Dean Ambrose vs. Doctor Fluke -- Extreme Rules Match.
Before the bell began to ring, the anger that came from the seething Moxley dictated him in driving the blunt end of the NWW microphone into Fluke’s temple, knocking him back some with the referee looking on in surprise. “What are you doing?!” The official asked to which the older blonde disregarded, threatening the man in stripes with a weapon of his own, making the ref back out of the ring cautiously.
The crowd exploded as soon as Dean hit Fluke’s temple with the microphone by surprise, making the smaller male stumble backward while a grunt of pain escaped his lips. His eyes squeezed shut tightly and jaw clenched harshly, Elliot rubbed his temple slowly, trying to ease the pain as soon as possible.
Rage. Rage fueled him and as soon as the ref cleared and the bell kept ringing to disqualify the match, the man known as the Lunatic Fringe went back on the attack, mounting the smaller boy and landing blow after blow in a frantic rhythm. Some blows connected, some didn’t.
Leaning back up off him, Mox propped Fluke up in a sitting position against the bottom turnbuckle, his head resting against the padded base while he went around to grab something from underneath the ring.
Fluke’s vision was all blurry after his opponent rested his body against the bottom turnbuckle, feeling like he was seeing birds flying around his head, very cartoon-ish like. His heavy breath moving his chest up and down while the crowd roared in excitement as Dean got off the ring.
The match hadn’t even begun but that wouldn’t stop the mentality of one Dean Ambrose from carrying out exactly what he had in mind. Doctor Fluke, however, happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. After looking under the ring for a moment, he brought back into the ring with him, a chair. All while refs and trainers were doing their best to contain the situation. Coming back over to where Fluke was situated, Mox took the edge of the chair and pressed it against his windpipe, giving a snarl.
The smaller male blinked multiple times before his vision started to clear, but before he could do anything, he felt his opponent pressing the chair against his neck, causing the blonde to let out a gasp of surprise while moving his hands to the sides of the chair, pulling a face, a mixture of annoyance and the loss of air his opponent’s choke hold made him suffer from while trying to push it away from his windpipe with all the strength he had.
Seeing the younger brought a wry smile to Ambrose’s face but with the struggle and expression he was met with, it quickly dashed into one of annoyance himself. Bringing the chair back, it was almost like he was offering the newcomer a bit of respite, only to forcefully thrust the same edge of the chair into the gut of Fluke. “Punk!” Mox picked up the damaging microphone with a haunting yell. “CM Punk, I know you hear me!” He growled, laying a knee against Doctor Fluke’s head. “And you see this?” He pushed a bit harder. “This is blood on YOUR hands. The future? It’ll be destroyed because YOU destroyed it!” He released the knee only to pace back with a hand through his hair, huffing and puffing in anger.
Feeling all the air leaving his lungs as soon as Dean hit his gut with the chair, Fluke cried out in pain and in that moment he realized there was no use in fighting back, considering he was pretty much dead in that ring with Dean. With a grimace forming on his features once his opponent pressed his knee against his head, the blonde stayed put, hearing the crowd going wild with the bigger male’s words before taking a long, deep breath once he let him go.
"…and if you think for a second this is all I’m capable of…" Mox shook his head with a jittery tap to his shoulder, the joint rolling forward with a slight rhythm. "You’ve got a whole lot more coming for your straightedge ass." Going back under the ring, the Unstable one pulled out two lighttubes, a throwback to his earlier days. Because this wasn’t Dean Ambrose that Punk was dealing with, it was full-on Jon Moxley. Pulling Fluke up to his feet, he kept him on wobbly legs with some rugged knees to the gut before setting him up for the headlock driver, also known as Dirty Deeds, onto the light tubes and shattering them with authority.
Fluke laid there, lifeless, after Dean completed his finisher move, the sharp shards of light tubes under his knocked out body as the crowd gasped in shock.
Dusting himself off as he got up from the wreckage, Moxley finally left the ring, allowing the refs and trainers to attend to the fallen newcomer. As he walked up towards the ramp, the older of the two simply held his hands up to his face and walked away, his shoulders rolling with each step.
