Summer Splash 2020: Friction World Title: Adrian Kytes(c) vs Death Bunny: Hell in a Cell

Adrian Kytes was all set to enjoy the last few hours of Summer sun as she made her way out to her designated ring along the Sagami bay, the crew had been busy setting up the main event for the past hour and as the finishing touches were put to the steel structure it was easy to see why: Placing a twenty feet tall cage with enough space to completely surround a wrestling ring and keep it steady on sand was no mean feat. Without the internal structures of the AFW arena, the crew had to rely on cranes and manually fix the thing together in preperation for the main event while everyone else hit the bar. It was such a shame then, that all their effort would only be used for a couple of minutes at best.

Walking out to the Bullet Club theme, the World Champion was wearing way too much black to be particually comfortable in a Japanese Summer, but with a hat fresh from the latest batch of Bullet Club merchandise on her head, wearing a black faux-leather jacket with the Bullet Club logo in rhinestones, the AFW world title strapped firmly around her waist, and in her hand: a coconut, filled with some pre-fight water but ordained with a paper umbrella and drinking straw, Adrian Kytes looked as though she didn't have a care in the world as she casually sauntered through the Cell door and stepped up onto the apron.

Taking one last gulp from the coconut, Adrian rested her shoulders on the top rope and blew a spray of mist into the air before throwing the coconut down on the beach and stepping in the ring, a smug smile for someone at a size disadvantage in a steel cage.

The crowd was electric. After a long Pay-Per-View with ups and downs all along the sandy beach, this was set to be the big one. The looming cage was something to behold in the open air setting, standing out as a rare sight to behold that had the onlookers snapping pictures as it was secured and built up long before either woman had been inside it. Once Adrian had come though, things reached a fever pitch as the audience waited for familiar music to hit. Tonight was going to be a war and signs dotting the audience seemed to be backing the Alaina as the woman they were looking forward to seeing dethrone the Bullet Club Captain from her seat of power.

The massive tron screen over the entryway snapped to life. No promotional videos, no music. A bouncy shaky cam and the audible huffing of someone nearly out of breath.

“Where are you going idiot?! Over here!”

A sudden stop, the camera turned towards a face only familiar to the most diehard to AFW fans.

Rebecca "BB" Brightstone:

“Tell me when you’re rolling.” She was holding a microphone, peering over her shoulder and towards the camera as she backed herself up towards a backstage trailer. Road agents and staff were swarming, yelling to one another, calling for the medical team.

“I… I’m live already.” The cameraman murmured.

“W-what?! You f----” The young woman closed her eyes, taking in a deep inhale through her nostrils. A single handed raised with an open palm as if to tell the camera to wait… she needed a moment. Lips moving in silence, she counted down wordlessly from five until it was go time. Eyes snapping open, stern faced and serious. She pushed her glasses up the bridge of her nose, making them glint in the sunlight.

“Rebecca Brightstone here, reporting live on scene with breaking news!” Head held high she had the cadence of any news anchor worth their salt. With a wide side step, she threw an arm back behind her with a flourish to depict the chaos beyond.

A trailer among a few others, this one proudly displaying Alaina Sanders’ name on a gold slide on plaque. The door barely hanging on with a broken hinge, rocking slightly with the faint summer breeze. The exterior of the trailer was in ruins. Visible dents and tears along the aluminum siding with an overturned trash can and its contents strewn about the sandy ground. Sweeping featureless lines of spray paint spanning the length of the trailer, only forming into cheeky images such as cartoonish frowny faces with X’s for eyes over the windows.

“This unprecedented spree of backstage terror attacks continues as AFW management scrambles to cover up their failings. The most recent victim of these heinous assaults? Alaina Sanders who was set to compete mere seconds from now for prestigious championship gold. These abhorrent and reckless acts put our brave hard working competitors at risk each and every day while their pleas for increased security fall on def ears of top brass.”

Rebecca turned, motioning for the cameraman to follow as she started to push through the crowds of gathered people. Once they saw her and the camera rolling though, the black shirt staffers made an attempt to blockade the trailer and keep her from moving any closer.

“Ma’am we need to to step ba-”

“Continued backstage attacks, stifled freedom of press, will the management of this company ever cease to sink lower and lower while its talent stands by and suffers?” She took a few steps back, pretending to give the members of security space. They eased up a bit until she suddenly tried to charge past them, getting part way before they carried her away from the door, shoulder to shoulder. With a hard ‘hurumph’ the on the scene reporter gestured for the cameraman to follow her as she circled around the side.

The ginger haired girl trudged straight towards the camera, moving out of frame briefly.“Give it! Let go.” The camera shook as the two briefly scuffled, with the actual operator robbed of their equipment in the exchange. Off screen there was a muffled “Give me a boost… Don’t look at me like that. This is the new, we don’t have boundaries.”

The Screen traveled up the side of the trailer to a window, rocking lightly as the lens zoomed inside to get a good look at a bloodied Alaina laid out on the trailer floor. Simple furnishings littered the floor, a toppled chair, an overturned table, and what looked to be some matter of food platter dumped unceremoniously over the unconscious Amazon. Medical staff just started to arrive, filing inside as others set up a stretcher just beyond the frame of the open door.

“This is tragic. Our thoughts and prayers are with Alaina Sanders in hoping for a speedy recovery. We’ll now go to supposed eye witnesses on what actually transpir-” There was a mslla schriek as the image spun rapidly down the trailer side, meeting the ground with a sudden crash that left the screen whitewashed with static. After a few odd seconds, the tron out on the main floor went dark again.

If there was ever a meme that could accurately capture Adrian's emotion to this shocking turn of events, it would be this:



Oh no! Who would do such a thing? Surely not people somehow connected with the woman in the ring who would have rather taken the day off today rather than getting thrown around into steel and sand, that would be utterly ridiculous, and no-one would be able to prove it. "Welp, guess that's my match done." She shrugged, stretching out her arms as she got ready to leave with the belt still around her waist.

"Booooooooo..."

"...BULLshit...BULLshit...BULLshit..."

"...Booooooooo..."

"...REfund...REfund...REfund..."








"Boooooooo..."

Visible and increasingly audible unrest could be noticed amongst the AFW faithful in the audience who'd begun to piece together the unfolding chain of events in real time. A hodgepodge of emotions beginning to intermingle and bubble over. From the legitimate concern for the bloodied Amazons well-being, to the enlightening realization that it may have been their wallets who were the true victims this night. Irritated discontent and shuffling unrest continued it's upsurge as the writing on the wall began to spell out "Tonight's Main Event Is Cancelled"...thanks to the blatantly obvious culprits and their rhinestone attired ringleader in the middle of the ring. Chants being bellowed around which aired the audience's well-justified resentment, those who were not taking part in the mob mentality instead taking out there phones to document the ensuing anarchy in shaky cam-footage that would assuredly be uploaded online before the night was finished...until...

The King Himself!!!:

...would appear. Maximillian Kingsley's undeniably apropos theme music resounding from every speaker and serving to pacify the audience's restlessness once they were cognizant of an authority figure's interjection. One who could assuage their worries and perhaps prevent significant losses in property damage from waves of fans putting down their pitchforks. The Main Man striding out atop the ramp wearing a flamboyant and palm-tree decorated Hawaiian shirt, flip-flop sandals and beige colored cargo shorts within which he'd have his hands pocketed. His sunglasses shielding his eyes and his intentions, though those could perhaps be ascertained simply from the mischievous smile brightening up his face. Out of one of his pockets would be fished out his microphone, the signal for his fetching theme to start petering off as he sighed like a disappointed parent into the mic.

"...*sigh*...AdrianAdrianAdrian...WHAT am I to do with you~...There I was...Settling into my private Jacuzzi, lighting up one of my best Cubans, arms draped over two of the finest honey's  this side of the Playboy's calendar...FINALLY, taking in some well-deserved R and R from single-handedly rejuvenating this federation~...when all of a sudden, I get a call telling me one of the Main Event competitor's has come down with a nasty case of Steel-Chair-In-The-Face Syndrome. NOW...Allow me to assuage everyone's concern by saying that Alaina is getting tended to as we speak with our crack-team of medical personnel, who have assured me that she should recuperate perfectly fine. BUT concussion protocol mandates that she put on the shelf for the foreseeable future, and therefore...will NOT be competing tonight.




"...I know, I know. Demz the rulez...." Max shrugged his shoulders defeatedly, sympathizing with people's disappointment..."But...if ya'll think I'm gonna let ya'll go home without seeing THAT title belt defended, THAN YOU'VE GOT ANOTHER THING COMING!!!!!! HOLLA HOLLA, IF YA FEEL ME!!!!!" Max bellowed out while pointing at Adrian's cherished championship to the riled uproar of a rejuvenated mass of energetic AFW faithful."Now seeing as how you tend to make questionable decisions in regards to who choose to square off with when it comes to defending that title, I've taken it upon myself to CHOOSE for you, Ms. Kytes. She's someone...who actually has some experience in these types of matches...and while she's no Gallium, I believe she's gonna give you...just what a fighting champion like you deserves in a title match. Now if you'll excuse me, Imma get the hell outta here before she shows. HOLLA HOLLA~..." Max would stay true to his word and went scurrying off the side of the ramp and not the way he walked in, making sure not to be in the way of who was to come...          


Mystery and contemplative speculation abounded as to who would be the last-minute replacement hinted towards by the General Manager currently making a cowardly beeline for the exit immediately after making the announcement. An entire locker room filled to the brim with grappling expertise making the debated conjecture all the more head-scratching. Viable competitors lurked around every corridor where all the world's wrestling talent congregated. What made all the guesswork even more strenuous was how there was no shortage of enemies the Bullet Club had made with their obnoxious grandstanding and with having just "allegedly" laid waste to one of AFW's more beloved Amazonian babyfaces. The seconds ticked on by with anxiousness and anticipation practically reaching it's apex with nary a peep being played from the speakers until...in one chimming...


...the entire beachside erupted in uproarious cheers. Billowing fog arising from seemingly out of nowhere upon her impending arrival, wafting about at knee level and encompassing the entirety of the ramp and it's topside entrance. Where plumes of fire would be periodically shooting into the air from the floor beneath the greyed gloom and deteriorated gravestones were lit ablaze from purple lightning illuminating the screens. Amidst all of it...one sole figure began trudging outward. The Avatar Of Death herself would start stepping forward to the absolute engrossment of the masses around her. People captivated by the sight of such an unequaled presentation. But not so much as they wouldn't be recording every second of this unexpected development, and one assuredly to be extensively advertised for by wrestling dirtsheets the next day. DB's plodding coming at a distinctly slower slog than usual however. The reason for her stilted pace would become patently noticeable once she'd reached the bottom of the ramp where the fog dissipated, and where who else but the Jackson Sisters would be witnessed having been dragged along by their wrists. The Bullet Club members having the absolute snot been beaten out of them with welts, bruises, bloodied visages, and quite obviously dead to the world around them. The Reaper dropping their wrists to let them slumber outside the cage and continued her plodding steps into the steeled confines. Up the ring steps and through the ropes, removing her wide-brimmed hat to reveal chilling the blankness of her eyes before she'd blink her iris' into them...her hat and trenchcoat being handed off to the referee…

The Dead Woman...:

Adrian was all set up to head back when Mr Moneybags or whatever his name was showed up to once again rain on her parade and drag the whole process of calling the match off for a few minutes while he enjoyed the sound of his own voice as much as the crowd enjoyed booing Adrian "What?" The brunette called back to the crowd "Are you people booing proper healthcare? I thought Japan was better than that!" She taunted, even adding in a few claps of her own "Yay proper care for us hard working athletes!" She wanted to do something that could fit into the 'Lets go __ *clap-clap-clap clap clap*' pattern but her mind was suddenly on other things, such as Maximillian announcing that he'd already found a replacement for her.

And then who that replacement was.

And who she was bringing out with her.

"Wha-HEY!" Adrian yelled as her eyes went wide. Not only was she suddenly going to be trapped in a cage with the bunny-eared reaper, but as the fog dissipated, her plan B had already been ruined before plan A even had a chance to get started. The Jackson sisters were left slumped against the cage wall while Death Bunny slowly made her way in to the ring "No no no, not happening!" The champion protested "She's probably the one who attacked Alaina! She already took out two people unprovoked, this is all part of her scheme to steal my title! Max? MAX! YOU ASSHOLE! YOU SHOULDN'T BE REWARDING THIS BULLSHIT!!" She screamed without a single acknowledgement of the hypocrisy at play.

"THE FOLLOWING CONTEST IS YOUR MAIN EVENT FOR THE EVENING AND IS FOR THE AFW WORLD CHAMPIONSHIP!" The announcer declared now that both participents were in the ring, the referee struggling to get Adrian to relinquish her championship, even just to hold up in the air.

The fromer cosplayer was in a blind panic as he brain scrambled to try and think of what to do against someone she was in no way prepared to face off against. She wasn't really prepared for anyone specifically but certainly not the Killer Rabbit like this. Her only semi good idea was to let the referee pull the title off her and follow the official to the centre of the ring, only to dash past her and try to jump the Bunny before the bell rung with a running double axe handle.

...Death could sympathize with Adrian's contempt for that utter buffoon in the Hawaiian shirt too. She herself was not a particularly adamant fan of the lecherous, outright hedonistic goofball...but Ade had it off easy. Imagine being inexorably connected to that guy till the end of your days. Wrestling historians duly ensuring that everyone around the world was one mere Google search away from learning that Death Bunny first made her grappling appearance in...*sigh*...that guy's, federation. A fact he touted to a ludicrous degree in press junkets ever since her popularity skyrocketed over the years. No thanks to him. But she allowed Max to prattle on because well, that's just what he does. And she always felt it beneath her to ever set him straight. But that shared history of theirs does explain how he'd gotten in contact with D.B. seconds after he was informed of Alaina's dust-up backstage, and offer quite the proposition in his...own, way.

"DEATH YA GOTTA HELP ME OUT OF THIS JAM MY MAIN EVENT CONTENDER'S BEEN BEATEN TO A BLOODY PULP AND SUMMER SPLASH IS ON THE VERGE OF GOING DOWN IN FLAMES AND COSTING ME MILLIONS FIND WHO EVER DID THIS AND THE TITLE SHOT IS YOURS I'M BEGGING YA PLEASE PLEASE PLEA-!!!"

One exaggerated eye-roll and phone click later, Death was stalking the halls and enveloped those Bullet idiots in pitch-black darkness after spotting them "Too Sweet"-ing beside a garbage bin filled with dented steel chairs and black spray paint cans. Anyway...The Bunny Reaper's end of the bargain had been paid, and now she'd come to collect her due recompense. What had eluded her for so long, year after year, inches from her grasp everytime...and what was currently being tugged back and forth between the referee and the Bullet Club leader within that steel entrapment. Being caught unawares like this meant that she'd be donning her by the books wrestling attire. The Deathly one somberly yanking down on her fingerless gloves to make them firmly affixed, striding forward with a funereal gait towards the referee about to showcase the championship belt to her...who was promptly shoved aside by Adrian, who'd be greeted with rigid treads thanks to a booming Big Boot from the Grim Hopper seeing this sneak attack coming a mile away.

Adrian's opening salvo blew up in her face in a big way as the champion was caught trying to jump up to hit the big bunny in the face only to be booted out of the air as quickly as she had charged in. The rhinestones in her jacket might have been flashy but they made the landing that little extra bit sucky as the brunette got dropped before the bell even rung. To her credit, the champion didn't stay on the floor for long as she scrambled back to her feet, on hand busy trying to struggle out of her jacket with the other clutching her face to make sure that opening boot hadn't broken her nose.

One of these days, D.B. was going to personally inquire as to why her challengers thought it a wise opening gambit to come barrelling straight towards her like a patriotic soldier sprinting uphill into battle. Alison, Valley, and now Adrian here have each learned a valuable lesson in not underestimating D.B.'s instincts, strength, or the fact that she's been doing this long enough to maybe not trust the chivalrous integrity of someone whose duplicitous and conniving enough to send Bullet Club thugs after her intended opponent. Just a thought. Regardless, D.B. remained stoically upright after imprinting her boot treads onto the champion's face all to the chiming sounds of the ring bell officially signaling they were off to the races.

The Grim Hopper stalking the flailing champion from behind, snatching her auburn-colored hair and (whether she'd managed to wriggle her way out of that stupidly gaudy jacket or not) would drag her straight towards the corner turnbuckle Adrian was retreating to anyway. What followed being a ruthless round of face-smashing head dunks right into the top turnbuckle. Ones that which the audience jubilantly counted along with, and upon the tenth thrusting plunge downward, Bunny would reel Adrian's head back as far as she could, and than viciously cram her head into the thinly padded covering.

"...Three!!!...Four!!!..."

Adrian felt as though she was losing brain cells with every time her skull was bashed against the top turnbuckle, unable to even get her arms up to try and resist some of the impact while she was still struggling with the heavy jacket. She thought she might have gotten a brief reprieve as the Bunny Reaper paused after the ninth strike as the champion's legs wobbled, but no. Death Bunny reared back and dunked Adrian into the thin padding with enough force that she bounced backwards into the air, flying and twisting towards the centre of the ring as her jacket flew up and out of the ring at the same time.