The lights in the arena go down. An array of red, yellow, and green moving spotlights pan onto the stage where a blast of fog rips out and covers the arena.

A guitar riffs blasts.

"Rise,
turn away,
The charade of your life,
Let the flame of my heart,
Burn away,
Your complacence tonight."

Wandering out from the smoke casually is CURTIS SLAMM dressed in his wrestling gear with the Intercontinental Title draped on his shoulder.

"I command you to rise,
Wash away,
The decay of your life."

Slamm continues walking down the aisle to a chorus of boos with a smirk from ear to ear. Slamm doesn't even dodge cups that are being thrown at him, he just continues into the ring.

"Feel the light of your eyes,
Find the way,
Through the darkness tonight,
Fearing no one."

Slamm jumps up onto the second turnbuckle and raises the title belt to a louder chant of "Slamm sucks".

"Do you really think I covet like you do?"

Slamm leans back and closes his eyes and sucks in a deep breath of the crowd's animosity.

The music stops.

Slamm jumps down, drapes the title belt back over his shoulder, still smirking as the crowd gets louder still, and Slamm wanders into the middle of the ring.

Slamm catches a mic that is thrown at him.

"Guess what? All (points to the crowd and spins around) your worst nightmares have come true."

The crowd reacts with the loudest boos yet.

Slamm just smiles and soaks it in for a moment.

"That's right I am back to my rightful spot atop yet another promotion because you see like it or not, right now I am the only champion you got."

Slamm jumps onto the second turnbuckle and raises the belt to another chorus of boos and chants.

Slamm jumps down.

"That's right, there is no World Champion right now and as for the Hardcore Champion, well when you consider who holds that "title", then that just makes it a big joke. The Television title? It's a title of conveinence, not one of prestige. They had to give The Mime something for all those ass kickings he took at the hand of the Gladiator."

That solicits a huge pop from the crowd.

"Shut up I am not here for your amusement."

Slamm lowers the mic as the crowd turns on him and quickly shouts out another "Slamm sucks" chant.

Slamm waits a moment and then brings the mic back up.

"As I was saying I hold the only title that matters. To further prove my point, one of those said title holders devalues his title so much that he challenged for mine. He finally realized no one cares when your the "hardcore" champion. I say good for him. It is important in life that you realize your place and let me tell you Mr. Half Circle at Mythology you will learn just that, your place. You see Jason, I don't care that you think you are Hardcore because quite frankly boy, you have no idea what hardcore is. My life has been more hardcore than any match, any move, any bump, any weapon you have weilded and at Mythology they can call you 360, or maybe you will finally come full circle and can become 720, or maybe when I get you up to that top balcony seating and throw your ass back into the ring they can call you 52-40 because you will have flown a mile in the air, or maybe they can just call you 9-1-1, or 6 feet under, or just perhaps 16, 22, whatever your age was the night that Curtis Slamm ended your career. It matters little what number you put in front of your name now because all you need to know is your number is up. I am sure you wanted a harcore match, even the odds a bit, aye? Fine, I am saying this right now in front of all these witnesses and Powers that Be, go right ahead and hold them as contractual and monumental. Make it whatever type of match you want, Hell in the Cell, Pinfalls anywhere, No DQ, Street fight, whatever. I am not going to give these fans what they want. These disgusting degenerates want to see me bloodied and beaten, torn and tattered.

That solicits another huge pop.

"I am not going to tell you again to stop interuppting me. Now as I was saying, I am not going to give these idiots what they want, I certainly am not going to give you what you want Half Circle, and I most certainly won't give all those jealous idiots back there what they want. I am not a champion who will fight just because anyone says so. I will fight because in the bigger picture I am going to get what I WANT. At Mythology I will be fighting half a man, he says so himself, right "3-60"? I'll admit I've never faced a challenge like this before, fighting half a man. I mean Hobbes is a half an idiot, Cage is half an ass, and Ian Walker is half a bag on good nights, but at least they put up a full fledged fight. So to prepare for this unusual circumstance I decided tonight to fight half of half a man and take on what may be my toughest challenge to date, Mr. 180 himself, Jorge Kupleck-Gonzales-Jimenez-Grant-Foster-Jones."

The umpa-lumpa theme song starts up over the loud speaker and out comes, Mr. 180 running into the ring. He charges Slamm but Slamm holds out his hand and keeps a running in place Mr. 180 at an arm's distance.

"To give the added effect of a Pay-per-view setting I will do the commentary for this match while I wrestle it. Fred and Peter feel free to take some notes."

"So here we go fans, this is for sure to be our Champion's toughest title defense to date. As Mr. 180 is renowned for his, well shall we just say prowess and leave it at that."

"As the bell sounds Slamm is surveying his opponent, oh wait he needs to let him go. Slamm steps aside."

As Slamm lifts his hand, the running Mr. 180 goes flying by and crashes right into the bottom turnbuckle and flips out of the ring with a thud.

Slamm cringes.

"Ooh that had to hurt. Ut-oh this looks like trouble."

In comes Mr. 180 with a steel chair that he is having trouble even lifting up over his head but he gets it up and charges at Slamm.

"Look at the fight in this big man as he charges."

Slamm kicks the chair into Mr. 180 who topples over and gets buried underneath it.

"There's a side kick, no pun intended, as Slamm gives another incredible counter to the furious assualt of Mr. 180, give our champion credit he really has to reach deep tonight. Slamm wanders over. Ow, hey, hey.

Mr. 180 grabs onto Slamm's leg and starts biting it. Slamm shakes out his leg a couple times as Mr. 180 holds on but Slamm rears back and thrusts his leg, sending Mr. 180 through the ropes and out onto the floor.

"3 points. This looks like trouble."

Mr. 180 has climbed to the top turnbuckle and leaps off but Slamm catches him in mid-air.

"Well it looks like Mr. 180 had Slamm right where he wanted him and let him off the hook. As Slamm shows his incredible feat of strength and endurance by holding Mr. 180 up in a fireman's carry. Could it be? Could it be? Can he do it?"

Slamm delivers the Fab Slamm.

"IT'S THE FAB SLAMM, UNBELIEVABBLE!!!! THE FAB SLAMM!!! HOW IN THE WORLD?"

Slamm drops to his knees and shoves the mic in Mr. 180's face.

"HE HIT THE FAB SLAMM. I do not believe what I just witnessed. Well it looks like Curtis Slamm has done it again. Oh wait, I forget something, silly me."

Slamm leans on Mr. 180 as he slaps his own free hand onto the mat.

"One."
"Two."
"Three."

Slamm jumps up, absolutely ecstatic.

"He did it! He rose up against all odds and defeated another worthy challenger. He is truly the greatest Intercontinental Champion the FHW has ever had."

The crowd boos and chants louder than it had been all night and liters the ring with everything and anything as Curtis Slamm, stands up onto the second turnbuckle and raises his title. As he drops down, rolls out of the ring Slamm takes one step, reaches back under the ropes, and picks up the mic. He pushes his face into the camera that projects onto the jumbrotron.

"Hi mom. I did it."

Slamm holds up the title belt as he is pelted and booed. He flips it onto his shoulder and walks out.


"Now rise,
Turn away,
From the shame of your life,
Feel the light from my eyes,
Offering,
Consolation tonight,
Fearing no one."

"Do you really think I want it like you do?"

"Now rise,
Throw away,
The charade of your life,
Let the flame of my heart,
Burn away,
Your complacence tonight,
Fearing no one."

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