RoXx -- |\<>/| --

Vancouver, B.C. Home of RoXx. Home of Slider. And come September 5th, 2004, one match will show the nation just who is Vancouver's greater export. Tensions will run high. Violence will be imminent. Entertainment is, most definitely, on the cards.

Join NLCW on Sunday Night Avulsion for the greatest all-Canadian matchup in the federations history. There may be no gold. There may be no glory. Does this deny it the makings of a great match? Of course not...

NLCW Training Facilities
Downtown Toronto
9 .15 pm

A vibrant booming echoes down the empty streets of late night Toronto on a Tuesday night. It is not a popular night for entertainment. As the booms of deep sub-bass become more defined and louder, there is also the almighty roar of a quickly-accelerating car, heard to be getting closer. As the song can be heard as opposed to just the bass, we can now see the noise-pollution culprit, a very suave looking Mercedes SL600 in baby blue. At night, it's colour is shown only faintly by backlighting from the cars headlights and foglights, both turned onto full intensity. The car is also illuminated from the inside, possibly from the head unit of the stereo, giving us a view of the driver.

Sean uses only one hand to drive, a right hand slung lazily over the top of the steering wheel whilst his left hand hangs over the side of the convertible, currently with it's top down. He is dressed in atheltic gear, a retro Vancouver Grizzlies basketball jersey overhanging his navy blue track pants which in turn cover the tongues of his Niké trainers. The car turns one last corner before reaching the NLCW training facilities on Maple Drive and 8th. As the Mercedes pulls ups, the streetlights shine down onto the car, illuminating the chrome wheels which fit the wheel arches to bursting, probably 19" wheels. The music is shut off as Sean steps out of the vehicle and locks it behind him. He glances across the street and behind him, most likely looking out for undesirables. Having scouted the area, he extends an arm and pulls open the door of the training gym.

Inside, youngsters battle it out with each other whilst some simply box against training bags and speedballs. There is a strong stench of sweat eminating from the exhausted bodies. Sean looks around and shakes his head as he shoves his car keys into a crinkled pants pocket. He ignores the groups of rebellious teenagers and wannabe-wrestlers and walks straight into a back office. The office is small, maybe 5mx3m in size and is made up of noticeboards, heavily pinned with paper and posters and then a desk in the centre of the room with a computer monitor and heaps of unsorted papers and envelopes on it's wooden surface. Sean walks around the desk and seats himself in the leather swivel chair behind the desk. He clasps his hands together and puts them on the table, leaning forward to the camera.

Sean: Slider, Slider, Slider. How long is it now that you've been a member of this dear federation, No Limits Championship Wrestling? Longer than me, that's for sure. But that won't count for anything on September 5th, pal. I may not be 275 pounds like you, Slider. I may not be 6'5" like you, Slider. One thing though, I'm feeling all David & Goliath about this s**t! Sunday will be great, Slider, haha. Slider, you've had it easy up to now - it's all about to change. You were a spoilt child, but you rebelled and wrecked a perfectly good childhood. Why? Because you wanted the money before you had earned it. You got the Television Championship, and now you've thrown it away. Why? Why? WHY? Because, Slider, if I - {coughs} - when I beat you on Sunday, I want a title shot too. If I beat you, you give me a chance to take the TV Championship from around your waist at HavoK. This is no joke. I prove my balls to you by stepping in the ring with someone who's been around longer. You prove your cahones by stepping in the ring with someone who can take your gold. "The Real Thing", we'll see about that?

Sean slams a heavy fist onto the table.

Sean: So Goliath could punch but could he do a Diamond Dust? Hell naw. Could he do a 450 Corkscrew? You know the answer... That's exactly what's gonna happen to you on Sunday, Slider! You'll just stand there like the big B.C ball-breaker that you are whilst I swing around you, using my athleticism to take your fat-a** down to the ground. And when you're on the mat, count one...two...three. It'll be over, big guy. And then you can lie there, dazed at me taking you to the Disco and think...hmm, RoXx IS Vancouver's Best Export. Hah. Slider, in the infamous words of Donald Trump, you're fired.

Just a friendly spar, 'ey?

Sean gives a sly grin with one side of his mouth before sitting back in the leather swivel chair and swinging it around so as to have his back to the camera. NLCW should be ready. Slider should be ready...

	"This Town Ain't Big Enough For The Both Of Us..."
	Vancouver, B.C. Home of RoXx. Home of Slider. And come September 5th, 2004, one match will show the nation just who is Vancouver's greater export. Tensions will run high. Violence will be imminent. Entertainment is, most definitely, on the cards. Join NLCW on Sunday Night Avulsion for the greatest all-Canadian matchup in the federations history. There may be no gold. There may be no glory. Does this deny it the makings of a great match? Of course not... NLCW Training Facilities Downtown Toronto 9 .15 pm A vibrant booming echoes down the empty streets of late night Toronto on a Tuesday night. It is not a popular night for entertainment. As the booms of deep sub-bass become more defined and louder, there is also the almighty roar of a quickly-accelerating car, heard to be getting closer. As the song can be heard as opposed to just the bass, we can now see the noise-pollution culprit, a very suave looking Mercedes SL600 in baby blue. At night, it's colour is shown only faintly by backlighting from the cars headlights and foglights, both turned onto full intensity. The car is also illuminated from the inside, possibly from the head unit of the stereo, giving us a view of the driver. Sean uses only one hand to drive, a right hand slung lazily over the top of the steering wheel whilst his left hand hangs over the side of the convertible, currently with it's top down. He is dressed in atheltic gear, a retro Vancouver Grizzlies basketball jersey overhanging his navy blue track pants which in turn cover the tongues of his Niké trainers. The car turns one last corner before reaching the NLCW training facilities on Maple Drive and 8th. As the Mercedes pulls ups, the streetlights shine down onto the car, illuminating the chrome wheels which fit the wheel arches to bursting, probably 19" wheels. The music is shut off as Sean steps out of the vehicle and locks it behind him. He glances across the street and behind him, most likely looking out for undesirables. Having scouted the area, he extends an arm and pulls open the door of the training gym. Inside, youngsters battle it out with each other whilst some simply box against training bags and speedballs. There is a strong stench of sweat eminating from the exhausted bodies. Sean looks around and shakes his head as he shoves his car keys into a crinkled pants pocket. He ignores the groups of rebellious teenagers and wannabe-wrestlers and walks straight into a back office. The office is small, maybe 5mx3m in size and is made up of noticeboards, heavily pinned with paper and posters and then a desk in the centre of the room with a computer monitor and heaps of unsorted papers and envelopes on it's wooden surface. Sean walks around the desk and seats himself in the leather swivel chair behind the desk. He clasps his hands together and puts them on the table, leaning forward to the camera. Sean: Slider, Slider, Slider. How long is it now that you've been a member of this dear federation, No Limits Championship Wrestling? Longer than me, that's for sure. But that won't count for anything on September 5th, pal. I may not be 275 pounds like you, Slider. I may not be 6'5" like you, Slider. One thing though, I'm feeling all David & Goliath about this s*t! Sunday will be great, Slider, haha. Slider, you've had it easy up to now - it's all about to change. You were a spoilt child, but you rebelled and wrecked a perfectly good childhood. Why? Because you wanted the money before you had earned it. You got the Television Championship, and now you've thrown it away. Why? Why? WHY? Because, Slider, if I - {coughs} - when I beat you on Sunday, I want a title shot too. If I beat you, you give me a chance to take the TV Championship from around your waist at HavoK. This is no joke. I prove my balls to you by stepping in the ring with someone who's been around longer. You prove your cahones by stepping in the ring with someone who can take your gold. "The Real Thing", we'll see about that? Sean slams a heavy fist onto the table.* Sean: So Goliath could punch but could he do a Diamond Dust? Hell naw. Could he do a 450 Corkscrew? You know the answer... That's exactly what's gonna happen to you on Sunday, Slider! You'll just stand there like the big B.C ball-breaker that you are whilst I swing around you, using my athleticism to take your fat-a** down to the ground. And when you're on the mat, count one...two...three. It'll be over, big guy. And then you can lie there, dazed at me taking you to the Disco and think...hmm, RoXx IS Vancouver's Best Export. Hah. Slider, in the infamous words of Donald Trump, you're fired. Just a friendly spar, 'ey? Sean gives a sly grin with one side of his mouth before sitting back in the leather swivel chair and swinging it around so as to have his back to the camera. NLCW should be ready. Slider should be ready...