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The year is 2003. It’s October, and Minneapolis is a city on the precipice of something. Greatness? Maybe not...but something is in the air. The Timberwolves have finally cracked the Western Conference Finals. Prince is back on local radio. Every bulletin board along Hennepin is calling out a different Replacements tribute band. There’s a sliver of momentum stirring up in the belly of the beast, that anxious feeling that either excites or scares you, but you know what it means. It means something is about to change.
This town used to be a proving ground for wrestlers all across the country. Armories filled to the rafters. VFW halls thick with smoke and sweat, hosting brawls that your grandparents love to still talk about. A lineage that runs straight back through the AWA and into the identity of the city itself. When that died in 1995, most simply turned away and gave up wrestling as a teenage past time. By 2003, even the hardcore fans struggled to maintain an interest. The WWE reigned supreme, and whilst TNA and Ring of Honor were a nice alternative, they failed to take hold of the fine people of this state.
My name is Artemis “Arty” Johnson. I’m forty years old. Minneapolis born and raised. I’ve covered just about every sport this city’s produced, from high school gyms to half-empty minor league ballparks. Wrestling somehow always slipped past me professionally. Either it wasn’t here, or it didn’t feel like something I recognised. Modern national wrestling promotions never quite captured the magic nor landed the way it did when I was a kid in the seventies. Those people felt larger than life, the rivalries seemed so intense, and the matches may not stand up from an athletic perspective to some of the high flying stunt work that has become very popular these days, but they were dripping with storyline, psychology, and purpose.
So when, a few months ago, I started hearing a few quiet mentions of a guy called Isaac Hale that was looking to put Minneapolis Wrestling back on the map again, I had to pay attention.
As luck would have it, I knew a guy who knew a guy who knew Isaac's grandmother, and so after an exchange of pleasantries on MySpace, I took him up on an offer to stop by his yard and watch him and a handful of others train. What I found wasn’t slick or impressive in the way polished promotions tend to be. They certainly didn't have a production budget. But it was serious. The effort was genuine. And after speaking to a few of the lads and gals, one thing became clear very quickly: they all really believed in this.
Not long after, Isaac and I sat down over steaks and cheap whiskey at a local smokehouse. He slid an “all-access pass” across the table — a laminated index card with my name written on it in marker — and asked if I’d cover North Star Wrestling from day one. No expectations, no spin. Just access and an open mind.
That I could do.
Then nothing. A generic Christmas text. Silence. Until January 8th, 2004, when a short message came through:
“First show. Feb 13th. My backyard. 3pm. Hope you can make it.
— Isaac”
A few days later, a leaflet appeared in my letterbox.
North Star Wrestling: Rising
The opening weekend of North Star Wrestling is finally upon us.
Hale Family Grounds, Kenwood. Directions overleaf.
An eight-man tournament across two nights will determine the best of this particular collection of misfits. Full weekend tickets for both shows are available for the price of one.
Opening Round Matches
Isaac Hale vs. Captain Galaxy
Hale has trained and wrestled across the States for over a decade, including a brief spell as WCW enhancement talent in the mid-nineties. A technical wrestler with a grounded approach.
His opponent is the mysterious Captain Galaxy. That is, apparently, all anyone knows.
Gregor Knox vs. Kade Huxley
Gregor Knox was recently released from prison for a crime he insists he didn’t commit, only because someone else got there first. Aggressive, joyless, and far too comfortable with violence.
He faces Kade Huxley, the so-called Grunge Prophet, an unpredictable and inexperienced presence who claims he’s here to leave a mark.
Canvas Creed vs. “Big Flex” Brian Bravo
Some will tell you Canvas isn’t his given name. Those people are wrong. He believes wrestling is art and he’s looking for a masterpiece.
Brian Bravo believes he already is one. Permanently oiled, aggressively muscled, and sporting a questionable seventies moustache. One half of the Yard Kings.
“Sky High” Jaime Rourke vs. “Scrap-Iron” Sam Sharpe
Rourke has been wrestling for sixteen months and moves like gravity is simply an option.
He faces the other Yard King, Sam Sharpe — wiry, mean, and rarely without a rusty spanner in hand.
Meet the Roster
Isaac Hale — “The North Star”
Hale isn’t just the founder. He’s the centre of everything here. Fifteen years on the road, now in his early thirties, and still feeling like momentum never quite arrived. Where many became cynical and bitter, he decided to switch tact and create his own destiny.
Jaime Rourke — “Sky High”
Rourke wrestles on instinct more than anything else. A glorified stuntman to some, but a loveable daredevil to the rest. With only eighteen months under his belt he is still green but improving every day and, more importantly than anything, he is eager to learn.
Canvas Creed
Creed approaches wrestling as expression as much as it is competition. Beneath the eccentricity is a sharp mind and a deep psychological understanding of the business. There’s also a quiet philosopher within, but he tends to keep his own counsel.
Gregor Knox — “The One Who Knox”
If you didnt know, by reputation alone, that Knox had been in prison before you saw him, he would flagrantly remind you of that as he is rarely seen out of a prison jumpsuit. Some mangled form of protest of innocence I suppose. Knox brings something real and unsettling. He hits hard and lets others ask the questions later.
The Yard Kings — Brian Bravo & Sam Sharpe
Loud, delusional, and strangely inseparable. Bravo loves his reflection. Sharpe loves a fight. They cheat, brag, and will do whatever it takes to come out on top. When Sam isn't brooding for an unfair fight, you might find him at the poker table until his bad luck turns his mood foul and he starts swinging.
Captain Galaxy
Cosmic destiny. Interstellar justice. Captain Galaxy fights for those who cannot fight for themselves. Or at least he tries. The kids are gonna love him.
Kade Huxley
A proficient technician in the ring but a troubled soul out of it - sometimes also in it. He hears whispers and voices, but when they talk to him they dont tend to have much in the way of understanding. Maybe some healthy competition will help him come to terms with whatever it is that troubles him.
Professor Pain
A man who claims to have a sinister plan to take over the world. Oh boy.
Rhonda Hogan
The NSW ring announcer. Always dressed for the occasion - just usually the wrong one. Is routinely disappointed that this isn't a battle of the bands.
Grandma Gail
Runs the merch table and cannot abide the Yard Kings. They claim this is why theyve never sold a shirt, but there might be other reasons for that. As the Hale family matriarch, Gail takes no prisoners if she sees any shenanigans, tomfoolery, or chicanery. Her words.
Closing Thoughts
North Star Wrestling is messy. It’s hopeful. It’s held together by belief and some very cheap and run down equipment. If something real is going to rise in Minneapolis again, could this be the first flicker?
Welcome to the beginning of North Star Wrestling.
There is a particular honesty to trading ten bucks to stand in someone’s backyard in the February cold to watch wrestling. Minneapolis had taken a beating that winter, and while the worst of the snow had already been cleared away, patches of old ice still clung stubbornly to the edges of lawns and pavements in Kenwood. The ground was damp, the air sharp enough to sting the lungs if you breathed too deeply, and the sky sat heavy and grey overhead.
Most of the nine people in attendance seemed to be a friend or a family member of someone on the show. A couple, though, stood off to the side as quietly as possible, bundled up and clearly hoping not to be dragged into conversation by anyone overly enthusiastic. There was a smattering of blankets on chairs, and early fears that there wouldnt be enough to go around were unfounded.
The setup was plain. A ring in the backyard. A few folding chairs. The most noticeable change since a previous visit was the addition of Christmas lights wrapped loosely around the ring posts, remnants of a pantomime held there in December that no one had bothered to take down. Once everyone was ushered into place, Rhonda Hogan clicked a boombox to life, and North Star Wrestling officially began.
North Star Wrestling: Rising
February 13, 2004
Hale Family Grounds, Kenwood
Opening Remarks
Isaac Hale stepped into the ring and raised his voice to address the small crowd, dispensing with any idea anyone may or may not have had of amplification.
“Alright, uh… thanks for coming out,” he said, scanning the faces around him. “I know it’s cold, and I know this isn’t exactly a big setup, but it means a lot that you’re here. What we’re doing is putting Minnesota wrestling back on the map! Two nights. Eight guys. Only one man will walk out as the best that North Star Wrestling has to offer." The crowd murmured in response.
He nodded once, as if to steady himself. “That’s it. Let’s get this show on the road!”
Captain Galaxy arrived almost immediately, greeting Hale with an enthusiastic handshake. He looked out over the ring with confidence, striking a series of poses as though the space carried more weight than its surroundings suggested.
“Fear not, North Star,” Galaxy announced. “The cosmic balance will be maintained on this day.”
Hale nodded back, expression unreadable.
Proving Grounds Tournament:
Isaac Hale vs. Captain Galaxy
Hale worked patiently, allowing Galaxy room early before gradually pulling the match into calmer waters. Galaxy fought forward with conviction, throwing himself into openings whenever they appeared, even if the execution sometimes was left a bit lacking. Hale looked to exert control over his cosmic opponent.
When the moment came, it came quickly. Hale cut off Galaxy’s momentum and sent the caped crusader hard into the canvas. A backbreaker followed by a snatch spine buster set up for the finisher. Isaac drove him down with a compact double-underhook driver, that he calls The Halestorm, folding him up for the pin and the first victory in the books of North Star Wrestling.
Isaac Hale def. Captain Galaxy
After the match, and after the dust had settled, Galaxy rose, shook Hale’s hand again, and turned to the crowd to raise his opponents hand in victory.
“The mission continues,” he declared, raising a fist with his other arm. “The stars shall be my guide.”
Proving Grounds Tournament:
Gregor Knox vs. Kade Huxley
Gregor Knox didn't care to wait for introductions.
“LOOK at you,” he shouted across the ring as he tore off his prison jumpsuit. “You don’t belong in here with a guy like me.”
It seemed that Knox was right. The match began and Gregor had Huxley completely on the back foot. Large clubbing blows and knife edge chops knocked the wind out of him and had him struggling to get a grip in the match. Huxley flinched at something whilst Gregor posed for the fans, something stirred in him.
Huxley got himself to his feet and then retreated under the familiar pressure from Knox but a slight pause in the big man gave Knox the opportunity he was looking for. He hit a basement dropkick to the knee of the big man and then, after ducking a lariat attempt, rebounded with a chop block that drove Knox down to one knee. The big man tried to adjust but Kade was relentless now. He saw his opportunity and grabbed on with both hands.
He remembered a Ric Flair best of DVD that Isaac had been watching during tryouts. He looked to apply the figure four leg lock to Gregor but his opponents tree trunk legs stopped Kade from being able to actually lock it in. Kade considered his options before a concerned look stretched across his face.
“No..” Huxley whispered. “No, its too soon...”
The opening that Kade had created working on the knee was closing quickly as Knox slapped some life back into his damaged joint. Knox stumbled up and then launched forward, catching Huxley mid-transition with a brutal lariat! Someone in the crowd gasped. He damn near took his head off! He dragged Huxley's limp body and then dropped him with a brutal Hard Times Slam (Boss Man Slam) The three count was elementary.
Gregor Knox def. Kade Huxley
Knox remained standing afterward, breathing hard, glaring at the crowd.
“Anybody else out there wondering who runs this place.” he barked. “I do. This is my house.”
Proving Grounds Tournament:
Canvas Creed vs. “Big Flex” Brian Bravo
Brian Bravo arrived with a camera and an expectation of immediate admiration from the crowd. He attempted to recruit someone to take his picture but, when that failed, the referee was pressed into service and a camera shoved into his hands. Bravo posed for a few shots before snatching the camera back and handing it to Sam Sharpe who had just shown up at ringside to support his Yard King buddy. Canvas Creed was next out and with no explanation at all, began pouring blue paint over himself until it ran freely down his head and arms and body and all over the canvas as the match started.
Bravo was completely taken aback and became immediately hesitant to lock up. He complained to the ref, he complained to Sharpe, and he complained to the crowd. It did him no good. Bravo’s confidence collapsed as the two locked up and he was immediately coated in blue paint.
“What the hell are you doing?” Bravo snapped. “You’re ruining my tan!”
As paint transferred from Creed to Bravo’s arm, then his face, Bravo’s focus shifted from distraction to visible distress. Creed remained composed, smiling, and waiting. Bravo started throwing haymakers but they barely grazed and Creed slipped around and launched the big man with a release German suplex. The crowd cheered and Bravo was absolutely shocked. He looked at his muscles and felt betrayed. Another missed haymaker and another release German suplex.
Bravo was now coated in paint and Sharpe rushed over to him with a blanket he had stolen from someone in the audience and tried to wipe the paint off but it simply smeared the paint even more and spread it across the rapidly diminishing bronzed body of 'Big Flex'.
“Stop!” Bravo shouted. “You’re making it worse!”
Brian shoved his partner away and turned back to the action but Creed had finished playing games. He rocked Bravo with a flurry of European uppercuts and then hit one more release German for good measure before signalling that this was over. Bravo groggily stumbled to his feet but he gets caught immediately with an Impaler DDT and Creed locks in a Dragon Sleeper for the submission victory. Bravo taps out and looks close to tears as he rolls out of the ring.
Canvas Creed def. Brian Bravo
Intermission
Intermission took the form of a tombola organised by Grandma Gail. Numbers were called out, tickets were misplaced, and complaints were shut down with a level of authority that left little room for argument. At one point Brian Bravo wandered over to collect his prize, now almost completely coated blue, but was waved away by Gail before he could do any damage. She said she would mail it to him.
Sky High, baby!
Jaime Rourke came out to some generic alternative rock and addressed the crowd briefly before his match, pacing with barely contained energy.
“Look, I don’t know how many chances you get to do something like this,” he said. “So I’m not wasting mine. I'm aiming for the tippity top, Sky High baby! Sky high!”
He slapped the top rope and waited for his opponent.
Proving Grounds Tournament:
Jaime Rourke vs. Sam Sharpe
Sharpe came out, alone, but with a wild look in his eyes. Rourke moved relentlessly from the opening bell, darting across the ring and throwing himself into his opponent with little regard for the consequences. A flying back elbow sent Sharpe sprawling to the outside and Rourke scrambled like a cat to the top rope. Just as Sam got to his feet he saw Rourke flying at him with a moonsault to the outside, wiping both men out.
The crowd stirred into life as Jaime climbed the ropes again but this time he was cut off and had his legs pulled from under him. Sharpe reigned down body shots and hit a snap neckbreaker that got a two count. The wiry bruiser took control of the match. Sharpe was the smaller man but his physicality and aggression was enough to cut the high flyer down to size and keep him grounded. He barked at Rourke and the crowd alike as he looked to slow the pace right down to a crawl.
“Can't jump around now ey little ant.” Sharpe sneered, "can't dance 'round me."
Jaime looked to dig deep and try to feed off the energy of the crowd, although a few were frozen stiff and were struggling to meet his demands. Rhonda Hogan took it upon herself to start cheering and chanting "Jai-Me! Jai-Me!" A couple of others joined in. So did Grandma Gail. Rourke was finally feeling it and he started firing back. A springboard shining wizard landed on Sharpe but it was only enough for a two count. Rourke couldnt believe it. He thought he had him and then made a rookie mistake as he argued with the referee over the cadence of the count. This allowed Sharpe the time, motive, and opportunity to retrieve his rusty spanner and, in plain view of the referee, he swung for the fences and looked to eliminate his high flying opponent.
Unfortunately for Sam, but fortunately a company with minimal insurance coverage, his swing missed completely and the momentum carried him forward into the ropes. In a slapstick moment he rebounded off the ropes, smacked himself in the head with the rusty spanner and collapsed into a heap on the mat. The referee saw it all but ruled that the match MUST CONTINUE, and Rourke made no mistake in capitalising this time. He shrugged at his fallen opponent and climbed up to the top rope one final time. Frogsplash! 1...2...3. Jaime Rourke wins.
Jaime Rourke def. Sam Sharpe
Rourke rolled to the floor afterward, laughing in disbelief as the crowd cheered for him. As Rourke celebrated in and around the ring, Rhonda stepped forward, coughing abruptly to get attention.
“Okay! Um—thank you everyone for coming,” she called out. “Your tickets work tomorrow too, so please come back. Bring people. We’ve been North Star Wrestling. Thanks for coming.”
The cold still hadn't cleared from the air but without the biting edge of the wind it was much more manageable than it was at yesterday's show. The snowbanks were the same dull grey they’d been the night before, and the ground underfoot still held that damp, half-frozen soil that made you wary of every step.
What had changed was the feeling in the crowd, mostly thanks to being more prepared for standing around on a winter’s day in an open space. Most had many more layers than they did last night and a BBQ had a captivated audience that would require some coaxing to depart. All in all, spirits were high, and anticipation was in the air.
The nine from the night before had returned, which speaks to some kind of success, and a few had convinced partners and friends to join them. I did a quick headcount and realised there were twenty-three people gathered here to watch a backyard wrestling promotion in relative discomfort. On a weekend where the WWE were promoting a show with an intergender blindfold match, this was an atypical independent tournament designed to showcase the talent in the matches, rather than insult their audience. Sorry, I don’t know what came over me there. I’ll still watch but that’s not the point I’m trying to make here!
There was no sense of grandeur nor lavish occasion at the Hale Family Grounds, but those who had seen the likes of Gregor Knox, Jaime Rourke, Canvas Creed, and the “North Star” himself Isaac Hale last night were keenly excited to see what they might deliver this time around. Rhonda Hogan paced nearby with her notes, practicing names again, though it was hard to imagine anyone present had forgotten them overnight. She was the exception to prove the rule. She stood up, straightened her hoody, checked her notes one final time before clearing her throat and ushering the crowd to their seats.
It was time for North Star Wrestling: Ascension to begin.
North Star Wrestling: Ascension
February 14, 2004
Hale Family Grounds, Kenwood, Minneapolis
Opening Remarks
Rhonda clapped her hands together, cleared her throat once more for good measure and announced the continuation of the Proving Grounds Tournament, thanking everyone for coming back out in the cold. She got about halfway through her announcement before Gregor Knox appeared from behind the house and stepped into the ring without acknowledgement.
“This is a waste of time,” Knox said, his eyes drifting across the folding chairs and the small crowd, taking stock. “Proving Grounds? I don’t need to prove anything.”
He leaned back against the ropes, jaw set, a grin creeping across his face.
“Nearly twenty-four hours ago, I smashed Kade Huxley,” he continued. “So tonight, I’m not asking for a match. I’m giving someone permission to see if it don’t go the exact same way.”
Knox tore his shirt off and tossed it aside as Rhonda retreated quickly to her seat. Generic alternative rock crackled out of the speakers, signalling the arrival of Jaime Rourke. Knox paced back and forth in the ring, restless and coiled, like a starved beast waiting to be let loose.
Proving Grounds Tournament Semi-Final:
Gregor Knox vs. Jaime Rourke
Jaime tried to repeat his high-flying heroics from his match against Sam Sharpe, but Knox was much bigger and far more focused. Rourke moved quickly, bounced around and attacked Knox’s legs early, forcing him to turn and reset. He looked to pinpoint the knee that Kade Huxley had worked over yesterday, but he was working over the wrong knee! It hampered Knox, who kept finding himself in the unusual position of being on the back foot, but he was a difficult man to keep down. Jaime went up top and looked to hit a frog splash, but Knox got his knees up!
The pain shot through him immediately, but he had a litany of pain to compare this with, and it didn’t measure up, not by a damn sight. He breathed heavily and willed himself to ignore the knee and get this one over with. He stood up and absorbed Jaime’s strikes, pushing forward without urgency or concern. When he finally caught Rourke mid-strike he easily overpowered him. Rourke tried to hit the ropes but found Knox waiting with a back body drop. He popped back up only for a series of clubbing blows and forearms to drop him to a knee. A headbutt snapped his head back. Knox dragged him upright only to put him down again, slow and deliberate. Methodical.
Rourke refused to stay down. He threw a few weak punches that did nothing to stop the onslaught. Another lariat dropped Rourke hard to the canvas. Knox looked like he was toying with his prey as he locked in a bearhug and began to swing Jaime around, shaking him violently in the middle of the ring. Rourke finally slipped free and landed a dropkick that staggered Knox just enough to draw a reaction from the crowd, but it was short-lived. Knox answered by swatting Rourke out of the sky on a diving crossbody attempt before hoisting him up and crunching him back down into the mat with the Hard Times Slam. 1, 2, 3. Knox advances.
Gregor Knox def. Jaime Rourke via pinfall
Rourke lay there staring up at the lights while Knox stood over him, expression unchanged and in no mood for celebration. He simply stepped back through the ropes and called out that “it doesn’t matter who advances to the finals, because this was his house!”
Damn, he’s really trying to get that over.
The Pursuit of Perfection
Canvas Creed came out but instead of entering the ring, he wandered around it. He seemed deep in thought as the crowd looked on, wondering what this was about. Creed paused as if to address the people in the front row before he thought better of it and jumped onto the ring apron, sitting there and looking out.
His hands were marked with flecks of dried paint, his eyes fixed on a point in the distance, unwavering, barely blinking. For a moment, he said nothing at all, as if weighing whether words would only cheapen what he was trying to say.
“Perfection,” Creed began quietly, “isn’t some kind of Nirvana or state of being that you reach. Far from it. Perfection is something you chase.”
He scratched his chin. Pondering.
“That chase has fuelled millennia of poets who write about it and try to capture its essence. Painters ruin a hundred thousand canvases looking for it between jagged lines and uncouth brushstrokes. Musicians sell their soul just to have a chance at doing something great. They call it a masterpiece when it finally appears, or at least others do, but what they never talk about is the cost. The sleepless nights. The failures that can make or break a man. The desperation that almost kills you.”
Creed looked up at the lights.
“People will ask if it’s worth it when the odds are forever stacked against us, when Fate gives us hope only to dash it on the rocks in the last moments like a cruel mistress teaching us lessons we will never come to know.”
Someone in the crowd shouted out, “Well, is it?” which made Creed smirk.
“Of course. I have suffered many lessons, but if I have learned one thing, it is that reward without suffering is empty and hollow and meaningless. I haven’t come here just to win. I have come here to make something that lasts. Something beautiful. And I am prepared to suffer for my dreams.”
A faint smile crossed his face, thin and strained.
“Isaac Hale. I sense you have similar aspirations, at least your technical prowess in this sacred space is to be commended. But whilst your reputation may go before you, it is in the unknown, not the known, where we might find ourselves. Should I fall short, I’ll tear it all apart and start again and again and again. Because eventually—”
He held out his arms to the crowd.
“—I will create something perfect.”
Proving Grounds Tournament Semi-Final:
Isaac Hale vs. Canvas Creed
Creed remained seated on the apron as Isaac Hale made his way to the ring, the two sharing a brief look before Hale stepped between the ropes. Creed followed a moment later, slower and deliberate, never taking his eyes off his opponent. Hale, clearly inspired by the gallantry of Captain Galaxy yesterday, offered a handshake to begin. Creed accepted, and the match was underway.
The opening minutes were defined not by the pursuit of perfection, but the pursuit of control. Both men worked patiently through holds and counters, each attempting to establish a strong position without overcommitting. Headlocks were slipped. Wristlocks were reversed. A series of lucha-style arm drags ended in a stalemate. Neither man gained more than a momentary advantage, resetting quickly each time the balance shifted.
Creed was the more relentless of the two, pressing forward and forcing Hale to respond. He slipped behind Hale twice, each time looking to cinch in a Dragon Sleeper, drawing a concerned murmur from the crowd as Creed had put down Brian Bravo last night with that very move. Hale fought it off calmly, backing Creed into the ropes and forcing him to break the hold.
As the match wore on, the pace began to quicken. Creed nearly caught Hale again in the Dragon Sleeper after a scramble, only for Hale to roll through and escape at the last moment. Hale answered with a sudden BRAINBUSTAH~! that earned a near fall, followed immediately by another after Creed countered a suplex and transitioned into a cradle of his own.
The end came as Creed reached for the Dragon Sleeper once more, but he went to the well once too often and Hale anticipated it. He reversed the grip and planted Creed with the Halestorm. 1...2...3. That was all she wrote. Hale advances.
Isaac Hale def. Canvas Creed via pinfall
Hale fell to a knee and leaned on the ropes, showing just how much that match had taken out of him. He rolled aside as Creed gathered himself and sat up slowly. There was no visible frustration as he realised he had been beaten by the better man and even offered up a handshake of his own. Hale accepted, and the two men shared a moment of respect in the middle of the ring. Creed nodded at Isaac and then left the ring holding his neck. Hale grimaced as he left the ring, favouring his lower back.
Intermission
With the semi-finals finished, the show took a short break from the action. Grandma Gail was already moving, setting her folding table near the ring and placing a battered plastic bucket on top. She ran the raffle the same way she did everything else: briskly, loudly, and with the quiet assumption that nobody was going to argue with her about it. They usually didn’t.
Tickets were drawn. A North Star Wrestling training t-shirt was held up for inspection like a prize trophy, although someone asked if they had a fleece instead. A couple of people won free tickets to next month’s event. Rhonda was nearby to tell everyone that she would be announcing next month’s matches at the end of the show—she even let one of the matches slip. Gail rolled her eyes and clipped Rhonda behind the ear, warning everyone in earshot to keep that confidential information to themselves.
The main prize was a bottle of whiskey, promptly opened and shared around. Nothing like community spirit in the cold to keep you going. Gail then packed up her wares and motioned for everyone to return to their chairs, though it sounded more like a demand to leave her alone. Thankfully, most people thought she was just living the gimmick.
He Walks Among Us
Kade Huxley moved slowly among the folding chairs, hands in the pockets of his jacket, filtering through the small crowd. He stopped once near the back, then again closer to the ring, speaking quietly enough that people leaned in to hear.
“He walks among us,” Huxley said. “But he is not one of us. He moves close enough that you stop noticing him. But he’s always there.”
He paused, letting that sit.
“That’s how you miss it. You expect danger to announce itself. You think you’ll see it coming. Even the unfamiliar. You lie awake and imagine how you would face it head-on. It’s never that simple.”
Huxley took a few steps toward the ring.
“Sometimes it just waits until you’re comfortable. Too comfortable.”
He rested a hand on the apron and looked back toward the crowd.
“You tell yourself there are places where nothing follows you. That some things end when you leave the building, or when the lights go out. That there’s no such thing as monsters.”
Huxley shook his head.
“How I wish you could be right.”
He slid under the bottom rope and stood, the ring quiet again.
“I don’t know when it’s going to happen,” he said. “Just that when it does—”
He drew breath to continue as outrageously upbeat house music hit the boombox, bursting the tension like a balloon.
Captain Galaxy erupted out from behind the house in full gear, cape catching the faint glimmer of the dying light as he jogged toward the ring, slapping hands and pumping a fist in the air. A few people laughed. A couple clapped along. Galaxy slid into the ring and climbed the ropes, pointing skyward.
“Justice has arrived!”
Huxley turned toward him, the moment clearly not what he had expected. He nodded once, stepped back, and let Galaxy take the space as the crowd followed the change in energy.
Galaxy spread his arms wide.
“Let’s go!”
Tag Team Match:
The Yard Kings vs. Captain Galaxy & Kade Huxley
Rhonda initially announced this as a fatal four-way match featuring the losers of the tournament matches last night—the Yard Kings consider themselves runners-up, not losers. However, she received a memo and announced that, in the spirit of competition, the Yard Kings would instead team together to face Kade Huxley and Captain Galaxy.
The Yard Kings entered together, Sam Sharpe jawing immediately with anyone close enough to hear him while Brian Bravo tried unsuccessfully to rein him in. Sam even aimed a pointed barb in Rhonda’s direction, clearly anticipating a serious advantage in a four-way. Sharpe seemed to relish the verbal jousting with the crowd. Bravo less so. Brian posed when he reached the ring, soaking in the noise until the boos became too loud to ignore. He lowered his arms, visibly irritated.
Captain Galaxy struck the same pose from the ropes, worsening Bravo’s mood as he garnered a much louder reaction. Sharpe and Bravo wasted no time waiting for the bell and rushed their opponents. Galaxy was sent sprawling out of the ring as the Yard Kings isolated Huxley in their corner.
Sharpe laid in most of the damage as Bravo hovered just out of reach, picking his moments carefully and avoiding contact whenever possible. If the referee turned his back for a moment, Bravo was always ready to pounce with a cheap shot.
Huxley took the brunt of the match. Sharpe stayed on him with heavy strikes and scoop slams, ensuring frequent tags to maximise the time both Kings could be in the ring together. Galaxy tried to spur his partner on, but each glimpse of a tag was shut down. Every chance to create space was cut off.
A tag attempt was stopped when Sharpe dragged Huxley back by the ankle, allowing Bravo to sneak in with a forearm to the back of the head before rolling out again.
The hot tag finally came when Huxley slipped free of a corner splash and dove for his partner. Galaxy came in firing, unloading on both men and forcing the Yard Kings to retreat. Sharpe took clotheslines and a running leg lariat. Bravo stumbled after a dropkick and was sent over the top rope to the floor. Sharpe rolled out, both men wobbly.
Galaxy struck a heroic pose before hitting the ropes and launching himself with a springboard plancha, wiping out both Yard Kings to a sizeable reaction.
The momentum didn’t last.
The match broke down into chaos. Sharpe and Bravo regrouped faster, using their tag-team experience to regain control. A distraction from Sharpe allowed Bravo to clip Galaxy at the knee and send him into a two-man spinebuster.
Huxley tried to re-enter but was cut off on the apron. Sharpe knocked him to the floor and followed him out as Bravo set up the Pump Up Powerbomb. Galaxy fought with punches but was dropped hard on the back of his head. Bravo made the cover and secured the three count.
The Yard Kings def. Captain Galaxy & Kade Huxley via pinfall
Galaxy rolled to the ropes as the bell rang, frustration clear. Bravo retreated, rubbing his jaw, while Sharpe celebrated loudly. Huxley pulled himself up on the outside and looked back into the ring as the Yard Kings backed up the ramp, shouting that they were the “best damn tag team in the company.”
Standing Before the Storm
Isaac Hale stood alone in the ring.
He rested his forearms across the top rope and looked out at the crowd.
“Gregor Knox is the kind of man who makes everything simple,” Hale said. “Not easy, but extremely simple.”
He straightened.
“You can know every hold in the book. All one thousand and four of them. You can have answers for most situations. And none of that guarantees anything when someone like Knox shows up and forces everyone to adjust.”
He paused.
“I’ve been wrestling a long time. Long enough to know that the most dangerous opponent isn’t always the most skilled one. It’s the one who doesn’t care what this costs them. The one with nothing to lose.”
He nodded once.
“I’ve trusted preparation most of my life. Trusted that staying sharp and staying calm would be enough.”
He shook his head.
“Sometimes it isn’t.”
“To be the one standing at the end, with your hand raised, it takes more than knowing what to do. It takes finding out how much you’re willing to give.”
He smiled slightly.
“Tonight, Gregor Knox finds out how far that goes.”
Proving Grounds Tournament Final:
Isaac Hale vs. Gregor Knox
Knox did not wait for an introduction.
He stepped into the ring slowly, eyes locked on Hale, hard-faced and angry. Hale stood his ground, rolling his shoulders and bouncing on the balls of his feet side to side. The two men sized each other up. There was no rush. No wasted movement.
The opening exchange showed that Hale was sharper. Cleaner. He won the first lock-up with leverage and nifty footwork, transitioning from a wristlock into a hammerlock and then a snapmare that sent the big man to the mat. Knox was just as surprised when it happened a second time but he was able to then quickly power out of a seated chinlock attempt.
Hale stayed on him, working quickly, forcing Knox to react to a variety of offense. A low dropkick caught Knox in the knee and drew a grunt of irritation. Knox rolled to the ropes to catch a break and smiled.
“Smart,” he muttered. “Now, try that again.”
Hale feigned another dropkick but when Knox looked to grab Hale he found himself propelled forward with a flying head scissors. Knox was back up immediately, but he winced slightly as he got back to his feet. Hale hit the ropes but was promptly caught as Knox pulled Hale into a side headlock, dropping his weight and grinding him down. Hale forced him off the ropes but the rebounding shoulder tackle knocked Isaac for six.
A nerve pinch followed as Gregor began to methodically dismantle his opponent. When Hale fought out of one of his holds, he swiftly locked in another. A bear hug followed before a belly-to-belly slam folded Hale in half and knocked the wind out of him. Knox leaned in close.
“This is all you’ve got?” he asked quietly. “I expected more.”
Hale tried to escape with a flurry of elbows, only to be pulled back down into a grounded chinlock. Knox stayed on him, conserving energy, letting the clock work in his favour. Both men were in their third match in just over twenty-four hours, and whilst both men showed signs of it, Knox had carved a much straighter path to the finals than Hale.
Hale fought to his feet several times, but each time he was cut off and dragged back down to the canvas with his much heavier opponent weighing him down and tiring him out under all that mass. Hale knew he had to do as he said. Adjust.
He channelled the power of the hometown hero and fought back to a vertical base. Knox looked to lock in another bear hug, but whilst that hold had caught Hale by surprise earlier in the match, this time he was ready for it. A standing switch gave him space long enough to land a chop block to the leg, followed by a dragon screw that sent Knox to the mat clutching his knee. Which one didn’t matter. They were both giving Knox problems after Hale stomped away on them. Hale stayed focused, dropping a knee on his opponent’s chest and then getting a two count from a running splash.
The match quickened.
Knox answered with a hard forearm that dropped Hale, then drove him into the corner with a body avalanche. He followed with a side slam for a near fall, leaning back on the cover just enough to make a point.
Hale kicked out and rolled through, catching Knox with a sudden small package for two. Knox powered out and immediately clamped back onto Hale with another bear hug, lifting him slightly off the mat and squeezing until Hale’s face tightened in pain. He knew he shouldn't have been caught again. After what felt like an eternity, Hale slipped free and tried to end it.
He hooked Knox for the Halestorm—but his back gave out mid-lift. Hale staggered forward, clutching at his lower back as Knox capitalised instantly, flattening him with a short-arm clothesline. He hit another for good measure before lifting Hale up for a running powerslam. Hale landed hard but it was only a two count.
Knox stayed on him, barking now.
“How disappointing!”
A running knee strike followed, then a sit-out powerbomb for another close near fall. Knox began to grow frustrated, dragging Hale up and shoving him back into the corner before charging in again, and again, and again. He looked at Hale slumped in the corner and charged a fourth time only for Hale to sidestep and let Knox crash shoulder-first into the turnbuckle.
Hale went back to the leg.
Another dragon screw. A low dropkick. Knox stumbled, favouring the knee as Hale saw his opportunity. Knox broke free and swung wildly, only to be caught with a stiff forearm and a snap German suplex.
Both men were slow to rise.
Knox charged again, but his knee buckled and he took a running knee to the jaw. Hale mustered all of his remaining energy to hook the arms and land the Halestorm!
Hale hooked the leg.
1...
2....
3!
Isaac Hale def. Gregor Knox via pinfall
The crowd erupted and cheered as Isaac Hale pulled himself to his feet and with his chest heaving and one hand pressed against his lower back, the referee raised his other arm in victory. Rhonda announced him as the Proving Grounds Tournament winner and the crowd cheered once more.
Closing
Rhonda Hogan hesitated at the edge of the ring before stepping forward, notes clutched tightly in one hand.
“Okay—um—thank you,” she said. “Thank you for coming out this weekend. Both nights. Especially tonight.”
She took a breath.
“This was the Proving Grounds Tournament, and Isaac Hale is your winner.”
She nodded, relieved.
“We’ll be back next month. Same place. And the next show is called *Daylight Breaks*.”
She added quickly: “That show will feature matches such as Canvas Creed versus Captain Galaxy, and Jaime Rourke versus the mystery charge of evil scientist Professor Pain making his North Star debut. Isaac Hale will be in action, as will the Yard Kings, Kade Huxley, and Gregor Knox.”
She lowered her notes.
“Thank you for giving this a chance. We’ve been North Star Wrestling. You’ve been great. Goodnight!”
She stepped back as people gathered their coats and chairs, the lights flickering softly around the Hale Family Grounds.
March 13, 2004
Hale Family Grounds, Kenwood, Minneapolis
The weather had eased slightly since last month, though “comfortable” would still be generous. A few patches of stubborn dirt-grey snow lingered around the edges of the yard, but the ground itself had thawed just enough to soften that icy firmness.
A crowd of nineteen had gathered, with enough familiar faces returning that greetings were politely exchanged and discussion immediately turned to the closing events of last month. Isaac Hale had stood tall after defeating Gregor Knox in an intense tournament final. Some expected that Knox would be here tonight seeking revenge. Others called the result obvious — “what with Hale being the owner” — and someone new chirped up asking if this was the same Isaac Hale who wrestled on WCW Thunder back in 1998.
Discussion also landed on Captain Galaxy, prompted by a kid in the second row wearing his own cape, his mother beaming politely as people complimented his look. Rhonda did her customary “hem hem” as she cleared her throat, directed any stragglers to their seats, and got the show underway.
Opening Remarks
Isaac Hale was out first to a warm reaction as he entered the ring to open the show. He didn’t raise his voice, instead waiting until the applause and cheers settled down.
“Good afternoon, and welcome to North Star Wrestling. I recognise some of you from last month, and we’re glad to have you back,” Hale said. “It means a lot, honestly, and we intend to repay that loyalty tonight at Daylight Breaks.
“To the new faces in the crowd, welcome. We hope to live up to whatever expectations you came here with. We—”
The Yard Kings interrupted to a resounding chorus of boos and jeers.
“That’s a great speech, man,” Sam Sharpe shouted. “Real inspirational material — but this ain’t a support group.”
Brian Bravo climbed onto the apron and looked out over the crowd.
“But it sure looks like one.” The Yard Kings guffawed at one another. “You talk about loyalty and gratitude, but those things don’t win matches. We do.”
Hale smiled as the Kings advanced.
“We are the greatest tag team in North Star,” Bravo continued. “We proved it last month, and you haven’t even done us the courtesy of telling us who we’re facing tonight.”
Before Hale could answer, Jaime Rourke jogged out in his street clothes and slipped into the ring beside him.
“He had his own tangle with the Kings on the debut show, overcoming Samuel Sharpe after Sharpe tried to use a rusty spanner to steal the win,” quipped a returning fan in the crowd.
Rourke leaned against the ropes and looked the Yard Kings over.
“You like to play the numbers game, huh?” Rourke asked. “Well, I already have a match tonight, but if Isaac is game, I’d love to pull double duty and see what you’ve got in the ring — two versus two.”
“This doesn’t involve you,” Sharpe snapped.
"It does now" replied Rourke as he stepped through the ropes.
Hale stepped forward.
“You really want to prove you’re the best team here?”
Bravo quipped that they already were. Rourke laughed.
“Good. Then tonight we have ourselves a match, gentlemen. The Yard Kings versus Isaac Hale and Jaime Rourke.”
The Yard Kings complained briefly before backing off, loudly promising embarrassment later. Hale thanked Rourke for stepping in before things got out of hand.
Rhonda Hogan quickly took to the ring to confirm the matches for the afternoon. Captain Galaxy would face Canvas Creed. Jaime Rourke would be in singles action against Professor Pain’s mystery experiment. Rourke would also team with Hale against the Yard Kings later in the show. Kade Huxley would face the debuting Skylark Southern — a man who described himself as “lucha obsessed” and not much else. What a mystery.
Rhonda began to leave before realising she had mixed up her cue cards. Flustered, she hurried back to the ring to add that Gregor Knox’s bail conditions meant he could not wrestle today — but would return to action next month. She nodded quickly and then exited the ring.
Canvas Creed vs. Captain Galaxy
Captain Galaxy burst out first, cape flowing behind him, pointing skyward and warning unseen threats to stay back. The caped kid in the second row copied the pose and earned a high five from our cosmic guardian. Canvas Creed followed more slowly, already focused and ready. No blue paint this time. A smattering of mixed reactions followed, as the crowd had clearly decided Galaxy was their guy in this one.
Galaxy opened the match at a frantic pace, dodging Creed and throwing exaggerated strikes that looked impressive but didn’t always land — and when they did, they lacked real impact. Creed allowed it at first, studying him and working the angles before cutting Galaxy off with a sharp Russian leg sweep.
From there, Creed took control. The match became one-sided, though Galaxy never stopped fighting, throwing himself into openings whenever he found them. He even landed a crossbody and a diving elbow that drew a near fall. Creed absorbed it and fired back, grounding the caped crusader, targeting the neck and shoulders, and preventing Galaxy from building momentum.
Galaxy made one last attempt to rally, but Creed slipped behind him and launched him halfway across the ring with a release German suplex. Creed stalked his opponent, waiting for Galaxy to rise before throwing him again. As Galaxy struggled on all fours, Creed circled once more, wrapped his arms around Galaxy’s neck, and locked in the Dragon Sleeper. Galaxy fought briefly, reaching for the ropes in the distance, before tapping.
Canvas Creed def. Captain Galaxy
Creed turned and addressed the crowd after having his hand raised in victory.
“Last month,” he said, “standing across from Isaac Hale… I was close. So damn close.
“Tonight wasn’t that. Tonight was practice. A rough sketch. An outline.
“I won’t stop until the work is done.”
He glanced back at the fallen Captain Galaxy before leaving.
The Evolution of Man
Professor Pain appeared next, smiling broadly, walking with the easy confidence of a man who believed he was ahead of everybody else. He stepped into the ring and waited for the noise to settle, nodding slightly as if the reaction confirmed his point.
“All of human history is a process,” Pain declared. “We adapt. We refine. We improve.”
He tapped the side of his head.
“Progress does not happen by accident. It is designed.”
A few uneasy murmurs rippled through the crowd. The Professor grinned.
“Tonight is not about competition, it is about advancement.”
He turned toward the entranceway.
“You are about to see what comes next.” A pause. “This… is the evolution of man.”
Jaime Rourke vs. Flesh Titan
Flesh Titan emerged slowly, following Professor Pain’s gestures toward the ring and seemingly unaware of the crowd around him. He cut an imposing figure with broad shoulders and a square jaw, stepping heavily with exaggerated movements, eyes fixed somewhere in the distance. He climbed onto the apron as Pain gleefully welcomed him in, clapping enthusiastically as he presented the result of years of dedicated research.
Rourke followed to a good reaction. Aligning with Hale had endeared him to anyone who had forgotten he had the match of the night on the first show. He bounced lightly on the apron, eyes never leaving his opponent.
At the bell, Flesh Titan took control immediately. He drove Rourke into the corners with brute force, throwing short, ugly strikes and open-handed chops that knocked the wind out of the high flyer. Titan used his size to smother rather than outwrestle, and the approach worked a charm. Rourke scrambled, slipping out of holds where he could, landing quick forearms and low kicks, but never enough to slow the onslaught. Pain barked instructions from ringside, growing more animated as Titan continued to dominate.
Then something changed.
Titan slowed. His strikes lost urgency. He stopped responding entirely, standing in the centre of the ring and staring at his hands, flexing his fingers as if unsure they belonged to him.
Rourke backed away, unsure whether to press the advantage.
After a long pause, Flesh Titan collapsed to his knees and began sobbing uncontrollably. Pain remonstrated from the outside, but the words fell on deaf ears. Titan rolled out of the ring and staggered toward the back.
Pain shouted after him, insisting this was not part of the plan. Titan never turned back as the referee counted to ten.
Jaime Rourke def. Flesh Titan via count-out
Rourke stood in the ring, hands on his hips, uncertain how to react. Professor Pain paced toward the back, arguing loudly with no one in particular, repeating that progress takes time as his creation disappeared and he followed in pursuit.
Intermission
Intermission gave people a chance to stretch their legs, grab a drink, and talk through what they’d just seen. The Flesh Titan experiment was a popular topic, though no one seemed quite sure what to make of it.
Near the merch table, the Yard Kings were once again making themselves heard.
“We won that damn tombola last month, old woman,” Brian Bravo insisted. “Where’s our prize?”
“I mailed it,” Grandma Gail replied calmly. “I’ve told you boys that already.”
“You’re lying,” Sam Sharpe snapped.
“Did you call the post office like I told you? No?” Gail shot back. “Tsk.” She turned away, clearly considering the matter closed. The Yard Kings lingered, muttering, before storming off.
Elsewhere, a man in a handsomely made, well-tailored suit moved quietly through the crowd, offering business cards to a handful of wrestlers. There was little conversation — just brief nods and exchanges.
Eventually, he approached Isaac Hale and extended a card. Hale glanced at it before slipping it into his pocket and offering a polite nod. The man moved on, disappearing into the crowd.
Familiar Ground
Kade Huxley didn’t feel like heading straight for the ring. Instead, he moved slowly along the edge of the crowd, hands in the pockets of his jacket, stopping once, then again, speaking quietly enough that people leaned in closer to hear him.
“Last month,” Huxley said softly, “I tried to warn everyone about the monsters that lurk in the shadows. So close you can almost feel them.”
He paused.
“But you ignore them. You write it off as…” He took a few steps forward. “Paranoia. Anxiety. Not threats. Not warnings. Just things that become part of the background noise.”
Huxley stopped.
“That’s how people convince themselves they’re safe. Because nothing looks wrong. Because danger looks familiar. It feels like a friend — right up until it cuts like a knife.”
His tone shifted, more sincere than accusatory.
“I don’t mean to scare you,” he said. “Just to keep you vigilant.”
With that, new theme music hit — a country-tinged bop heralding the arrival of debutant Skylark Southern.
Kade Huxley vs. Skylark Southern
Skylark entered to a warm reaction, slapping hands and soaking in the moment before stretching the ropes. Huxley watched from across the ring, expression unreadable.
Southern moved quickly at the bell, chaining arm drags and headscissors and forcing Huxley to regroup. A springboard crossbody caught Huxley flush and drew a sharp reaction on a near fall. Nimble as a cat, Skylark then walked the ropes and hit a beautiful leaping tornado DDT for another near fall.
Huxley was being overwhelmed so he looked to slow the pace, closing the distance between the two men and pressing Southern into the corner. Skylark reversed an Irish Whips and hit the ropes with speed to land a high impact corner splash. Kade was slightly frustrated by this point but he evaded the follow up running knee and found a two count from a school boy roll up.
The two men were up quickly and exchanging punches but a spinning back elbow from Kade caught Southern clean on the jaw and rocked him. A northern lights driver got a long two count, but the writing was on the wall for Skylark who was almost out on his feet, kicking out on pure instinct. Huxley pulled his opponent up and into position. Signal Jammer! (AKA Gedo's Complete Shot). 1...2...3.
Kade Huxley def. Skylark Southern
Kade left the ring without celebrating, muttering to himself about warnings unneeded and the dire consequences. Unfortunately, attention had turned to anticipation for the main event which was up next.
The Yard Kings vs. Isaac Hale & Jaime Rourke
The Yard Kings entered loudly, posturing and jawing with the crowd, acting as if the outcome was already decided for the self-proclaimed Greatest Tag Team in North Star Wrestling. Hale and Rourke followed to a stronger reaction, the cheers noticeably louder now as the stakes felt clearer.
Rourke started the match and immediately found himself dealing with the numbers game he had warned about earlier in the night. The Yard Kings tagged in and out quickly, circling him, forcing him to turn and react, unable to settle into any kind of rhythm. Every time Rourke tried to move toward his corner, a hand caught his ankle or a forearm met him from behind, and the referee was continually distracted and in the wrong place.
The Kings took every shortcut available. Cheap shots on the apron. Quick tags behind the referee’s back. Loud distractions followed by sneak attacks. Rourke absorbed it all, grimacing as he was dragged back to the wrong side of the ring again and again, the glimmer of light at the end of the tunnel growing dimmer.
He fought his way free a few times, slipping under a mistimed charge and lunging toward Hale—only for Bravo to yank him back by the waistband and plant him face-first into the mat. The Yard Kings laughed as they reset, keeping the pressure on.
Rourke tried again moments later, crawling on hands and knees, stretching for the tag as the crowd rose with him—only for Sharpe to stomp his arm flat against the canvas and pull him away at the last possible second.
The frustration was visible now. Rourke’s counter-strikes lost a bit of snap. His movement slowed. Still, he refused to stay down.
At last, he found space. A sudden burst of energy saw him duck a clothesline and stumble toward the corner, fingertips brushing Hale’s outstretched hand—
—and then another cut-off. This time with Bravo cheap shotting Hale to knock him off the apron before Rourke can make the tag. The Yard Kings pressed their advantage one more time, dragging the match out, feeding off the grumbles and the irritation of the crowd. Rourke took the punishment, jaw clenched, eyes fixed on his corner.
Then, finally, an opportunity.
Rourke slipped free of a grip, ducked a charge, and dove headlong toward the corner.
TAG!
Hale got the tag and he exploded into the ring, flattening Sharpe with a clothesline before turning and dropping Bravo with a beautiful Maven-esque dropkick. He moved with urgency, cutting off escape routes, knocking both men down and forcing them to scramble. The Yard Kings tried to regroup, but Hale stayed on them, driving Sharpe to the mat and hauling Bravo back in before he could regroup.
Bravo swung with a lariat attempt, Isaac ducked and then Hale hit the Halestorm and hooked the leg.
One.
Two—
Sharpe dove in and broke it up at the last possible moment. The Kings tried to swing the momentum back with a double team, but Rourke was already moving, cutting one off and sending both men tumbling out to the floor with a double clothesline. Without hesitation, Rourke hit the ropes and launched himself over with a suicide plancha wiping out both Yard Kings and winding up with everyone down in a heap.
A look of concern on the face of the referee saw him immediately move to check on the damage at ringside.
That was all the time needed for a man lying in wait.
Gregor Knox slid into the ring unseen, although the crowd tried to warn Isaac. Top late. Knox caught Hale from behind, driving him down with the Hard Times Slam. He didn’t hesitate, slipping back out of the ring as quickly as he had arrived. The Yard Kings had collected themselves outside and, noticing an opportunity, they threw Rourke into the ringsteps and then got Hale into position.
Kingmaker! Sharpe hits a running elbow to the back of Isaac, who stumbles in to an Impaler DDT from Bravo. The referee got back in and counted the elementary three count. The Yard Kings are victorious!
The Yard Kings def. Isaac Hale & Jaime Rourke
Rourke scrambled toward the ring, but Knox was waiting. He cut Rourke down on the floor with a brutal lariat, leaving him sprawled near the apron. Knox then climbed back into the ring as the Yard Kings departed.
Hale was just pulling himself to a knee when Gregor grabbed him again and delivered a second Hard Times Slam, planting him squarely in the centre of the ring. The Yard Kings retreated up the aisle, shouting and pointing, laughing as they went, with Knox taking his time.
He looked down at Isaac and then turned to the crowd.
“I lost last month in an unfavourable situation that was designed to my disadvantage” Knox said flatly. “That wont happen again.”
He looked down at Hale.
“Hale — this is far from over.”
Knox landed a final stomp, square in the lower back of Isaac, and left the ring. Rhonda looked too shocked to do her usual closing remarks, telling one fan that the show was over and to pass the message on. The crowd filtered out slowly, Isaac Hale still out in the ring as North Star Wrestling: Daylight Breaks, came to a close.
Results
• Canvas Creed defeated Captain Galaxy via submission (Dragon Sleeper)
• Jaime Rourke defeated Flesh Titan via count-out
• Kade Huxley defeated Skylark Southern via pinfall (Signal Jammer)
• The Yard Kings defeated Isaac Hale & Jaime Rourke via pinfall following outside interference from Gregor Knox
Saturday, April 12, 2004
Hale Family Grounds — Kenwood
Arrival & Atmosphere
By the time everyone had filtered into the yard, there were maybe fourteen people there. Fifteen at a push, if you counted the kid who stayed by the fence the whole time and never stopped bouncing on his heels. It was enough to feel like a crowd without blowing expectations wide open.
The ring canvas was already looking well worn. Muddy boot prints cut across it at odd angles from people climbing in and out during setup, dark smears ground in too deep to bother scrubbing. One corner rope sagged no matter how many times it was tightened. Someone had given up and tied a second knot. The Christmas lights had finally been taken down, with the sun sticking around a little longer on this April Saturday afternoon.
Near the fence, two guys stood shoulder to shoulder, hands buried in jacket pockets.
“Did you see it last month?” one of them asked quietly.
“Yeah,” the other said. “Didn’t like how that ended.”
“He didn’t even see it coming.”
“That Knox bloke doesn’t seem to care about any of that.”
“Reckon Hale’s going to let it go?”
The first guy snorted. “Not a chance.”
A Storm Is Brewing
Rhonda Hogan stepped into the ring and started to welcome everyone back, but she didn’t get far as Isaac Hale waved an apologetic hand and stepped past her.
“Sorry,” he said. “You can do the proper bit later. I just need to get something off my chest first.”
He waited until the yard calmed down.
“Last month, Gregor Knox attacked me in the middle of my match,” Hale shook his head. “And then after it was over, he laid me out again.”
He paused, eyes moving across the faces in front of him.
“He crossed a line.”
Hale began to pace.
“When we started this a few months ago, I said this place was going to be built on respect. Not on shortcuts. Not on cheap shots. Respect.”
A few nods.
“I’ll be honest,” Hale went on. “I thought about handling this another way. The corporate way.” He shook his head. “But that’s not why I’m here. I want to deal with this… in the ring.”
He looked toward the entrance.
“Gregor’s already got a match tonight. Fine. I can wait.” A couple of boos came from a handful of impatient fans. “But next month? You aren’t so lucky, because it’s me and you again, Gregor. Round two.”
A murmur rippled through the yard.
“And just like last time, you’ll be on your back right here while the referee counts to three.”
He waited, expecting an interruption that wasn’t forthcoming.
“Now come out here so we can shake on this like men.”
Nothing.
He exhaled slowly.
“Alright,” he said. “If you’re not coming out here…”
He shrugged.
“…I’ll come to you.”
Before Hale had one leg through the ropes, there came the sound of clapping from the far side of the yard. People turned to see.
A man stepped forward who looked like he’d taken a wrong turn somewhere. Clean jacket. Pressed trousers. Shoes that hadn’t seen mud all night. He smiled as he finished clapping and slipped his hands together, fingers interlaced.
“Apologies,” he said. “I do so hate to interrupt.”
Hale turned toward him.
“Hello. Everett Quinn. I handed out a few business cards last month,” the man continued casually. He reached into his jacket and produced one, holding it up briefly before tucking it away again. “You didn’t call.”
A beat. He let the pretend hurt hover in the air.
“But someone else did.”
A woman gasped.
“Gregor Knox,” the man said plainly. “And no - before anyone jumps to conclusions - I didn’t tell him to attack you.”
Quinn took a step closer to the ring, stopping just short of it.
“He called me after that. And I did what I do best. I listen. And I look for potential.”
He gestured casually toward Hale.
“You’re talented. You really care about this place. You believe in what you’re building here.”
Then, just as casually, he gestured toward the entrance.
“And Gregor Knox? He’s talented too. Aggressive. Efficient.”
Quinn tilted his head.
“But you’re drifting. Aimless.”
The final word landed hard.
“You want to teach him respect,” Quinn said. “He wants to prove he can hurt you whenever he feels like it.”
A small, polite smile.
“He already did, by the way. So here’s the part you didn’t account for,” Quinn continued. “You’ve challenged him to a rematch.”
A shrug.
“What does he get out of that?”
Silence.
“He already proved his point,” Quinn went on. “One move. Any time. You didn’t see it coming. Why would he give you a match that doesn’t give him anything?”
Quinn looked Isaac directly in the eyes now. Hale was totally caught off guard and had no answer to give.
“That’s where I come in,” Quinn said. He stepped back, hands open. “I can help you, Isaac. I can help both of you.”
Another pause.
“But it will cost you.”
Quinn smiled, thin and satisfied.
“Think about what you have to offer. But don’t wait too long. My client is a rather impatient man at the best of times.”
He turned and disappeared back into the crowd. Hale climbed down from the ring slowly, Quinn’s words clearly sitting heavily with him.
Rhonda Hogan now took her position and stepped forward to announce the first match, getting the show back on the road as Canvas Creed made his way out to face the debuting Brick Braxton.
Canvas Creed vs Brick Braxton
Braxton came out from the side of the yard to a small ripple of recognition. As the bouncer of the only nightclub in town - the Atlas Club - he had a reputation. He was broad through the shoulders, thick in the chest and arms, wearing borrowed gear that still looked stiff. He waved awkwardly at the people who recognised him, all smiles, before stepping up to the ring and climbing in carefully.
Rhonda approached. “Welcome to North Star,” she said.
Braxton leaned on the ropes, a little breathless, still smiling. “Yeah, let’s try not to make a mess of it.”
Creed didn’t wait to hear if Brick had anything else on his mind. He walked to the ring, rolled under the bottom rope, and stood up slowly. He came face to, well, neck, with the towering Braxton. The two men regarded each other for a moment before Creed extended his hand.
Braxton took it without hesitation. The bell rang.
The opening exchange was cautious, but it didn’t stay tentative for long. Braxton leaned on his size early, collar-and-elbow tie-ups turning into firm shoves that walked Creed backward a step at a time, dominating the space. At one point he redirected Creed cleanly into the ropes, palms open, but Creed slipped underneath a clumsily swung right hand. An arm drag… no, Brick was too big. He shook Creed off and the two men stepped back and circled one another once more.
Creed adjusted quickly. He took the wrist, rolled through a hammerlock, and forced Braxton down to a knee. Braxton stood up, but a knife-edge chop to the uninitiated can be deadly, and it drove the big man back down. Braxton powered back up once more, muscling Creed into the corner and charging with shoulders deep into the abdomen. He touched his chest, which was already starting to turn red.
Another chop. Brick took that one personally and replied with clubbing blows that drove Creed back into the corner to force a break. Brick began to get frustrated as Creed slowed the match down. A missed clothesline allowed Creed to hit a basement dropkick, followed by a Shining Wizard for a two-count.
Braxton looked dazed as Creed started to work him over with a rear chinlock, and when Brick tried to get up and out, Creed drove a knee firmly into his lower back, forcing him to look for a different way out. Creed was relentless and didn’t let his opponent go anywhere. He began laying in elbows to the jaw of the big man, who started to fade.
Creed sought to lock in the Dragon Sleeper, but there was just one problem — Brick was simply too big. His neck was too thick for Creed to really cinch it in, and the time he lost fighting for the hold gave Braxton time to gather his thoughts.
Spinebuster. Creed hit hard — one… two… kickout.
Creed was so shocked he walked right into a couple of clotheslines, and then another spinebuster. It landed awkwardly but hard enough to rattle Creed, and for a second it looked like Braxton might stumble into the advantage.
All of a sudden, Creed rolled through on instinct. When Braxton reached again, Creed sprung the trap, hooked a leg, and transitioned quickly — rolling through into a tight inside cradle that used Braxton’s own forward momentum against him.
One.
Two.
Three.
Canvas Creed def. Brick Braxton
Braxton sat up immediately, more surprised than angry, running a hand through his hair as the realisation set in. Creed was already on his feet. He looked upset for a moment before shaking his head and acknowledging that he’d been caught by someone far more experienced — which, given it was his first match, didn’t say much.
Creed offered his hand again.
Braxton took it.
They shook hands, and Braxton stumbled his way to the back, clearly gassed. Creed lingered. He stood in the ring, breathing hard, eyes unfocused somewhere in the distance. It was just a moment before he found his words.
“When I’m not in this ring, I feel detached. Like I’m watching myself from the outside. But in here?” He tapped the side of his head. “In here, everything sharpens.”
He looked down at the canvas.
“Pain gives me clarity. Struggle gives me direction. Every mistake teaches me something new. The pursuit is invigorating.”
Creed lifted his gaze.
“I’m not chasing wins. I’m chasing refinement. Perfection. I’m chasing the version of myself that only exists when I’m being tested. And when I’m not?” He shook his head slightly. “That’s when I start to lose myself.”
Creed took a breath and stepped toward the crowd.
“Because this?” He gestured back to the ring. “This is the only place that feels real to me.”
Creed stepped out and walked into the back without another look. The crowd took a moment before reacting, unsure what they’d just witnessed. Rhonda waited until Creed was gone, then raised her voice again.
“Up next…”
Jaime Rourke vs Kade Huxley
Kade Huxley was out first, doing his usual saunter around the edges of the yard. He paced slowly, eyes scanning faces like he was trying to recognise someone he’d seen in a fogged mirror. He rubbed his hands together, stopped, then stared at the ring without moving any closer.
“People think teachers are there to help,” Huxley said quietly, more to the air than the crowd. “Because they mean well. They always want the best for you. But they don’t know.”
He shook his head violently, side to side.
“They never know.”
A few people shifted uncomfortably.
Jaime Rourke broke the tension as he jogged out before the silence could settle, bouncing lightly on the balls of his feet as he clapped his hands together. His energy was a thankful interruption to Kade’s monologue. He paused on the apron, looking over at Huxley with a half-smile.
Huxley didn’t acknowledge it. He just climbed into the ring as the bell sounded.
The match took its time finding a rhythm. Neither man could see an advantage through early. Rourke started fast, using his footwork to stay light on his toes, darting in and out with quick arm drags and a snap dropkick that knocked Huxley back a step. Huxley answered with his own collection of headlocks and a snapmare before locking Rourke in a neck vice.
They traded control in long stretches. Rourke found success with speed and elevation, slipping free of a headlock and catching Huxley with a running forearm and a springboard crossbody that drew a small burst of applause, but only a one-count. Huxley absorbed it, rolled to the outside to reset, and took a moment to breathe before sliding back in.
Another tie-up. Rourke looked to switch behind but was outmanoeuvred as Huxley slipped behind and swept the leg, causing Rourke to crash forward. Huxley went for the STF, but Rourke scrambled and quickly got his hand on the rope.
Back on their feet, Huxley ducked a flying leg lariat and caught Rourke mid-leap when he tried it again, using the momentum to hit a sharp side slam.
One…
Two…
Kickout!
He wasted no time, pulling Jaime up and putting him down with a snap suplex and a float-over for a near fall that Rourke barely escaped. Rourke fought back with a sudden burst — chops, a running knee in the corner, and a quick roll-through into a pin that nearly caught Huxley by surprise.
Another two-count.
The two men traded chops and punches in the centre of the ring, neither willing to give an inch.
As the match wore on, the power behind those strikes weakened. Perhaps Rourke telegraphed it as he swung for a European uppercut. Kade saw it coming, wrapped his arm around the punch, and rolled through into a backslide pin.
One.
Two.
No!
Huxley couldn’t believe it.
Rourke was up and pushed the pace with what little he had left. He took an Irish whip into the corner, ran the ropes, and springboarded backwards with a moonsault. The crowd applauded as he hooked the leg.
One…
Two…
Huxley got the shoulder up.
Kade staggered to his feet but took a moment too long to realise where Rourke was coming from. Rourke had already ascended the ropes and perched himself.
Flying crossbody.
He hooked the legs tight.
One.
Two.
Three.
Jaime Rourke def. Kade Huxley
Rourke rolled away immediately, breathing hard, eyes wide with the effort it had taken. Huxley sat up slowly, staring at the canvas. Rourke offered a hand. Huxley looked at it for a long moment before pushing himself to his feet on his own.
As he passed Rourke, Huxley muttered quietly, almost to himself.
“Knowledge always costs us something.”
Rourke turned, confused, but Huxley was already walking away.
The referee raised Rourke’s arm, and the crowd responded with warm, earned applause.
The Yard Kings Open Challenge
Brian Bravo and Sam Sharpe emerged from the side of the yard together, moving with an easy confidence that suggested they already believed the night belonged to them. Bravo was grinning before he even reached the ring, slapping the apron twice with an easy confidence. Sharpe followed more casually, cracking his neck and rolling his wrists as he entered. Bravo leaned back into the ropes and spread his arms wide.
“Let’s get something straight,” he said, looking around the yard. “There is exactly one official tag team in North Star Wrestling.”
A few groans. A couple of laughs.
“And you’re looking at the them.”
Sharpe nodded along, pointing at Bravo and then at himself.
“Week after week,” Bravo continued, “you people get shown what real teamwork looks like. Chemistry. Trust. Results.”
He reached into the pocket of his jacket and pulled out a small stack of glossy photographs.
“Which is why,” he said proudly, “I had these made.”
Bravo began handing them out to the people nearest the ring. The photos were professional enough, but awkward — posed shots of Bravo himself, arms folded, chin tilted slightly upward. No Sharpe. Just Bravo. Sam looked for a moment like he might say something but he let it go.
A few people looked at them, confused. A few more laughed. One person tore theirs clean in half.
Bravo froze.
“Hey — no, don’t—” He leaned over the ropes as another photo was ripped. “Those weren’t cheap.”
More tearing followed as the rest of the crowd got in in the act.
Bravo’s grin faded.
“Alright,” he snapped. “That’s enough.”
He turned back toward the ring, jaw tight now.
“You know what?” he said. “Forget the pictures.”
Sharpe stepped forward, cracking his knuckles.
“You don’t appreciate greatness,” Sharpe said. “So we’ll make you feel it instead.”
Bravo nodded.
“Open challenge,” he said sharply. “Anyone who thinks they can stand in this yard with the Yard Kings.”
There was a moment but then, from near the fence, two younger fans stepped forward. They looked at each other, hesitant, before nodding and climbing through the ropes under Bravo’s watchful eye. They named themselves as Benji and Billy as the referee looked totally confused. He looked at Rhonda but she was no help at all so he shrugged, and rang the bell, as we got an impromptu open challenge match.
The Yard Kings wasted no time.
Sharpe drove one of the fans, maybe Billy, straight into the corner while Bravo flattened the other, maybe Benji, with a hard forearm. A quick double-team followed — a pair of lariats and a rough-looking powerbomb — and it was over almost as soon as it began. Both men made the pinfall simultaneously and the Yard Kings were victorious.
The Yard Kings def. Benji & Billy (Two Fans)
Bravo stood over the fallen fans, breathing hard, while Sharpe raised both of their arms.
“Best tag team in North Star Wrestling,” Bravo shouted. “And you just watched a masterclass.”
The fans were helped out of the ring, shaken but upright. Sharpe smirked as Rhonda announced it was time for Intermission.
Intermission
People stretched their legs and stamped warmth back into their feet, breath fogging in the cooling air as they drifted toward the fence line. Grandma Gail resumed business at the tombola table and also had a handful of new merchandise options including NSW 'trainee' shirts, a branded thermos, and a light up keychain!
Near the far corner of the yard, the Yard Kings were conducting business. Brian Bravo did most of the talking, leaning back against the fence with an arm draped over it, while Sam Sharpe stood close by, nodding along. The two fans from the match hovered nearby, still rubbing at their ribs, listening intently.
“You kids did alright,” Bravo said, flashing a grin.
Sharpe clapped one of them, probably Billy, on the shoulder. “Just bump when we tell you to,” he said. “Everybody goes home happy.”
A few bills changed hands. The fans nodded quickly, pocketing the money without meeting anyone’s eyes.
A couple of people nearby noticed. No one said anything. After a few minutes, Rhonda called everyone back in, her voice cutting through the yard.
“Alright,” she said. “Let’s get back to it.”
Version Control
Professor Pain appeared at ringside before the match was formally announced. He paced in tight circles, muttering to himself, clutching a clipboard that had clearly seen better days. He stopped suddenly, turned toward the crowd, straightened his lab coat, and adjusted his goggles.
“Iteration requires failure,” Pain said sharply. “Progress demands friction.”
A few confused looks.
“You are not here to be entertained,” he continued. “You are here to observe.”
He jabbed a finger toward the ring.
“Shock Knight version-seven-point-oh represents total circuitry mastery. Control. The elimination of inefficiency.”
Shock Knight appeared beside him, movements sharp, posture straight, the lights on his gear glowing steady and bright. Pain nodded. Satisfied with what he sees.
Captain Galaxy followed moments later, waving enthusiastically, one glove raised high. He paused to salute the crowd before climbing into the ring, bouncing lightly on his toes.
Shock Knight v7.0 vs Captain Galaxy
The bell rang.
They tied up, traded holds, and worked through a few minutes of basic grappling straight from the third week of wrestling school. Galaxy used leverage and momentum to keep Shock Knight off balance, while Shock Knight answered with precise throws and methodical counters.
Pain grew impatient. “Now!” he shouted from ringside. “Engage!”
Shock Knight grabbed at Galaxy’s glove and tore it free. When he made contact again, this time on Galaxy's bare skin, a sharp jolt crackled between them.
Galaxy froze for half a second. Then he straightened. Something had switched on inside of him.
The Captain exploded with energy — firing off clotheslines, a running splash in the corner, and a spinning forearm that sent Shock Knight reeling. He hit a top-rope crossbody that drew a sharp gasp from the crowd and earned a long two-count.
Pain shouted frantically from the floor, slapping the apron.
Shock Knight staggered back to his feet, caught Galaxy with a sudden open palm strike, and dropped him hard. The lights on Shock Knight’s gear began to flicker. His movements stuttered. Something was wrong.
Pain’s voice cracked as he screamed instructions that went unanswered. "Not again! Not like this!"
Galaxy seized the opening and climbed to the top rope one more time. Flying Macho Man-esque Elbow! He connects.
One.
Two.
Three.
Captain Galaxy def. Shock Knight v7.0
Pain erupted and he called to someone in the back. It quickly became clear that Flesh Titan had been upgraded too as he showed up in new gear and looking much better for not sobbing in the middle of the ring. He slid into the ring and flattened Galaxy with a singular, solitary, brutal shoulder tackle before he could react.
Boos rang out immediately.
Titan bent down and grabbed Shock Knight to help him up — and immediately recoiled as electricity surged through him.
Pain shrieked.
“The gloves! Use the gloves!”
Titan fumbled, pulled the gloves on, and this time managed to lift the still-malfunctioning Shock Knight without incident.
As Titan carried Shock Knight away, Pain followed close behind, shouting incoherently, gesturing wildly at no one in particular as the experiment disappeared from view.
Galaxy rolled to the corner, clutching his ribs but still upright, staring after them in disbelief. The crowd tried to comfort him that he finally got a win, and he mustered what little strength he had left to play the part of the hero as he headed to the back.
Next up, the main event.
Gregor Knox vs Skylark Southern
Skylark Southern was out first. Nobody remembered him from the last show so Rhonda made a point of telling everyone that Skylark had debuted last month and LOST. Southern did his best to ignore her as he stretched against the ropes, nodding to a few people along the fence, trying to keep loose.
Gregor Knox stepped out next, slowly, methodically, rolling his shoulders once before walking straight to the ring. There was no theatrics, no gesture to the crowd. The yard quieted before a smattering of muted boos found their way into the mix.
Knox climbed between the ropes and stood still. The bell rang.
Southern tried to start fast, circling, throwing a low kick and following with a quick dropkick that forced Knox to shift his footing. A brief headlock followed, but it was ill advised. Knox powered out and shoved Southern hard enough to send him skidding across the canvas.
The tone of the match changed immediately.
Knox stalked forward, cutting off any escape, driving heavy forearms into Southern’s chest and back. He didn’t rush. He didnt waste any movement. His approach was cerebral. He dragged Southern up by the wrist, dropped him with a short clothesline, then hauled him back to his feet again for another brutal clothesline.
Southern fought when he could — a chop, a desperate roll-up that barely earned a one-count — but every attempt only seemed to irritate Knox further and make this more one sided than it truly needed to be. Knox slowed things down deliberately. Like he wanted to enjoy it. A backbreaker. A boot pressed into the chest to his grounded opponent stopping him from getting anything more than shallow breaths. A pause to look out at the yard before delivering another blow.
Quinn had appeared at ringside. He nonchalantly exchanged looks with Knox, effectively signalling that it was time to end it. Knox scooped Southern up and drove him down effortlesly with the Hard Times Slam. Knox dropped to one knee and placed a hand on Skylark's chest.
One.
Two.
Three.
Gregor Knox def. Skylark Southern
Knox stayed kneeling for a moment after the count, one hand resting on Southern’s chest, before pushing himself up and stepping over him without a glance back.
Everett Quinn stepped into the ring, adjusting his jacket as he applauded Knox's victory.
“Efficient,” Quinn said calmly. “Very efficient.”
Knox turned towards him. Quinn smiled.
“You see?” he continued, addressing the yard as much as Knox. “This is leverage. This is clarity. No confusion. Just options and opportunity.”
He took a step closer to the ring.
“And this,” Quinn said, gesturing to Knox, “is why my client doesn’t need your permission. He doesn’t need your respect. He takes what he wants, when he wants, from whoever he wants to take it from.”
Quinn’s eyes flicked toward the entrance.
“And next month—”
Halestorm!
Knox hit the canvas hard, the impact echoing through the yard. A sharp gasp went up from the crowd.
Quinn backed up a step, hands raised slightly, the smile gone now. Hale turned toward him.
“You like leverage?” Hale said. “Fine.”
He gestured down at Knox.
“He can pick the stipulation.”
The yard erupted.
"He can even pick the time and the place."
Quinn said nothing.
"But when I beat him. And I will beat him. He has to shake the hand of every opponent he gets in the ring with. Think on that."
Hale stepped back as officials rushed in, Knox already stirring, rage written across his face as he was held back.
Quinn looked on, and for the first time tonight, he looked uncertain.
Rhonda didnt do the usual show closer, wisely choosing to keep her distance from Gregor's anger that was occupying the ring as people began to file out of the yard. She thanked people as they left and told them to keep an eye out on a telegraph pole near them for the next NSW show poster.
She paused, glancing back toward the house where Everett Quinn had disappeared.
“Details soon,” she said. “But trust me — you won’t want to miss the next one.”
As the Yard began to clear, conversations lingered longer than usual. Some replayed the Halestorm moment in hushed excitement. Others wondered what kind of stipulation Gregor Knox might choose. Some asked what Everett Quinn had to gain from his involvement with North Star.
Whatever answers were coming, it was clear North Star Wrestling wasn’t slowing down - it was just about finding its feet.
NSW #004 - Static in the System
Canvas Creed def. Brick Braxton
Jaime Rourke def. Kade Huxley
The Yard Kings def. Billy & Benji (Two Fans)
Captain Galaxy def. Shock Knight v7.0 w/ Professor Pain
Gregor Knox def. Skylark Southern
North Star Wrestling #005:
Terms and Conditions Apply
Saturday 22nd May 2004
Hale Family Grounds, Kenwood
Terms...
People are still filing into the yard when Everett Quinn steps through the gate. No music, no announcement, just a shift in attention as conversations trail off mid-sentence and all eyes turn towards the ring. Gregor Knox follows a few steps behind him, hood up, hands taped, his expression unreadable. Emotionless.
Quinn does not wait for the fans to take their seats.
“Last month,” he begins, “Isaac Hale showed his true colours when he attacked my client after his match.” He pauses, letting that sit. “And then,” Quinn continues, “he handed us the keys to his own demise by offering Gregor Knox the right to choose the stipulation that decides who the top dog in this yard really is.”
A faint smile creeps across Quinn’s face.
“He accepts, by the way. I will admit though, that was a lot easier than I expected. But, as they say, it is not the cards you're dealt, it's how you play them.”
Quinn chuckles softly and glances at Knox. Knox does not react. Not even a flicker. Quinn doesn't miss a beat.
“So tonight, I have another little gambit to run.” He looks back out at the crowd. “How about this, Isaac. You face someone of our choosing. And if you win, maybe we let you in on that little stipulation secret ahead of time.”
The crowd reacts loudly at the thought of Hale wrestling anyone that might be aligned with Quinn and Knox.
“And,” Quinn adds, raising a finger, “in the spirit of good faith, Gregor Knox will also wrestle tonight. Against an opponent of Isaac’s choosing.”
“If anybody dares.”
That gets another reaction as Quinn folds his hands behind his back and departs, Gregor Knox following in silence. Rhonda Hogan looks around, momentarily unsure whether she needs to herd anyone into position, then shrugs.
“Let’s begin!”
Kade Huxley vs Brick Braxton
Brick Braxton appears first, jaw set, rolling his neck as he climbs through the ropes. A few pops for being the towns only nightclub's bouncer, but he doesnt play to it like he did last month. After being outwrestled by Canvas Creed, Brick looks determined to make this about force and focus.
Kade Huxley doesn’t come out through the entrance. Instead, he appears among the crowd, drifting along the edge of the yard, head down, muttering to himself. The words come in fragments as he moves betwixt and between.
“Two hands on the wheel. One smiling. One watching.”
A few more steps.
“The stars go quiet as the trial begins. The Self must be found.”
Huxley finally turns toward the ring, still speaking under his breath as he slides in and rises slowly.
The bell rings and Brick charges immediately, crashing into Huxley with a shoulder tackle that sends him sprawling. Brick presses on, hauling Huxley up and driving him into the corner with heavy forearms before dropping him with a short clothesline. He follows with a scoop slam that rattles the ring and a running elbow that brings an early pin attempt. Huxley kicks out at two.
Brick stays on him, dragging him up and leaning his weight into the smaller man, wearing him down with clubbing blows and a crushing bearhug. Huxley claws at Brick’s hands, muttering again as he struggles, finally slipping free just long enough to clip the leg and snap off a DDT to buy himself space.
Brick is back up almost immediately and muscles Huxley back down, forcing him to carry his weight in a camel clutch. Huxley refuses to give in, wriggling and fighting until he lands a sharp elbow, then another, loosening the hold just enough to break free.
Kade scrambles to his feet and fires back with a stiff European uppercut, then another, backing Brick into the ropes before unloading with a series of chops. Brick absorbs them through gritted teeth and counters with a sitout powerbomb that brings another near fall.
Brick starts to look flustered now, frustration creeping in. He signals for the end, pointing to his leg, lining up a big boot. Brick charges, looking to flatten Huxley once more, but Huxley sidesteps at the last second, rolling Brick through and trapping him in a sudden inside cradle. He bridges back, hooks the leg tight.
One.
Two.
Three.
Kade Huxley def. Brick Braxton
Brick kicks out just as the referee’s hand slaps the mat for the third time. Huxley rolls away, sitting against the ropes with his head in his hands.
“Still not right,” Kade mutters. “Too early… or too late…”
He gets to his feet slowly.
“The shadow knows your name.”
Brick watches from the corner, unsure whether he’s angry, confused, or unsettled. Huxley slides out of the ring, still muttering to himself. Brick speaks to to Rhonda Hogan at ringside.
“Someone should probably keep an eye on him,” he says quietly before making his exit.
Canvas Creed vs Skylark Southern
Canvas Creed is out first, laser focused, barely acknowledging the noise around him as he steps through the ropes. He rolls his shoulders a couple of times and waits.
Skylark Southern follows at a much quicker pace. He bursts through the entrance full of energy, slapping hands and soaking in the reaction of the fourteen fans in attendance. After a false start last month that saw him cut down by Gregor Knox, Skylark looks determined to show exactly what he can do this time around.
He jumps into the ring, eyes locked on Creed as he bounces lightly on his toes.
Creed steps forward before the bell. He bends down and begins to untie his boots.
“I saw the angel in the marble,” Creed says quietly, his attention fixed solely on his hands. He slips one boot off, then the other, and sets them neatly in the corner. “And I carved until I set him free.”
The bell rings.
Skylark surges out of the corner, using his speed to circle and dart in and out, snapping quick kicks to the legs before catching Creed with a sharp dropkick that sends him back into the ropes. Creed rides the impact, rolling through and resetting his stance, barefoot on the canvas.
Skylark keeps moving, landing a running forearm and following with a springing elbow that clips Creed on the jaw. He looks to build momentum again, but Creed halts it with a sudden arm drag, pulling Skylark down into a tight headlock on the mat. Southern tries to wrestle free, but against Creed’s grip and positioning he struggles to gain any leverage.
From there, Creed begins to dictate the pace. Short elbows grind Skylark down, followed by a snap suplex and a knee driven into his back as he tries to rise. Skylark fights his way back to his feet, slipping out of a waistlock and catching Creed with a springboard DDT followed by a standing moonsault for a near fall that brings the crowd to life.
Skylark presses forward, rushing in with another burst of offence, but mistimes it. Creed steps inside the movement, ducks under a wild swing, and pulls Skylark back into a Dragon Sleeper in one smooth motion. Skylark struggles, clawing at Creed’s hands, legs kicking as he searches for the ropes. Creed tightens the hold, calm and deliberate, until Skylark has no choice but to tap.
Canvas Creed def. Skylark Southern
Creed releases immediately. He reaches down and helps Skylark back to his feet. Skylark holds his neck and winces as he stands. He glances toward the corner, walks over, and picks up Creed’s boots. For a moment, he weighs them in his hands before passing them back. Creed takes them, nods once, and leaves the ring, the match finished but an impression left.
The Measure of a Monster
Professor Pain steps into view already mid-stride, coat buttoned, a slight limp in his step. His greying hair blows about his old, weathered face. There is no hesitation in his eyes, no showmanship in his voice, just intent. He circles the ring once, eyes scanning the yard as if taking stock.
“Progress,” Pain says calmly, “is never elegant.”
He adjusts his gloves.
“Shock Knight is undergoing refinement. Calibration takes time. And some variables…”
A thin smile crosses his face.
“Require patience.”
Pain looks toward the entrance.
“But others are ready.”
He gestures to the back.
“Flesh Titan.”
Captain Galaxy vs Flesh Titan
Galaxy bursts out to a warm reaction, arms raised, playing to the fans in the front row. His gear is loud, bright, unapologetically heroic, star patterns catching the light as he spins and poses, slapping hands and pointing skyward. He climbs onto the apron, salutes the crowd, then turns and freezes.
Titan stares straight through him.
There’s barely time to react before Titan charges and Galaxy is flattened by a running tackle that sends him skidding across the mat. Titan drags him up and hurls him into the corner, crushing him with body blows before tossing him across the ring again. Pain watches intently, hands clasped behind his back.
Galaxy tries to fire back, throwing quick strikes, but Titan shrugs them off and drops him with a heavy back body drop before driving a knee across his chest and forcing all the air out of Galaxy. Titan hooks the leg.
One.
Two.
Kick out.
Titan wastes no time in hauling Galaxy back to his feet, planting him again with a sidewalk slam. This time he stays on him, grinding his forearm across Galaxy’s face as he makes the cover.
One.
Two.
Galaxy kicks out again and this time the crowd begins to rally behind him.
Titan drags Galaxy up and whips him hard into the corner. Galaxy dodges the incoming charge but doesnt get far before being thrown into the opposite corner. Titan follows with a crushing corner splash, then another. Galaxy stumbles out and Titan catches him with a powerslam, folding him nearly in half. He makes the cover.
One.
Two.
Galaxy kicks out for a third time as Pain’s expression tightens. Titan rises slowly, pacing. A sharp glance at the referee. He yanks Galaxy up by the mask and measures him before drilling him down with a short-arm spinebuster, pressing his weight across Galaxy’s chest.
One.
Two.
Galaxy kicks out again.
Titan snarls and scoops Galaxy up, slamming him hard to the canvas again before leaning down, shouting something unintelligible as he forces Galaxy’s shoulders down once more.
The referee drops to count.
One.
Two.
Galaxy kicks out a fifth time.
Titan explodes.
He shoves the referee aside violently, sending him crashing to the mat. He grabs Galaxy and looks like he's going for a powerbomb to try and finish this once and for all. Just as he gets Galaxy in position the bell sounds. The referee has disqualified Flesh Titan!
Captain Galaxy wins by Disqualification
The crowd erupts as Titan turns to the sound of the bell. The referee slides out of harms way as quickly as he can but the Captain isnt so lucky. Titan seems to realise what has happened so he grabs the galactic hero and drops him with a powerbomb. He considers a second as Professor Pain rushes forward.
“Enough.”
Titan doesn’t stop. Instead, he swings wildly at Pain who steps aside with practiced ease, producing a syringe from his coat and plunging it into Titan’s neck in one smooth motion. Titan stiffens. Then slowly, his body slackens. His breathing steadies. His eyes glaze. He stands motionless.
Pain straightens his coat, placing a hand briefly on Titan’s shoulder.
“There we are,” he whispers. Calming.
Galaxy pulls himself up in the corner, body racked with pain, staring at Titan with a mix of awe and concern. Pain leaves with his creation obediently in tow. Galaxy watches them go, the victory feeling hollow and unearned. Whatever thoughts cross his face are protected by the mask, but his body language says enough. He pulls himself up and he buries his thoughts deep inside, forcing a smile as he poses with a couple of the kids at ringside.
We head to intermission.
Intermission
The yard loosens slightly as people stretch, grab drinks, and talk amongst themselves. Near the merch table, Isaac Hale stands with Rhonda, listening patiently as Grandma Gail animatedly recounts her favourite moment from last month.
“I still can’t believe that big lad just picked him up like that,” Gail says, shaking her head. “Straight up and down. Bang! I thought the ring was going to give way. Evelyn’s son could look it over if you want a second opinion…”
Rhonda laughs and shakes her head.
Hale smiles, nodding along, though his eyes occasionally drift back toward the ring. Jaime Rourke approaches, favouring his shoulder slightly, still feeling the effects of last month.
“Evening, Gail,” Rourke says with a nod. “Rhonda.”
He looks to Hale.
“Can I borrow you for a second?”
“Of course.”
They step a few paces away from the table, close enough to still hear the crowd, but far enough for the conversation to be theirs.
“You alright?” Rourke asks.
Hale nods, though his attention doesn’t fully settle.
“I thought I had a handle on this place,” Hale says. “Turns out, some people don’t want to be handled.”
Rourke glances toward the ring, then back to Hale.
“Quinn’s playing games,” he replies. “He waits. Lets things happen. Then tells you it was your fault they did.”
Hale exhales slowly.
“He wants me reacting,” Hale says. “Chasing.”
Rourke shrugs.
“He wants you doubting.”
There’s a pause.
“So,” Rourke continues, “you picked anyone yet?”
Hale looks at him, considering.
Rourke doesn’t hesitate.
“If you haven’t, I’ll take Knox.”
Hale’s brow furrows.
“You don’t have to do that.”
“I know,” Rourke says. “But I want to.”
He glances back toward the ring, then to Hale again.
“Last time didn’t sit right with me. And if Quinn’s offering good faith, I don’t trust it.”
Hale studies him for a moment, then relents.
“Alright,” he says. “Your call.”
Elsewhere in the yard, The Yard Kings linger near the front row, leaning on the barricade, laughing with a couple of fans. One of them points toward the ring, mimicking a pose, the other nodding approvingly. Whatever they’re discussing, they seem pleased.
The buzz begins to build again as people drift back toward their seats and intermission draws to a close.
Kings of the Yard
The Yard Kings step out together and take their time jawing with fans and gesticulating wildly. Brian Bravo climbs onto the apron and throws his arms wide, flexing for the crowd, turning slowly so everyone gets a look. He produces a disposable camera from his trunks and snaps a quick selfie, admiring it before handing it to Sam Sharpe.
Sharpe cackles, shoving the camera into his jacket pocket and fishing around before producing a rusty spanner. He raises it triumphantly, only to fumble it, nearly dropping it on his own foot. He laughs even harder.
Bravo shakes his head, adjusting his handlebar moustache.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” Bravo says, soaking it in, “you are looking at the best official tag team in North Star Wrestling.”
Sharpe nods vigorously.
“Official,” Sam adds. “We got paperwork.”
Bravo smirks.
“And since we’re the only ones man enough to make it official, that makes us the best by definition, baby.”
A quick flex.
“Now we hear people talking,” Bravo continues. “Talking about monsters. Talking about prophets. Talking about heroes.”
Sharpe leans over the ropes.
“Talking about feelings.”
Bravo scoffs.
“That’s not wrestling. Wrestling is showing up. Wrestling is getting in this ring.”
He gestures around them.
“And if anybody out there thinks they deserve a shot at the top of the tag division…”
Sharpe raises the spanner again, pointing it vaguely toward the entrance.
“Anyone,” he adds, “from anywhere.”
Bravo spreads his arms.
“This is an open challenge. No barriers. No excuses.”
He flashes a grin.
“Come on down. Two of you.”
Sharpe slams the spanner against the mat for emphasis. It bounces harmlessly away.
The Yard Kings exchange a look and laugh as they wait, exuding confidence.
The Yard Kings vs Mark Ellis & Tom Weaver
Two local lads step out from the crowd and climb through the ropes as Rhonda Hogan steps in, microphone in hand. “Alright, gentlemen, names?” she asks quickly.
“Mark,” one replies, nodding.
“Tom,” says the other, earning a small cheer from the crowd.
Mark Ellis and Tom Weaver exchange a glance and head to their corner, trying to look ready as the Yard Kings take their time across the ring. Brian Bravo steps forward, rolling his shoulders theatrically and beckoning Ellis in.
“Go on then,” Bravo says with a grin. “Let’s see what you’ve got.”
They lock up. Ellis leans in and Bravo’s expression instantly changes. His eyes widen. He staggers back a step, shaking out his arm.
“Whoa, whoa, hang on,” Bravo says, holding up his hands. “You’ve been working out or something?”
The crowd laughs.
Ellis steps forward again. Bravo moves back in, feigning another test of strength, then suddenly breaks it and jabs Ellis in the eyes. Ellis stumbles back clutching his face, and Bravo throws his head back laughing.
“That’s on you,” Bravo says, spreading his arms.
A tag.
Sam Sharpe barrels in from the side, dropping Ellis with a running forearm before Weaver can react. Sharpe grabs Weaver next, hauling him into the ring from the apron and slamming him hard to the mat with a body slam, barking incoherently as he paces around him.
Bravo tags himself back in, shouting “Official business!” as he steps through the ropes. He stomps Ellis twice, careful to stay just out of reach, then drags him up and snaps him down with a neckbreaker.
Bravo poses mid-ring, adjusting his moustache, before dropping a lazy elbow across Ellis’ chest and hooking the leg.
One.
Two.
Ellis kicks out.
Bravo recoils in disbelief, backing away and checking his face as if personally offended. He tags Sharpe back in with unnecessary force.
Sharpe gets fired up, grabs Ellis, stumbles slightly, regains his balance, and drops him with a rough running powerbomb. He flops into the cover, hooking the leg loosely.
One.
Two.
Three.
The Yard Kings def. Mark Ellis & Tom Weaver
Bravo rolls out of the ring immediately, dusting himself off and throwing his arms wide to the crowd. Sharpe hops around inside the ring, shouting triumphantly as if he’s just conquered the world. Ellis and Weaver roll to the apron, clutching their ribs, helped by the referee as the Yard Kings continue to celebrate.
Gregor Knox vs Jaime Rourke
Jaime Rourke heads to the ring first. He pauses at the ropes, scanning the yard as if committing the moment to memory before stepping through. This isn’t unfamiliar territory for him, but still shy of two years as a wrestler, nights like this make his hands shake.
Gregor Knox follows. Hood up. Hands taped. Where Rourke feeds off his nerves, Knox feeds off unbridled aggression. He enters the ring and stops, eyes fixed on Rourke. Everett Quinn is nowhere in sight.
They circle as the match begins.
Rourke keeps moving, snapping a quick kick to the thigh before drifting away. Another follows, then a third to the inside of the knee. Gregor adjusts his stance, testing the leg without breaking stride. Knox lunges for a lock-up, but Rourke slips underneath and fires off two rapid kicks to the leg, enough to make Gregor pause.
Rourke darts in again and gets caught, hauled in close and wrenched forward. He’s forced to fight for space to break free. He wriggles out and backs off, shaking out his arm as Knox moves to face him again. Rourke bursts forward with a diving forearm, then runs the ropes and drops low to clip the correct knee with a dropkick. Knox resets, thumping the leg with his fist as if trying to force feeling back into it, drawing a murmur from the crowd.
Rourke goes for a DDT, but Gregor blocks the attempt and snaps him back with a sharp headbutt that drops Jaime to a knee. Knox keeps the momentum, driving Rourke into the corner with his shoulder. He backs away, then surges forward again, crushing him against the turnbuckles. He pulls back and drives another shoulder in, heavier this time. Rourke stumbles out and is flattened by a clothesline that earns a close near fall.
Rourke rolls to the ropes and drags himself upright, struggling to stand. Gregor doesn’t rush him. He just waits. Rourke finally steps forward. Knox gestures with his chin, inviting him to throw his best shot. Rourke obliges with a series of forearms. They land, but they don’t slow Gregor down. Knox folds him in half with a clothesline for another near fall.
He hauls Jaime up again and asks for it once more. Rourke fires one off, the strike barely registering before Knox drops him with another clothesline. Knox grabs Rourke by the hair and whips him into the corner. Rourke makes a last, desperate choice, running up the turnbuckle and springboarding back with a flying crossbody.
The crowd stirs.
Gregor catches him clean, hauls him upright in one motion, and drives him down with the Hard Times Slam, folding him into the canvas.
One.
Two.
Three.
Gregor Knox def. Jaime Rourke
Knox stands over Rourke for a moment, considering. He shrugs. The referee reaches for his wrist, but Gregor pulls free and steps through the ropes without ceremony. Rourke rolls onto his side as the referee checks on him.
and Conditions...
Everett Quinn steps into view as the yard settles.
“We just saw Gregor Knox doing what Gregor Knox does,” Quinn says plainly. “Jaime Rourke, I respect you for stepping up and showing up. But the third time won’t be a charm.”
Quinn turns toward the entrance.
“Well, without further ado, allow me to introduce Isaac Hale’s opponent tonight. An absolutely diabolical human being. Precise. Controlled. Effective.”
He smiles faintly.
“Here is Rook Mercer.”
Mercer emerges without further ceremony. He walks with purpose, shoulders loose, hands relaxed, eyes scanning the yard. The ring. The ropes. The corners. Quinn watches him for a moment before moving away from the ring. He takes a seat along the edge of the yard, opposite the fans.
Isaac Hale is out to a very strong reaction. As strong as fourteen people can be. He doesn’t rush. He nods to familiar faces as he makes his way through the crowd before stepping into the ring. Hale studies Mercer for a moment. Then he turns slightly, his gaze focused on Quinn.
“I see you’re taking this seriously,” Hale says calmly.
He looks back to Mercer.
“Well, so am I.”
Isaac Hale vs Rook Mercer
The referee gets the match underway and Mercer closes the distance immediately. A well-timed kick to the gut knocks the wind out of Hale. Hale backs up, but Mercer is back in with another kick, this time to the ribs.
Hale adjusts, catches Mercer on the third attempt, and drives him back into the corner with a clinch. The referee breaks the two men up, but Rook fires a cheap haymaker and drags Hale down, going straight to the arm. Hale powers out and responds with a forearm and an elbow to the gut, trying to impose his will on the match.
He hits the ropes but gets caught in a side headlock. He shoots Mercer off the ropes but gets dropped with a shoulder tackle, and Mercer grabs a grounded chinlock, keeping Hale on the mat. Isaac powers out of the hold again, a well-placed elbow giving him some needed space, and the follow-up roll-through cradle scores a two count.
He gets back to his feet but is cut off with a sharp kick to the knee from Mercer and a single-leg crab, sitting deep and leaning back. Hale drags himself to the ropes and forces the break.
The two men rise at the same time. Mercer strikes first, unloading short, compact shots, never overcommitting. Hale absorbs them, answers with elbows, and plants Mercer with a DDT followed by a running senton for a near fall.
Mercer is up quickly and goes straight back to work, dragging Hale down and attacking the leg again. He looks to transition, but Hale blocks it, powers up, and lifts Mercer onto his shoulders. Mercer scrambles, throwing elbows as he slides free. He shoves Hale toward the ropes and catches him flush with a lariat on the rebound.
One…
Two…
Kickout!
Mercer goes after a Boston Crab again, but Hale is too quick on the reversal and rolls free. Rook charges and misses, getting caught on the return with a back body drop that shakes the ring. Hale keeps the pressure on with strike combinations and a spinning backfist that temporarily stuns Mercer.
Roundhouse! Mercer connects with Hale. Hale wobbles.
Enzuigiri! Hale responds, and both men are down.
The referee begins to count.
They get up slowly. Mercer is first to his feet, Hale a second behind him. Mercer throws a right hand. Hale answers with a forearm that stops him cold. Another follows.
Halestorm!
Hale covers.
One.
Two.
No! Kickout!
Hale can’t believe it, but he doesn’t let it faze him. He immediately grabs Mercer and pulls him in, cinching in a tight triangle neck choke, wrenching back and cutting off escape. Mercer doesn’t thrash. He doesn’t waste time.
He taps. Immediately.
Isaac Hale def. Rook Mercer
Hale releases the hold and sits back, breathing heavily. Mercer rolls away, already coming around. He nods once to himself before slipping out to the apron and leaving without a glance back.
Everett Quinn stands. He walks toward the ring, clapping as he goes.
“Well done,” Quinn says. A pause. “You said Gregor Knox crossed a line last month.”
A smile.
“So we removed it.”
Quinn moves to leave.
“Next month. No holds barred.”
The crowd reacts jubilantly as Quinn disappears into the yard. Hale remains in the centre of the ring, kneeling, absorbing what’s coming. He takes a moment to acknowledge the fans before gesturing for Rhonda Hogan to wrap things up.
"Thanks everyone again for coming out! Next month's show is going to be huge. We just heard that Gregor Knox versus Isaac Hale will be no holds barred!"
The crowd cheers.
"Yeah! And elsewhere on the show we will see the Yard Kings continue their open challenges, Professor Pain promises to bring the improved Shock Knight along for the show, and the ring master Canvas Creed will face the bizarre, Kade Huxley. See you all next time. Bring a friend!"
The show comes to a close.
NSW #005 - Terms and Conditions Apply
Kade Huxley def. Brick Braxton
Canvas Creed def. Skylark Southern
Captain Galaxy def. Flesh Titan w/ Professor Pain by DQ
The Yard Kings def. Mark Ellis & Tom Weaver in an Open Challenge.
So, with us nearing the half‑way point of season one and with a host of new characters introduced across the last couple of shows, it feels like the perfect time to pause, introduce them all visually and even try my hand at a prediction contest for our first big show of the year. Yes, that means we spent some money on advertising this month – which, along with the new ring, means that funds are running low, and a big showing to generate interest and future revenue is becoming more and more vital. A sponsor would be a fine thing!
Without further ado:
Flesh Titan
An experiment brought to life by Professor Pain, Flesh Titan is as much spectacle as he is competitor. He towers with broad shoulders and a square jaw, moving with heavy, exaggerated steps and crushing opponents with clubbing blows. Beneath the layers of skin and brute force there is something vulnerable and unfinished; glimpses of a man who doesnt truly understand his place in the world.
Shock Knight v7
Professor Pain’s second attempt at perfection, Shock Knight version‑seven‑point‑oh, glows with blue circuitry and hums with electricity. His movements are built to be crisp and efficient, and Pain tells us he has calculated each match before it even begins. Of course, even the most advanced circuitry can overload, and when those lights flicker the good professor’s creation has been known to short out at exactly the wrong moment. Can we get an upgrade?
Brick Braxton
Brick Braxton is a simple guy that likes simple things. Like smashing skulls. The former bouncer‑turned‑bodyguard wrestles the way he works the door: head down, fists up, driving straight through whatever’s in front of him. However, he has found that power is not a guarantee for victory and he has found himself outwrestled at times, with those near‑misses starting to chip away at an otherwise cool exterior. The roster will rue the day that Brick figures himself out in the ring, because when Brick Braxton makes contact, there are few men in the yard who can stand up to the impact.
Skylark Southern
Skylark Southern is pure momentum. He sprints to the ring with a grin plastered across his face, leaps onto ropes as if they were a playground and throws his body around with infectious enthusiasm. The self‑styled “Southern Skylark” - is still learning when to hold back and when to dive, but with his high flying, the only way is up.
Everett Quinn
Everett Quinn hasnt come here to lace up his boots. Behind the polite smile and immaculate tailoring is a ruthless strategist who has already begun to steer the company’s direction, arranging bouts, removing rules and leveraging talent to his advantage. Don’t mistake his distance for disinterest; Everett’s investment is in winning on his terms no matter the cost.
Rook Mercer
Hired to do a job at the behest of Everett Quinn. If Quinn is the mind, Rook Mercer is the blade he wields. Mercer wastes no motion, closing distance with laser‑like focus and is able to match grapplers and strikers alike. He isn’t flashy and he doesn’t hang around once the job is done, but every movement he makes is intended to leave a mark.
Im sure in time we will see even more local talent gracing the Hale Family Yard, besides, as the only official wrestling company around, we're the hottest ticket in town!
One last thing. Maybe this generates no replies, but it seems worth a try. Behold!
North Star Wrestling
Prediction Contest – Handshakes & Hand Grenades
Points System:
– 1 point for each correct match winner
– 1 bonus point for correctly predicting the Main Event method of victory
– 1 bonus point for correctly predicting whether a handshake happens after the main event
Maximum Score: 6 points
––––––––––––––––––
Brick Braxton vs Skylark Southern
- a match between our two newest and brightest (that sounds much better than losing streak vs losing streak)
Canvas Creed vs Kade Huxley
- Creed has been on a tear lately but he hasnt faced anyone quite as strange as Kade Huxley.
The Yard Kings Open Challenge
Do The Yard Kings:
– Win clean
– Win by cheating
– Get upset
– Face no one
Main Event – No Holds Barred:
Isaac Hale vs Gregor Knox
How does it end?
– Pinfall
– Submission
– Referee stoppage
– Knockout
– Other
After the match:
– A handshake happens.
– A handshake is refused.
– There is no spoon handshake.
Points System:
– 1 point for each correct match winner
– 1 bonus point for correctly predicting the Main Event method of victory
– 1 bonus point for correctly predicting whether a handshake happens after the main event
Maximum Score: 6 points
––––––––––––––––––
Brick Braxton vs Skylark Southern
- a match between our two newest and brightest (that sounds much better than losing streak vs losing streak)
Canvas Creed vs Kade Huxley
- Creed has been on a tear lately but he hasnt faced anyone quite as strange as Kade Huxley.
The Yard Kings Open Challenge
Do The Yard Kings: – Win clean
– Win by cheating
– Get upset
– Face no one
Main Event – No Holds Barred:
Isaac Hale vs Gregor Knox
How does it end? – Pinfall
– Submission
– Referee stoppage
– Knockout
– Other
After the match:
– A handshake happens. – A handshake is refused.
– There is no spoon handshake.
NORTH STAR WRESTLING #006: HANDSHAKES & HAND GRENADES Hale Family Grounds // Kenwood, Minneapolis // June 26, 2004
The Hale Family Grounds feel different today; perhaps it's the excitement in the air for the promotion's first big match. Maybe it's the beautiful summer afternoon, with birds chirping and a faint but welcome breeze fluttering through the yard. Or maybe it's the two-for-one ticket offer that has resulted in an attendance of 33, absolutely smashing any previous records - not that anyone has been keeping track.
At the centre of the yard stands a brand new ring. Fresh canvas. Tight blue ropes. A clean apron. The boards beneath it no longer groan and creak with every step. It's sturdier. A quiet but undeniable move forward.
Rhonda Hogan steps between the new blue ropes to welcome the audience to Handshakes & Hand Grenades. She runs down the afternoon’s card - Brick Braxton colliding with Skylark Southern, Canvas Creed continues his search for perfection against the bizarre Kade Huxley, and in the main event, Isaac Hale and Gregor Knox meet once more - this time with No Holds Barred. The main event draws a strong reaction. Most people are only here to see the showdown between the two early dominant wrestlers in North Star. Rhonda nods, smiles, and introduces the first contest.
━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━ MATCH ONE
Brick Braxton vs. Skylark Southern
━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━
Some may call this the battle of the rookies. Both men enter with unfortunate losing streaks hanging over them, and for one of them this afternoon marks an opportunity to finally turn the corner.
Southern is energetic from the bell, but Braxton takes control early. An opening collar-and-elbow tie-up sees Brick drive Skylark backward into the ropes for a clean break. A second lock-up leads to a headlock, drop down, leapfrog - BIG tackle. Skylark goes flying. Skylark is back to his feet quickly and looks to find answers in his high flying arsenal. He ducks under a swinging blow and follows up with a sharp arm drag, then another. He cartwheels impressively - if unnecessarily - out of a wristlock and lands a dropkick that catches Brick clean enough to stagger him a step. The crowd responds with a warm round of applause.
Brick shakes it off and refuses to let momentum build. A heavy body check cuts off a Skylark springboard attempt and sends him crashing out of the ring. Brick lets the referee count, gathering himself inside the ring. Skylark manages to drag himself back into the ring at the count of six. Back to his feet, Brick immediately plants him with a firm spinebuster that draws an impressed murmur from the front row but its only enough for a two count. Braxton doesn’t rush. He thinks about being rash in his previous two matches and learns from them. He resets. Stalking his opponent and conserving energy, he lets Skylark fight back to a standing position before dragging his thumb across his throat - a signal that can only mean one thing.
Southern fights and drops low to make it as hard as possible. Brick lands a clubbing blow between the shoulder blades. A groan. A second one and a third one drops Skylark to a knee. Brick powers him up.
POWERBOMB.
One.
Two.
KICKOUT.
There’s a genuine stir from the crowd this time.
Brick looks briefly toward the referee in disbelief before steadying himself. He charges for a lariat, but Southern reads it. Skylark slips underneath the swing, hooks the leg, and rolls through into a tight cradle.
One.
Two.
Three.
SKYLARK SOUTHERN DEF. BRICK BRAXTON VIA CRADLE PIN
Brick sits upright immediately, frustrated at being caught once again by a flash pin. He looks toward the referee, then toward Skylark, who is still holding his neck and leaning on the ropes for support. The two men exchange a glance, and Southern offers a respectful nod before sliding under the bottom rope and hobbling to the back. Braxton exhales sharply and shakes his head as he clambers to his feet. Making his way toward the makeshift “backstage” area behind the house, he nearly collides with Professor Pain standing by the fence.
Pain tilts his head slightly, studying him.
“Mmm… quite the specimen,” he murmurs. “With the right… guidance… you could be something special.”
Brick glances at the professor for a brief moment, then shakes his head again and walks past him without a word.
━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━ NOT ANOTHER OPEN CHALLENGE
━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━
Professor Pain finishes picturing what he could do with Brick Braxton and he steps forward toward the ring as Brick disappears behind the house. He adjusts the goggles resting loosely around his neck and raises a hand for the referee to hold the ropes open for him. The referee declines. Pain climbs inside slowly whilst shooting a look of disgust at our official.
“I was told this was a place of opportunity,” he begins calmly. “A place where potential is nurtured. Where progress is encouraged.”
He shakes his head slightly.
“Progress,” he continues, “requires refinement. Constant refinement. Calibration. And routine testing.”
As if on cue, Flesh Titan emerges from behind the house. He walks with deliberate, heavy steps - not wild, not unstable - simply present. Emotion drained from his face, no sign of the man that broke down with an emotional outburst three months ago. A moment later, Shock Knight follows. He looks different. This new model’s movements look cleaner and sharper than before. And his circuitry board is now glowing blue. Pain gestures toward them proudly.
“Version Eight,” he says, almost reverently. “Stabilised. Improved. Corrected.”
A cackle.
“With my upgraded and highly improved creations, I hereby issue an open challenge - TO THE WORLD!”
A pause, and then surprisingly we see The Yard Kings appear from the side of the yard, with some paperwork in hand. Brian Bravo shouts that they are the only ones allowed to issue open challenges in North Star Wrestling. Sam Sharpe waves the crumpled documents as proof whilst shouting about the North Star constitution. Pain regards them with visible disappointment.
“You seem to mistake imitation for invitation,” he replies. "But if you insist..."
They hesitate.
"Whoa, your guys aren't even official or nothing, and we cant just wrestle a couple of guys from your lab! There are insurance liabilities, right?" Bravo turns to Sharpe for confirmation, which he gets in abundance. Sharpe steps up onto the apron - then quickly drops back down. Bravo mutters to him and the pair retreat, loudly insisting they will not compete without proper sanctioning.
“Anyone else?” he asks.
There’s a pause.
Captain Galaxy steps out from the back, a spring in his step, as his cape billows behind him. The children in the front row cheer loudly for him. Galaxy enters the ring. Pain smiles.
"Which one?" he asks, gesturing either side of him.
Galaxy pauses, thinking for a moment before pointing toward Titan and Shock Knight both. Pain tilts his head, curious. A laugh escapes. The referee looks uncertain, but before he can object, Galaxy smiles.
“If one is insufficient, let's see you run the Gauntlet of Pain!” he declares.
Flesh Titan steps up first, and the bell rings.
━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━ THE GAUNTLET OF PAIN
Captain Galaxy vs. Professor Pain’s Creations
━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━
Flesh Titan steps forward immediately as the bell rings. Galaxy looks ready for him. Titan does not rush, but he advances with deliberate weight, towering over Captain Galaxy. A heavy forearm to the chest drives Galaxy backward. Another strike follows. Titan lifts him and slams him to the mat with authority, the new ring absorbing the impact. Galaxy is up right away, dusting himself off.
Galaxy fires back with short punches, trying to create space, but Titan swats him aside and hoists him up for a powerbomb attempt.
Galaxy slips free. He stumbles toward the ropes and spots something in Professor Pain's lab coat.
A syringe.
As Titan charges again, Galaxy ducks, reaches, and snatches the syringe from Professor Pain. Before Pain can react, Galaxy drives it into Titan’s shoulder.
Titan freezes. He sways. He drops to one knee and then collapses onto his side on the canvas. Galaxy climbs to the top rope.
MACHO MAN ELBOW.
One...Two...Three.
CAPTAIN GALAXY DEF. FLESH TITAN VIA PINFALL
━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━
Galaxy barely has time to breathe before Shock Knight v8 rolls into the ring. Shock Knight steps forward immediately with open palm strikes that snap Galaxy’s head back. A spinning clothesline drops him for an early two count. Shock Knight pulls him up right away and lands a snap suplex. Another cover.
One...Two...Kickout!
Galaxy rolls to the corner and uses the ropes to stand. Shock Knight charges. Galaxy moves and Shock Knight hits the turnbuckles HARD. His centrepiece circuitry throws off a couple of sparks. The lights flicker and then settle. Galaxy responds with forearms, then a running clothesline. He whips Shock Knight into the ropes and goes old school with a Lou Thesz press! He reigns down punches and then he's up, running the ropes once more to catapult into a wrap-around DDT!
One.
Two.
Kickout!
Galaxy goes to the apron and attempts a springboard cross-body. He connects!
One.
Two.
Kickout.
Shock Knight rises and drives a knee into Galaxy’s midsection, then hooks him for another suplex. Galaxy blocks it and lands a superkick to the central control panel. Pain starts shouting instructions from ringside, clearly anticipating a much easier contest here. Galaxy looks fired up, and after the last couple of months being attacked and manhandled by Pain's creations, it's no surprise why.
Meanwhile, Shock Knight stumbles back from the superkick. Several lights flicker and turn red. Pain looks concerned and gestures to the back. Another superkick! This time connecting with Knight's jaw.
Galaxy makes the cover.
One.
Two-
SMASH!
Captain Galaxy winces in pain and rolls over in agony as a man stands over him. Towering above. Steel baton in hand.
The referee gives the intruder a piece of his mind as he calls for a disqualification.
CAPTAIN GALAXY DEF. SHOCK KNIGHT v8 VIA DISQUALIFICATION
━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━
Professor Pain moves to slip a piece of paper to Rhonda. Thankfully not a love letter.
"And the final participant of the Gauntlet of Pain...CYBER SOLDIER!"
Galaxy is in all kinds of trouble. Soldier tosses aside the baton and waits. Galaxy gets to his feet slowly.
Soldier drives a sharp knee into Galaxy’s midsection doubling him over. A double ax-handle smash drops him to a knee and then a front kick to the chest drops him to the ground. Our cosmic hero tries to rise but eats a shining wizard as soon as he reaches one knee.
One.
Two.
No!
Cyber Soldier lifts Galaxy's shoulders off the mat. He wants to put an exclamation mark on this one. He lifts Galaxy up and holds him in place.
ACE CRUSHER!
One.
Two.
Three.
CYBER SOLDIER DEF. CAPTAIN GALAXY VIA PINFALL
Shock Knight stands at ringside, along with Flesh Titan, who remains sedated slumped against the ring apron. Professor Pain surveys the scene before signalling Knight and Soldier into action. Knight heads to the merchandise table and clears it despite Grandma Gail's protests. Soldier drags Galaxy out of the ring and over to it. Fans gather round and kids call on Galaxy to get up and fight back. One kid even pleads with Pain to let him go, but Pain dismisses him. Soldier hoists Galaxy up and drives him down hard.
RAZORS EDGE THROUGH THE TABLE!
Galaxy gets folded in half and is barely moving. Kids in the front row gasp as others move over to get a better look at what actually transpired. For the first time in North Star Wrestling, Captain Galaxy has truly been defeated, unable to pull himself together and show the kids that with enough heart you can overcome anything. No, this time, heart wasn't enough, and he lays in a crumpled heap on the floor as Rhonda, the referee, and a fan who happens to be a nurse check on the fallen hero. Professor Pain's face is plastered with a Cheshire Cat grin.
━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━ SCREAMING INTO THE VOID
━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━
Kade Huxley is already making his way to the ring when the referee calls for the next contest, having waited for Captain Galaxy to be helped to the back.
His eyes drift toward the broken merchandise table.
“You let them in,” he says quietly. A few people glance at one another. “And look what they've done.”
He runs a hand through his hair, pacing slowly.
“I tried to warn you." He rubs his face. "Again and again I have tried, but it’s like screaming into the void. The words come, and I say them, and then they fade away to nothing.”
He presses two fingers briefly to his temple.
“But the voices...they don’t stop...they don't fade away.”
His tone and expression soften. He shrugs, slightly defeated. He steps through the ropes.
“I don’t know what I have to do next,” he says, almost to himself. "But I hope it's not too late."
━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━ MATCH THREE
Canvas Creed vs. Kade Huxley
━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━
Canvas Creed enters without theatrics. No wasted motion. No gestures to the crowd. His focus never leaves the ring. Huxley stands opposite him, still slightly distant in his expression, as though his words are echoing around inside his head. The bell sounds.
Creed circles first. Low stance. Measured steps. Huxley mirrors him loosely, hands relaxed at his sides before finally raising them, ready to initiate.
They lock up.
Creed immediately transitions into a tight side headlock. Huxley rolls his weight and slips behind into a waistlock. Creed drops his base, peels the hands apart, and floats into a hammerlock. Smoothly done. Huxley drops to a knee and rolls forward into a reversal that nearly catches Creed in a cradle.
One.
Creed kicks out instantly and both men return to their feet. Creed smiles to himself before pressing forward, this time chaining together an arm and shoulder takedown into an armbar, then adjusting into a grounded side headlock as Huxley tries to roll out. Huxley shifts his hips again, bridges up, and spins through into a headscissors. Creed kips free without hesitation. Indyriffic.
Both men reset as a smattering of applause shows the crowd's appreciation.
Both men go back to their starting positions and attempt another lock up. Huxley turns the momentum in his favour with a slow and deliberate knuckle lock. He drives Creed down to a knee, kicks the standing leg down, and then delivers a sharp elbow strike to the shoulder. Creed can't block the shots and as he pushes forwards to stand, he gets thrown with a sudden snapmare. Huxley drops down and locks in a seated chinlock.
Creed doesn't panic. He sits in the hold for a moment before throwing a wild-looking knee at the skull of Huxley. Kade has to release the hold to avoid taking it directly on the bridge of his nose. Creed is up but Huxley immediately grabs a sleeper hold, looking to further tire his opponent. Creed hasn't encountered quite such technical proficiency thus far in North Star, even Isaac Hale wasn't able to take him on at his own game. He clears his mind and adjusts his footing. He rolls backwards and forces Huxley's shoulders to the mat.
One.
Two.
Huxley is forced to release the hold and does so before the referee counts to three.
Both men are back up and Creed takes his turn to gain an advantage. Huxley looks for a low kick to the base but Creed is too fast for him this time and grabs the leg. Enzuigiri attempt from Kade misses and Creed counters into a single-leg takedown. He grapevines the leg and drives short forearms into the thigh before leaning back and cinching in a leg lock. Nothing fancy but the immediate agony across the face of Huxley tells you that it's effective.
Huxley fights and makes it to the ropes for a clean break. Huxley uses the ropes to pull himself up, shaking out the leg. Creed waits in the centre, patient.
They re-engage and this time Huxley moves first. A hip toss into a tight armbar forces Creed to roll through. Huxley transitions smoothly into a front facelock and then snaps Creed over with a short suplex.
One.
Two.
Creed kicks out.
Huxley stays on him. Another suplex, this time of the Northern Lights variety, with the bridging pin.
One.
Two.
Kickout again.
Huxley looks poised, ready to pounce. Creed stands. Kade darts in, hooks the arm, spins through.
Signal Jammer!
No! Creed blocks it! At the last second he shifts his weight, slips his arm free, and rotates behind Huxley in one smooth motion.
DRAGON SLEEPER!!
He's got it locked in.
Huxley tries to twist out and counter the way he has all match. He drops to a knee. He keeps fighting. Creed drops with him, tightening the grip and lowering his base. Huxley reaches for the ropes but they’re just too far away.
He claws at Creed’s arm.
One final burst for freedom.
And then he taps.
CANVAS CREED DEF. KADE HUXLEY VIA SUBMISSION (DRAGON SLEEPER)
Creed releases instantly and rises for the referee to raise his hand. Huxley remains on his knees for a moment, steadying his breathing, holding his neck. Creed glances over at him and he smiles. He steps forward and offers his hand. Huxley studies him briefly, then takes it.
Both men stand.
Huxley exits quietly, hands massaging his neck and muttering to himself. Creed remains in the ring for a moment longer before stepping through the ropes and heading to the back.
With the merchandise table reduced to splinters, Grandma Gail wasted no time in improvising. A fold-out camping chair is dragged into position, an upturned plastic storage tub becomes the new display stand, and a tea towel is thrown across it to give the whole thing a bit of what she calls “presentation.”
“Limited edition,” she tells anyone willing to listen.
A few of the younger fans cautiously approach, still glancing toward the space where Captain Galaxy was helped away moments earlier. Several kids pressure their parents into buying them a Galaxy mask. "You too can be a cosmic hero!"
Across the yard, Isaac Hale stands near the side of the house, speaking quietly with Rhonda Hogan. The conversation is low enough that no one can hear the details, but Rhonda’s expression is concerned.
“Is he going to be alright?” she asks softly.
Hale nods once.
“He’s tougher than he looks.”
There’s a pause. Rhonda studies him for a moment.
“You didn’t call it,” she says carefully.
Hale exhales.
“No.”
Another pause. Grandma Gail watches from behind her makeshift merchandise stand. She adjusts the tea towel slightly and decides a cup of coffee is in order.
Rhonda glances toward the ring.
“This is getting harder to control.”
Isaac’s expression remains calm.
“By the end of the night,” he says evenly, eyes fixed ahead, “Knox will shake my hand, and we'll start to get things in order.”
Around them, the yard slowly begins to reset. People return to their seats, children trade theories about Captain Galaxy, and Rhonda Hogan takes her place by ringside as the second half awaits.
━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━ YARD KINGS OPEN CHALLENGE
━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━
Brian Bravo and Sam Sharpe make their way out after the intermission waving a handful of documents. Bravo stops to pose for the front row who immediately shower him with boos. He shrugs it off and joins Sam in the ring.
Bravo presses his finger to his lips.
He doesn't get the silence he expects and immediately begins ranting to Sharpe about it. The crowd eventually gives up figuring the sooner they let him speak, the sooner they're out of here.
“Earlier this afternoon,” he begins, adjusting his collar, “certain individuals attempted to appropriate the legally registered and constitutionally recognised Open Challenge here in North Star Wrestling.”
Sharpe nods aggressively beside him and shouts half-incoherently, “W E W I L L N O T T O L E R A T E I N T E L L E C T U A L T H E F T !”
Bravo nods furiously in agreement. He gestures dismissively toward the house.
“But let’s focus on what matters. We are the best official tag team in all of North Star Wrestling. The standard-bearers. The gatekeepers.”
Sharpe steps forward. "T H E K I N G S !"
“And we are still searching for some real competition.” Bravo smirks. “We believe we’ve found two young men who are going to push us to our absolute limits.”
He motions dramatically toward the crowd. They know the drill by now as two local fans awkwardly step forward, encouraged by a few cheers from their friends.
Bravo sighs loudly and throws his hands up in exasperation..
“Rhonda? Please. Be polite and do your job.”
Rhonda gets up and moves over to the two men, dutifully asking for their names.
“Uh… Tyler.”
“And I’m Josh.”
Sharpe flashes them a toothless grin before shouting once more. "T Y L E R A N D J O S H H A H A !"
Brian motions for Sam to calm down and take a place on the ring apron. He's got this.
━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━ MATCH FOUR
The Yard Kings (Brian Bravo & Sam Sharpe) vs. Tyler & Josh
━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━
Tyler starts for his team and is immediately blindsided by a knee to the gut from Bravo before he can even get started. Bravo then hits Josh off the apron with a cheap forearm and the Yard Kings begin isolating Tyler in their corner.
Quick tags. The Yard Kings playing with their food.
Tyler attempts a comeback, landing two clumsy forearms on Sharpe before being raked across the eyes. The crowd boos loudly. Josh then tries to enter but is intercepted and driven over the top rope with a clothesline, dumped unceremoniously back to the floor.
Bravo signals Sharpe into action.
Sharpe hits a running elbow to the back of Tyler's neck, and the Impaler DDT from Bravo lays him out.
Kingmaker!
One.
Two.
Three.
THE YARD KINGS DEF. TYLER & JOSH VIA PINFALL (KINGMAKER)
Sharpe demands the referee raise both of their hands as they celebrate another victory to a chorus of jeers. Bravo turns to address the crowd.
“Another hard fought match, another well earned victory.”
The boos grow louder so Sharpe shouts over them.
“T H E S E A R C H C O N T I N U E S !”
Josh checks on his friend, but finds himself in the danger zone. Bravo shoves Sam into place.
KINGMAKER!
They laugh and exit to a chorus of jeers, convinced they have once again proven their dominance.
━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━ MAIN EVENT
NO HOLDS BARRED
Isaac Hale vs. Gregor Knox If Isaac Hale wins: Gregor Knox must shake his hand.
━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━
Gregor Knox enters first. No music. No theatrics. He steps through the ropes and paces the ring like a caged animal. Everett Quinn slinks out of the shadows and takes a seat at ringside.
Isaac Hale follows shortly after. He glances at Quinn before turning his focus back to the ring. He slides in.
Rhonda introduces both men before reminding everyone of the stipulations at play. It's No Holds Barred, so no rules, and if Isaac Hale wins then Gregor Knox not only has to shake Hale's hand, but he must shake the hand of everyone he faces in North Star or he will be suspended.
The bell rings and the two men rush in and collide.
Forearms fly. Heavy. Immediate. Both men going hell for leather straight from the off. Knox drives Hale back into the corner and unloads with clubbing shots to the ribs. Hale fires back with rights and lefts of his own and the two spill to the outside within seconds. Knox is first to grab a weapon, grabbing a steel chair from ringside. Hale ducks beneath the swing and drives Knox into the apron. The chair clatters to the ground. Hale uses his shoulder to drive Knox into the apron a few more times before stepping back.
HURRICANRANA - NO!
Knox catches him in mid air. He hoists him up and drops him chest first onto the side of the ring. Hale staggers back but is aware enough to step aside from a big boot attempt. Hale charges Knox back into the ring apron. A brief grimace before Knox answers with a headbutt, busting open Isaac's bottom lip. Hale fires back with a series of chops and a kick to the gut and climbs up onto the ring apron.
RUNNING SENTON!
Hale wipes out Knox who tried to catch him again but failed this time. Hale is up and begins unloading with kicks to the body, but he misses a roundhouse kick and Gregor is back up. Hale charges, gets caught, and Knox launches him into the ring post head first. Hale connects with a CRACK and the momentum immediately swings. Knox drags Hale by the hair toward the merchandise stand, tossing Isaac through the unattended replacement display. He then drags Hale toward Everett Quinn, forcing Isaac to look him in the eye before slamming him shoulder-first into the wooden fence lining the yard. The impact rattles the panels. He marches Hale toward the back patio steps and drives him face-first into the railing before hammering down with forearms to the back of the neck.
Hale slumps against the steps but Knox doesn’t let up.
He hauls Hale upright and launches him into a row of folded garden chairs. Metal and plastic scatter across the grass. The crowd moves quickly out of the way to create a bit of space. Knox stalks him. Hale swings from his knees, catching Knox in the ribs. Another shot. Another. He rises and drives Knox backward into the side of the house with a thud. He then attempts a snap suplex on the grass but Knox blocks it and reverses, dumping Hale hard onto the lawn. He arches his back in agony from the impact.
The crowd begins to rally, trying to will Hale back into it.
Knox lifts Hale and attempts to ram him into the ring post again - Hale blocks and lands an elbow to the jaw. A chop. Another. Hale grabs Knox and runs him forward, only to get back body dropped clean through the wooden fence. Splinters and broken pieces of wood lacerate his back. Knox follows up with a running knee that crunches against Hale's skull.
Knox stands over Hale, chest heaving, and turns toward the front row.
“THAT’S your hero?” he shouts, laughing.
A chorus of boos rains down on him. One fan yells back that Knox couldn’t lace his boots. Knox steps toward him, leaning over the broken fence line.
“You want next?” he snarls. The fan flinches backwards, trips, and falls to the floor. Knox laughs. The yard grows louder around him.
Knox smirks and spits to the side before grabbing Hale by the wrist and dragging him across the grass toward the ring. Hale barely moves under his own power. Knox rolls him halfway under the bottom rope but then he pauses.
He notices it. The steel chair from earlier lies beside the ring. Knox slowly picks it up and the crowd boos even louder now. He pulls Hale out of the ring and sets him up against the ring post. Hale struggles to stand.
Knox swings for Hale’s skull -
CRACK!
He misses.
The chair smashes violently into the ring post and the impact jars Knox’s hands. The metal vibrates loudly as Knox drops it instinctively, clutching his fingers. That moment is all Hale needs as he lunges forward and tackles Knox to the ground, unloading with heavy right hands. Knox shoves him off but Hale is already back on him. Knox shoves him off again, but Hale is desperate.
He hooks the head. DDT on the floor! Hale spent his last bit of energy there and both men are down.
The crowd chants, their energy growing with every minute as Hale pushes himself up first. He sees the chair and for the first time tonight; he smiles. The blood from his busted lip has stained his teeth red and he looks a little bit crazy. He grabs the chair and he looks around at the fans. They roar their support. He catches Quinn on the edge of his seat and he knows what to do. Knox rises groggily, sees the chair and starts swinging wildly. Hale dodges, ducks, dips, dives, and dodges out of the way of the flurry of offense. He sets himself and swings the chair once - Knox steps back, narrowly avoiding contact. A second swing. Another near miss.
Knox smirks.
Hale throws the chair toward Knox who catches it instinctively.
VAN DAMINATOR! OHMYGOD!
Knox falls to the floor in a heap as the yard erupts. Hale drags Knox up slowly, both men exhausted now, and shoves him back into the ring. It takes effort. It takes time. Hale climbs in after him and signals for the Halestorm. He heaves Knox into position. Knox tries to break free but can't power his way out. Hale hooks the arms. He struggles but he can't lift him! He tries again but this time Knox gets his arms free.
LOW BLOW!
Hale drops in agony. Knox falls down too. Both men are down. Everett Quinn rises slowly from his seat and moves closer to the apron. Knox crawls into a cover.
One.
Two.
Kickout.
Knox pounds the mat in frustration and pushes himself back to a vertical base. He drags Hale up by the neck and looks to end things.
Hard Times Slam! NO!
Hale slips free and drops behind him, locking in a tight triangle choke. Knox staggers, trying to lift Hale off the canvas. He powers him up.
BUCKLE BOMB!
Hale crashes into the turnbuckles and slumps forward. Knox wastes no time and charges forward for a running avalanche in the corner. Hale collapses.
“That’s it!” Quinn shouts. Knox has other ideas. He moves to leave the ring, eyeing the chair once more. Quinn steps forward.
“Finish it now,” he calls calmly. “Finish him!”
Knox pauses and then ignores him, retrieving the chair and sliding back inside. He sets it upright in the centre of the ring. He looks at Hale, waiting for him to stand. It takes him a few seconds as he pulls himself up and stumbles to his feet.
Knox throws Hale off the ropes, HARD TIME---NO! AGAIN HALE COUNTERS!
HALESTORM!
Hale drops Knox head first onto the steel chair. The metal buckles beneath them. Hale hooks the leg immediately.
One.
Two.
Three.
ISAAC HALE DEF. GREGOR KNOX VIA PINFALL (HALESTORM ONTO CHAIR)
Hale rolls off slowly, chest heaving. Knox pushes himself up to one knee after a minute of coming around. He looks up and sees Hale standing there, moving forward, extending his hand.
A long pause.
Knox looks at it. Then he looks at Everett Quinn who is still in disbelief on the outside.
He rises to his feet.
And brushes straight past Hale without a word.
A sharp collective intake of breath!
“Gregor.”
Knox stops but doesn’t turn around.
"You either shake my hand,” Hale says evenly, “or you go back to where we found you. Be a man and shake my hand!”
Another pause. Knox tilts his head slightly. Quinn looks from one man to the other. Knox shrugs and walks away, disappearing out of sight as an enraged Isaac Hale stands alone in the centre of the ring, jaw tight. At ringside, Everett Quinn watches silently, arms folded. You could be mistaken for thinking you could see a faint smile play across his face.
━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━ IN CLOSING
━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━
Rhonda Hogan slowly steps into the ring as she realises it's time to wrap things up. Hale stands alone, still staring toward the entrance where Gregor Knox disappeared. A mix of disappointment and anger burning inside him.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” she begins, her voice steady but carrying urgency, “next month North Star Wrestling returns to the Hale Family Grounds… and after what we have witnessed tonight, there's going to be a lot for us to digest and to see what happens next.”
The crowd murmurs in agreement.
“Thank you all for joining us. We will see you next month.”
Prediction Contest for Handshakes & Hand Grenades:
BattleTank: 4/6
RoyMustang: 5/6
Appreciate you both for your predictions. Roy wins by a margin of 1, and I will drop you a PM later today with your prize! I'll also be keeping score over the next few shows heading towards the season finale (Show 12) with a chance to help shape season two up for grabs.
I'll be posting the card for show 7 in the next couple of days with a prediction contest attached, but I'll also do a mid-season review so that anyone who doesnt want to trudge through the previous six shows can get up to speed with where we're at with everything.
Thanks again to those following along, and especially to those who have left comments.
NORTH STAR WRESTLING #007: FAULT LINES Hale Family Grounds // Kenwood, Minneapolis, Minnesota // July 10th, 2004
Last month at Handshakes & Hand Grenades, Isaac Hale and Gregor Knox tore the yard apart in a brutal No Holds Barred Match. Hale survived everything Knox threw at him and was eventually able to put his rival down with a Halestorm onto a steel chair, earning not only the victory but the right to demand the handshake Knox had refused for months. But when the time came, Knox turned his back and walked away. In doing so, he broke the stipulation, and now the most dangerous man in North Star Wrestling has been suspended indefinitely. Hale may have won the fight, but he did not get the closure he wanted, and after the punishment he absorbed in that battle, he is carrying injuries and is not scheduled to compete on July 10th. Even so, Hale has promised he will be in attendance as North Star Wrestling moves into uncertain new territory.
CANVAS CREED vs EDDIE “IRONHEART” CLARKE
With Gregor Knox suspended and Isaac Hale unable to compete, NSW turns its attention to pure wrestling excellence. Canvas Creed has been on a remarkable run in recent months, carving through opponent after opponent with a cold, methodical precision that has made him one of the yard’s most respected and feared competitors. Across from him stands a man with a very different kind of reputation. Eddie “Ironheart” Clarke is a respected veteran of the independent scene, a craftsman whose name carries weight far beyond the Hale Family Grounds. Known for his poise, timing, and mastery of the smallest details, Clarke enters North Star with the aura of a man who has seen and solved nearly every wrestling problem there is. For Creed, this is the sternest test yet in his pursuit of perfection. For Clarke, it is a chance to show that class, experience, and ring intelligence always win out.
FLESH TITAN vs BRICK BRAXTON
Professor Pain’s experiments came closer than ever to functioning as intended last month when his creations overwhelmed Captain Galaxy and left a lasting impression on the yard when they put him through the merchandise table! All three will be in action on July 10th. Of them all, Flesh Titan remains the most physically overwhelming - a hulking force capable of flattening almost anyone through sheer power alone. But while Titan has terrorised opponents, instability has always lurked beneath the surface, with emotional outbursts and lapses in control costing him at key moments. Standing across from him will be Brick Braxton, a powerhouse still searching for his breakthrough. Braxton has yet to pick up a singles win in North Star, making this a significant opportunity to prove he belongs, but against an opponent like Flesh Titan, one mistake could mean complete destruction.
CYBER SOLDIER vs KADE HUXLEY
If Flesh Titan is brute force made flesh, Cyber Soldier may be something even worse: cold, efficient, and seemingly without hesitation. The latest and most intimidating of Professor Pain’s projects made a devastating impact last month, overwhelming Captain Galaxy and putting an exclamation point on the Gauntlet of Pain when Galaxy was driven through a table and left in a heap. His next target is Kade Huxley, the haunted and deeply unpredictable recluse whose warnings and mutterings have only grown stranger as the months have gone on. Huxley has often seemed half a step removed from the rest of North Star Wrestling; against Cyber Soldier, he may find himself facing something even harder to understand than the voices in his head.
SHOCK KNIGHT v8 vs SKYLARK SOUTHERN
After earlier versions failed to meet expectations, the newly upgraded Shock Knight v8 arrives with Professor Pain insisting the flaws have finally been corrected. That is bad news for Skylark Southern, the fearless young high-flier who continues to throw himself into every contest with heart and flair despite a difficult start to life in North Star Wrestling. Skylark may not have the size or power of some of his rivals, but his speed and unpredictability can trouble anybody if he finds an opening. The question is whether Shock Knight’s new design will leave him any openings at all.
JAIME ROURKE vs COLDWATER HARRIS
Jaime Rourke returns to singles action looking to regain momentum after finding himself dragged into the orbit of bigger and nastier forces in recent months. One of the yard’s most naturally exciting wrestlers, Rourke remains a fan favourite thanks to his fearless style and refusal to back down. Here he meets new arrival Coldwater Harris, who makes his North Star debut with a smattering of noise and a bucket load of confidence. Having been trained by Isaac Hale, Harris and Rourke know one another, but how will things go inside the ring?
YARD KINGS OPEN CHALLENGE
The self-proclaimed “best official tag team in all of North Star Wrestling” will issue their infamous Yard Kings Open Challenge. Brian Bravo and Sam Sharpe have built a contentious 'undefeated' tag record on arrogance, shortcuts, and carefully selecting their opposition. With each passing month they grow louder, smugger, and more convinced that nobody in the yard can touch them. Whether they are humiliating local hopefuls, waving around questionable paperwork, or insisting they alone represent tag team excellence, the Yard Kings remain one of the most irritatingly successful acts in North Star. The challenge has been laid down once more. The only question now is who will answer it.
ALSO SCHEDULED TO APPEAR:
Isaac Hale // Everett Quinn // Rhonda Hogan // Grandma Gail
North Star Wrestling returns to the Hale Family Grounds on July 10th with a card shaped by fallout, uncertainty, and a main event that will showcase the very best that wrestling in Minneapolis has to offer. The lines are beginning to show...
NSW #007: FAULT LINES PREDICTION CONTEST
MATCH PREDICTIONS
Canvas Creed vs Eddie “Ironheart” Clarke
Flesh Titan vs Brick Braxton
Cyber Soldier vs Kade Huxley
Shock Knight v8 vs Skylark Southern
"Sky High" Jaime Rourke vs Coldwater Harris
BONUS QUESTIONS
1. Will Professor Pain interfere in any of his creations' matches? If so, how many?
2. Who will score the fastest victory of the night?
3. How many matches will end via pinfall?
4. Which match opens the show?
5. Will Grandma Gail sell out of Captain Galaxy masks?
TIEBREAKER
What will Grandma Gail be busy doing at Intermission this month?
Submit your predictions by March 21st. Correct answers will earn points, and the top predictor will earn bragging rights AND get a prize! Also, all scores will contribute to the season finale (after show 12) for a GRAND PRIZE (ooo) so its a marathon...and a sprint. Thanks as always for those who take time to check this out, its very much appreciated.
