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The rain poured on while the the remaining members of the symphony tried to pack up their belongings and shuffle off, ready to be rid of this rowdy BBW audience. They didn't want symphonies. They didn't want King's theatrics. They didn't want anything that King offered or gave. They only wanted one thing.

The Storm.

The last signs of King's entrance finally faded away, as the last symphony member scurried away from the stage and towards whichever bus they rode in on. The only sounds that prevailed in the park were the cries of the fans, and the rain. So far, it had only been raining. Despite the rolling thunder earlier in the evening, there were no signs of the weather getting any worse. There everyone sat, basking in the rain and calling for it to usher in the man of the hour.

BOOM!!!

Their calls went unanswered, until nature itself intervened. A shockwave of thunder ripped through the air, sending the fans into a frenzy along with it. The chants for The Storm to arrive began, carrying on as each and every floodlight in the area began to spark out.

The titantron began to buzz with life in response, revealing a shot of a ruined, white two-story house. Signs of a fire were prevalent to the house, with parts of the second story having collapsed into the house itself. The windows were all blown out, and the soot from the flames covered anything one might've seen through a window. In the darkness, the only thing that kept the house lit up was the occasional lightning bolt to illuminate the shot. It seemed to be raining at the location of the home.

As the rain continued, a soothing voice began to echo over the sound system. The feminine, sing-song tone reached the ears of every soul in the park, no matter where they might be. However, there was only one sole recipient for its intended message.

As the rhyme continued to lull the audience, the sound of mud being stomped on mixed in with the tune. From the camera's angle, all it caught was the bottom half of a man slowly walking into frame, his direction being towards the house. The leather trenchcoat he wore glided against the mud, covered in rain water and dirt especially towards the bottom. At the sight of the man walking into shot, the audience couldn't contain themselves; they screamed for the man, for they didn't need any true confirmation on who it was. They knew, The Storm was coming.

The rhyme continued, as did the man's steps towards the ruined home. Damaged by fire, destroyed by Kings. A sanctuary, broken apart and ruined by vengeance and hatred. By petty jealousy. Much like BBW itself. It was ruined, as a message. It was destroyed to draw out the one thing that King desperately wanted. The one man King demanded to face once more.

Break. You. Apart.
Break.
You.
Apart.

The final words of the nursery rhyme could have sent chills of anyone's spine. With the final two syllables, the man stopped short of the stairs and slowly turned his head to stare at the camera over his shoulder. His hood hid the majority of his face from view, but as lightning lit up the area once more, his left eye was clearly glaring at the viewers. It was glaring at the man who demolished everything he had left.

It stared at Kelly King.

The lightning bolt faded away as quick as it came, and with it... the man disappeared. The Storm left everyone's sight.

The sound system went quiet afterwards, letting it all soak in for the audience and the eager opponent. The crowd refused to let silence reign even more for a moment, however; chants for "THE STORM!" and "LET'S GO SHAN-A-HAN!" vibrated the very foundations of Chicago. It drowned out anything else in the whole area. Tonight, the world wished for rain. Tonight, the world prayed for The Storm.

Waiting for the crowd to die down wasn't going to be a plausible goal tonight; the lone guitar's notes began to simply hum over them in response. The eerie plucking of guitar strings ushered in the sound of war drums, loud enough to quake the ring itself. The death march that summoned the only force in nature that withstood the test of time. The drums of war continued, overpowering the guitar that tried to accompany it.

A chorus of grave voices quietly began to hum along with the guitar notes, a chorus that could very well be greeting the end of Kelly King. They moaned along, fighting against the crowd's cheers. Despite the electricity in the park, the eerie feeling that crept through the air when The Storm's intro played was more than obvious. Even the crowd was anxious for what would come tonight. Would this be Kelly King's demise, or Matt Shanahan's swan song?

The music began to die away, and the drums of war hit their final note. The wait was over...

The Storm was here.

Short Change Hero - The Heavy

The snare drum began to thump through the air as the iconic song played for the fans. The lights flashed back on, each one now bathing the park in a dark blue hue. The rain had gotten worse, now bathing everything in sight in the deluge. Fog was flowing over the ramp and stage, hiding anything below a foot in height from sight. The only notion the fans had that Matt was even making his appearance was by the bright, white light that illuminated from the hole in the stage, revealing the outline of a figure rising out of the stage.

I can't see where you comin' from,
But I know just what you runnin' from.
And what matters ain't the "who's baddest" but,
The ones who stop you fallin' from your ladder, baby...

The figure continued to rise up from the hole in the stage as the song played; his head was covered by a black hood, attached to a long, black leather trenchcoat. His head was kept down to hide his face from view, even though the roaring fans knew who he was. The platform kept rising as the song went on and the rain slid off of his trenchcoat.

And you feel like you're feelin' now,
Doin' things just to please your crowd.
But I love you like the way I love you,
And I suffer, but I ain't gonna cut you 'cause...

The verse came to an end as Matt came to a stop on the stage, his figure a haunting image to behold. The chorus kicked in, and Matt's head suddenly jerked up to stare ahead. His cold, soulless eyes glaring down at the man in the ring. The man who took it all. The man who dared challenge a God once more. The One True King.



"And introducing his opponent, from Philadelphia, Pennsylvania. Weighing in at three hundred and twenty-six pounds... standing at six feet and eight inches tall.... he is The Storm, MAAAAAAAAATT SHAAAAAAAANAHAAAAAAAN!"

The fans' reaction to the call of Matt's name could have measured on the Richter Scale. These were itching to see Matt demolish Kelly once again. They demanded the blood of a King on this night, and they would get it.

His right hand was gripped around his legendary weapon, the 'Punk-ville Slugger', only loosening to give the bat a single twirl to his side. The chorus began as The Storm slowly began to step down the ramp, well protected from the rain thanks to his hooded coat.

This ain't no place for no hero.
This ain't no place for no better man.
This ain't no place for no hero to call "home."

This ain't no place for no hero.
This ain't no place for no better man.
This ain't no place for no hero to call "home."

As he moved down the ramp, some fans would dare say he was simply floating through the fog in his way, as his legs seem to just barely stride down the metallic walkway. On the last two lines of the chorus, the lights surged with light, to the point that it was nearly blinding, the suddenly cut out. The Storm didn't remotely pause in his wake in response, not even for a moment.

Every time I close my eyes, I think,
I think about you inside.
And your mother, givin' up on askin' why -
Why you lie, and you cheat, and you try to make
A fool outta she...

Three bells chimed as the bridge was sang through-out the park. Each time, there was a quick flash of light to give the fans a split-second view of what was happening; Matt was still making his way to the ring. With each flash, he was closer. It was almost haunting to see the black-clad figure suddenly moving positions through the rain and darkness.

I can't see where you comin' from...

The drumbeat kicked back in on queue, the dark-blue lighting throughout the area returning with it. However, Matt wasn't on the outside anymore. He had somehow appeared in the ring, standing before Kelly King, like a figure straight out of a horror movie. He remained still as the song continued, facing King's directions with his hood keeping his face hidden.

But I know just what you're runnin' from.
And what matters ain't the "who's baddest," but the
Ones who stop you fallin' from your ladder, 'cause...

Before the chorus could play, Matt's free hand reached up and grabbed the hood by the rim, tossing it back in a fluid motion. Beneath it was Matt Shanahan, still stitched up from his encounter with Kelly King's children at his own home. His face was emotionless, but his eyes betrayed him. Fire burned in his vision, hatred was clear by the way he stared at Kelly King 2.0. There was no love lost between these two, not anymore. This wasn't hero versus villain. This wasn't a fairytale. All this match would be was a monster slaying a different monster. The Storm overthrowing a King before he got too out of hand. An act of hateful compassion, if there ever was one.

The chorus played once more while Matt dropped his bat, letting it roll out of the ring. Never had he started his battles with it, tonight would be no different. Even in his own ring, he would fight it like every other match. He had already beaten King once; he would do it again. He grabbed the edges of his trenchcoat and pulled it off, slinging it over the ropes and to a nearby stagehand afterwards. All the while, his eyes never left Kelly King. He would not let his tormentor out of his sight, not tonight.



The music faded away, and it suddenly became very clear to the world. This match wasn't a dream, it was real. The One True King was challenging The Storm. Kelly King 2.0 versus Matt Shanahan. The Self-Proclaimed Protector of BBW against it's creator.

Monster versus Monster.

The Storm stood still in the center of the ring, his gaze piercing holes into Kelly's. He waited for the bell, and for King to step forward so he could begin his final task of getting BBW back.

The Storm didn't react as The One True King shot across the ring and bounced those small fists against his skull. He recoiled with each blow, slowly forcing him back into the corner! Perhaps he truly was caught off guard by the King's surprise tactics. Matt's back hit the turnbuckle, and he continued to put up no offense, simply bringing his arms up to attempt to block the blows.

Stomp after stomp landed against Matt's chest, knocking gusts of wind out of his lungs with each blow! Just when it seemed Matt was truly not going to stop King from having an early upper hand, The Storm's arms shot down and attempted to grab hold of the foot before it could land another stomp. If successful, Matt would push off of the turnbuckles and drive his shoulder into King's abdomen, aiming for a quick takedown to the mat!

King was throwing fists left and right, but Matt wasn't one you wanted to throw blows with at the end of the day. He attempted to quickly scramble on top of King and deliver some blows of his own, aiming directly at Kelly's massively fat head!

Matt's fists were striking true, one thing The Storm was always on-point with. While King may be dumber than Shanahan, he was undoubtedly a better -wrestler-, which is why Matt was caught off guard as King suddenly squirmed out from under him and managed to trap his arm between his legs. He had been in this position before, and he knew what was coming.

In hopes to prevent it, or at least buy himself some time to think of a way out, Matt swiftly shot his free arm up and attempted to grab hold of King's hands just before he could lock in the Crossface. If successful, he'd push against them, trying to keep the hold from being locked in!

With each punch to the face, The Storm was losing ground in this defense. Each one threatened to bust his forehead wide open, and that's not something he wanted. Matt did everything he could to prevent the damage; so he let go of King's hands and wrapped his arm around his head, while burying it against the mat. He was trying to cover up and keep his face away from that deadly hold!

The Storm would've sighed in relief as he felt King's weight lift off of his shoulder; but he knew better than to think that King was giving him a moment to breathe. Sure enough, much like before, his ankle was suddenly lifted and locked into that deadly ankle lock!

Matt let out a quiet hiss as he felt his ankle being torqued and strained in directions it wasn't meant to. He quickly began to try to pull himself towards the ropes; he knew there were no ropebreaks in HIS company, but he also knew that the ropes would do more help than harm in this situation.