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Salem's nerves started to fire off one by one, gradually restoring the spark to the young rookie's step as he got up from his knees and to his feet. Freakshow, having taken it upon himself to retrieve the microphone that he'd earlier discarded, had moved to the edge of the announcers' table to attempt collecting himself. However, as Freak brought the microphone up to his lips, Salem would rush towards the ropes, each step showing renewed vigor and motivation. With an explosion of energy, Salem would leap forward while laying his body flat through the air, attempting to sail through the middle and top ropes to bring Freakshow down with a surprise crossbody splash to the outside.

Though the landing onto the lightly padded arena floor wasn't as comfortable as the ring canvas, prior, Salem's body was sturdy enough to hold up after the sensational maneuver that had left Freakshow disabled behind the announcers' table. A bit winded, but otherwise no worse for wear, Salem got up to his feet and grasped the nearby microphone that Freak had dropped before he was sent rolling over the booth. Stepping up onto the desk, Salem would look around at the fans for a moment before extending his foot, lightly kicking Freakshow out of the roller chairs and onto the arena floor. With a haggard grin, Salem held the microphone up to his lips.

"Falls Count Anywhere!" he shouted, tossing the microphone into the ring once again. Sitting on the desk, Salem cleared the wires and debris away from Freakshow while the official approached the pair, Salem dropping to his opponent's chest to try and go for a cover.

Fans leaned over the barricade behind the table to get a better view of Salem covering Freakshow, the rest of the crowd being forced to catch the action as it was displayed on the Titantron by a nearby cameraman. The referee had to crouch amid the electronic scrap that their scuffle had already created, but the inconvenience wouldn't prevent the man from doing his duty. "One...two...!" the official counted before Freakshow bucked one shoulder up, defiantly continuing the match despite his circumstances.

Salem was red with anger and adrenaline, and he huffed like a madman as the rookie got back up to his feet, reaching down to grasp for Freakshow's hair. Pulling him up by his golden locks, Salem would stare the veteran in the face with a scowl before bringing it down to the announcers' booth, rubbing Freakshow's cheek into the provided programming for the commentators.

"See that?!" Salem growled, glaring down at Freak as he grinded the man's face against the match card on the desk. "It's a 'SALEM Says' match...and Salem says you should've STAYED RETIRED!"

With a grunt, Salem would try to throw Freakshow back into the nearby barricade that fans were just earlier trying to hunch over top, looking to stomp forward with a short-distance clothesline should his Irish Whip be effective, potentially sending both men over the security wall and into the audience with his action.

There was no good way to clothesline someone over a barricade, but Salem tried his best to recover quickly to his feet, leaning against the security rail with a satisfied smile on his lips as he took a minute to catch his breath and admire his handiwork. Freakshow was writhing in agony at Salem's feet, a sight that brought a triumphant laugh from the rookie as he beat his chest with one hand, raising the other in a victorious pose, soaking in the admiration from the audience. Salem felt as though he'd finally found a moment of control in this match, but rather than continue his assault on Freakshow, he'd simply hoist Freak up to his feet by one arm, carrying him by the shoulder towards a pair of nearby empty seats. Casually shrugging Freak into one of the chairs, Salem sat in the seat next to his opponent and draped one arm around the battered bully's neck, giving him a friendly smile.

"So, how're you likin' the match so far, Freak?" Salem asked nonchalantly, as though the pair had come to watch it together. Reaching over to the fan next to him, Salem would take the patron's bag of popcorn and offer the woozy wretch some. "That Salem guy is really puttting the hammer down, ain't he? C'mon, say it one time...give it up for?" he asked, seeing if the dazed Freakshow would finish his signature quote in his foggy stupor.

"Good enough!" Salem said, ignoring Freak's threat and cutting his words off by suddenly springing out from the steel chair. The audience had been amused by the brief reprieve from the intense action, but Salem had no intentions of delaying what he planned to be his victory. Though he had become a bit fatigued, the rook still had some bounce left in his step, as he clenched the arm wrapped around Freak's neck into a headlock, attempting to burst out from the chair and drag Freakshow along by the head, hoping to drive his face into the concrete of the stadium floor with a running bulldog, right in front of the first row of fans.

The crowd was divided with their reaction to the gruesome bulldog Salem administered to Freakshow on the cold, unforgiving cement of the fan area, some gasping while others cheered at the sight of Freakshow's head being driven face-first into the concrete. Regardless, everyone in the first few rows were on their feet to watch up-close as Salem shoved Freak over onto his back following the maneuver, leaning on his side to cover the man's chest while the referee approached, ready to make the count.

Salem was feeling confident, perhaps overly confident as he laid atop Freak's chest, listening to the ref start the count for his potential pinfall. "One!" the official began. "Two!" he continued. But, that final word was not meant to be as Salem was momentarily blinded by a hand thrown up into his face by the conniving Freakshow, not realizing that he was armed with a metal utensil.

"Yeowch!" Salem howled, feeling the barbed points of the fork piercing flesh, just above his left eyelid. The stab had momentarily alarmed Salem, who flopped off of Freak in a pained mess, clutching his eye as the count was broken up. The bone of his ocular cavity had absorbed most of the impact, and the pronged ends of Freak's weapon-of-choice had drawn blood, which slowly started to build and trickle down Salem's cheek, like tears. Over a few seconds, the blood began to flow a little thicker as Salem laid on his side, struggling to sit back up while still clutching his left eye.