Introduction

Moments – frozen in time – flash across the screen like a slide show. Images of bruised and battered bodies welcome EWA audiences from a commercial break, hurling them into a vivid illustration of Justin Marsham's journey to the EWA Heavyweight Championship. Black and white still shots from other organizations Marsham has competed in are also shown – these now deceased companies having relinquished the rights to such pictures. No one can question the sheer fortitude Marsham possesses, especially as these monochrome pictures evolve into short clips of action...and in color!

Several clips of Marsham portray him as champion – blood soaked from the battle he fought. He has held countless belts: Heavyweight, Intercontinental, and Tag Team Championships. Most EWA fans are unaware of Marsham previous title reigns and no one expects them to remember. But, there is one belt he held for some time that could be considered a distant cousin of EWA's own Heavyweight Championship. One of the final clips shown is the final night of Justin Marsham's TXA career. A brilliant display of technical expertise and hard-core action is conveyed through a mashed-up, showing Marsham in victory over David Shand and becoming the final TXA World Xtreme Champion.

Yes, the World Xtreme Champion. Recollections of Marsham's CZW debut and proclaimed mission to end the Hard-core Division surface. How could a man so intent on ending the CZW Hardcore Division hold a Hardcore Championship? It appears to be an oxymoron. However, it was this conflict of hatred, greed and pride that triggered the birth of technical finesse. He sought to alter the perception of what Hardcore wrestling was – to break from the chair-swinging, Singapore cane wielding that plagued every federation. Instead, he introduced the world to a bastardized form – combining raw, technical talent with the finesse of deception and unsportsmanlike conduct. There is no question that Marsham knows what is in store for him at the next Supercard or – for that matter – any time he steps into that EWA squared circle. Hardcore wrestling is a linchpin in EWA and for the current champion, Buzzsaw. Marsham has accepted this and knows that, no matter how hard he prays and regardless what the outcome of his title match is, it will not change. He need now only focus on winning the championship.

For weeks now, Marsham has been a thorn in Buzzsaw's side. He has abducted Buzzsaw's self-proclaimed 'Biggest Fan'. He has taunted him endlessly through video packages and promotional spots. Even this past week at Shatter Point, Marsham made his presence felt at ringside during Buzzsaw's tag team match – sitting at the broadcast position – and openly criticizing the champion's performance. It is not the only thing Marsham has criticized in the past. Even Buzzsaw's reign has been targeted, Marsham regarding to it as an empty.

The business can be described as cutthroat and cruel; however, Marsham has found a way to profit from these two qualities. Yet, on nearly every occasion he has met Buzzsaw, the Heavyweight Champion has got the better of him. Even the Pure Wrestling Match Marsham challenged Buzzsaw to felt more like a victory for Buzzsaw. He accepted the disqualification in exchange for the chance to violently crack a Singapore cane across the crown of Marsham's skull. Marsham laid there bloody and unconscious, but he had won the match. That's not much of a victory. That of course is ignoring the bloody aftermath of the match that ensued thanks to Ryan Shane and a railroad spike. It is only a matter of time until the world sees if Justin Marsham can FINALLY get the better of Buzzsaw and – in turn – strip that EWA Championship from his waist.

ACT ONE

“Can you at least explain your reasoning for this?” cries Hank, Buzzsaw's beloved and self-proclaimed most devoted fan.

Concern is etched across Hank's countenance. His pale blue eyes plead with his captors, begging to be released. He struggles to free himself, thrusting his thick frame forward in an attempt to rip his arms free; however, his endeavors are pointless. Zip strip cables are fastened around his wrists and to the base of the steel chair. Yellow stains remain near the armpits of his white T-shirt – reminders of his frequent bouts of sweating; and, even while he has not taken a puff from a cigarette in two weeks, Hank still wreaks of smoke.

Cameras pan across the room, capturing images not reminiscent of any simple locker room or hotel room. Sage green walls are lined with floral wall-paper borders. Various Christmas oriented pictures decorate the walls. Classic canvas masterpieces by Thomas Kincaid and reprints of Fauvist, Henri Matisse, endow the room with a more sophisticated and 'old lady' appeal. Brown woven carpeting, though relatively unseen by the camera, completes the look – offering a soft, wool-like feel underfoot.

“I just don't understand!” Hanks shouts – protesting his imprisonment.

Emerging onto the screen is a familiar EWA face. His muscular frame is concealed beneath a steel blue hoodie and dark blue jeans. A black and white bandana is wrapped around his skull just above his eyes brows, shielding his eyes from sweat. While it may feel like summer outside, cold air is pumped through the vents and into the room. The air is so cold that it threatens to turn the carpet into permafrost in less than a day. So, there is no question why this familiar personality – the one and only Justin Marsham – dresses so warm on such a humid day.

“It isn't about YOU understanding,” remarks the Epitome of Technical Finesse.

Marsham cracks a grin and passes his left side, moving towards a small rustic table. His eyes lock upon a certain item – sizing the object up – when he reaches his destination. Callous digits uncoil from his side like a snake, reaching out to take within his grasp an instrument of pain. Marsham grips the Singapore cane tight with his right hand and brings it down across the inside of his left palm. The sound of the cane smacking against his palm goes unseen by his prisoner, but does all too well at foretelling him of his future.

“I-I-just don't know what you want. I know you have beef with Buzzsaw, but I'm just a fan. I'm just a fan man. I just really like–“

Promptly – Marsham interrupts, “--you just really like what? Just a fan? Someone who is just a fan does not collect Buzzsaw memorabilia. Someone who is just a fan doesn't start a fan club and decorate his mother's house with Buzzsaw posters. Someone who is just a fan doesn't drive half-way across the country to catch a house show because Buzzsaw is wrestling an open match.”

“I didn't do that!” Hank shrieks.

“Yes, you did. You even posted all about it on Facebook!” Marsham retorts – offering evidence of such a posting via his iPod Touch.

“Oh yeah,” Hank mutters, allowing Marsham to continue his tirade.

“Someone who is just a fan doesn't parade around in Buzzsaw print boxer shorts, drink from a coffee cup made in Buzzsaw's image or use Dead Bodies Everywhere as their ring tone! You are not just a fan. You are an obsessed fan. You emulate everything that is Buzzsaw. Hell, if Buzzsaw wasn't an EWA megastar, he'd be living with his parents still too – that I can assure you! So don't sit there and tell me that you're just another fan.”

Marsham's movement brings him in front of Hank. His steady progression forward is met with a slight smirk, envisioning the enjoyment he will derive from what is to become. He lets the tip of the Singapore cane drop to the floor. The rattan cane thirsts for blood. It awaits its role, still wet with antiseptic and anticipation.

“Right now, Buzzsaw still gives consideration for his fans. He knows who you are and we've covered this before. But, I don't think that you really appreciate what your beloved Buzzsaw really endures. So, you want to surround yourself with everything Buzzsaw? Then I will introduce you to the same pain he will suffer. No less will it be than by the same signature weapon he has assailed me with time and time again.”

There is nothing anyone can do to stop Marsham. He is far to powerful in his state of self-confidence. Slender fingers curl around the Singapore cane – it held secure within his grip – and he pulls the cane back to his right. His arms arch downward, bringing with them the cane in one fluid, brutal blow. Anguish fills Hank's visage as the cane smacks against his skull with a resounding CRACK. An instance of pure satisfaction surges through Marsham's veins, fueling another brutal smack and then another. Each swing – like the one before it – is just as violent and is as if gasoline is being poured into his fire.

Flesh is broken on the third impact causing blood to spurt from the wound and across Marsham's right cheek. It does not impede him. In a moment of sadistic glory, Marsham begins to grow tired. Hank bares a bloody mask when Marsham tosses the cane aside. Wiping droplets of sweat from his brow with the back of his left hand, Marsham leans in towards his prisoner.

“The problem is...Buzzsaw doesn't know his place and neither did you. You felt what pain waits for him at the next Supercard. You felt what pain waits for him this week,” a maniacal Marsham whispers.

Retorting from beneath a veil of blood, Hank responds, “How is beating me doing anything to get you ready for those matches?”

Marsham appears disgusted. “–get ready for the matches? Beating the Hell out of you is just for fun. You're about as close to Buzzsaw as I can get. You even smell like him...the bitter scent of failure. Besides, I'm able to let out a little aggression. When it comes to Buzzsaw, it's not going to be about hurting him. No, definitely not. I'm more dead-set on humiliating him. But, don't you worry your sweet, chubby face about that. I'll make sure you have a front row seat.”

“–just-just let me go.”

Cameras follow Marsham as he presents a malicious smile. He gently presses the tip of his index finger against Hank's forehead. Blood pools around the digit, but is beginning to dry. The steady stream of crimson had once profusely poured from Hank's brow, but now it ceases. He simply shakes his head in response to the begging. He is neither amused nor considering such an option.

“No. Not right now. If I were to let you go right here and now, that would be a very poor decision on my behalf. No. I think instead I'm going to have you stay here. You will stay and – when eventually – I don't need you anymore. THEN, that's when I'll discard you like the trash that you are. Until then, SIT the fuck down and SHUT the fuck up!” shouts Marsham – shedding the docile voice he had retained all night long and trading it in for a more irreverent version of himself.

How would Buzzsaw react to such actions on his watch...to one of his most adoring fans?

How much longer will Hank survive in the care of Technical Finesse?

ACT TWO

In a mere few days, Black Jesus will partner with the Epitome of Technical Finesse in tag team action against the current EWA Heavyweight Champion and his comrade Jakob Mayhem. While Marcellus Payne has been heard from, it is only now that Marsham graces EWA television. He proceeds down the backstage corridors towards his locker room. One of Marsham's dear friends – Steven Slade – follows him; and neither man is in the presence of the captive fan, Hank.

Slade's voice, full of urgency, is the first to be heard, echoing down the hall. “–AND I just don't understand why?”

“My God,” Marsham answers. “My Frickin' God! Is everyone so damn confused this week? Why does no one understand why?! No, we have been down this road before.”

“Things are different.”

Marsham shakes his head. “Things are not different. Look. I know you want an EWA contract, but that isn't my decision and I will not recommend you. The last time I fought to get you a job, I ended up being pushed off the top of a ladder, through a table and set on fire; and that wasn't even the worst! Then, I lost my belt. Now, whose hand was that by?”

“...” stammers Slade.

“Oh yeah! That was you wasn't it?”

“Are you joking? Don't act like you didn't start that. You staged a backstage assault that broke my arm right after I lost that Cruiserweight Championship,” adds Slade.

“I don't remember that.”

“It happened!” Slade exclaims.

“No, it didn't.”

“It DID!”

“Agree to disagree,” Marsham concludes whilst directing Slade's attention to a nearby EWA roster sheet. “Look. Due to the circumstances anyway, without you having a contract, they cannot put you in a match or a position that would cause Buzzsaw to get his hands on you. You are more of a weapon to me when you can be hidden. Otherwise, he might feel a little vindictive and you might not like that.”

“I just don't feel like I'm able to be as useful. You need someone watching your back.”

Marsham laughs. “Well, this week shouldn't be a problem. I've got Black Jesus in my corner, after all.”

“Yea. That's why I'm worried,” jokes Slade – allowing the sarcastic tone to taint his words.

“Marcellus is the least of my worries. He wants to feel confident and make sure we're workin' the same plan, but it's not going to take much to outmaneuver Buzzsaw and his bitch. I don't really know how I got so 'lucky' to be teamed with Marcellus anyway. I guess Mr. Manning was tired of seeing Marsham and Ryan Shane together, dominating fools. Well, he is in a world of disappointment because it won't matter if its me and Black Jesus...me and Ryan Shane...me and William Masters. I'll be the same technical juggernaut...the same tactical dreadnaught that I am every time.”

Concerned, Slade points out, “You act like this is just some walk in the park.”

“Seriously?” questions Marsham as he comes to an abrupt halt. “I don't take these matches lightly, but I don't give too shits about the outcome of this match. All this match is doing is giving me an opportunity to further push the screws into Buzzsaw. The match that matters is the Heavyweight Championship match. This match is nothing. But, I can't say the same for Marcellus. He needs this match to stay relevant. Jakob Mayhem needs a win to build momentum, especially upon his arrival. Buzzsaw has been ousted the last few times he's been in the ring and he desperately needs a victory just to give that championship some worth. Me? I don't NEED the match. I just want it...because messin' with that dumb son-of-a-bitch is more fun than Mardi Gras.”

Slade remains silent now and the duo continues to walk down the corridor. Tag Team matches have been Marsham's forte in the past. He has reigned as Tag Team Champion on several occasions with partners he had been forced to team with. Perhaps all he would need to do this week is imagine he is competing for those titles? Cameras close the scene with the image of Marsham and Slade shown on the screen. When their voices fade, the faint tune to Everlast's song "Black Jesus" can be heard.

Regardless, Marsham has made his message clear. The world of EWA has become the setting for Marsham's mind games. He wants nothing more than abase the name of the EWA champion. Soon enough he would get his chance.

Soon enough.

Epitome of Technical Finesse