way. You’d have a hard time finding a town anywhere on the continent without some sort of wrestling outfit of its own. They wondered if this was not an impossible rule to follow. Mr. Bonilla went on for another twenty odd minutes, laying down assorted ground rules the guys were expected to follow, many strangely specific and seemingly arbitrary. No drinking within six hours of a match. No cell phones in sight whenever Mr. Bonilla is present. No barbiturates. No speaking in English, because Mr. Bonilla can’t understand it and hates the sound of it. The music of Vicente Fernandez is banned for precisely the same reason. And for all male wrestlers: no womanizing on weeknights.By the end of it, any remaining enthusiasm the wrestlers might have been feeling about being there at the ranch had long since disappeared. But for one unlucky luchador, things would get even worse once dinner was over. “Cicatrices, a word if I may,” Mr. Bonilla said, grabbing the ace of La Guerra by the arm as everyone else filed out of the room. “I’ve made a decision about your first defense of the sacred Mascara de Choque. It will be against none other than the Avispa de Alameda.” Cicatrices struggled mightily not to laugh out loud, and could hardly suppress the grin involuntarily spreading across his face. Of everyone on the roster, the shrimpy little Avispa de Alameda might have been the least threatening of them all. Cicatrices could hardly believe his luck; his first defense of the highest prize in lucha libre would essentially be a gimmie. “It is my honor to fight for you, sir,” Cicatrices said with as straight a face as he could muster. “And I trust that you’ll make my nephew look good out there,” Mr Bonilla added. “I absolutely promise you, sir, I will make certain your-” Cicatrices’ sentence cut off abruptly and under his horned mask, his brow furrowed. “Wait a second. Your nephew?” “He’s really going to love that mask you’re giving him,” Mr. Bonilla said, drawing close to Cicatrices and gently slapping his cheek a few times. “I can’t wait to see the look on his face when he wins it.”
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Post by LankyLefty17 on Sept 8, 2020 12:35:09 GMT -8
La Guerra de Sangre: A Lucha Libre Telenovela
Season 2, Episode 4
"The Firefly Arrives"
Orig. Air Date: April 22, 2019The next morning, Cicatrices and some of the other wrestlers cornered Avispa de Alameda in the locker room while everyone was pulling on their tights and lacing up their boots, getting ready for day two of training camp. “How long have we known each other, Waspy?” Cicatrices was saying, jabbing at the beeman’s chest with an accusing finger. “Four, maybe five years? And you never bothered to mention that your uncle’s the most notorious cartel kingpin on the planet?” Avispa de Alameda shrugged. “It isn’t exactly something I go around telling everyone about. Uncle doesn’t like us discussing the family business.” Right on cue, the door to the locker room flew open and it was none other than Uncle Adalberto, accompanied by a masked young lady wearing blindingly bright fluorescent green tights. “Luci!” exclaimed the Avispa de Alameda, and he bolted across the room to embrace her. “Everyone, I’d like for you all to meet La Luciernaga,” Mr. Bonilla said, draping an arm over the little lady’s shoulders and tousling the brown hair that flowed from the top of her neon mask. “ My niece.” All the luchadors offered her a half-hearted hello and she waved shyly back to them, before her brother Avispa grabbed her by the arm and whisked her away for a tour of the ranch. Once they were a good way down the hall, Mr. Bonilla stuck two fingers in his mouth and let out a short, sharp whistle. “Alright everybody, listen up,” Mr. Bonilla said, sounding serious. “It’s my beautiful, beloved niece’s dream to become a luchadora, and now that I own a wrestling promotion I can finally make that dream come true for her. To get her feet wet, I’ve booked her in a six-man mixed gender tag match on Wednesday to open the show. Now I promised my brother Ignacio I’d keep his baby girl safe and sound, so allow me to lay down a few ground rules.” Everyone in the room sighed softly. Mr. Bonilla never seemed to stop introducing new rules and restrictions. “As far as I’m concerned, you all can go ahead and kill each other out there, but with regards to La Luciernaga: No big bumps. No weapons. And no bleeding, either by her or any of you. She hates blood,” Mr. Bonilla said. “And most importantly: nobody pins her. I don’t give a damn what way this match ends, so long as it doesn’t end with my niece’s shoulders on the mat. Comprende?” The luchadors nodded in unison. Mr Bonilla turned on his heel to leave, but halted in his tracks at the door. “Oh yeah, and one other thing,” Mr. Bonilla said, an afterthought occurring to him. “If any of you horny, sleazy sons-of-bitches tries to put the moves on my pretty little niece, I’ll castrate you.”
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Post by LankyLefty17 on Sept 8, 2020 12:35:32 GMT -8
La Guerra de Sangre: A Lucha Libre Telenovela
Season 2, Episode 5
"Opening Night"
Orig. Air Date: April 24, 2019LA GUERRA:
LA SEGUNDA TEMPORADA
Opening Night BEFORE THE SHOWWhile it was true that the line to get in the building extended all the way around the block and every single seat was sold out, it was also worth noting that the block was a lot smaller than the one the arena back in Juarez had been on, there were far fewer seats in the house to begin with, and they weren’t even in an arena at all anymore but rather a ramshackle auditorium. Nevertheless, the roster was pleasantly surprised by the attendance for the first show in La Guerra’s new home of Chilpancingo de los Bravo. They took turns peeking through the curtain, watching the audience filing in and taking to their seats, and the familiar fluttering of butterflies crept into every wrestler’s belly without exception. They’d patiently waited out the several months hiatus La Guerra had taken while its front office was in some sort of secret upheaval, allowing infamous cartel kingpin Adalberto Bonilla to seize control of the company from i.W.e. owner David Harley, but none of that really mattered to the luchadors anymore. Who they fought for was of little importance to them; that they were simply able to fight at all meant everything. And this was the moment they - as well as all the fans - had truly been waiting for. It was finally time to return to the ring and wow the world with the finest lucha libre action on the planet.
SIX-MAN MIXED GENDER TAG TEAM MATCH
LA LUCIERNAGA
ALHAMBRA
SUPER MOHAN
VS
LADY CALIZ
ORO DE ACAPULCO
SICOMORO
BACKSTAGE WITH THE WINNERS...After the match, the mood backstage was comparable to that of a funeral. Everyone knew there would be severe consequences for what had just happened. No one said a word to the victorious team and everyone averted their gaze as they made their way to the locker room.
They’d only just shut the door behind them when it flew open again, banging loudly against the wall, and a furious-looking Adalberto Bonilla waddled into the room in his trademark pointy-tipped boots.
“You!” he yelled, pointing a fat finger directly at Lady Caliz. “You’re fired. Get the hell out of here.”
Lady Caliz wasn’t going to argue with that. While it was upsetting that for the second consecutive season she was being fired on opening night, in this particular instance she was pleased to be leaving with her life, and left quickly and quietly.
“And you!” Mr. Bonilla shouted, waddling right up to Oro de Acapulco and jamming a stubby index finger right into his sweaty chest. “You hit my niece over the head with a chair! For this you must pay.”
Well that looks like the end of it for me, Oro de Acapulco was thinking to himself. All the other luchadors in the room looked extremely alarmed, certain they were about to witness an execution. Cicatrices, who was sitting on a folding chair nearby, mouthed the words I’m so sorry man.
“Cicatrices, stand up,” Mr. Bonilla said.
It took Cicatrices a moment to realize he was being spoken to, and when he eventually did he shot up out of his seat like he’d been catapulted right out of it.
“Fold that chair up for me, if you would,” instructed his boss.
Cicatrices did as he was told and folded the steel chair.
“Now hit him over the head with it,” Mr Bonilla commanded, nodding in the direction of Oro de Acapulco. “Hard.”
All the luchadors watching from the sidelines gasped, and for the second time in a matter of moments Cicatrices mouthed the words I’m so sorry man. Then he took a deep breath and raised the chair high over his head…
LUCHA DE APUESTAS
MASK VS MASK
MOTOSIERRA
VS
SAL DE ROCA
THE LOSER UNMASKS AND REVEALS HIS FACE...
MAIN EVENT
MASCARA DE CHOQUE TITLE MATCH
AVISPA DE ALAMEDA
VS
OUR REIGNING CHAMPION
CICATRICES
THE AFTERMATH OF THE MAIN EVENT...The crowd was flabbergasted. A small portion of people applauded the Avispa de Alameda’s stunning upset victory, but the mood in the venue was overwhelmingly one of shock and dismay. Instead of roaring loudly for such an unexpected outcome, the spectators remained strangely subdued as they all stared in disbelief at the defeated Cicatrices, still laying flat on the mat, staring up at the rafters and looking heartbroken.
A group of masked luchadors ran to the ring and hoisted the Avispa onto their shoulders to celebrate. At first glance this seemed like a perfectly ordinary thing to occur during a title change, but an astute observer would have noted that these wrestlers were unfamiliar. Indeed, they weren’t regular roster members at all, just a handful of Mr. Bonilla’s henchmen wearing nondescript lucha masks and street clothes. He’d hastily sent them to the ring when he realized nobody else intended on going out there to pat his nephew on the back for winning La Mascara de Choque.
Backstage, the actual members of the La Guerra roster still sat frozen in their seats around the TV monitor from which they’d watched the main event, their jaws hanging open and eyes wide as saucers. Far more than the fans, they simply could not believe what they’d just witnessed. Had Cicatrices thrown the fight, or had little Avispa de Alameda legitimately upstaged the ace?
QUICK RESULTSLady Caliz, Oro de Acapulco & Sicomoro defeated La Luciernaga, Alhambra, & Super Mohan. Lady Caliz was fired after the match by owner Adalberto Bonilla for pinning his niece La Luciernaga.
Sal de Roca defeated Motosierra to win his mask, despite interference from Minisierra.
Avispa de Alameda defeated Cicatrices to win the illustrious Mascara de Choque.
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Post by LankyLefty17 on Sept 8, 2020 12:36:06 GMT -8
La Guerra de Sangre: A Lucha Libre Telenovela
Season 2, Episode 6
"Sleepless"
Orig. Air Date: May 7, 2019
Cicatrices spent the night laying on his bed wide awake with his eyes on the ceiling, tossing and turning, tormented thoughts swirling through his head. In his mind, several haunting moments from La Guerra’s opening night were replayed again and again.
The way the steel chair sounded when it clanked off of Oro de Acapulco’s skull, and how Mr. Bonilla had nodded in approval as Cicatrices did what he was told.
Good boy. That’s what Adalberto Bonilla had said to him - like a dog - after knocking Oro de Acapulco out cold with that chair. Cicatrices could still feel the gentle, patronizing slaps to the cheek that Mr. Bonilla touched him with afterward. Good boy.
Cicatrices could still feel the same stinging on the top of his skull that he felt after he ate that second Hornet Driver. He felt that heaviness on his chest, like when the Avispa de Alameda had sat down on it for the winning pin. The clanging of the final bell and the shocked gasps of the audience echoed around in his skull.
What haunted him most of all was the way Oro de Acapulco had sneered at him afterwards, when all was said and done and Cicatrices had returned to the locker room after dropping the title to the Avispa. Head heavily bandaged, Oro de Acapulco had approached him, chuckling grimly. Was it worth it, Cicatrices? he'd asked, pointing to the bloody gauze on his head. Was sucking up to the boss really worth it?
For the hundredth time that night, Cicatrices gave up on trying to sleep and got back out of bed. He paced around his apartment aimlessly, eventually ending up in the kitchen for a glass of water. He glanced at his cell phone sitting on the counter, which he’d been ignoring for the past several days as concerned colleagues relentlessly tried to check in on him. Twenty-two missed calls. He scrolled through the list of numbers. The last dozen had come in rapid succession, and were all from the same person. An American phone number. San Francisco, California, to be precise.
Cicatrices had a feeling he knew who the number belonged to. He thought about it for a moment, weighing his options. And then he called the number back.
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Post by LankyLefty17 on Sept 8, 2020 12:36:56 GMT -8
La Guerra de Sangre: A Lucha Libre Telenovela
Season 2, Episode 7
"Access Denied"
Orig. Air Date: May 7, 2019
Under Adalberto Bonilla’s rule the locker room was no longer a place for fun and tomfoolery, where the luchadors hung out and engaged in lighthearted banter. A tense silence enveloped the room at all times nowadays. The only sounds were the lacing of boots, the stretching of spandex, the occasional chonk of a locker door shutting, and the clearing of throats. Quiet enough that when a strange sound echoed out in the hallway, they all heard it and turned their eyes to the door.
Toca toca toca toca.
Smiles spread across a great many faces around the room. People dropped what they were doing and approached the doorway. Shuffling footsteps came right up to the other side of the door and stopped there for a few dramatic moments. Then the door flew open.
“It is a Toca time, my friends.”
The luchadors all cheered in unison and rushed to greet their goofy-looking, pink-haired comrade Tocapelotas, whom they had not seen in months. They smothered him in a loving scrum. After the beloved luchador’s breakout success in season one of La Guerra, Tocapelotas had spent the spring touring Caribbean promotions, most notably Santana Family Wrestling. When Toca hadn’t made it to training camp last month, the guys were worried he wasn’t going to be coming back at all. Everyone looked relieved to see him, and many hoped Toca’s always-jolly and jovial presence could help lift spirits backstage, where morale was beginning to dip significantly due to the new boss.
And speak of the devil, Adalberto Bonilla appeared in the doorway, right on cue. He did not appear to be as happy to see Toca as everyone else.
“What’s all the commotion in here?” Mr. Bonilla shouted, marching into the room in his pointy-tipped boots. Everyone scattered back to their lockers and tried to look busy, and Mr. Bonilla ran right up to jab a finger in Toca’s chest. “What the hell are you doing in here, you bucktoothed buffoon?”
Tocapelotas seemed confused. He looked Mr. Bonilla up and down. When his eyes came across the pointy-tipped Trival boots, he was unable to pull them away again.
“Toca like you boots,” he declared, wide eyes still fixed on them. “Toca like you boots a very much.”
Now it was Mr. Bonilla’s turn to look baffled. He fixed Toca with an incredulous glare. “What? What the hell are you saying to me about my boots? Don’t you have any idea who I am?”
It was clear that Toca did not have the faintest idea. He looked to all the other luchadors around the room for answers, but no one said a word.
“Tocapelotas, I know that you have been wrestling for other companies,” Mr. Bonilla said. “I might have been able to look past your little Caribbean tour - I too love taking a trip to the Dominican every now and again - but it has come to my attention that you are booked to appear at a Senatorial Office event next week. The Lariats & Legislators supershow, to be precise.”
Toca grinned and nodded.
“So as far as I’m concerned,” Mr. Bonilla said, “you work for them now. Get the hell out of here.”
It took quite a while for Toca to process that statement, and he just stood there looking even more dumbfounded than he ordinarily did. Mr. Bonilla kept nodding in the direction of the open door, but the message was not received. Mr. Bonilla turned to the three members of ZDM, standing at their lockers nearby.
“Boys, get this idiot out of here,” the boss said, snapping his fingers. "Chop chop."
Cicatrices looked anxiously over at his brother El Descosido, then to his cousin Exposito. No one moved a muscle.
“Come on now, hurry it up,” Mr. Bonilla commanded.
But the ZDM boys hesitated still. Sure, they’d had their ups and downs with Toca, who had for a brief period even been a member of ZDM himself... but in the end he was one of them, a core La Guerra guy. They didn’t want to throw him out, and Mr. Bonilla could see that quite clearly from where he was standing.
“Alright then,” Mr. Bonilla grumbled, and looked around the room. His angry glare landed on three masked men of greatly varying heights and ages, a family of rudos known as Los Ultimos. “You three. Remove this man from this god damn room right now.”
Los Ultimos did exactly what they were told without any hesitation, which brought the faintest touch of a smile to the corners of Mr. Bonilla’s mouth. Hulking behemoth Ultimo Grande put Toca in a headlock while his flabby father Penultimo grabbed the legs, and scrawny young Ultimita slammed the door shut after they’d finished tossing Toca out into the hallway.
“Excellent work, Los Ultimos,” Mr. Bonilla said. “I could really use some enforcers around here. And let’s just say that there would be opportunities for advancement if you continue to do good work.”
The three Ultimos nodded gratefully, and Mr. Bonilla turned to the ZDM boys.
“And as for you three…” Mr Bonilla spoke gravely. “Watch your step.”
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Post by LankyLefty17 on Sept 8, 2020 12:37:38 GMT -8
La Guerra de Sangre: A Lucha Libre Telenovela
Season 2, Episode 8
"El Curso"
Orig. Air Date: May 9, 2019
From a modest little food cart parked at the top of a charming street in the hilly outskirts of Chilpancingo, the scrumptious scent of freshly baked churros wafted through the air. A line had formed, just as it always did at this particular cart, and people were flocking from all directions to get their hands on the finest churros in all of Mexico. Nearby, a group of kids kicked a soccer ball around as they waited for their parents to make their way through the line.
Avispa de Alameda had decided that treating himself to a churro would be a fine way to celebrate being the new champion of La Guerra and was on his way to that famous cart, but it was slow going on account of an uphill climb and all the little kids impeding him. Now that he was the owner of the illustrious Mascara de Choque, his profile in the world of lucha libre had been greatly raised, and children flocked to him in much the same way that everyone was flocking to the churro cart. A scrum of autograph seekers formed around him, and the mild-mannered Avispa felt compelled to sign something for each and every kid that came up to him. The churros could wait.
At the top of the hill, the ball momentarily got away from the group of kids playing soccer and rolled underneath the churro cart, ever-so-gently brushing against a wooden wedge haphazardly jammed under one of its wheels. Just enough force to knock it free.
Every time Avispa thought he’d finally signed his last autograph for the day, another wave of kids would arrive. If anything, the group clustered around him only seemed to be growing. Avispa was beginning to worry that he’d never make it to the top of the hill for one of those churros before they were all sold out. Being rather short in stature himself, he stood on tip-toe to look over the tops of the children’s heads, wanting to see how bad the line for churros had become.
There didn't appear to be any sort of line anymore, just a lot of people standing around looking awestruck for some strange reason. The cart was gone.
Avispa could hear all sorts of hollering from the top of the hill, and suddenly the children around him erupted in a cacophony of shrill screaming and scattered in different directions, just in time for him to see the churro cart careening down the sloped street, moving directly toward him at a very high rate of speed. Avispa tried to leap out of its way, but it was already too late.
The impact was tremendous. The runaway churro cart caught the little luchador squarely in the stomach and sent little Avispa flying back through the air. He landed flat on his backside and his tailbone made a sickening snapping sound when it collided with the concrete, causing onlooking ladies to scream and their children to cry. Some guy standing nearby who'd just finished his churro barfed it back up and lost it to the dusty street. The rush of pain that swept over the Avispa de Alameda was so overwhelming he only had a few moments to writhe around in agony, screaming and clutching his rump, before he completely lost consciousness.
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Post by LankyLefty17 on Sept 8, 2020 12:38:12 GMT -8
La Guerra de Sangre: A Lucha Libre Telenovela
Season 2, Episode 9
"Night Two"
Orig. Air Date: May 11, 2019LA GUERRA
SEASON TWO : NIGHT TWO
Live from Chilpancingo
THE RING ANNOUNCER BREAKS SOME BAD NEWS...Once the audience finished filing into the building and had all found their seats, announcer Lingua Larga took to the ring with a microphone in hand and addressed everyone over the PA. “ Senoras y senors, I have an important and unfortunately unfortunate announcement to make. The Avispa de Alameda, our reigning campeon, has been injured. After being struck by a runaway churro cart he has cracked his coccyx… or as he asked me to phrase it: he has snapped off his stinger. Ladies and gentlemen, this injury is a serious one that will take our Avispa many weeks to recover from, so it is needless to say that his defense of the mask of Choque against Super Mohan - which was supposed to be our main event - has been cancelled.” The audience groaned, not so much in sympathy for Avispa de Alameda, but in annoyance that they would be seeing a little less lucha libre tonight. “Furthermore, because no clear timetable for his recovery can be confidently set, it has been decided that the title should be vacated. That is correct, ladies and gentlemen, Avispa de Alameda has been stripped of la mascara de Choque, and the most prestigious prize in all of lucha libre is once again up for grabs. More information on how we shall determine its next owner will be made available in the coming week.”
LOS ARBOLES
(Oro de Acapulco & Sicomoro)
vs
LOS DOS SIERRAS
(Motosierra & Minisierra)
CONCEPCION SCHULTZ
vs
LA LUCIERNAGA BACKSTAGE AFTER CONCEPCION SCHULTZ VS LA LUCIERNAGAAfter their match, Concepcion Schultz and La Luciernaga were back in the locker room, changing and chatting. They discussed their performances and Concepcion offered a few pointers to the rookie while also saying that she was extremely impressed with her, and La Luciernaga beamed. Their pleasant conversation was interrupted by an irate Adalberto Bonilla bursting through the door.
“You!” he shouted, pointing at Concepcion. “You’re fired. Out. OUT!”
The always cool and collected Concepcion looked mildly amused. La Luciernaga looked extremely upset.
“What? Why?” La Luciernaga shrieked at her uncle.
“Because she beat a member of mi familia!” he hollered. “She should have known better than to go into business for herself and pin you.”
“The whole point of a lucha match is for her to try and pin me, uncle!” La Luciernaga said. “She beat me fair and square, and I’m not upset about it at all. She’s my friend!”
Mr. Bonilla eyed Concepcion suspiciously. “Your… friend?”
“Yes, Uncle Adalberto,” Luci said. “My friend. And I demand that she stays.”
Looking a little deflated, Mr. Bonilla nodded. “Okay, sweetie. I’m happy my niece has made a nice new friend, particularly one who can teach her to become an exceptional luchadora. Please accept my apologies, Senora Schultz.”
Concepcion smirked and nodded tersely to indicate her less-than-halfhearted acceptance of his apologies, and Mr. Bonilla shuffled sheepishly out of the room.
ZDM
(Cicatrices, El Descosido & Exposito)
vs
LOS ULTIMOS
(Ultimo Grande, Penultimo & Ultimita)
QUICK RESULTSLos Arboles defeated Los Dos Sierras
Concepcion Schultz defeated La Luciernaga
ZDM defeated Los Ultimos
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Post by LankyLefty17 on Sept 8, 2020 12:39:39 GMT -8
La Guerra de Sangre: A Lucha Libre Telenovela
Season 2, Episode 10
"Lights Out"
Orig. Air Date: June 7, 2019
Sal de Roca could hardly see the man’s face through the thick purple plume of cigar smoke suspended in the air over the desk between them, but could see well enough to know that Adalberto Bonilla was smiling at him with that sinister, hungry-wolf grin he had.
“I’ll be honest; when you said you could deliver ownership of Lucha POWER to me, I only half believed you. But you did good, Sal. Real good,” Bonilla said, his words slightly slurred due to the enormous double corona clenched between his teeth. He reached into a drawer and produced a blank white envelope that appeared to be stuffed to the gills and thrust it through the cloud at Sal.
Having handled many large amounts of money in his day, Sal could tell simply by the weight of the envelope that every peso promised was in there. He dared not insult his boss by opening the envelope to count, at least not here.
“As a matter of fact, Sal,” Mr. Bonilla continued, “I’m so impressed with your handiwork, I’ve decided that another reward is in order as well.”
It couldn’t be seen beneath his mask, but Sal cocked a quizzical eyebrow. What could it be?
Mr. Bonilla reached back into the same drawer that had previously contained the cash-filled envelope and produced another item, placing it carefully on the desk between them. It was a tattered, frayed and sweat-stained old lucha mask. La Mascara de Choque.
“I know you luchadors consider this dirty old rag to be pretty valuable,” Bonilla said. “And right now, it’s up for grabs on account of my nephew breaking his tailbone and being unable to defend it. It means very little to me and is just collecting dust in this drawer. You want it?”
Sal was speechless. He did want it, no question about it. But he believed enough in the legend surrounding the most coveted relic in lucha libre that he knew he couldn’t just take it. Not like this.
“I.... uh….,” Sal stammered. “I don’t know if I…”
Mr. Bonilla rolled his eyes. “You too, huh? You damned luchadors are so superstitious! After what happened to Avispa de Alameda, Super Mohan straight-up refused my offer of another shot at the mask, saying he was not worthy of it. Said the mask would be upset with him if he won it or some such rubbish. What an idiot!”
Sal faked a small chuckle, but he believed much the same way as Super Mohan. If the mask didn’t select you itself, it would resist at every turn your possession of it. Only the greatest luchador in the land was its rightful owner. Sal wanted to believe he was good enough for it, but deep down he wasn’t so sure he qualified.
“Perhaps we should run another small tournament for it,” Sal suggested. As an afterthought, he added: “So nobody accuses you of rigging things.”
Mr. Bonilla sighed. “No one would dare accuse me of such things, but I suppose a tournament would work as well. I was just trying to do something nice for you, Sal, to show my appreciation for your help in acquiring Lucha POWER. Are you sure you don’t just want to take it?”
“I’m sure.”
Shrugging, Mr. Bonilla reached across the desk and pulled the mask back. “Have it your way, Sal. I’ll find three other luchadors and make a tiny tournament out of it then. But I still don’t see why you guys are so afraid of this stupid, ugly mask.”
Picking it up off the desk, Mr. Bonilla turned the mask over in his hands a few times. Then a mischievous grin spread across his face. He rested his cigar in a nearby glass ashtray, raised the mask up and started to slip it over his head.
“Mr. Bonilla,” Sal said uneasily. “I’m not so sure you should-”
The moment Mr. Bonilla began to tug the mask down over his face, the lights in the room flickered wildly. He paused, the mask halfway down his forehead, and looked around with a mildly confused expression. The lights steadied back to a constant glow. Sal looked concerned.
“That was weird,” Mr. Bonilla remarked.
With one sharp tug, he pulled the mask the rest of the way over his face. The lights flickered on and off, much more violently than before, like a disorienting strobe light. Then they abruptly cut off completely, plunging the room into darkness. By the still silence that hung over everything, it seemed the entire building had lost power.
“What the hell is going on around here?” Mr. Bonilla said, fumbling around for a book of matches he knew was somewhere on the desktop. He finally found it and struck one.
Briefly blinded by the small flame cutting through the blackness, Sal’s eyes took a moment to adjust. When they finally did, he looked past the fire dancing on the end of the matchstick… and shrieked.
Sal had been expecting to see Mr. Bonilla sitting on the other side of the desk, as he had been just seconds ago. But it was not Mr. Bonilla at all. Not anymore. Instead it was an enormous, shirtless masked man bathed in an eerie blue light, a strange spectral glow.
It was the ghost of Choque.
Sal instinctively tried to leap from his seat and the chair tipped over backwards, spilling him onto the floor. Panicked, he scrambled to his feet and felt along the wall for a doorknob. Finally finding it, he threw the door open and ran off down the dark hallway.
“Sal? Sal!” Mr. Bonilla shouted after him, sounding more amused than anything. “What the hell’s the matter with you?”
But he wouldn’t receive an answer to that question because Sal was long gone. Mr. Bonilla shrugged to himself, wondering what on earth had just happened. Was Sal scared of the dark or something? It seemed to him like a pretty extreme reaction to a simple power outage, running away like that.
Mr. Bonilla once again shrugged to himself, then reached up and pulled the mask off of his head. The moment it was removed, the lights in the room burned steadily once again.
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Post by LankyLefty17 on Sept 8, 2020 12:40:06 GMT -8
La Guerra de Sangre Presents: Lucha POWER
Episode 1
“El Macho”
Orig. Air Date: June 7th 2019For as long as he can remember, El Macho’s favorite part of going to work when there wasn’t a show was lunch time. Two blocks from the Lucha Fantastico gym, which has always doubled as the company’s “office”, Macho would find Pedro and his wonderful taco cart. Macho would order two carnitas tacos, and Pedro would throw in one more, free of charge. They were in Macho’s opinion, the best taco’s in all of Mexico. But today El Macho felt sick to his stomach. Sitting in his office, half watching the latest Warrior Pro PPV event, El Macho stared at the barely touched tacos with mild distain. Boxes littered the room. With the purchase of Lucha POWER by Adalberto Bonilla, there was little reason for Lucha POWER to maintain its own headquarters. In one of his first acts, Bonilla had insisted that the entire Lucha POWER roster- including El Macho- relocate to Chilpancingo so that integration with the La Guerra roster could begin immediately. The deafening silence in the building was also not lost on El Macho. What use to be a lively atmosphere, filled with lucha’s working out and constant chatter, had been reduced to a ghost town. Macho took a bite of a taco, made a face, and threw the rest of the plate in the trash. Turning off the TV, he turned back to the stack of bills on his desk. He’d need to tie up the remaining expenses owed before heading out of town himself, but El Macho had never been great with numbers. I normally leaned on Sal for this, he thought. Sal. Macho’s despair turned to anger and he slammed his fists on the desk. “Senor, I do believe another blow such as that will result in the death of that desk.”
Where the hell was that voice coming from? El Macho peered around the seemingly empty room before eyeing the trash can. What was in those tacos? he thought. “Por favor.” El Macho stood up and lowered his vision to see the shortest man he’d ever met. Well dressed in a full suit, the stranger held a single envelope in his hand and seemed to be tapping his foot impatiently. “Who is this that sneaks into El Macho’s office?” “Is this an office? Senior this looks more like a closet.” “Habla ahora little man. El Macho has things to do.” “Things now? That is quite curioso. What things could a man who just lost everything need to do? No matter, I will not take much of your time.” The stranger did not wait for a reply, “Senior me llamo Paco Pequeno. I speak for Senor Bonilla. I will be your…how you say…conduit to el hefe.” “El Macho does not need a condiment. If Senior Bonilla needs something, he can talk to El Macho.” “I assure you, if Senor Bonilla is talking to you directly you will not be happy with the subject. And in any case, Senor Bonilla is a very busy man and has assigned me this task. Here.” El Macho, cautiously, reached out and took the piece of paper Paco had been holding. When he opened it up he saw a bunch of legal whatever that he couldn’t make out. Sal usually looked over this stuff too, he thought, his anger boiling up again. At the bottom, very clearly, was a one sentence line that El Macho very much understood: All Lucha POWER matters will be executed by my associate, Paco Pequeno.Shit. “So, as you can see, we all have our orders. Now, for the next show- I would like for you to relay the card to your co-workers, now former employees.” “Si.” Replied Macho, dejected. “Excellente. Doctor Dorado has spent a considerable amount of time calling out a member of ZDM.” “Si. El Descosido. They have history.” “Lets squash that. Doctor Dorado can face all of ZDM in a 3 on 1 handicap match.” “Que? All of ZDM?” “Si. Next, Viper Lopez will take on La Luciernaga. It is imperative that Seniora Lopez lose. I trust you will pass along that message.” Even with a mask it was clear that the color had left El Macho’s face. For the first time in his life that he could remember, El Macho was speechless. “And finally, the main event. Senor Bonilla recognizes that Dungeon Dominguez attacked you at the end of the last show. He wishes to give you a chance to… even the score. You will fight Dungeon for the Lucha POWER title. El Macho seemed to break out of his daze at that one. He did want to get his hands on Dungeon after what he did. He may be in a personal hell, but at least he’d have a chance at one more run as champion. Paco seemed to sense the optimism from that last statement, and a curious smile crossed his lips. “Just one more thing Senor. If you happen to lose your match- you will be fired.”
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Post by LankyLefty17 on Sept 8, 2020 12:40:50 GMT -8
La Guerra de Sangre: A Lucha Libre Telenovela
Season 2, Episode 11
"Night Three"
Orig. Air Date: June 15, 2019LA GUERRA
SEASON TWO : NIGHT THREE
Live from Chilpancingo
In an absolutely stunning twist, it was revealed at rival promotion Lucha POWER’s most recent show that it was none other than La Guerra’s own Sal de Roca who had stepped in as an angel investor, keeping the struggling company’s doors open with a much-needed influx of cash. However, in an elaborate double-cross, it was then revealed that Sal had only been acting on behalf of none other than Adalberto Bonilla, dastardly owner of La Guerra and notorious cartel kingpin. And to the great dismay of ousted Lucha POWER owner El Macho, Mr. Bonilla has sneakily usurped majority control of the company and declared that it will be absorbed into La Guerra. In its first event since all the upheaval, we will see the new face of a suddenly much larger La Guerra de Sangre. Will seizing control of Lucha POWER prove to be a cunning business decision by Bonilla, or has his hostile takeover made more enemies than he will be able to manage?
LOS ULTIMOS
Penultimo y Ultimita
accompanied to the ring by Ultimo Grande
VS
ZAPATOS DE MADERA (ZDM)
Exposito y El Descosido
THE RITUAL
Backstage with La Luciernaga & Concepcion Schultz...Seeing as though they were the only two women left in La Guerra, La Luciernaga and Concepcion Schultz were afforded the luxury of what was essentially their own private dressing room. As they pulled on their spandex and laced up their boots in preparation for their match that evening, Concepcion noticed her partner had a look of consternation on her face.
“What’s wrong, Luci?” she asked. “You look a little nervous.”
Luci sighed. “I am. I’m just so worried I’ll let you down out there. You’re so good, and I’m… well… not. I just feel like such a rookie still.”
Concepcion laughed and draped an arm over Luci’s shoulder. “You shouldn’t worry yourself about that, Luci. We were all rookies once. All that means is you still have a long and bright career ahead of you. And I believe that's exactly what lies in store for you. I believe in you, girl.”
That brought a brief hint of smile to Luci’s lips, but her face fell quickly again. “I just don’t think I’ll ever be half as good as you. What’s your secret?”
A wry, almost mischievous grin spread across Concepcion’s face. She glanced at the dressing room door to be sure it was shut and locked. She stood up, walked to a locker, opened the door, and waved La Luciernaga over.
“I wish I could tell you my secret was just a lot of hard work and dedication,” Concepcion said, “but I’d be remiss if I didn’t also show you this.”
She pointed into the open locker and Luci looked to where that finger was aimed. Sitting on a shelf inside the big metal box was a strange looking item, an owl figurine about a foot tall, whittled from a hunk of old wood. It had reddish-brown drippings all over its head.
“What is it?” Luci asked, sounding perplexed.
Concepcion said nothing. She reached into the locker and retrieved a sewing needle sitting on the shelf beside the strange statuette. She pricked a fingertip with the needle, then held her hand above the owl as a small bead of blood formed on the end of her finger and finally dripped down onto the owl’s head.
Luci looked baffled. Concepcion grabbed her by the wrist.
“Do you trust me?” she asked Luci.
With only a slight hesitation, Luci answered. “I trust you.”
And with that, Concepcion pricked Luci’s index finger and held her hand over the wooden owl until a droplet of blood fell onto its beak. She then bowed reverently in the direction of the owl and Luci did likewise. Concepcion swung the locker door shut once again and without another word, the women headed out for their match.
BATALLA DE LOS SEXOS
LOS ARBOLES
Sicomoro y Oro de Acapulco
VS
PODER FEMENINO
La Luciernaga y Concepcion Schultz
MR. BONILLA TAKES TO THE RING
An announcement about tonight's dual main events...Although everyone in the arena wanted to boo the pants right off of Adalberto Bonilla when he came out to address the crowd, nobody dared. Instead, everyone sat silently as though they were in the classroom of a particularly strict teacher. Standing in the center of the ring, flanked by security guards every which way, Mr. Bonilla rose a microphone to his mouth.
“Ladies and gentlemen, I have an important announcement to make concerning the fate of the illustrious Mascara de Choque,” Bonilla said. “As I am sure you are all aware, my dear nephew and our reigning champion the Avispa de Alameda has sustained a serious injury and will be unable to compete for the foreseeable future. For this reason, I have made the difficult decision that the title must be vacated.”
The crowd let loose a sympathetic groan. Although they felt he may not have deserved a shot at the title to begin with, the fans also felt it was a cruel way for the up-and-coming young luchador to lose the title as well.
“Ever since I took control of Lucha POWER, we’ve had an absolute abundance of talent on our hands here at La Guerra,” Bonilla went on, now grinning. “So much so, in fact, that I’ve had a hell of a time deciding who to give title shots to. For this reason, the four gentlemen in our dual main events tonight will go ahead and make that decision for me. That’s right. The winners of the next two matches shall go on to face each other at our next event, for the vacant Mascara de Choque.”
In response to this statement, the crowd began to perk up a bit.
“Later tonight,” Bonilla continued, “we will see in this very ring, Sal de Roca…”
The crowd gave a half-hearted cheer. They liked Sal alright, but were suddenly skeptical of him after learning he was in cahoots with Mr. Bonilla.
“... versus the hottest name in wrestling right now, one of our recent acquisitions… LOBO MUERTE!”
A big cheer surged through the venue at the mention of this name, and a significant segment of the audience began to howl like wolves.
“But first, my friends, we will witness right here in this ring a match many wrestling fans have dreamed of,” Bonilla said, and the crowd went silent again, now sitting at the edges of their seats. “From Lucha POWER, the lucha libre prodigy Hexagon Junioooooooooor!”
The crowd roared. People got up onto their seats, pumping their fists jubilantly in the air. A lot of teenage girls started screaming their fool heads off. He was here! Hexagon was really here in Chilpancingo!
“And his opponent...” Mr. Bonilla went on, now really seeming to relish having the crowd in the palm of his hand. “Well, we can’t have Hexagon over without throwing him a proper welcoming party, right everybody? So his opponent for tonight shall be none other than our main man, the ace of La Guerra de Sangre... CICATRICES!”
At the mention of that beloved name, the crowd went absolutely ballistic. Men drummed on their chests and women yanked at their hair and jumped up and down like maniacs. Everyone screamed and shouted as loudly as their lungs would allow them. The floor shook, the walls wobbled, the whole building quaked. Many people believed Cicatrices had been robbed of the mask once before, and nearly all of them believed he would not be robbed of it again.
If it had been Mr. Bonilla’s aim to win over the crowd by gathering the four finest wrestlers in all of lucha libre to determine which one most deserved La Mascara… it appeared he had succeeded.
HEXAGON JR.
VS
CICATRICES
SAL DE ROCA
VS
LOBO MUERTE
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Post by LankyLefty17 on Sept 8, 2020 12:41:20 GMT -8
La Guerra de Sangre Presents: Lucha POWER
Episode 2
“Doctor Dorado”
Orig. Air Date: June 18th 2019“Hefe, this is like the fourth message I have sent you eh? Llamame. Por favor.” Doctor Dorado was a nervous wreck. For weeks he had been asking El Macho for a match with ZDM rudo El Descosido. Weeks. But the recent developments of Lucha POWER had changed everything, and now suddenly he was looking at a three on one handicap match with all of ZDM. This was no bueno. As Dorado paced the halls waiting for El Macho to call him back he overheard commotion coming from the locker room. As he turned the corner he could see a rowdy game of cards getting rowdier. Ugh, Los Rudos Terribles. Actually… maybe that’s the answer…Pantero Negro Jr. and Lobo Muerte. Cousins on their mother’s side, Pantero and Lobo suffered from an extreme love hate relationship. As kids Lobo looked up to Pantero, and Pantero in turn helped break Lobo into the wrestling business. Fiercely loyal to each other from outsiders, they’re competitiveness have often times pitted them against one another leading to the bloodiest of brawls. Over his long career Doctor Dorado had seen both ends of the Rudos Terribles relationship, and the breaking point was very often over a game of cards. As he cautiously approached the table he saw that the cousins had a third participant, none other than El Hijo De Choque. “This fucking guy sits his fat ass down and doesn’t lose a fucking hand.” Lobo Muerte was steaming mad. Dorado openly wondered if his recent string of losses had something to do with his mood. “Hey El Culon, are you cheating? Mira. Are you cheating my cousin and I?” “Answer mi primo fat man.” Pantero Negro Jr. was not a loud spoken man, but his words generally held violence behind them. El Hijo seemed unafraid to Dorado. That’s because he doesn’t know either of these men like I do.
“Amigos, lets calm down eh? This is not the proper way to make a first impression to our new roster eh?” “Hola Dorado. This is not your concern.” Pantero’s eyes stayed fixed on the cards he was shuffling. “The fat man owes us money. Don’t you fat man?” “I don’t owe you nada. Pleasure playing with you both.” At that El Hijo De Choque stood up, neatly stacked the bills in front of him and shoved the wad in his tights. As he turned to leave, Lobo Muerte shot out of his chair and blocked the way. Several painful seconds passed in silence as all three men began to get the look of each other. “Amigos! Stop this now. We have more important things to discuss.” Both Lobo and Pantero looked at Dorado with curiosity. “Ahora por favor.” With that Lobo reluctantly stepped aside, as the large luchador made his way to the door. “Adios amigos. Buenas dias hehe…” “Vete a la chingada. This isn’t over fat man” Lobo turned back to Dorado. “This better be good Dorado or you owe both of us money.” “I need your help.” Dorado was almost whispering. With what had gone down, with the rumors of what Mr. Bonilla was capable of, Doctor Dorado wasn’t sure what was and wasn’t safe anymore. “Why would we help you?” Lobo was still steaming, and with Hijo de Choque gone, Dorado seemed like a good alternative. “Calmate primo. Let’s hear him out.” Lobo, reluctantly, quieted and waited for Dorado to speak. “We’re getting railroaded. All of us. The show this week is stacked against Lucha Power- we need to do something to even the odds eh?” “Ah Primo, it seems Senor Dorado would like our help in his match. Against those rudos ZDM.” “Si. We need to stick together, all of us eh? If we let them pick us off one by one…” “You don’t care about that. You just don’t want to get your ass kicked.” Lobo Muerte seemed unmoved and was visibly losing patience. “My cousin brings up a good point. There seems to be very little estimulo.” Dorado could tell that the conversation was not going his way. If he wasn’t careful, he’d have competing rudos coming after him. Wait. That’s it…“Fine. If you’re too scared to help me that’s fine. I suppose I’ll go find Nightmare Clown, he might be crazy enough…” Without warning Pantero Negro stood up, grabbed the table and chucked it at the closed door that exits the locker room. The table crashed and splintered on impact. Lobo seemed to be smiling under his mask. “Amigo. You are walking a very dangerous path right now.” Pantero’s voice stayed quite bit it was now salted with menace. “Quite dangerous indeed.” The unfamiliar voice brought a pause to the tension in the room. All three men looked around in an attempt to find its source. “ Sigh. Ahem Senores.” Paco Pequeno, all three and a half feet of him, stood next to Pantero Negro, well dressed as was his custom, hands behind his back. “Carajo! Who the fuck are you?” Lobo’s question seemed equal parts curiosity and annoyance. “Me llamo Paco Pequeno. I speak for Senor Bonilla. And I can assure you, he will not appreciate seeing the two of you interfering in a scheduled match. Especially you Lobo Muerte. You have already earned a shot at La Mascara de Choque, let us not ruin that by defying orders. Si?” Both Lobo and Pantero stood dumbfounded staring back at Paco. Dorado figured this might be the first time anyone had been brave enough to speak that directly to the two cousins in some time. Dorado braced for what he assumed was witness to the horrible beating of a tiny man. Instead, both rudo’s broke the silence with laughter, immediately turning to leave the room. “You’re a funny man Senor Paco” called out Lobo on the way out. As they approached the exit, Lobo held open the door for Pantero, and turned back to Paco- “You tell Senor Burrito that Rudos Terribles do not take orders. If we want to help Doctor Dorado we will. If we want to watch him get destroyed, we will. And if we want to pick up his tiny assistant, throw him in our car, and leave him in the middle of the Mexican desert, Comeremos.” “I will be sure to relay the message to Senor Bonilla senores.” As Dorado stood there, taking in the exchange, he could feel his anxiety getting worse. As cordial and courteous as Paco Pequeno sounded, there was only thing the veteran lucha could think as the tiny messenger exited the locker room… This cannot end well…
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Post by LankyLefty17 on Sept 8, 2020 12:41:44 GMT -8
La Guerra de Sangre Presents: Lucha POWER
Episode 3
“Especial Tres”
Orig. Air Date: June 21st 2019Paco Pequeno always struggled to be noticed. At just a hair under five feet tall (in reality he was closer to four and a half feet- but no one dare point that out) Paco could maneuver himself in most situations undetected. That came with certain advantages- for instance right now, inside the wrestler’s locker room ahead of “Especial Dos”- where he could easily hear conversations about the “dumb shit midget who thinks he can boss people around.” But the flip side to that was in order to be noticed, Paco generally had to resort to dramatic action. And so, pulling out a gun Paco fired three shots into the ceiling, bringing the entire room to a stop as everyone wondered where the gunfire originated from. Slowly and deliberately, Paco made his way to the front of the locker room to address the crowd, Lucha POWER champion Dungeon Dominguez clearing the path. “Some of you have already met me. For those who have not- Hola. Me llamo Paco Pequeno. I speak for Senor Bonilla. Senor Bonilla is very excited to watch the very first Lucha POWER show since he purchased the company. He is expecting a very… specific show, and it is collectively our job to present that to him.” “Senor, lucha is not for Senor Bonilla. Lucha es para la gente!” “Who said that? Speak up. Ahora.” “That was me Senor. Hexagon Jr.” The flashy lucha made his way to the front of the room. “We all came here to please the crowd. To give them a show. That is our job.” “Por favor, that is not your job. In fact, after losing your last two matches you are lucky to have any job at all. I suggest you go home and think about your priorities. Vete.” Hexagon looked around, bewildered, only to see no one was making eye contact with him. “Hexagon. Ahora.” Hexagon turned back to find a gun pointed at his face. Slowly he turned to El Macho, who shook his head. What a pussy, thought Paco. This large man cowering to the smallest one in the room. Hastily Hexagon Jr gathered his things and exited the locker room. “Now anyone else want to put a show on para la gente? Or are we going to put the show on that Senor Bonilla wants to see?” When the room stayed quiet, Paco put the gun down and smiled. “Excellente, now let us get started.” Viper Lopez vs La LuciernagaQuick Results: In a war of an opener, Luciernaga endured everything Viper Lopez could throw at her for the victory
Winner: Viper Lopez
Rating: **** Exhausted and elated, Viper Lopez made her way to the back as best she could. Unlike most of the men on the Lucha POWER roster, Viper had seen the integration with La Guerra as a positive- a chance for her to compete with other luchadora’s and prove that she was more than just the daughter of a famous rudo. And tonight she had proved exactly that. “Senora.” Startled, Viper looked behind her but didn’t see anything. “Aqui senora.” It was Paco, and he was holding out an envelope for Viper. “I believe Senor Bonilla was quite clear on how the outcome of this match was to play out. Senor wishes to err… protect La Luciernaga. Your match did not allow that to happen. Therefore, I am here to inform you that your services will no longer be needed.” “What?” “Senora, you are fired. You will find you things in a trash bag out back. You have 5 minutes to exit the building before you are forcibly removed from it.” Viper stood stunned and speechless, as Paco walked off. “Five minutes!” he called as he continued walking. In a fog, Viper took a left turn and exited the building. Doctor Dorado vs ZDMQuick Results: Dorado fought valiantly against the trio of La Guerra rudos, and even got some timely help from Los Rudos Terribles, but it wasn’t enough and ZDM put away the veteran lucha as expected.
Winner: ZDM
Rating: *** Pantero Negro was never a man to panic, but something wasn’t sitting right with him. After going out to help Doctor Dorado, he and Lobo Muerte got separated while dodging Bonilla’s security. Now he couldn’t find Lobo, and the “worst case” scenarios were playing out in his head. As he made his way back to the locker room he spotted Paco talking to Dungeon Dominguez ahead of his upcoming match with El Macho. “Paco MIERDA!” Pantero shouted across the room and as he approached, picked up the tiny exec- pinning him against the lockers. “It seems I have finally received someone’s attention. I would suggest setting me down before you anger my associate further.” Pantero turned to face a snarling Dungeon, empty violence in his eyes. Dropping Paco to the ground with a thud, Pantero turned to face the large Lucha POWER champ, the two staring each other down. “NO TE TEMO!” Pantero was ready to take out what had been weeks worth of frustration on this brainless monster. A man that had gone against his own company for reasons that were not entirely clear. While Pantero himself harbored no loyalty to his old promotio, or anything in particular- Dungeon's power grab hadn't sat well with him. Plus he wanted to know where his cousin was. “Dungeon. You have a match to get to. I suggest you go. I will be fine.” The two rudos continued their stare down for a few more moments before Dungeon walked off, leaving Paco and Pantero alone. Paco, with mild irritation, dusted himself off and got to his feet. “Now, how can I help you?” “Quiero respuestas.” “I’m sure you do. I assume you’re referring to your missing cousin. Most unfortunate indeed. I assure you I have no knowledge of his current whereabouts. I assume that you do not believe me, and I cannot blame you for that Senor. However, if I did have him, I do not believe the best course of action would be to harm me. Harming me may make me emotional. And that might cause me to do something rash. That doesn't sound like the best way to ensure your cousin's saftey no? I assume, at some point, you would like to see your cousin again, si? Pantero fumed at this. But he also didn’t know what else to do. He stood in silence. “Pantero Negro. Por favor. I am going to need to hear you say it.” “Si.” “Excellente! Now, sit back and enjoy the main event. Do not worry about Lobo Muerte, I am sure he will turn up soon.” El Macho vs Dungeon DominguezQuick Results: El Macho put on a hellova show, and did everything he could to win that belt. A late frog splash in the middle of the ring looked to end it, but Dungeon kicked out and eventually hit his Darkness Falls to retain the belt
Winner: Dungeon Dominguez
Rating: **** Gasping for air, El Macho lay on the mat, taking in what had just happened. Fuck. I was so close. After the best performance he had put on in 15 years, El Macho had gone from his dream of owning Lucha POWER to completely out of a job. Despite all of that the roaring fans- so appreciative of the match- still brought a smile to Macho’s face. If he was going to go out after all these years, at least he was going out to a crowd that loved him. He waved to each section of the audience, and tears began to well in his eyes. It can’t be over. I’m not done. Fuck. He never saw it coming, but he certainly felt it. As he turned to exit the ring a thunderous chair shot connected with his head so hard he could taste the steel on his tongue. Just like that he was back on the ground, and as the lights faded to black around him he could faintly hear a voice on a microphone… “Consider this your severance package.”
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