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Post by LankyLefty17 on Sept 8, 2020 12:42:11 GMT -8
La Guerra de Sangre Presents: Lucha POWER
Episode 4
“Lobo Muerte”
Orig. Air Date: June 27th 2019
Esto no Bueno.This was definitely a first. Growing up on the streets of Mexico City, Lobo Muerte had been known to run with a rough crowd and had been forced to deal with the consequences of that decision on more than one occasion. He had heard of people getting a bag thrown over their head and shoved in the trunk of a car, but this was his first encounter with the situation. He had decided at some point during the ride that he did not like it. I knew there would be blow back from running out in that match. I knew the little man would be pissed. I just assumed I’d get fined, maybe fired. Now it seemed like the end game would be much worse. It didn’t help that right next to him in the trunk was a shovel and a roll of garbage bags. Mierda. I could have just stayed home today. I could have messed around downtown. I didn’t even have a match. I should have-The car slowed down and came to a stop. Lobo couldn’t tell if he was relieved or terrified. Either way, at least I’ll find out what’s next. He could hear the muffled sounds of the passengers, car doors opening and closing, and a key working the trunk door. “Hola Senor. We are here.” Lobo could hear the voice of Paco Pequeno and see the sunlight spill through the hood on his head. Instinctively he reached back to take a swing at the undersized La Guerra executive but the follow through met nothing but air. What came next felt like a tree trunk connecting with his head to make a sickening crunch that sent him all the way back to the bottom of the trunk. “Are we done?” Lobo only managed a small moan in response. Paco’s tree trunk lifted Lobo out of the car and dragged him what felt like twenty feet before throwing him on the ground. Still trying to get his wits about him, Lobo managed to get to his knees before the bag was removed from his head. He’s wished the bag had stayed on. Images were blurry as his eyes adjusted to the increase of light, but one thing was crystal clear, Dungeon Dominguez was standing over Lobo with a gun pointed at his head. “This is not how I would prefer to do business Senor. I would much prefer to relay my orders to you and your colleagues, and they would in turn follow those orders. This would appear to me a simple plan. But I seem to be meeting a certain level of resistance. And I assure you, Senor Bonilla does not appreciate resistance.” “Si, si.” As his eyesight returned, Lobo looked around for potential escape options, but it was slim pickings. They were in the middle of the Mexican desert. He could get up and run, but even if he avoided getting shot- where was he running to? He estimated he was at least an hour out of town based on the car trip. “Lobo Muerte. What an odd name to give yourself. Is there honor in a dead wolf I wonder? Perhaps we should find out?” A short nod from Paco and Dungeon cocked the gun. “Ok ok ok. Mira. We can work this out. There has to be something.” “No Senor. Senor Bonilla does not work things out. Anyhow you seem past charity. Actions have consequences amigo.” With that Paco gave another nod to Dungeon who turned and pulled the trigger. clickLobo, who had closed his eyes and said a silent prayer slowly opened one eye, then the other. The gun was still pointing at him. clickThe smallest of smiles creeped onto Dungeon’s face. Underneath his lucha mask, Lobo fumed. “You are a potential La Guerra champion Lobo Muerte- you earned that chance when you beat Sal De Roca. But you do not act like a champion. That must change. We hope you reflect on that during your journey.” Journey?Paco and Dungeon turned and walked back to the car, Dungeon opening the passenger side door for Paco before getting into the driver’s side and starting the engine. Lobo tentatively followed, and as he approached the car Paco rolled down the window. “Consider this your only ‘lesson’. Cross Senor Bonilla again in any way, and your punishment will have bullets in the chamber.” Paco reached out and handed Lobo a gallon jug of water. “I suggest you move quickly, once the sun sets there are more than one danger in these parts. Plus, you have a championship match to get to, and I would not suggest being late. Adios Senor, and buena suerte.” With that the car peeled off down the road. Lobo stood and watched as the dust trail slowly faded away till he was all alone. Mierda.
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Post by LankyLefty17 on Sept 8, 2020 12:44:00 GMT -8
La Guerra de Sangre Presents: Lucha POWER
Episode 5
“Hexagon Jr.”
Orig. Air Date: July 12th 2019“Please report to the office of Senor Paco Pequeno at once.” Hexagon Jr wasn’t worried. He was never worried. As one of the youngest world champions in recent lucha memory, Hexagon was used to pressure. He was able to deal with promoters of all types, including the ones that had a screw loose. So, when he found the letter in his locker ahead of a training session, Hexagon didn’t immediately think anything of it. But then again, I’ve never had a gun pointed at my head by a promoter either so…Hexagon made his way to the back of the locker room towards a large wooden door with a small plaque on it that read “Office.” He gave a firm knock. “Hola. Senor? Its Hexagon.” “Si. Adelante.” Hexagon entered the office to see Paco Pequeno seated behind a desk, with Dungeon Dominguez standing- arms folded- right next to him. It never ceased to amaze Hexagon how truly small Paco was. “Por favor. Please. Close the door.” Hexagon gave a curious look but did as he was told. If he was going to do something, it would probably be best to not have any witnesses. “Senor, you wanted to see me?” “Si si. Sit. We need to talk.” Hexagon’s gaze fell to Paco’s towering associate, who met Hexagon’s eyes and locked in. For a moment it seemed like the two might brawl right there. “Se calme. Ahora. I understand there is history Senor but that will have to wait. I have pressing business we must discuss.” “Business? The point a gun at your head kind of business?” “Por favor, you cannot still be upset about that. Besides, I do not believe that type of…correction… will be needed. We have a show in a couple of weeks and I need someone to announce the card to the rest of the roster. With El Macho no longer employed, I would like that to be you.” Hexagon gave a confused look. “Me? Por que?” “There are few people on this roster that are trustworthy enough to communicate to the rest of the roster, most are either putos or still loyal to Macho. I believe you to be neither of those.” “Why don’t you just do it yourself. Or get El Burro over here to do it for you.” Dungeon had not lifted his eyes from Hexagon, and now he unfolded his arms, hands clenched and ready. Hexagon was standing now as well, and while neither man had made a move towards the other, both seemed ready if the other made the first move. “Simply put Senor, because it would be unwise for me to approach the locker room at this time given recent developments, and Dungeon does not communicate with words. No, I think our best course of action is having you deliver the message. And I think you will accept my terms for doing so. Please sit.” “Terms?” “Of course. There are always terms. Senor Bonilla never operates without terms. Now, you have just recently lost an opportunity at La Mascara de Choque. But as a former Lucha POWER champion, it seems only appropriate that you get an opportunity at a rematch.” “Opportunity? What kind of opportunity?” “Excellente. I knew you would accept.” A rare smile crossed Paco’s face, and Hexagon knew he was hooked. Hex loved El Macho, even staying in Mexico despite dreams of catching on in the states because the old man asked him to stick around while his promotion got off the ground. But he also had bigger plans. Hexagon dreamed of being the biggest lucha star in the world. And he couldn’t do that by getting buried by a Mexican drug lord in a middle of nowhere promotion. He was stuck in this situation, and getting fired or quitting seemed to carry a bit of risk to one’s health. He might as well do what needed to be done to get his title back. Besides, how bad could it be to just relay the fucking card? “A future title opportunity, given you can win your next match.” “Fine….ok. What’s the card?” “Ahh, Si! Si, the card for Lucha POWER Especial: Quatro.” Paco was now beaming. What an odd little man. “Lucha La Barba vs Loco Dixon. We have not seen a singles match from either in quite some time, I am curious who is willing to step up- the man with the quick pins or the man with the weapons. You senor, you will face a new comer. Freshly signed Diego Guerrero- he is a promising young lucha and should be a good test for a potential championship challenger. And in el evento principal? ZDM vs Doctor Dorado and Los Terribles- Pantero Negro Jr and Lobo Muerte. I trust Lobo Muerte made it back home ok?” Barely. Rumor has it he spent a week in the hospital.“Si.” “Excellente. Both Cicatrices and Lobo are owed a match for Mascara de Choque, but that should not impact this show. In fact I expect this show will be even better than the last one!” “Si. Adios Senor. I will let the boys know.” “Senor Hexagon. One more thing por favor.” There was an ominous tone to Paco’s voice. “I gave El Macho a similar opportunity when I initially took this position. He learned the hard way that my generosity comes at a cost. I suspect you will not want to know what happens if you lose your match. Vayase de aqui. I have other matters to attend.” Hexagon left the room, closing the door behind him. Dread set in after a moment. What have I signed myself up for?The card for Lucha POWER Especial Quatro: July 26thLucha La Barba vs Loco Dixon Hexegon Jr. vs Diego Guerrero ZDM vs Doctor Dorado and Los Terribles (Pantero Negro Jr. and Lobo Muerte)
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Post by LankyLefty17 on Sept 8, 2020 12:45:30 GMT -8
La Guerra de Sangre: A Lucha Libre Telenovela
Season 2, Episode 12
"Two Run-Ins With Casimiro"
Orig. Air Date: June 15, 2019Having been identified as top draws for the company, Concepcion Schultz and La Luciernaga were about to work their fifth tag team program together that week as the La Guerra roster toured the southern states of Mexico in a strenuous string of house shows arranged by Mr. Bonilla. By now, their pre-match ritual had become a matter of routine, so that neither needed reminding of it. They simply met at Concepcion’s locker like clockwork before heading out to their matches, each pricking a fingertip with a sewing needle and offering up a few droplets of blood to the strange wooden owl. But this evening that ritual was interrupted. While La Luciernaga waved a hand over the owl’s head, the door to the dressing room suddenly swung open. Concepcion instinctively kicked shut her locker door, crushing Luci’s arm. She reflexively yanked it out and stood there rubbing at the bruise forming around her elbow. In the doorway stood three very voluptuous and also very vacuous-looking women in bikinis. Behind them, a fat, sweaty, greasy, hairy guy in a sickeningly small pair of pink trunks ushered the girls in. It was... Casimiro Olmeida, also known as El Adonis for reasons unknown since he was absolutely hideous to look at. Concepcion Schultz cleared her throat. “Excuse me? This is the ladies’ changing room, so while they may be welcome to come in, you are not.” “Hey, calm down, chickie. Okay? Nothing in here I haven’t seen before,” he said in gruff, dismissive voice. Concepcion moved toward the door, blocking his way. “I don’t think you understood me,” she said, getting into a fighting stance. “I said: you are not welcome in here.” Casimiro looked her up and down and snorted. Ignoring the angry luchadora in his face, he turned to the three bikini girls. “You ladies be oiled up and ready in twenty minutes for my match. I’ll be back to get you.” He turned back to Concepcion, ogling her up and down once more. Then he rather distastefully mumbled mmm mmm mmm, then kissed his fingers like a chef pleased with a tasty dish, which is what he was not-so-subtly implying that she was. “You know, you’re pretty delicious-looking yourself, mami,” Casimiro said, waggling his eyebrows suggestively. “You play your cards right, and maybe one day I’ll let you join my harem as well. I think masked chicks are pretty hot.” And with that disgusting aside, he blew a sarcastic kiss and left the room. From what little of Concepcion’s face showed around her mask, La Luciernaga could see it had flushed a furious shade of red. But she quickly pulled herself together, and the two luchadoras approached the three bikini girls. “You ladies actually like that creep?” La Luciernaga asked them incredulously. The girls all raised their eyebrows in alarm, then giggled. “No, no,” one of them explained. “But being his valet is better than being dirt poor and working the street corners, you know? He treats us poorly, but at least he pays us well.” Concepcion and Luci grimaced, then turned to each other. Then they both looked toward the locker, inside of which hid their mystical owl trinket. They appeared to be thinking precisely the same thing. “Why don’t you girls come over here?” Concepcion said, waving them over to her locker. “We have something we need to show you.” * * * * * Half an hour later and Casimiro Olmeida was manhandling some poor jobber in the ring, the unenthusiastic crowd in attendance dozing through it. His three even less enthusiastic-looking, scantily-clad ring girls stood by his corner, inspecting their fingernails and tousling their hair and yawning. Suddenly, a curious murmur spread through the crowd and many audience members rose to their feet to get a better look at the cause of the commotion. Two women were marching down to the ring. It was Concepcion Schultz and La Luciernaga. Poder Femenino. The crowd popped. They arrived at ringside, standing shoulder-to-shoulder with the three bikini girls, who appeared to be expecting them. Casimiro laid the jobber out with a tremendous lariat, then turned and spotted the five angry-looking females glaring at him from the outside. “What is the meaning of this?” he shouted at Concepcion and Luci. Then a cheeky grin spread across his sweaty face. “You ladies decided to join my harem already?” Concepcion scoffed. La Luciernaga shook her head grimly. “These women are coming with us,” Concepcion declared, gesturing toward the bikini girls. “You have a harem no longer.” All five ladies turned to head backstage, but Casimiro cried out to them. “Margarita! Alejandra! Yolanda! Get your sexy asses back here! I command you!” The three bikini girls halted in their tracks. Luci and Concepcion looked dismayed as one of them - Alejandra - turned and walked back toward the ring. Casimiro began to grin again, pleased to see he still had persuasive power over women. Alejandra climbed onto the apron. Casimiro approached her. “I knew I could count on you to be a good girl,” Casimiro said. “You know you need a real man to take care of-” Out of nowhere, Alejandra reared back and unloaded an extraordinarily loud, smacking slap across Casimiro’s face. He staggered backward and the jobber he’d completely forgotten about grabbed a fistful of spandex and rolled him up in a schoolboy pin. Casimiro kicked his legs frantically but he was simply too stunned by what had just transpired, and the referee slapped the mat three times and called for the bell. The previously asleep crowd jeered and hooted. There were high-fives all around for Alejandra as she rejoined the other women. Casimiro ran around the ring, angrily bouncing the top rope, kicking the bottom rope, and tugging at his ratty fro in frustration. Before disappearing with the other ladies backstage, Concepcion Schultz turned and blew him a kiss.
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Post by LankyLefty17 on Sept 8, 2020 12:47:08 GMT -8
LA GUERRA:
LA SEGUNDA TEMPORADA
NIGHT FOUR CARD
Date TBD; sometime next week
TAG TEAM MATCH
LOS ARBOLES
(Sicomoro y Oro de Acapulco)
VS
ZDM
(Exposito y El Descosido) La Guerra’s two top tag teams square off to start things. Both teams here are comprised of similar parts: a big brutish badass alongside a flashy high-flyer. Will everyone’s favorite anti-heroes be able to take down the two trees and turn them into two zapatos de madera themselves, or will Sicomoro and Oro somehow be able to steal a win away from the masters of stealing away wins?
MIXED SINGLES MATCH
CONCEPCION SCHULTZ
VS
El Adonis
CASIMIRO OLMEIDA After an unpleasant altercation earlier in the week in which Concepcion and her Poder Femenino teammate La Luciernaga took exception to the misogynistic ways of El Adonis and liberated his “harem” of objectified bikini girls, Casimiro is out for revenge. He has issued a challenge to the half-German half-Argentinian phenom, and - never afraid to stand up to a man - Concepcion Schultz has enthusiastically accepted his offer to settle their squabble in the squared circle.
* * * MAIN EVENT * * *To determine the owner of the illustrious… Lucha POWER’s Fiercest FighterLOBO MUERTEVSThe Ace of La Guerra de SangreCICATRICES As was the case during his miraculous run on season one, it seems that winning the top title in La Guerra is simply a matter of destiny for the company’s top star Cicatrices. After losing the illustrious mask under extremely questionable circumstances on the season two premier, Cicatrices has dutifully clawed all the way back into contention. Now, there stands only one obstacle between him and the most coveted prize in lucha libre… but it is a rather formidable obstacle indeed. As of late, Lobo Muerte has been among the hottest wrestlers on the planet. However, he comes into the match with a lot on his mind after being roughed up by Dungeon Dominguez and Paco Pequeno and stranded in the desert earlier in the week. Will Lobo Muerte be able to focus and string together a winning effort, or is the inevitability of fate simply on Cicatrices’ side?
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Post by LankyLefty17 on Sept 8, 2020 12:47:59 GMT -8
La Guerra de Sangre Presents: Lucha POWER
Episode 6
“Warriorversary”
Orig. Air Date: July 29th 2019
Programming note. This episode takes place the night of Warriorversary, hours after the show had concluded… Sitting in Tank McDaniel’s office, it was hard not to stare at the walls. Tank was obviously the sentimental type, the walls covered in pro wrestling history. There was a framed picture of Tank’s first championship over Baron von Baron back in the Texas territories. There was a picture of him and his brother, Gorilla McDaniel, wrestling in a tag match for now defunct World Federation of Wrestling. There was Tank’s framed lucha mask the first time he appeared in Lucha POWER. Countless pictures of stars from all over the world, covering all kinds of promotions both past and present. It was a painful reminder to El Macho of all he had lost. “You looked 20 years younger out there Hector.” Tank was one of the only people in the business that referred to El Macho by his non-lucha name. “Si. El Macho felt like a man made of steel tonight. It was a glorious match against strong opponents.” Both men were still in their wrestling gear, stained with blood from their physical match. The show had ended hours ago but the two old war horses had continued their tradition of sharing a bottle of tequila anytime they had a match together. El Macho got up from his chair and poured the remains of the bottle into two glasses, handing one over to Tank. The return decent to his chair reminded Macho that he was not in fact made of steel. As the adrenaline continued to wear off, the realities of his age were starting to creep back in. In the corner, a TV that had been broadcasting Warriorversary played an ad for the upcoming La Guerra show, announcing the main event of Cicatrices vs Lucha POWER’s own Lobo Muerte. Sensing the awkwardness, Tank grabbed the remote and turned the TV off. “Think Lobo has a chance in that one?” “Si. Lobo is a future champion. But maybe he is not ready for Cicatrices, who is in his prime. It will be an excellent match. I will be pulling for Lobo Muerte…” Macho’s mind trailed off to his last moments in Lucha POWER, which unceremoniously ended with a chair shot to the head. But as he recalled the memory, it wasn’t Dungeon he saw swinging, but rather Sal de Roca, his former friend. “So what’s the plan now Hector? You gonna go back to Mexico? You know you’re more than welcome to stick around here in San Jose. Warrior Pro could always use more guys like you. We’re filled with young kids who think they know how it is, would be good to have a few more guys from the old days to keep them in line.” Macho took a long sip from his glass and contemplated the offer. The reality was, he hadn’t thought about his next move. A trip to California to clear his head turned into a match offer from Tank. He was enjoying being around a wrestling promotion that didn’t have gun toting maniacs walking around at all times (though he had noted to steer clear of that Machine Gun fella). But he had unfinished business in Mexico, and at some point staying in the states felt like running away. “El Macho appreciates your offer amigo. You have been a good friend for many years. We have done good business together. But I cannot stay here. El Macho is needed in Mexico. My dream, since as long as I remember, was to own my own promotion. To run my own shows, my way. That cabron, Bonilla, has stolen that from El Macho. That bendejo, Sal, has taken that from me. I must return to take back what is mine.” Tank sat in silence for a minute, seemingly taking in what El Macho had to say. “If you need help Hector, you don’t even need to ask. I owe a large part of what I have today to you. Whatever it is- money, muscle, ugh bourbon. Damn I never could get use to this stuff.” He eyeballed his glass with curious contempt. “I’m hear to help.” “Gracias amigo. But no, I cannot ask you for this. El Macho must figure this out for himself. El Macho stood up and finished his glass before slowly making his way to the door, his joints now annoyingly stiff. “Now I must leave you, I have a cold shower and a warm bed to get to.” “Hector. You don’t have to go to war by yourself. Remember you got people on your side.” “I know. Gracias. We shall speak soon.” As he closed the door behind him, Tanks parting works stuck in his head. Instinctively he reached for his phone. Texts from countless former employees were present, most sending congrats on his match. Macho scrolled through, smiling. Then he navigated to his phonebook and paused, suddenly second guessing his next move. Maldita he whispered to himself before placing a call. It took a few rings before the person on the other side of the phone picked up. “What the fuck do you want?” “Senor Harley. We need to speak.”
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Post by LankyLefty17 on Sept 8, 2020 12:49:15 GMT -8
La Guerra de Sangre Presents: Lucha POWER
Episode 7
“Especial Quatro”
Orig. Air Date: August 7th 2019Paco Pequeno was feeling great. Perhaps the best he’s felt since Senor Bonilla put him in charge of Lucha POWER. Sure- there had been some bumps along the way, but as he addressed the locker room ahead of the promotion’s second special event since taking over, he could feel the sense of order overtaking the room. Paco could taste the submission. This was true power. He had been worried walking into the building that Los Terribles- Pantero Negro Jr and Lobo Muerte- would be waiting ready for revenge for what Paco had done to Lobo. When he didn’t see them he worried the two would no show all together, and torpedo the main event just for spite. But when he entered the locker room, he saw both quietly talking in a corner. When he addressed the group, both stared quietly without a sound. Maybe Paco’s hardline tactics really were paying dividends. If he could pull off a smooth show… Paco was already dreaming of the possibilities. As he finished up his speech, he returned to his office to watch the first match… Loco Dixon vs Lucha La BarbaQuick Results: The crowd didn’t know what to make of this match. Loco flailing about trying to knock LLB’s head off, while La Barba skillfully avoided the majority of the offense and eventually rolled up Loco when he wasn’t looking for one of his now trademark early finishes.
Winner: Lucha La Barba
Rating: ** Walking to the locker room, Loco Dixon was fuming. His dream, ever since he started wrestling in backyards and rundown indy deathmatch promotions, was to work for a real company full time. The fact that Lucha POWER, a promotion he grew up watching in his parents Santa Fe apartment, was the company that offered him this chance was the single greatest thing to ever happen to him. But that high had slowly disappeared as week after week went by without getting booked. Until tonight. And he blew it. To his horror, as he got to the locker room, he was greeted by Paco Pequeno, who was in stiches he was laughing so hard. “You. You muchacho’s are fucking hilarious. That match, was fucking hilarious! Have you ever wrestled before Senior Loco? Where exactly did that fatass El Macho find you? Seriously. And you! Senior…LUCHA La Barba! Aqui Senor.” Hesitant, La Barba walked over. “Oh… Hola. Como..Esta?” “Cut the shit Senor La Barba. Your in fucking Mexico. Everyone knows you can’t speak a lick of Spanish.” Loco Dixon had never seen Paqueno so brazen. He even appeared to be a bit drunk. “You two. You two are perfect for each other. From now on, you two are a tag team. Si.. Los Gringos de Tontos. Now get the fuck out of here before I fire you both.” Hexagon Jr. vs Diego GuerreroQuick Results: A highly entertaining debut for Diego, who tool the former Lucha POWER champion to the limit in a thrilling back and forth match. In the end though it was Hexagon Jr who would hit the Three Amigos followed by a running rollup to get the win.
Winner: Hexagon Jr.
Rating: **** Pantero Negro and Lobo Muerte sat huddled together talking strategy when Doctor Dorado approached. The scene was eery to Dorado, who was accustomed to the lucha cousins either picking fights with others in the locker room or, if no one else was around, each other. But all afternoon they had been calm and quiet, and it was freaking Dorado out- he needed the rowdy, rudo demons. He needed Los Terrribles if they had a chance against ZDM, and in particular, that fat rudo El Descosido. “How are we tonight eh? We ready to grind the ZDM into dust?” “You don’t have to worry about nothing Dorado. Lobo and me are always ready. That little puto put a gun to my cousin’s head. Now he walks around like his dick is 5 feet long swinging it at everyone. We’ll be ready. We’ll be ready for everything.” Pantero put a hand on Dorado’s shoulder before walking past him towards the ring. Lobo proceeded to follow before stopping and turning back to Dorado. “Dorado. Cicatrices is mine. Stay clear.” ZDM vs Los Terribles & Doctor DoradoQuick Results: A wild action packed match that saw all 6 men brawl the entire match. El Camino, the ref could barely keep a handle on everything that was going on. In the end Pantero Negro caught Cicatrices in an elevated Boston Crab deep in his own corner and ZDM was unable to make the save.
Winner: Los Terribles & Doctor Dorado
Rating: ***** Paco threw the tequila glass across the room in a fit of rage. The joy from earlier in the night had completely vanished. What the fuck is going on??? The match ending had been frustrating enough- Bonilla was going to have his head letting La Guerra’s champion lose in a 6 man- but the post-match spectacle was turning into an all out riot. Immediately after the bell rang announcing Doctor Dorado & Los Terribles the winners, all 6 men proceeded to immediately start a full-scale brawl. Pantero re-applied the elevated crab to Cicatrices. Everyone else was throwing haymakers and going for weapons. Dozens of security were barely able to move the wrestlers to the back, but as Paco made his way to the locker room with Dungeon Dominguez, he could see the brawl had not subsided. “Fuck you!” “Fuck me??? FUCK YOU!” “ENOUGH.” Paco’s words were drowned in the mayhem, and soon Dungeon was contributing, throwing punches in an attempt to protect Paco. It failed. Eventually an errant (or more likely intentional) punch sent him crashing to the ground. The room quieted instantly as Dungeon helped him too his feet. “THIS. This cannot stand.” “FUCK you puto.” Paco braced himself as Pantero marched right at Paco, ready to add to the already sizable welt from the first punch he’d taken. At the last minute though, Dungeon stepped into Pantero’s path. “Move.” Dungeon stayed silent, but it was very apparent his intentions were to stay exactly where he was standing. “You do not want to be added to my list man. One more time. Move.” Before anyone could do anything, Nightmare Clown- who had at some point entered the room during all the commotion- grabbed Panteros arm, swung him around and struck him with a light tube so hard that it exploded into dust, and sent the rudo unconscious to the ground bleeding badly from the head. The room, paralyzed by shock, stood motionless as Nightmare walked out. When he was gone the room began to return to its riot state, but before anyone could do anything Paco pulled a gun out of his jacket and fired three rounds into the air. “Gentlemen. This behavior leaves me very disappointed. If I could, I would fire all 6 of you on the spot. As it is, Lobo and ZDM are already booked for La Guerra. I could fire you Doctor Dorado- but what message am I sending. No…” Paco got to one knee and pulled a shard of glass out of an unconscious Pantero’s forehead. “Someone tell Pantero when he wakes up that he is no longer employed with Lucha POWER.” MEANWHILE BACK IN THE STATES…El Macho’s knees were barking as he exited the penthouse and started walking down the streets of San Francisco. He had, for the first time in a long while, a sense of hope. A couple of teenage boys stopped to take a picture with him. They don’t know who I am, they just see the mask and assume. As he was finishing up the last selfie with someone wearing a Santana Wrestling t-shirt, his phone began to ring. “Hola. Si. Si, he’s in. Calm down amigo. Si, si. ASAP amigo, do not worry.”
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Post by LankyLefty17 on Sept 8, 2020 12:50:05 GMT -8
La Guerra de Sangre: A Lucha Libre Telenovela
Season 2, Episode 13
"Night Four"
Orig. Air Date: August 10, 2019LA GUERRA
SEASON TWO : NIGHT FOUR
Live from Chilpancingo
With the locker room perpetually in turmoil thanks to the tyrannical leadership of notorious drug kingpin Adalberto Bonilla, the men and women of La Guerra take to the ring for yet another night of lucha libre action with a now-familiar cloud of uncertainty hanging over their heads. Although the absorption of the Lucha POWER roster into the company continues to cause friction backstage, most wrestlers from the two companies have arrived at an uneasy truce with one another, being more interested in self-preservation and surviving Bonilla's volatile ownership than in squabbling with one another. But will tensions between the two groups flair up once again as both companies' top stars face off to finally decide who will hold the long-vacant Mascara de Choque title, in a match considered by many to symbolize the ongoing struggle between the promotions? Since dropping the title under dubious circumstances on the season opener, Cicatrices has clawed his way back into the MDC title scene, but can he seal the deal against the toughest opponent he's come up against in his career, Lobo Muerte? Find out next on La Guerra de Sangre: Night Number Four!
PROLOGUEA dark, rural airstrip late at night. A steady, unrelenting rain poured from the sky and the wind howled. On a map it may have been described as a regional airport, but it was in fact just a single narrow, poorly-maintained stripe of concrete out in the middle of nowhere, with a rusty Quonset hut standing off to the side for the drunkard who passed himself off as the air traffic controller to nap in. The only lights around were those that lined the runway to aid incoming aircraft in finding this remote, rinky dink landing strip. A shadowy figure stood alone out on the empty tarmac next to a Cadillac Escalade, a pink shock of hair whipping around in the wind over his head. After a few moments, a low hum could be heard far off in the distance. It soon swelled to a sputtering, chugging roar as a small single-engine aircraft approached from over the top of some nearby hills. The tiny plane banked around in the air a few times like an old dog trying to find the most comfortable way to sit down, then finally arrived on the potholed landing strip and came to a halt right in front of the mysterious man and his SUV waiting on the ground. The small Cessna cut its engines. The man on the tarmac approached the plane with a strange shuffling gait, and an even stranger sound escaping his lips that accompanied his every move. Toca toca toca toca.The side hatch of the airplane opened. A tall, muscular, long-haired silhouette appeared in the doorway. The man on the ground pushed some pink hair out of his eyes and grinned, a big goofy grin that showed an impressive set of buck teeth. “Hola, David.”
3-ON-3 TAG TEAM MATCH; LUCHA LIBRE RULES
LOS ULTIMOS
Ultimo Grande, Penultimo y Ultimita
VS
TEAM TECNICO
Tiburanha, Super Mohan y Alhambra
THE NOSY JANITOR SEES SOMETHING HE SHOULD NOT HAVE
The janitor was new on the job, and still hadn’t quite memorized the layout of the inside of the arena. Hopelessly lost in his search for a certain broom closet, he found himself trying every door he came across in a dimly lit hallway somewhere backstage. Finally, he found a door that was unlocked and threw it open, hoping to see some mops and a few brooms. Instead, he found two men seated at a card table, glaring at each other in stony silence.
It was one of the referees, Skip Pimentel, perhaps the most highly respected ref in wrestling, famous for being a fair and just arbiter of matches. Across from him sat an extraordinarily short little bald-headed fellow. The janitor recognized him as Paco Pequeno, Mr. Bonilla’s right-hand man. In his right hand was a well-polished silver pistol, pointed directly at the referee across the table. Only after the janitor noticed the firearm did he also note the beads of perspiration dotting Skip Pimentel’s forehead.
Both men turned their heads and stared silently at the janitor. Skip looked scared. Paco looked only mildly annoyed. He swung the gun around and aimed it at the janitor.
“You’re interrupting a very important discussion, senor,” Paco said flatly. “Please excuse yourself.”
The janitor could hardly slam the door shut quickly enough and scampered away down the hall and out of the building through the first emergency exit he came across, never to return to the job.
TAG TEAM MATCH; LUCHA LIBRE RULES
LOS ARBOLES
Sicomoro y Oro de Acapulco
VS
ZDM
El Descosido y Exposito
MEDICS RUSH TO THE RING
Exposito writhed around on the mat, clutching at his elbow. His cousin El Descosido and the referee Notorio rushed over to attend to him as Los Arboles celebrated their surprising victory nearby. Oro de Acapulco, who had applied the armbar that caused that sickening snapping sound, did not seem at all concerned for the man whose excruciating agony he’d caused. EMTs arrived in the ring and could see immediately by the improbable angle in which Exposito’s arm bent beneath the elbow that his injury was a serious one, and he was rushed out of the arena and to a hospital.
INTERGENDER MATCH
'El Adonis'
CASIMIRO OLMEIDA
VS
CONCEPCION SCHULTZ
SPLIT-SCREEN SEGMENT
MR. BONILLA ALONE IN HIS OFFICE
and
A NEWCOMER LAYS DOWN A CHALLENGE...La Guerra’s owner, evil drug lord Adalberto Bonilla, sat alone in the big room backstage he’d claimed as his office, enjoying a large cigar while watching the event unfolding out in the arena on a closed-circuit television. They were currently between matches, but his mind was already on the main event that was up next. Laying on the tabletop before Bonilla was the item that Lobo Muerte and Cicatrices would be fighting over in that match; the illustrious Mascara de Choque. The highest prize in lucha libre. He still didn’t get it. Why was everyone so interested in getting their hands on this tattered old mask? Obsessed may have been the better word. Bonilla understood it was a fairly important piece of professional wrestling history, the mask of the most dominant rudo in Mexican history and all. But people acted as though the mask had some sort of mystical properties. As though it were the Holy Grail. And that is just ridiculous, Bonilla thought. As unimpressed as he was with the mask, Bonilla had to admit that whenever he was around it, he felt an irresistible urge to put the ugly old thing on. Realizing in a few minutes he’d need to hand that mask over to officials so they could in turn present it to the victor of the main event, he took the opportunity to slip it on one last time. As he pulled the mask over the top of his head, the lights in his office - and unbeknownst to him, throughout the entire venue - began to flicker wildly…. * * * * * * * * * * Peering through a small gap in the curtain, a young luchadora watched Concepcion Schultz celebrate in the ring over the battered body of her defeated opponent Casimiro Olmeida. She took a deep breath, preparing herself to step out through that curtain and face the La Guerra fans for the very first time, to rain on Concepcion Schultz’s parade. She put her hand on the flap and waited for her entrance theme to sound over the PA, her signal to move. Suddenly, the lights everywhere in the arena cut out. The crowd hooted in anticipation. It caught the luchadora off-guard, as this additional theatrical flare had not been discussed with her by the lighting engineer or anyone else. Shrugging, she decided to roll with it. A lights-out entrance was a tried and true way of making a dramatic arrival in pro-wrestling. She heaved the curtain aside, and through the pitch blackness that enshrouded the arena she marched down to the ring… * * * * * * * * * * “What in the flying fuck is going around here?” Mr. Bonilla shouted as he clawed desperately at the laces on the back of the mask, sitting in complete darkness in his office. He tried to tell himself that what had just happened hadn’t, well, just happened. But it had. When he’d slipped that mask on and the lights had cut out, Bonilla heard an odd whoosh behind his head as the laces of the mask seemed to pull themselves as taut as they could possibly be pulled. There was an intense and seemingly endless tightening of the mask around his head, like he was being crushed by a boa constrictor. Bonilla was having difficulty breathing, and he struggled mightily to jam a few fingers under the bottom of the mask to keep it from crushing his windpipe. “HELP!” Bonilla cried. “SOMEBODY HEEEEEEEELP!” Thudding footsteps hurried down the hall. The door flew open and his masked henchmen Los Ultimos came rushing into the dark room in a panic, expecting to be faced with a group of rival cartel members, probably in the act of assassinating their boss. They were perplexed to find Bonilla alone at his desk, clawing crazily at the mask over his head. “Mr. Bonilla!” Ultimita cried, sounding shaken. “What is wrong, senor?” The lights flickered wildly for a moment, then burned steadily once again. They could see through the holes in the mask that Mr. Bonilla’s face had turned a sickly shade of blue, and his eyeballs were red and bulging. “Get… this… fucking… mask.... off of me!” Bonilla gasped, pointing frantically to his head. * * * * * * * * * * Conveniently, the lights came back on the moment she hit the ring. Concepcion Schultz and La Luciernaga whirled around at the sound of her stepping through the ropes and met her in the middle of the mat, the referee kindly supplying microphones. “Everywhere I go, I hear a lot of talk about you, Ms. Schultz. How great you are. How revolutionary of a luchadora you are. How you deserve to be battling at the top tier of La Guerra with all the men. How you might well be the first female to hold the top title in lucha libre one day. Well I’ll tell you one thing, Concepcion: You don’t impress me particularly much.” The crowd booed the newcomer, having become firm fans of Concepcion Scultz over the past few weeks. Concepcion and La Luciernaga turned to each other and made a sarcastic show of being hurt by the stranger’s remarks. Concepcion raised her microphone. “Your words wound me deeply, strange lady that nobody’s ever seen or heard of. So who the hell are you, exactly, and what do you want?” The mysterious luchadora smirked. “Me llamo Baronesa, and I'm sick to death of hearing about how amazing and perfect Concepcion Schultz is. And I’ve heard you complaining about the lack of female talent here in La Guerra, the lack of quality competition for you to go up against. I know you’ve been bitching to the boss about how he should hire some more women. Let that be a lesson to you: be careful what you wish for, Concepcion. It just might come true. La Baronesa is here now. And I challenge you to a match.” The crowd ooohed and aaahed and waited with great anticipation for Concepcion to respond. “I consider myself to be a feminist, and I typically have a policy of not committing violence against my fellow women,” Concepcion said as she put her hands on her hips, shaking her head disapprovingly at Baronesa. “But for you… I’ll make an exception. You’re on.” * * * * * * * * * * Little Ultimita ran behind Bonilla and started yanking at the laces as his brother Ultimo Grande and father Penultimo stood guard by the door. He tried his damnedest, at one point putting his foot on the seat back for leverage and truly pulling with all his might, but the laces wouldn’t budge even an inch and Mr. Bonilla was getting angry about having his head jerked around violently. “Um… you guys?” Ultimita said, looking at his brother and father pleadingly. They joined him behind the boss and each tried their hand at removing the mask, but it felt as though it had been cemented to Bonilla’s head. They didn’t know what to do. An official appeared in the doorway, there to pick up the mask to bring to ringside for the main event which was due to begin in a matter of moments. Bonilla gave the mask one more forceful jerk and felt like it might rip his face clean off his skull, so he relented. “Do any of you have a spare mask in your locker?” a defeated-sounding Bonilla asked Los Ultimos. They nodded. Bonilla tilted his head toward the official. “Then go get it, and give it to this guy.”
Tonight's Main Event
* * * MASCARA DE CHOQUE TITLE MATCH * * *
LOBO MUERTE
VS
CICATRICES
IN THE AFTERMATH OF THE MAIN EVENTThe crowd roared in near-hysterical jubilance. Cicatrices had won! The mask would finally be returned to its rightful owner!
Lobo Muerte clambered to his feet and got in the referees face, chastising him for not throwing out the match after the interferences from both his enemy El Descosido and his ally Doctor Dorado. He was particularly angry about how long the ref had allowed him to be double-teamed by the ZDM boys. Skip Pimentel, ordinarily a very firm and forceful figure who never showed fear in the face of upset wrestlers, looked sheepish and apologetic and kept saying something about his hands being tied. Eventually, Lobo had enough of Skip’s excuses and clocked the referee with a vicious elbow, sending him tumbling out of the ring. Lobo followed him outside and proceeded to put the boots to him out on the floor.
Inside the ring, Cicatrices climbed the corners, raising his arms in the air and celebrating along to the raucous cheers of the crowd. Since the referee was currently getting the crap kicked out of him, the ring announcer climbed in to present Cicatrices with his prize instead. For some reason, he looked more than a little reluctant to do so.
Cicatrices joined the ring announcer in the middle of the ring, and had his wrist raised in victory. “Ladies and gentlemen, your winner… and the new, two-time Mascara de Choque champion… CICATRIIIIIIIIIIICEEEEEEEEES!”
The crowd roared. The ring announcer thrust the mask, wadded up into a tight ball, into Cicatrices’ hands and exited the ring as quickly as he could. Cicatrices unfurled the mask and was about to raise it over his head in triumph, but suddenly stopped and stared down at what he was holding in his hands in utter disbelief.
It was not La Mascara de Choque at all. It was just some cheap, neoprene mask, the kind you could get at a flea market for only a few pesos. It looked quite a lot like the mask the midget jobber Ultimita often wore to the ring. The screaming fans all fell silent instantaneously as Cicatrices threw it down on the mat in disgust.
“BONILLAAAAAAAA!” Cicatrices cried angrily, and stomped on the mask several times before abandoning it in the middle of the ring and running backstage, looking as though he might be angry enough to kill somebody.
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Post by LankyLefty17 on Sept 8, 2020 12:52:05 GMT -8
La Guerra de Sangre: A Lucha Libre Telenovela
Season 2, Episode 14
"The Rematch"
Orig. Air Date: August 19, 2019AFTER WE WENT OFF THE AIR FOLLOWING LAST WEEK'S SHOW... Cicatrices raged through the locker room like a furious tornado, upturning tables, kicking flight cases, tossing security staff around, and blazing a trail of destruction throughout the backstage area. He finally made his way down the dark dingy hallway leading to Bonilla’s office and wasted no time kicking the door down, splintered wood spraying through the air every which way. Inside the office, all three of Los Ultimos plus Sal de Roca were standing around looking alarmed, but not just because of Cicatrices’ startling entrance. They were clearly concerned about something that had transpired before he’d even arrived, but what that was remained a mystery. For some strange reason, Bonilla was sitting in his big leather office chair behind his desk, pointing away from everyone, facing into the corner like a bad little boy on time out. He stayed slumped down in his seat so that all anyone could see of him was white-knuckled hands clenching the armrests. “ WHERE’S MY MASK, BONILLA!” Cicatrices cried and tried to vault over the desk but Los Ultimos swarmed and managed to restrain him after a short scuffle. Unbeknownst to everyone but Bonilla, something strange happened when Cicatrices entered the room. The Mascara de Choque, which Bonilla was still wearing and had up to this point proven to be impossible to remove, suddenly went slightly slack. He reached up and attempted to remove the mask off but it still felt glued to his skin, but at the very least it was not nearly as suffocating as it had been. From the backside of his head, Bonilla could hear a whoosh whoosh whoosh similar to what he’d heard earlier when he’d foolishly put the mask on... except this time the laces of the mask were loosening themselves. Just as things with Cicatrices seemed to settle down a bit, an equally irate-looking Lobo Muerte came charging into the room, loudly demanding a rematch while trying to lunge over Bonilla’s desk as well, and another brief brouhaha broke out. Eventually Sal and Ultimo Grande managed to restrain him while the other two stayed with Cicatrices, and things eventually calmed down about as much as was possible given the tense circumstances. Through all of it, Bonilla remained silent, hidden behind the tall back of his chair as he continued to face away from everyone. When Lobo had entered the room, the laces of La Mascara de Choque loosened themselves all the more rapidly. Bonilla tugged at the mask again, and while it still was stuck firmly to his face, for the first time since slipping it on he seemed to be making real progress toward peeling it back off again. Lobo pleaded his case first. “It’s an absolute disgrace for the Mascara de Choque champion to be crowned in such a sloppy, shameful match! Your referee was all too happy to allow me to be double teamed to ensure that the preferred La Guerra guy won, and I won’t stand for it, damn it! I demand a fair fight!” Even Cicatrices seemed sympathetic. Like all luchadors, he held La Mascara in such high regard that it certainly seemed an affront to the legendary Choque to have his mask change hands in such an undignified manner. The mask could only be won fairly and squarely, and when it wasn’t, bad things happened. The Avispa de Alameda’s churro-cart collision and cracked coccyx was a fine example of the phenomenon. “If he wants a rematch, he can have one,” Cicatrices said. “But I don’t trust any of his Lucha POWER pals to be able to keep from sticking their big noses where they don’t belong. Nor can I guarantee that my brothers in ZDM will be able to prevent themselves from rushing to my defense if any Lucha POWER pendejos try any funny business. For this reason, I propose a stipulation to prevent such problems from arising in the first place.” Lobo Muerte looked intrigued. Although they couldn’t see him, everyone in the room was aware that Bonilla was listening intently. “A cage match,” Cicatrices said. “Nobody gets in and nobody gets out, until the matter of La Mascara’s ownership is settled, once and for all.” Lobo grinned. So did Cicatrices. Sal de Roca and Los Ultimos all nodded thoughtfully; it seemed like a sound idea to them. Finally, a hand went up from behind Bonilla’s chair: a thumbs-up. For the first time since this impromptu meeting had convened, he broke his silence and spoke. “Consider it booked,” Bonilla said, sounding as though he was in a hurry to appease the men and send them on their way again. But Bonilla was never in such a big hurry that it hindered his shrewd business sense. “However, I’m not giving away a rematch of this magnitude for free, so this one won’t be on next week’s house show. No no. This match, Lobo Muerte versus Cicatrices numero dos, in a cage for the Mascara de Choque… will headline our season finale: SANGREMANIA!” Cicatrices and Lobo turned to each other, both grinning hungrily. They exchanged fiery glares and a firm, respectful handshake before leaving. With them out of his hair, Bonilla turned back to his most immediately pressing concern: the thing stuck on his head. The mask felt looser than it had at any point that evening, and Bonilla gave it one final, forceful rip. The lights in the room started to flicker, gently at first but strobing more rapidly by the second as the mask peeled off of his face with a grotesque sound, like someone pulling a strap of duct tape from a roll. Bonilla groaned in agony but kept on peeling as Los Ultimos and Sal simply looked on in horror. And when the mask finally came off of Bonilla’s face completely, it took a considerable amount of his skin with it, and the lights burned steadily again.
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Post by LankyLefty17 on Sept 8, 2020 12:52:33 GMT -8
La Guerra de Sangre Presents: Lucha POWER
Episode 8
“Rumors”
Orig. Air Date: August 20th 2019Fuck its quiet.Lobo Muerte sat in front of his locker reflecting on the past couple of weeks and noticed that the Lucha POWER section of the locker room was remarkably empty. It had only been a couple months ago that his cousin and him were playing cards, joking with the entire roster, and actively wondering what the merger of two of the oldest lucha companies in Mexico would mean. And now? El Macho, Viper Lopez, and his cousin- Pantero Negro- were all fired. Hexagon was never around. Doctor Dorado was laying low after interfering in Lobo’s match. Fearing retribution from Bonilla probably thought Lobo. Even Dungeon Dominguez was absent, off with that snake Paco Pequeno looking into David Harley rumors. Lobo’s eyes moved to his gym bag, where the handle of a gun sat partially exposed. His mind wandered back to that afternoon in the desert with Paco and Dungeon, then to last week when again Paco pointed a gun at him. There will not be a third time, that’s for sure, he thought. Lobo was fully intent on killing the next man to point a gun in his face. “Senior Lobo! Que pasa amigo!” “Fuck off Sal.” Sal de Roca was a lumbering lucha, and the fact that he had entered the room without Lobo noticing startled him. But he wasn’t in the mood for whatever Sal wanted, which was likely a favor or an order from Bonilla. Besides being a grade A bootlicker, Sal’s double cross of El Macho was the reason Lucha POWER was in this dump, and why Lobo needed to carry around a gun in the first place. “Ahh come on, don’t be like that. You know, that took some cojones walking into El Hefe’s office and demand a rematch. For El Masque too! You’re a real tough guy now aren’t you? Say, where’s that primo of yours?” “None of your fucking business culon. You need something, spit it out or vete al carajo. I don’t have time for this.” Something was wrong, Lobo could tell. Despite the tough talk Sal seemed agitated. He kept surveying the room like he expected to find something- or someone- in the shadows of the locker room. “Ok ok, sheesh. You Lucha POWER guys are all dicks, no wonder you all keep getting shit canned.” Lobo let the insult slide, but he was about four seconds away from finding out if he could flatten Sal with one punch. “I assume you’ve heard the David Harley rumors?” “Sure. Though they’re just rumors. And even if they weren’t, who cares?” “Senor Bonilla. Senor Bonilla always cares. Let’s just say he doesn’t have a taste for competition.” “Get to the motherfucking point Sal. Harley is not some Chupacabra or something, and I’m the last person to know where that gringo is.” “Have you heard from El Macho?” Bingo. Sal didn’t give two shits about David Harley. But Macho.. well he was a man that Sal stole his company out from under, then sold it off to a drug lord. That man might have some beef to settle. And while the rumors of Harley maybe or maybe not being back in the country were interesting gossip, the rumor Lobo found more intriguing was that of his former boss. “Directly? No. But Dorado and him have always been tight, I hear they still talk.” “Doctor Dorado has been MIA.” “I would be too, given Paco and Bonilla’s…er… management style for those that interfere in matches.” Sal glared at Lobo, trying to decide if he believed Lobo or not. Eventually, Sal started to move to the door before stopping. “Do you know if Macho is in Mexico?” “Sorry amigo, I couldn’t tell you either way. But I did work up in California a few months back and still keep in touch with a few guys. As far as I know, no one’s seen him since the PPV last month.” Sal gave a reluctant nod and continued to walk towards the door. Before he reached the threshold, he seemed to shake off the nerves and smile. “Well if he knows what’s good for him, he’ll steer clear of here.” “Sal. If El Macho ever ends up in the same room as you, he’ll fucking kill you.”
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Post by LankyLefty17 on Sept 8, 2020 13:00:03 GMT -8
La Guerra de Sangre: A Lucha Libre Telenovela
Season 2, Episode 15
"Night Five: Closing Night"
Orig. Air Date: September 20, 2019LA GUERRA
SEASON TWO : NIGHT FIVE
Live from Chilpancingo
Going into the final regular night of action for the second season of La Guerra, the luchadors are still at loggerheads with evil owner Adalberto Bonilla. In previous weeks, he has successfully pushed those who have sucked up to him and either buried or outright fired anyone who disagreed with his management style. Will anyone have the courage to stand up to the notorious drug lord or will he continue to rule over the roster with an iron fist? Rumor has it that the owner of the i.W.e., David Harley, who had La Guerra stolen out from under him by Bonilla, has made it back to Mexico on a quest for vengeance, but those claims have remained unsubstantiated thus far. Is tonight finally the night that Adalberto Bonilla faces the music for all his misdeeds? Find out next on another exhilarating episode of LA GUERRA DE SANGRE!
LOS ULTIMOS ARRIVE AT THE VENUE
As the three members of Los Ultimos arrived at the venue that evening, wily old Penultimo could sense something in the air that night, though he couldn’t quite put his finger on what was wrong. There was a tension in the air. All the other luchadors seemed to be looking at them side-eyed, smirking, knowing something that they didn’t. Penultimo tried to express his uneasiness to his two sons Ultimo Grande and Ultimita, but they shrugged their old man off and proceeded toward the dressing rooms.
Things got even stranger when they arrived at the locker room door. There was a sign taped to the door. CLOSED FOR MAINTENANCE. CHANGING ROOM TEMPORARILY MOVED TO LAST ROOM ON THE LEFT DOWN THE HALL.
Ultimo Grande shrugged. So did Ultimita. They trudged down the hallway toward that last door on the left. Penultimo trailed slightly behind, still feeling very unsure of things. Closed for maintenance? The entire building was so ramshackle and in such a deep state of disrepair, he wondered why on earth they’d begin with the ratty old locker room if they were actually trying to spruce things up. And why did they wait until the last show of the season to make these much-needed improvements?
They reached the last door on the left. There was another sign. TEMPORARY CHANGING ROOM. Ultimo Grande and Ultimita seemed satisfied they were in the right place. Penultimo seemed reluctant but followed them as they opened the door and went inside.
Strange, the three of them thought. It was dark in there. Not another luchador in sight. Ultimo Grande and Ultimita absentmindedly walked right into the darkness, their father following hesitantly. Penultimo slapped his hand along the wall, looking for a light switch, struggling to find it.
The door slammed shut with a loud chunk, startling them. The room was pitch black. There was the loud, constant humming of machinery all around them.
“Yo, turn on the lights,” Ultimo demanded of his dad.
Finally, Penultimo found the switch and did. And immediately regretted he had.
It wasn’t a makeshift dressing room at all; just the boiler room. Three dark figures rushed out from the corners of the room, clutching steel folding chairs. Los Ultimos hardly had time to react as chairshots rained down on them from all sides. The three family members crumpled in a heap, piled on top of each other. Each of the three assailants grabbed one of Los Ultimos by the wrists and dragged them over to the edges of the room. All three attackers pulled out a set of handcuffs and secured an Ultimo to one of the many rusty old water pipes protruding from the walls. Then they removed each of Los Ultimos’ masks, taking them away and placing strips of duct tape over the frightened men’s mouths.
The attackers then placed Los Ultimos’ masks over their own heads, rounded up the beaten men’s duffel bags, and headed over to the regular locker room, which hadn’t actually been under construction at all.
SINGLES MATCH
MOTOSIERRA
accompanied to the ring by his midget brother Minisierra
VS
EL HIJO DE CHOQUE
SAL DE ROCA SENSES SOMETHING IS AMISS
Just like Penultimo earlier, Sal de Roca had a deeply uneasy feeling in the pit of his stomach as he entered the venue that evening. Something was up. As a former drug dealer who’d seen his fair share of extremely sticky situations, Sal had something of a sixth sense for these sorts of things. His gut instinct told him he needed to remain ready to get the hell out of there if anything went down.
Sal went to the locker room. There was the remnant of some Scotch tape from where a sign had been hung on the door but it had since been torn down. Sal went inside. No one would even look at him, except out of the corner of their eye. He could see as plain as day that everyone was making a big show of going about their normal everyday backstage business. But Sal could also see quite clearly that everything was just a little too normal tonight.
Sal started to unpack his duffel bag, preparing to get dressed. He laid out his trunks and kneepads on a nearby bench. As he did so, all the other luchadors started to trickle out of the locker room, perhaps a little too synchronized, a little too in unison. Before long, Sal was all alone in there.
Then he heard footsteps. Three sets of them. Echoing from the shower stalls. Sal jumped up, feeling frightened. The strange feeling deep down in the pit of his stomach intensified.
His worries were confirmed as three dark figures in masks came rushing out of the shower area, running right toward him. Sal didn’t even stick around long enough to see who it was. He turned tail, kicked open the locker room door and took off running down the hall, three sets of hurried footsteps chasing after him.
Sal slammed through an emergency exit and sprinted across the parking lot in the direction of his convertible Rolls Royce. He never looked back at whomever it was pursuing him, opting to simply run for his life instead. He wasn’t sure they’d actually chased him outside, but also didn’t intend on wasting any valuable time turning around to find out.
He reached his Rolls Royce. Fortunately, he’d left the top down, allowing for easy entrance as he vaulted over the driver’s side door and into the seat behind the steering wheel. Finally, he looked around and breathed a deep sigh of relief when he saw nobody else was near. It was just him in his Rolls Royce, surrounded by empty cars in a silent, dimly-lit parking lot.
Sal looked at himself in the rear-view mirror and allowed a little grin. You couldn’t pull a fast one on Sal de Roca quite so easily. Once again, he’d managed to escape his comeuppance.
Or so he thought.
Suddenly, Sal saw a flash of green in the rear-view, originating from behind his head, in the back seat of the car.
“Hola, amigo,” a familiar voice said in a strangely jovial tone.
Sal tried to leap out of his seat and scramble back out of the car, but a white gym towel swung around his neck from behind and started to strangle him like a garrote. Sal fought viciously against it, but the man pulling it tighter and tighter was exerting a tremendous amount of force. Sal kicked and wheezed as he tried to worm his fingers under the towel but he just couldn’t manage to relieve the pressure on his windpipe. After a mighty struggle, Sal finally lost consciousness and slumped against the steering wheel, pressing down on the horn continuously. His attacker lifted him off of the horn so as not to draw any unwanted attention, laid the front seat flat so Sal’s lifeless body wasn’t visible to anyone outside, and removed his mask.
TRIOS TAG TEAM MATCH
TEAM TECNICO
Super Mohan, Tiburanha y Alhambra
VS
ZDM
Cicatrices, El Descosido y Exposito
A FRACAS IN THE LADIES’ LOCKER ROOMMidway through the event, one of Adalberto Bonilla’s cronies came knocking on his office door. There was some sort of fracas in the ladies’ locker room. Bonilla jumped up and waddled through the venue to see what all the fuss was about.
The ladies’ locker room was thoroughly thrashed. Chairs were turned over. Lockers dented. Clothes scattered everywhere. Concepcion Schultz and her partner La Luciernaga - who also happened to be Bonilla’s niece - stood at one end of the room wielding chairs. The newcomer Baronesa stood across from them, tensely twirling a kendo stick around.
Since the firing of Lady Caliz, the only other female on the roster, Concepcion and Luci had grown accustomed to having the ladies’ locker room to themselves. When Baronesa had burst in a few minutes ago, interrupting their pre-show ritual of offering droplets of blood to the wooden owl sculpture stashed away in Concepcion’s locker, the two ladies of Poder Femenino had taken exception and a brouhaha broke out in short order.
“Ladies, ladies!” Bonilla cried as he shuffled his portly body in between them. “Cool it! We need to leave the fighting for inside the ring and in front of the fans and cameras!”
The three women stared daggers at each other. No one relinquished her weapon or moved a muscle.
“We’re settling this tonight, right?” Concepcion snarled.
Bonilla shook his head emphatically. “No no no no no.”
The ladies all looked a little deflated. On the previous show, Baronesa had laid down a challenge to Concepcion, who ordinarily refused to fight fellow females but had made an exception in this case.
“I can’t just give a primo match like that away for free!” Bonilla said. “What kind of pro-wrestling promoter would I be if I did that? No, no. Concepcion and Baronesa, the two of you can settle your differences at SANGREMANIA, where the eyes of the entire world will be upon you.”
Baronesa grinned and nodded. Concepcion scowled, but nodded as well. La Luciernaga sighed.
“Well I’m still ready to fight right now, uncle,” Luci blurted out.
Everyone turned to her.
“You… want to fight Baronesa tonight?” Bonilla said, not sounding particularly enthusiastic about offering his niece up to such an exceptional opponent.
Luci nodded. Concepcion tensed up. Baronesa laughed. Bonilla looked a little alarmed.
“As you wish, my darling little niece,” he said with a sigh.
LADIES’ SINGLES MATCH
LA LUCIERNAGA
joined at ringside by her mentor Concepcion Schultz
VS
BARONESA
in her debut match!
BARONESA RUSHES BACK TO THE LOCKER ROOMNo one was more surprised that she’d won the match than La Luciernaga herself. All those months of training with the world’s hottest female competitor had paid off, it appeared. Concepcion Schultz climbed into the ring to congratulate her protege while Baronesa rolled out of the ring. On the outside Baronesa kicked at the guardrails, pounded on the apron, and shouted angrily about how La Luciernaga had stolen her signature move, the Tornado DDT. The crowd jeered, and she angrily flipped them off before rushing backstage.
When Luci and Concepcion finally made their way back to the ladies’ locker room, which was still in a state of disrepair from the fracas earlier that evening, they immediately knew something was wrong. One locker door stood wide open; the locker in which they always kept their mystical wooden owl sculpture.
Concepcion ran across the room to the open locker, looked inside, and fell to her knees. La Luciernaga stood behind her, and could see that the locker was empty. The sacred owl was gone.
It was no mystery who had taken it. That was why Baronesa had been in such a hurry to return to the backstage area. La Luciernaga thought it was a rather obnoxious and disrespectful thing to do, but she was puzzled and a little bit alarmed by Concepcion’s much more extreme reaction to the burglary.
Concepcion remained on her knees, buried her face in her hands, and sobbed.
If she hadn’t seen it with her own two eyes, La Luciernaga would never have believed such a thing could occur. But as Concepcion cried, Luci could see her friend’s dark brown hair rapidly losing all its color, fading to a cold, steely gray…
Tonight's Main Event
TRIOS TAG TEAM MATCH
LOS ULTIMOS
Ultimo Grande, Penultimo y Ultimita
VS
LOS ARBOLES
Oro de Acapulco y Sicomoro
y CASIMIRO OLMEIDA BUT SOMETHING LOOKS A LITTLE ODD ABOUT LOS ULTIMOS...As usual, the crowd booed vociferously as the entrance music of Los Ultimos struck up. The booing only intensified as they emerged from behind the black curtain and walked down the aisle toward the ring. But the booing seemed to drop off at a certain point, to transform into something else. Perplexed murmuring, mainly. People in the stands turned to their neighbors and asked them things like Am I completely crazy or do Los Ultimos look a little bit different tonight? and Did that old geezer Penultimo always have those tribal tattoos on his biceps? A lot of people were surprised to see that Ultimita appeared to have sprouted a pair of tits since the last time they’d seen him, and even though he had his newly acquired breasts concealed under a black t-shirt, the change was still quite noticeable. What the hell was going on here? CHAOS ERUPTS AFTER THE MAIN EVENTThe crowd grumbled grumpily, confused and deeply disappointed about the minute-long main event with the fingerpoke finisher. How on earth could a reputable promotion like La Guerra end their night with such a travesty of a match? Fans shook their heads and fists at Los Ultimos as they marched out of the ring, not even bothering to celebrate or congratulate one another or anything. A few fans picked up on the fact that the three masked rudos seemed to be making a beeline for the back like men on a mission, but most were far too annoyed to take note. Large portions of the audience started moving toward the exits, but others knew something was brewing and urged them to stick around for a few more moments, just in case something kicked off. The second Los Ultimos passed through the black curtain into the backstage area, they were greeted by a red-faced and fuming Adalberto Bonilla, spouting obscenities. He slapped each of them hard across their masked faces. “How dare you! How dare you embarrass me like this, you idiots!” Bonilla bellowed. “The only reason you imbeciles aren’t begging for spare change on a street corner somewhere is because I took you in as my henchmen, you talentless mounds of caca de vaca! I already told you, if you guys didn’t put on a five-star match I would personally stick my pointy-tipped Trival boot up each and every one of your asses. So who’s first?” The three Ultimos snickered, which only made Mr. Bonilla angrier. Ultimo Grande was laughing harder than the other two, so Bonilla reared back his hand, preparing to deliver another hard slap across his blue-masked face. But Ultimo Grande’s hand shot out with blinding speed and snatched Bonilla by the wrist in a vice-like grip, stopping him. And then he spoke in a calm, collected voice. “You know what, Bonilla? We’ve been discussing this whole you-kicking-our-asses thing,” Ultimo Grande said. It greatly alarmed Bonilla that he was speaking in English, and in a familiar voice that he was sure belonged to someone he knew. Someone not named Ultimo Grande. “And we’ve decided that that’s pretty much the precise opposite of what’s gonna go down right now.” Suddenly, Ultimo Grande smashed the most dangerous drug lord in all of Mexico square in the face with a vicious elbow strike. He then grabbed Bonilla by the back of the neck and heaved him through the black curtain, out into the venue. The round, pudgy gangster tumbled and rolled down the aisle and excited chattering pulsed through the crowd like an electric charge. What was going on here? Didn’t Los Ultimos realize they would probably die for pulling a stunt like this? They marched back to the ring with Ultimo Grande basically carrying Bonilla by his belt loops and the scruff of his neck. He slid his boss under the bottom rope and the three masked men surrounded him inside the ring. The fans watched with bated breath, wondering if Los Ultimos truly dared to take things any further than this. If they stopped now, Bonilla might still spare their lives… But Los Ultimos did indeed dare to take things further. They began to put the boots to Bonilla, and the audience erupted. They stomped and stomped, a flurry of feet which would not relent, and Mr. Bonilla could be heard crying out for help. Soon enough, help was on its way. The crowd’s cheers quickly turned to boos as Sal de Roca, a trusted ally of Adalberto Bonilla, ran to the ring to save the bossman’s skin. Los Ultimos pulled back and Bonilla hid behind Sal, holding the big bad rudo by the shoulders in front of himself like a shield. For several tense moments, Sal de Roca and Los Ultimos simply glared at each other. Bonilla was kneeling behind Sal, cowering in fear, sore and aching from all the stomps he’d just absorbed. And then, much to everyone’s surprise, Sal turned around and grabbed Adalberto Bonilla by the throat with both hands. Sal slowly, dramatically turned his head from side to side, looking around at the crowd. A ripple of realization seemed to surge across the audience and cheers began to rise up over the booing once again. And then Sal threw him to the wolves. The spectators screamed in savage delight. Bonilla lurched forward as Sal heaved him over to Los Ultimos, who hammered on him mercilessly with their fists. Little Ultimita stepped back and delivered a spin kick that sent his bowl-cutted boss staggering. Penultimo stepped forward and delivered a low blow that left Bonilla doubled over. Ultimo Grande then came over and secured Bonilla’s head between his thighs, gesturing to the rabid, rapturous fans before delivering an enormous Tornado Slam. The crowd was already delirious at this point, and during all that excitement everyone had lost track of Sal de Roca, who was now standing on the top rope. He pointed down to Bonilla’s motionless body splayed out on the mat. The audience erupted as Sal soared off the top turnbuckle and delivered a thunderous elbow drop to the drug lord’s sternum. Sal stood up, brushed himself off and joined the other three assailants. Then he began unlacing his mask. Flashes of green peaked out from under it. Los Ultimos began to do likewise. A pink lock of hair fell out from under Penultimo’s mask, a clue that sent the crowd into a frenzy. When Bonilla’s attackers all pulled off their masks in unison, the audience absolutely lost their minds. A deafening cheer the likes of which La Guerra had never seen before set off seismographs in neighboring countries. The humble little auditorium in Chilpancingo hadn’t been built for this sort of ecstatic ovation, and the building creaked and groaned and ceiling tiles fell as the crowd rumbled and roared. DAVID HARLEY! EL MACHO! TOCAPELOTAS! LADY CALIZ! They were back! Four heroes of lucha libre, all unfairly ousted from La Guerra by the dastardly Adalberto Bonilla, had joined forces to storm back into the promotion and exact their revenge! After a minute of sustained applause and chanting, the crowd abruptly began booing again. Dungeon Dominguez was running to the ring, armed with a barbed-wire baseball bat. The four avenging angels dispersed from the ring as Dungeon slid in and attended to his injured boss. Outside of the ring, David Harley grabbed hold of the ring announcer’s microphone. “Bonilla, you lousy no-good two-timin’ tubby-ass bowl-cutted bastard!” Harley shouted, and the crowd truly got a kick out of that one. They'd never heard anyone address Mexico’s most dangerous man in such a way. “I’ve come to take my god damn lucha libre promotion back.” The crowd roared in approval. Bonilla managed to sit upright with some help from Dungeon, but looked like he was still seeing stars. “Now I know you’re not man enough to face me one-on-one, and that’s fine. You’re no wrestler. No no. That’d be unfair. It’d just be too easy,” Harley said. He draped an arm over Tocapelotas’ shoulder. Then he draped the other arm over El Macho’s shoulders. He reached around Toca’s big goofy head and put the microphone back to his lips. “I’ve got my team,” Harley growled. He gestured at Dungeon Dominguez, who glared back threateningly. “Looks like you’ve already got one guy in your corner. I’m fairly certain my good friend El Macho here insists that your other partner be none other than Sal de Roca.” The crowd ooohed and aaahed at the exciting proposal. El Macho nodded his head enthusiastically. Everyone’s eyes went to Adalberto Bonilla, still seated in the middle of the ring, looking like shit. For the first time in as long as he could remember, Bonilla was not in complete control. Everyone wasn’t cowering before him in fear; they were laughing at him and mocking, even attacking him! Dungeon Dominguez looked down at his boss. Bonilla looked up at him and shrugged ever so slightly. He turned and looked out at Harley and company. He gulped nervously. And then, almost imperceptibly, he nodded. “Then I suppose we’ll be seeing you boys at Sangremania,” Harley said, and dropped the mic.
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Post by LankyLefty17 on Sept 8, 2020 13:00:42 GMT -8
La Guerra de Sangre Presents: Lucha POWER
Episode 9
“The Card”
Orig. Air Date: September 25th 2019Doctor Dorado couldn’t sit still. There was too much going on, and too much to do that the veteran lucha found himself unable to focus on a single task. For months he spent his days trying to avoid getting fired (or killed) by his new bosses, while contemplating retirement (he had a place on the coast he daydreamed of heading to, soaking in the sun and getting drunk off tequilla). His sole wrestling motivation had focused on torturing El Descosido and the rest of those ZDM rudos. And now it seemed he might finally get his chance to fight that gordo de carajo. The thought made him tense with anticipation. “Amigo! It is so good to see see you! Ahh!!” El Macho burst through the door and the large, former Lucha POWER owner bear hugged him right out of his chair. “Si si let go eh? You’re breaking my ribs.” “Pardon pardon amigo. El Macho is too excited. There is much to do, and we must plan for an EXCELLENT NIGHT of LUCHA!! Ha HA!” Macho firmly set down Doctor Dorado and walked across the small room to the desk on the far end, firmly wiping the name plate labeled “Paco Pequeno” to the floor. Grabbing a piece of paper off the desk he landed in the desk chair with a loud ‘thump.’ “Have you looked at the match card amigo? It is grand no?” “It’s a fine card Macho. But I’m confused, why are you suddenly booking matches?” Despite the fact that both men wore masks, it was clear as day that El Macho had a grin from ear to ear. Dorado’s question seemed to only make it wider. “Because amigo! Because Senor Bonilla had no choice. As part of the conditions of our…negotiation, I was allowed to choose the Night One matches, as long as Senor Harley agreed. And these matches are the ones I choose.” The motivations behind the card were simple to understand. El Desc and Dorado, as well as Pantero Negro and Nightmare Clown, had both been at each other for weeks. Even away from the promotion El Macho knew which matchups would get the crowd rowdy. It was actually what Dorado always admired about the old man. Whatever business faults El Macho had, the man could put a wrestling card together in is sleep. “Harley sign off on you and Sal, a night before you’re both suppose to be in the main event for the company?” “Senor Harley and I have an agreement. In exchange for my help I have asked two favors. This was one of them.” “The other?” El Macho ignored the question. “Mira, I need you to get ahold of Pantero Negro. Let him know he is no longer fired, and his match with Nightmare will be a number one contender match for the Lucha POWER Championship.” “Si, si.” Dorado stood and started walking towards the door, but there was something gnawing at him. “Where is Paco?” El Macho’s eyes didn’t move off the piece of paper he had scribbled the night one card on. “No se.” he answered, almost mumbling. The answer left Dorado concerned, but he pushed that down and exited the office. He could worry about the little man later, for now he had a match to get ready for…
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Post by LankyLefty17 on Sept 8, 2020 13:01:12 GMT -8
La Guerra de Sangre Presents: Lucha POWER
Episode 10
“Finale Part One”
Orig. Air Date: October 31st 2019“Where the fuck is Paco?” The question wasn’t meant to be rhetorical, seeing as it was being posed to Dungeon Dominguez it might as well have been. The stoic Lucha POWER champion’s dead eyes stared back at Adalberto Bonilla without any hint of an answer to the question. “Forget it.” Bonilla had bigger worries than where his top lieutenant had run off to, but the question lingered. Paco was sent off to find David Harley and El Macho- and yet the two former owners showed up in his show and forced him into a match that could ruin everything. Everything. Seriously- where the fuck is he? He decided it was best to concentrate on the event. Tonight was the first of a two-night event: Sangremania. Held at the famous Hotel de la Lucha, Bonilla had been planning this event for months. A coronation of sorts as the “King of Lucha”. Paco or no Paco, he was going to take every precaution that the night would be flawless- and that meant Sal de Roca beating the crap out of El Macho and softening him up for their 6 man match the following night. “Dungeon- go find me Sal, I need a word with him before his match.” Los Gringos vs Hexagon Jr and Diego GuererroQuick Results: Los Gringos, in their first tag match together put up an entertaining and shocking upset getting the rollup pin on Hexagon Jr.
Winner: Los Gringos
Rating: *** Bonilla stared blankly at the television in his office as it showed the ending to the opening match, half paying attention to the result. In the back of his mind he had his match for Night Two running over and over in his head. The fact that it was distracting him from enjoying the show made him angry. And his anger boiled over as he thought more and more about how this show’s card came to be. I didn’t even book these putos, fucking Macho did. Because everyone around me are traitors and idiots.“You’re the traitor.” “What?” Bonilla looked up to see a tall lanky gringo with a beard standing at the entrance to his office. “Who the FUCK are you? And what did you call me?” “What? Me? I didn’t say a word. But I’ve been knocking at the door for ten minutes. My name is Left McDaniel, my uncle runs Warrior Pro Wrestling out in California. I spoke to you on the phone earlier this week?” “Si, si. Come in, sit. How can I help you Senor McDaniel? Is your uncle interested in cross promoting?” “Not exactly. See I came here because-“ “You fat fuck” “WHAT DID YOU JUST CALL ME??” Bonilla was on his feet, gun drawn right at the head of the startled gringo. “HOW DARE YOU TALK TO ME LIKE THAT.” “WOAH!! Wait a minute!!! Say what?? What the fuck is wrong with you??” “Idiot.” “WHAT??” Was he going crazy? Unless this Lefty American was a ventriloquist, he definitely didn’t say just that. But if not him, then who? They were the only two people in the room. “What the fuck is going-“ Bonilla cocked the gun and put a finger to his lips. In silence both men waited. “Heh heh, fat idiot.” Bonilla whirled his gun around. The voice… it seemed to be almost coming from inside his desk. Which was obviously impossible.. “Who fucking said that??” “Said what??” “You didn’t just hear that? The mierdo that called me a fat idiot?” “No. Dude its just me and you in the room.” Lefty McDaniel slowly got up, palms facing out in an attempt not to further agitate Bonilla. “Listen- this was a courtesy visit. As a part of the original purchase of Lucha POWER, one of the things not included in the deal was Arena Antiguo, presumably because it was a shit hole and El Macho didn’t own it outright. That has changed. Tank is investing with Macho in the arena.” “Senor- you came all the way out here just to tell me that?” “No. That’s not the only reason. Good luck with the show.” Quickly, Lefty proceeded to exit the office, leaving whatever extra motivations the nephew of a now arch rival promoter had, a mystery. There are too many mystery’s going on right now, Bonilla thought. “You’re too dumb to figure them out.” Bonilla stood in horror. There was no mistaking it, the sound was definitely coming from the desk. More specifically, the locked drawer where La Mascara de Choque sat idle. Unknowingly dropping the gun, Bonilla rushed out of his office toward the locker room. “SAL. Where the fuck are you?” Doctor Dorado vs El DescosidoQuick Results: A rivalry that dates back almost a full year finally got the 1:1 match it deserved. Descosido spend the early match taking it too Dorado, but as the match wore on the big man seemed to tire, and the wiley veteran hit the top rope finish and rolled up for the clean victory
Winner: Doctor Dorado
Rating: **** As Bonilla made his way to the stage entrance he stopped in his tracks at what he saw. Both Doctor Dorado and El Descosido were… friendly. It made his blood boil. “Hey, what is this? You LOST. La Guerra LOST. And now you stand here chatting with the enemy? Explain yourself.” Descosido barely looked up. “It was a good match, a good end to a good rivalry.” “Yeah, we finished it en el anillo. And besides, we are not the enemy, you are eh?” “Cabrons! I should fire you right here and now!” Instinctually Bonilla reached for his gun before realizing it wasn’t with him. “You cannot fire them Senor! You must know that by now. That was part of our…deal.” At first Bonilla didn’t move, staring at both Descosido and Dorado to see if the voice was also in their heads. They seemed to pay no attention to Bonilla or the voice, walking off, Dorado adding a chuckle as he passed by. From behind stepped El Macho, which both relieved and enraged Bonilla. “El Macho.” “Senor Bonilla! What a grand event this is turning out to be! The matches, the crowd. And on Dia de Muertos Tambien! Ahh, excellente no?” “I’m going to take everything from you tomorrow Macho. Your company, your career, your entire existence will be mine by tomorrow night. And tonight? Tonight- Sal will take whatever is left of your pride. You are pathetic.” “Ha ha! You are a man of big talk Senor. But El Macho is a man of big actions. Tonight, I will defeat Sal de Roca. Tomorrow I will defeat you. But now, I have another match to enjoy- adios… amigo” ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- At the edge of the entrance curtain, Pantero Negro Jr prepared for the signal that his match would start. For four months, he’d been tortured and attacked by the mysterious Nightmare Clown. Finally. Finally, he would get a chance to take out a measure of revenge. He could hardly contain his excitement. “Primo.” Pantero turned around to see his cousin, Lobo Muerte, standing beside him. “Primo.” The two rudos had a complicated and long history. But on the eve of two of their most important matches, blood ran thicker than any potential personal grudge. Lobo put a hand on Pantero’s back, the signal was given, and Pantero started his walk to ringside… Pantero Negro Jr vs “Happy” Nightmare ClownQuick Results: A brutal, hard hitting match from the beginning saw both men test each other as the match went back and forth until Pantero would hit a reverse codebreaker, into a sitting superkick, into a sling blade for the emotional victory.
Winner: Pantero Negro Jr
Rating: ***** When he reached the back, Pantero and Lobo shared a short embrace, before locking eyes and giving each other a small nod. From across the room Bonilla watched this in curiosity, wondering what the rudos were up to. By the time he realized what, it was too late. Both men sprinted over to Dungeon Dominguez, who had been fetching Sal, and immediately attacked the big man. Chaos ensued, with the rest of the locker room separating the three men, but not before local police arrested all three men. “What do you mean they won’t release Dungeon?” “Perdon Senor, but these aren’t our guys. El Macho changed out la policia working the event.” The event staff member was practically peeing himself having to give the news to Bonilla. Normally he’d pistol whip the little shit, but he was running out of time. This first night had turned into a disaster…. Waiting in his office was Sal de Roca, in full ring gear and stretching for the main event. “Where the fuck have you been Sal.” “Getting ready for the match?” There was something in the answer that worried Bonilla. Sal wasn’t being completely up front. But Bonilla was also uncomfortable. The last place he wanted to be right now was his office. Something weird was definitely going on. “I don’t need to stress how important it is that you win. We cannot go into Night Two with you having already lost to El Macho. Do you understand?” “Yeah sure. But we still have Dungeon as a backup in case things go south right?” “No. Dungeon has been arrested by policia that are not mine. You are on your own.” “Oh.” “Oh? You are not striking me with confidence Sal.” Out of the corner of his eye Bonilla spotted someone else in the room. Wait… that’s not… Choque? As he spun around the image vanished, leaving Bonilla halfway to a panic attack. “Senor Bonilla?” “Just fucking win Sal.” And with that Bonilla stormed out of the office. El Macho vs Sal de RocaQuick Results: Bloodied almost immediately, Macho took an incredible amount of punishment but just would not give up, and eventually hit a dramatic Macho Splash for the victory.
Winner: El Macho
Rating: **** Because he had no where else to watch, Bonilla slipped back into his office to watch the main event, taking long pulls of tequila straight from the bottle the entire match. When the finish happened, Bonilla took the newly emptied bottle and hurled it at the TV, the set exploding on impact. He was now alone and desperate. But that’s fine. Its not the first time his enemies underestimated him. Tomorrow was a new day. He would still be king. His eyes moved slowly back to the drawer in his desk… “Idiot.”
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Post by LankyLefty17 on Sept 8, 2020 13:01:57 GMT -8
La Guerra de Sangre: A Lucha Libre Telenovela
Season 2, Episode 16
"SANGREMANIA: Night Two"
Orig. Air Date: November 1, 2019La Guerra and Lucha POWER present
SANGREMANIA
NIGHT TWO: EL GRAN FINAL
Live from the World Famous HOTEL DE LA LUCHA
Ever since evil drug lord Adalberto Bonilla seized control of the lucha libre promotion La Guerra and absorbed its competitor Lucha POWER, he has ruled over his wrestling company with an iron fist, using precisely the same ruthless tactics he’s notorious for in his criminal enterprises. But lately, cracks have appeared in the foundation of Bonilla’s empire, and to make matters worse the ruler of another empire - the Independent Wrestling Empire - has returned to Mexico with every intention of taking back his throne as the head of La Guerra.
Heading into this absolutely stacked card to finish off La Guerra de Sangre’s turbulent second season, quite a bit of mystery remains. Rumor has it that Concepcion Schultz has fallen deathly ill, and as crazy as it might sound, that appears to have everything to do with the enigmatic owl statue she’s been known to make blood offerings to before matches, which was stolen by her scheduled opponent Baronesa. Will Concepcion be able to go, and if not, is there anyone who can replace her? Elsewhere on the card, the Resplendent Quetzal and U.S. Kestrel - better known as Birdemic! - bring their record-breaking 515-day streak as i.W.e. Tag Team champions to town. Will their opponents Los Arboles succeed where countless others have failed and snap the seemingly unbreakable streak?
In dual main events, we will finally see the mystical Mascara de Choque choose its rightful owner as Lucha POWER’s Lobo Muerte takes on La Guerra’s ace and former mask-holder Cicatrices. The two men are set to settle the matter of who is the world’s top luchador in the confines of a chickenwire cage, to prevent the kind of unwanted interference that plagued their previous meeting. And once that score has been settled: the final showdown. Owner of the i.W.e. David Harley has pulled together a band of heroes to take on Adalberto Bonilla, joining up with the weirdest man in wrestling, Tocapelotas, and ex-owner of Lucha POWER, El Macho. In the opposite corner, the villainous drug dealer Sal de Roca and reigning Lucha POWER champion Dungeon Dominguez - who was only released from jail this morning - are there to lick their boss Adalberto Bonilla’s pointy boots and do their damnedest to keep him in power. Is tonight the night that Bonilla’s reign of terror finally reaches its conclusion, or will the most wanted man in Mexico continue to dominate the business of lucha libre for the forseeable future?
THE RED CARPET TREATMENTThe scene was something akin to a major movie premiere. Luxury cars and limousines packed with luchadors pulled up one-by-one at the red carpet rolled out in front of the world famous Hotel de la Lucha. Throngs of rabid wrestling fans - many of whom had their faces painted for Dia de Los Muertos - enthusiastically cheered for each and every arrival. The last limousine to roll up was by far the longest and most luxurious of all, and when the back door sprung open and David Harley slid out, the crowd completely lost their minds. Fans surged forward to pat him on the back and wish him well in the main event. Little kids rushed him, thrusting photographs and pens his way in hopes of an autograph. In the ensuing chaos of his arrival, David did not notice the one person in that crowd who was perhaps a tiny bit too tall to be a little kid, and yet too short to be a fully grown man either. He did not notice as the little man waded through the sea of people enveloping David and produced a crowbar from beneath his coat. David did, however, notice when the little man clubbed him squarely in the small of the back with the aforementioned crowbar. David howled in pain and crumpled to the ground. The fans surrounding him gasped and took a step back, watching in horror as the little man - his face also painted like a Dia de Los Muertos doll - struck Harley on the spine savagely a few more times. Before anyone had time to process what had happened, the little man with the big crowbar scampered off through the crowd, leaving David rolling around on the red carpet, screaming and clutching at his back.
MEANWHILE, IN ADALBERTO BONILLA'S ROOMDrug lord Adalberto Bonilla paced restlessly around the luxurious presidential penthouse of the Hotel de la Lucha, which he’d reserved as his office for the evening. He was anxiously waiting for word. Finally, a knock at the door. Bonilla peered through the peephole. Although it was not the person he was expecting, he unlocked the door anyway when he saw it was his niece La Luciernaga, who appeared to be carrying something extraordinarily heavy. When he swung the door open, Bonilla saw that the heavy thing Luci was carrying was a person. Concepcion Schultz, to be precise. She appeared to be unconscious, her arm draped lazily over Luci’s shoulders and her legs limp and crumpled beneath her like a puppet with its strings cut. Her ordinarily dark-brown hair was silvery white, and her skin a pale deathly shade of green. “Uncle Adalberto!” La Luciernaga cried with great concern. “There’s something wrong with Concepcion!” Bonilla could see as plain as day that that was undoubtedly true, but didn’t seem particularly disturbed by it. “But will she be able to fight tonight?” he asked callously. Luci shrieked with anger. “Are you kidding me, Uncle? She can hardly stand upright! There’s no conceivable way she can go out there tonight! I would like to fight in her stead, dear uncle. Let me take on Baronesa again.” Bonilla chuckled derisively. “My darling niece, I wish I could grant you that wish but alas I can not. Firstly, you’re already booked this evening in a 4-on-4 mixed tag match, which I might add is set to start in just a few minutes here. And secondly - and I mean this with all due respect, my dear - this is SANGREMANIA, and frankly you lack the starpower to carry such an important match on this card. Concepcion Schultz is arguably the most popular female wrestler in the world at this moment, and you are simply her sidekick. The only way I will consider replacing Concepcion in her match is if by some sort of magical happenstance someone with as much or more drawing power than Concepcion Schultz comes walking through that goddamn door right there, right now.” Bonilla gestured toward the empty doorway for dramatic effect. And right on cue, a cloaked figure stepped into it. “It’s a good thing I came, then,” the figure said, in a feminine voice with a hint of some sort of South African accent. She lowered the hood of her cloak, and Bonilla’s eyes grew wide.
MIXED 4-on-4 TAG TEAM MATCH
ZDM
(El Descosido, Exposito y Gemelo Malvado)
with LADY CALIZ
VS
TEAM TECNICO
(Super Mohan, Alhambra y Tiburanha)
with LA LUCIERNAGA
BARONESA
VS
CONCEPCION SCHULTZ(?) After Baronesa had arrived in the ring, a tremendous amount of time seemed to pass without anything happening. Mockingly Baronesa made a show of inspecting a wristwatch she was not actually wearing, impatiently tapping her foot all the while. Where the hell was Concepcion Schultz? Minutes passed. Her opponent never arrived. Baronesa called for a microphone. “I should have known Concepcion Schultz would prove to be too weak and cowardly to come down here and fight me one-on-one, woman-on-woman!” Suddenly, the lights dimmed and Concepcion’s entrance music struck up. The crowd exploded in rapturous applause and sustained it as long as they could, but after thirty seconds had passed without anyone coming through the curtain, then a full minute, the cheering trailed off into dull, confused murmuring. Finally the curtain was pushed aside, giving the people something to cheer about, but they didn’t cheer for long. Concepcion Schultz staggered out onto the entrance ramp, looking like she might well be at death’s door. Her usually deep brown hair had gone a strange silvery white. Her skin seemed unnaturally pale and almost translucent, tinged with an unhealthy, almost corpse-like greenish blue. Concepcion made it maybe five steps down the ramp before she halted in her tracks, swayed like a tall tree in a stiff breeze, and then fell flat on her face, motionless. The crowd gasped. Baronesa laughed. EMTs rushed onto the ramp to attend to her. As Concepcion was stretchered out, Baronesa got on the mic again. “Look, everybody. Just look at this pitiful sight. This is your hero, Concepcion Schultz. Nothing more than a weak, feeble little lady, unable - or perhaps just unwilling - to fight me. Pathetic. And all just because I stole her stupid little owl statue...” Suddenly, all the lights surrounding the ring cut out, cloaking the Hotel de la Lucha’s luxurious courtyard in darkness. On the titantron over the entryway, two huge glowing yellow eyes appeared. Over the PA, a haunting sound boomed, echoing across the entire city. HOOO-OOO. HOOO-OOO.The hooting of an owl. It continued for a full minute, intermittent bursts of that ominous sound. A cold wind whipped through the venue. Baronesa whirled around, looking alarmed. The crowd whispered excitedly amongst themselves. And when the music suddenly struck up, a drummer rolling wildly over tom-toms, the audience absolutely exploded in celebration. Could it be? Was she really here in Mexico?!
BACK IN BONILLA'S ROOM“What the hell took you so long!” Bonilla was shouting into his cell phone. “I’ve been dying over here, waiting for word on whether or not the attack went as planned, damn it!” Paco Pequeno politely explained to his boss that he’d been on the back of a motorcycle and quite unable to place any phone calls. He assured Bonilla that David Harley’s back had been thoroughly worked over by that crowbar. Bonilla rewound the conversation a little bit. “What the hell were you doing on the back of a dirt bike, Paco? Why aren’t you here right now?” Paco explained in very vague terms that he needed to get away for a while. As far away as he could get and as quickly as he could get there. To lay low for a little bit. “Lay low?” Bonilla cried. “For what reason? We’ve been sitting on top of the world this whole time, haven’t we? When you work for me, you are untouchable!” Paco respectfully disagreed. He said he’d heard things. Rumors. Seeing the disarray inside the company, the police were starting to feel emboldened, perhaps enough to finally make a move on the cartel. “If I were you,” Paco advised in a very calm voice, “I wouldn’t go out there tonight.” Bonilla scoffed. “Chingate, Paco. You disloyal little coward. Chingate.” Angrily he hung up on the little man. Bonilla ordinarily considered Paco Pequeno a trusted adviser, but he was angry and made a point to not take a single thing he’d said to heart.
i.W.e. Tag Team Title Match
LOS ARBOLES
Sicomoro y Oro de Acapulco
VS
The i.W.e Record 515-Day Reigning Champions
BIRDEMIC!
Resplendent Quetzal y U.S. Kestrel
Chickenwire Cage Match for the Mascara de Choque (MDC) Title
LOBO MUERTE
VS
CICATRICES Anyone that may have been expecting an elaborate unveiling of the most coveted relic in lucha libre was disappointed and probably perplexed when an anonymous cartel henchmen came walking down the entrance ramp, wheeling a dolly with an oak office desk on it. It was rather heavy but the gangster happened to be rather muscular, so he reached ringside without issue and unceremoniously plopped the desk down on the ground. He walked over to the ring announcer, Lingua Larga, and whispered something in his ear, then left. Lingua Larga approached the desk with caution. He opened the bottom drawer and reached inside, producing a brown paper sack. He reached into the bag but withdrew his hand with great haste when something seemed to nip at his fingertips. “OUCH! What the hell was that?” He looked cautiously inside the bag, seeing nothing but a ratty, tattered old mask. The announcer reached for it again, and once again his hand came back empty after something like an electric jolt surged up his arm as his fingertips contacted the fabric. Finally, he managed to fish the mask out of the bag holding only the very end of one of its laces. He presented it to the crowd while holding it as far away from himself as humanly possible. “Ladies and gentlemen, our next match is for the most valuable relic in all of lucha libre, the owner of which will be widely regarded as the greatest luchador in the world. I present to you… LA MASCARA DE CHOQUE!” The crowd oohed and aahed. Lingua Larga let the mask slip through his fingertips and it inadvertently hit his hand, sending a painful shock coursing through his entire body like a lightning bolt. Not knowing what else to do with the damned thing, he tossed the mask back into the bottom drawer of the desk and kicked it shut. Event staff scurried over to scoot the heavy wooden desk aside. This odd, incongruous item that would apparently be sitting at ringside for the following bout nevertheless needed to make room… for the cage. The crowd roared as a large construction crane rumbled into the courtyard with a giant box of chickenwire dangling from its towering arm and the two competitors made their way to the ring...
* * * MAIN EVENT * * *
Lucha de Apuestas for Ownership of La Guerra and Lucha POWER
EQUIPO BONILLA
Adalberto Bonilla
with Dungeon Dominguez and Sal de Roca
VS
TEAM HARLEY
David Harley
with El Macho and Tocapelotas
COMPLETE PANDEMONIUM ERUPTS AT THE HOTEL DE LA LUCHAFor the second time that night, David Harley was writhing around in agony, grasping at his aching back. The referee, longtime i.W.e. loyalist Terry Weldon, kneeled beside his boss and tried to determine if he’d need hospitalization. Terry had tears in his eyes; he hadn’t wanted to throw out the match, but he didn’t believe David was able to continue after that brutal assault on his back with the steel chair, only hours after having been attacked in the same area with a crowbar.
Nearby, Adalberto Bonilla celebrated with Dungeon Dominguez and Sal de Roca, taunting the booing crowd. Tecate cans flew from the audience into the ring by the hundreds, aluminum snowdrifts forming in the corners. El Macho and Tocapelotas stood by in stunned belief, and when they finally processed what had transpired they gave the referee an earful. David Harley was one of the toughest son-of-a-bitches who ever lived! He was only unable to go if he said so.
Unable to ignore that the hostile crowd was near to rioting, Bonilla and team tried to make a hasty escape back up the entrance ramp, but as they approached the curtain several men stepped out from behind it, blocking their exit.
It was ZDM! The Mascara de Choque champion Cicatrices stepped forward with a microphone in hand, wagging a scolding finger at Bonilla, while his brother El Descosido, cousin Exposito, and uncle Gemelo Malvado stood menacingly behind him, cracking their knuckles.
“Bonilla!” Cicatrices practically shouted into the microphone. “We have had it with your underhanded tactics!”
The crowd roared in agreement.
“We are sick to death of you hiding behind your henchmen!” Cicatrices continued, gesturing toward Sal and Dungeon.
The crowd roared even louder.
“And Bonilla,” Cicatrices went on, “if you really think we are going to let you get away with this tonight, you have another thing coming! In Mexico, we conduct ourselves with honor. With dignity. And when we have a score to settle with someone, we settle it ourselves, not through our proxies. You have made a mockery of the sacred art of lucha libre long enough! Tonight it ends.”
The crowd cried YEEEEEAHH in perfect unison.
Sal and Dungeon stepped forward as though they had every intention to rumble with the ZDM boys right then and there, but they halted in their tracks as the curtain flew aside. Another luchador - Super Mohan - stepped out onto the stage alongside ZDM. The crowd cheered. Then another luchador arrived; El Hijo de Choque. And then another. Doctor Dorado. And another. Tiburanha.
And they just kept coming.
One by one, the entire rosters of both La Guerra and Lucha POWER - or at least all of those who weren’t in league with Bonilla - made their way out onto the stage, standing in solidarity with ZDM until Bonilla and his two henchmen were facing an army of more than two-dozen men. The crowd was whipped into a frenzy by this tense showdown.
Cicatrices raised the microphone again. “Bonilla, we demand you get back in that ring and face your adversary like a man. One on one.”
All the luchadors grimly nodded their heads in agreement. Bonilla began to protest, saying his team had won the match fair and square, when suddenly the pack of pro wrestlers swarmed and overwhelmed the three men. Before long Sal and Dungeon found themselves each beneath about a dozen pairs of violently stomping boots. Bonilla vaulted off the side of the ramp and into the crowd, desperately seeking an escape, but audience members seized him before he’d made it more than a few steps and heaved him back over the guardrail where the ZDM boys collected him and dragged him back toward the ring.
Inside the ring, some way, somehow… David Harley staggered back up to his feet, wincing and grimacing. Although clearly in severe, debilitating pain, a renewed fire burned in his eyes.
The ZDM boys tossed Bonilla into the ring.
Cicatrices once again lifted the microphone to his lips.
“To make extra-certain that your henchmen will be unable to interfere in the settling of this dispute, I humbly suggest that we…”
Cicatrices dramatically pointed skyward at the chickenwire cage, the one he’d only just finished wrestling in, suspended in the air over the ring by the large construction crane.
“LOWER THE CAGE!”
It took the crowd only moments to unite in a deafening chant. LOWER THE CAGE! LOWER THE CAGE! LOWER THE CAGE!
And with that, the cage began to descend. The crowd roared in delight. Bonilla looked nervously around as the chickenwire surrounded him, beads of sweat visibly collecting on his brow. David Harley licked his lips hungrily. Referee Terry Weldon met the men in the center of the ring and called for the bell.
It was time to finally settle things. Once and for all. One way or another. THE AFTER-MATCH AFTERMATHOne could hardly hear the bell sound over all of the cheering, the screaming, the joyful tears and earsplitting whistles. Too weary to even stand, David Harley was on his knees in the middle of the ring when referee Terry Weldon grabbed him by the wrist and raised his hand in triumph and the roar of the crowd reached deafening levels. Unable to contain his emotion as a two-decade-long employee of Harley’s, Terry wiped tears from his eyes and embraced his boss.
The chickenwire cage ascended and the ring flooded with joyous, jubilant luchadors who came running from the Hotel de la Lucha, with El Macho leading the charge. They hoisted their hero David Harley up onto their shoulders and paraded him about and soon he was crowdsurfing across a whole sea of luchadors. A bruised, battered, and utterly humiliated Adalberto Bonilla began to slowly crawl away on his hands and knees between the legs of all the wrestlers celebrating in the ring. He had managed to reach the ramp without anyone noticing and was eager to slither the rest of the way the hell out of there.
The crowd’s raucous applause was so loud, nobody in attendance heard the helicopter approaching until they were already feeling the wind against their faces. Out of nowhere, a dark green Mexican military chopper swooped over the top of the Hotel de la Lucha and rapidly descended into the courtyard, touching down right there on the entrance ramp. Bonilla, who had been slithering along on his belly, raised up on his elbows and watched with a mixture of fear and astonishment as the helicopter landed just feet in front of him. Four men in army fatigues, helmets and bulletproof vests, brandishing enormous machine guns, rushed out of the helicopter and seized Bonilla by the arms and legs. The crowd cheered as the soldiers gave Bonilla a few extralegal punches to his pot belly before heaving him like a sack of spuds into the helicopter. Within moments they were airborne again, and the crowd spontaneously burst into a rousing rendition of the national anthem, El Himno Nacional Mexicano, until Bonilla and the helicopter were but a speck in the sky.
The entire country would party through the night, and the whole nation would heave a collective sigh of relief when the newspapers the next morning confirmed that Bonilla was indeed in the custody of the Mexican army.
For what felt like the first time in a very long time, the heroes had won the day. And for one of the only times in a long career in which he’d been on the side of evil far more often than not, David Harley was - at least for this one day - the greatest hero of all.
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Post by LankyLefty17 on Sept 8, 2020 13:02:41 GMT -8
La Guerra de Sangre Presents: Lucha POWER
Episode 11
“Epilogue”
Orig. Air Date: November 1st 2019“Senor, you gave me your word. Plus, it is in the contract. El Macho made sure.” “Yes I fucking know it’s in the goddamn contract, but the contract didn’t state we would do it in this rat infested shithole.” David Harley wasn’t far off. Standing in the dark as El Macho searched for the lights, Lefty McDaniel was flanked by iWe (and, as of yesterday, La Guerra) owner David Harley, and iWe legend Super Bad Ass Sweet Daddy Jones. Though the gym was dark, Lefty could see dust and dirt everywhere. It was painfully obvious the place hadn’t been touched since the Lucha POWER promotion had packed up and moved out almost 6 months ago. As the lights slowly flickered on, the room didn’t improve any. “You are not paying me enough Harley.” Super Bad Ass looked around for a place to drop his gym back, as if he were trying to find the cleanest part of the floor before giving up and holding on to it. Meanwhile, El Macho returned to the group, obviously beaming. “Si, it is a bit sucias, but Senor Lefty is here to help with that.” “What? No. I mean, not exactly.” “Ha HA! SI. Mi amigo will make Lucha POWER especial once again. El Macho is sure of it.” “For fucks sake, if we’re going to do this let’s do it. When we win I’m knocking down this building and pissing on its ashes.” Harley spat on the ground and slowly made his way to the ring, a slight limp still present from his Night Two match. He carried with him a coffee mug that, by the smell of it, was 100% bourbon. “Si, si. El Camino will officiate the match. The rules are simple- the team with the first pinfall wins the match, and full ownership of Lucha POWER. If El Macho should win, a 40% stake will go to Senor Tank McDaniel. Somos Buenos?” “Yeah yeah, lets get to it.” All four men climbed into the ring and began getting loose. Lefty peered over at El Macho, who was still beaming, no doubt drunk off the victories of the past couple days. But this little exhibition was not going to be a walk in the park. Sweet Daddy Jones was a legend in the business, and while not currently very active, was going to pose a serious hurdle for the Lefty/Macho team. And that was before you accounted for Harley himself, anything but a slouch in the ring, even despite his less than 100% health. “Macho, are you sure you want to do this here? I mean, we could make millions doing this in an arena.” “El Macho does not want millions Senor Harley. El Macho wants Lucha POWER.” Harley peered back at Sweet Daddy Jones, who gave him a reluctant shrug. “Fine. Your funeral. Someone wanna ring the bell?” Lefty reached back to an imaginary rope… “Ding. Ding” El Macho & “Lanky” Lefty McDaniel vs David Harley & Super Bad Ass Sweet Daddy JonesQuickly, both iWe men rolled out of the ring, frustrated and out of breath.
“Fuck this. Keep your dumpster fire of a wrestling promotion. We’re outta here. It’s about time I pay a visit to Tank McDaniel. That old turd is far to up in my business.”
“Adios muchacho!” El Macho gave an enthusiastic wave as both Harley and Sweet Daddy Jones quickly grabbed their things and left the building. Gasping for air Macho tuned and put a sweaty hand on Lefty’s shoulder.
“Now, amigo- lets go to my office. We have much to discuss.” MEANWHILE SOMEWHERE IN MEXICO… On a dusty road in the middle of nowhere, Paco Pequeno made a call... “Si. Si, it is done. Si Senor, Bonilla was apprehended. No, everything went as you said it would. Si, we can discuss more in person.” With that Paco took his cell phone and broke it in two, tossing each piece in opposite directions as a town car made its approach. Paco proceeded to open the door and climb into the back of the car. “Drive Senor, I am already late.”
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