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"Oooo-!"

The air is forced right out of Freaks lungs by the knee of Croft. He doubles over, eyes bugging out as he is forced to stare straight down the drop. With both forearms crossed over his wounded gut he wheezes, trying to anchor himself to the floor.

Freaks heart thuds in his throat as he feels his feet leave the ground. Suspended in mid air precariously the man flails his limbs violently in an attempt to shift himself back out of the hold. While not necessarily cat-like the blonde finds himself back on his feet, behind Croft. While to an outsider the obvious move would be to give the rookie a gentle shove, Freak, wary of the opponents athleticism, did not trust gravity to do its work. Instead, banking on what he felt to be superior technical skill, the Marauder immediately seeks to cinch in a sleeper hold. A basic hold made deadly by the master chokesman.

"There we go!" Freakshow cranks on the basic hold, gripping around his opponents neck like his life depended on it. In some respects, it most decidedly did. The sleeper was, by Freaks judgement, the safest possible route at the current juncture. Wanting to get the most out of his brief advantage he jerks and twists on the hold, keeping his hooks deep in the less experienced opposition. "We ain't goin nowhere..." He mutters, starting to coil his legs around Crofts ribs for better leverage.

In the very back of Freakshows mind, when he'd applied the hold, he'd considered such a fate a possibility. A narrow possibility. Why it was absurd. Perverse, even, to perform such a suicidal escape. Nevertheless, his regret hit its peak as he found himself crashing through the wooden table, into various electronics, into various important cables. For some, particularly those streaming, the PPV goes black. Several lights shut off, inconsequential due to the presence of the sun. The arena after a split second delay engulfs itself in holy s**t chants.

Freakshow finds himself buried under a mass of table wreckage, equipment, and god knows what else. His movement minimal, the veteran had likely blacked out if he hadn't already. As the medics cart the referee up the ramp security flags two of the extra EMT's down to the site of the wreckage. The paramedics, not quite as concerned with the fan favorite, begin digging through the destruction to uncover the fallen manager. "Guuuh.." It doesn't take long to uncover the hated businessman, a laceration formed over his eyebrow. The physician leans over Freak, waving a hand in front of the New Yorkers face. "Huh..?"

The doctor waves over his flock of less talented, less PHD'd paramedics. The men in white come rushing a stretcher over to Freak as Croft stalks towards the fallen. Two employees attempt to stop Croft, although all they can do is tell him "stop" and put there hands up while the mad man brandishes a massive light stand. Meanwhile others start trying to strap the battered sports agent to the board.

Freakshow feels himself hoisted into the air by the men in white. If it were an option given his life experience, Freak would have been lead to believe he was merely being taken to heaven. His eyes blink open, letting in waves of show lights, quite difficult to process as it stands. As he reaches the top of the steps he recognizes the form of his opponent Salem Croft. He cranes his neck up, squinting at the man, before a certain realization hits him. "..Ha.." The EMT's slowly but steadily carry the bloodied businessman towards the curtain, away from the hostility and danger of the vengeful fan favorite. "...Ha...Ha...Ha.."

"Aahahahahah!"

Freak cackles and convulses in the confines of his stretcher as he feels himself float gently towards the backstage area. "Ohohohoho!" He flashes a rather condescending looking thumbs up towards the audience as he reaches the curtain. Just then, everything stops. "Huhuhuh-" Freak blinks a couple of times before looking right next to him. It was Croft. "Ah s**t." His expressions freezes, panic.