Ace309 0 Report post Posted January 19, 2007 Fifty-five minutes before Storm “Yeah, yeah… look mate, good luck against Cross, right?” Michael Stephens says, waving one hand vaguely in his partner’s direction. “It’s not like I’m going to need it,” Landon Maddix snorts, tagging Mike’s hand in what would have been a high-five if either man had put more effort into it, “I’ve beaten him before. It’ll be a cakewalk.” “Never understood what was easy about walking on cake,” Stephens mutters, “anyway, catch yer in a bit.” Landon nods and wanders off in the other direction to find Megan, while Stephens slings his trusty black holdall over his shoulder and sets off into the bowels of the arena. He rounds a corner and nearly walks into a flustered-looking SWF tech, who is being berated by a partially flustered but mainly angry Tom Flesher. “…I don’t care if you don’t speak Doomtopian, get back there and-” Flesher cuts off as he sees Stephens come round the corner. Mike flips him a salute. Flesher glowers. “Stephens, you’re-” he checks his watch, “-five minutes late. Consider yourself lucky I don’t fine you.” “Nice to see you too, Tom,” Stephens smiles easily. The SWF flunkey looks from one to the other, realises that Flesher’s attention has shifted, and scuttles away. Flesher’s glower increases to a scowl as he surveys the grinning Englishman in front of him. “Stephens, your timing is slack, your dress inappropriate, and your attitude rapidly getting worse,” the Superior One bites out, “I’ve half a mind to-” “-remind yourself that my T-shirt is sitting pretty at the top of the merchandise list?” Stephens interrupts him, “which of course means that Joe Peters won’t want you to do anything petty backstage to piss me off. Put me in some crazy-arse match to get loads of buyrates and maybe retire me as a side-effect, sure,” he shrugs, “but Joe’s nothing if not predictable. He wants money out of me one way or the other.” He cocks an eyebrow at Flesher. “So, was it his idea or yours to put me first in the Clusterfuck?” “That’s none of your business,” Flesher replies. Stephens grins. “Yours, then. Well Tom, at least I’m doing business with someone who actually knows his way around a wrestling ring now, which is more than I could say last year.” He checks his watch, then pulls a face. “Oops, looks like time’s a-wasting. Love to stay and chat, but I can’t let my timing get any worse…” he moves to go, but Flesher reaches out and takes hold of the Englishman’s arm. Stephens stops and turns a quizzical expression back at the Commissioner. “What the hell are you playing at?” Flesher demands. “Exsqueeze me?” “Since when did you turn into Mr. Zen?” The Superior One asks suspiciously. “Congratulating someone who beat you for the World Title is not like you. You haven’t whined in public about getting number one in the ‘Fuck either, which is definitely not like you. And you’ve been throwing far too many compliments around recently.” He eyes Stephens. “You’re up to something.” “Tom,” Stephens laughs, “are you really that cynical about the nature of the human spirit? In case you hadn’t noticed, it’s not 2004 anymore.” He spreads his hands in a gesture of helpless optimism. “What can I say? I’ve chilled out a bit.” A faint smile spreads over his face. “Besides, what I said is true; I’m too valuable to Peters to get fired unless I majorly screw up, and I took every match he threw at me last year and I’m still standing.” “Bullshit,” Flesher snorts, but he releases his grip. “You’re up to something Mike, and I’ll work out what it is sooner or later.” “Well when you do, let me know will you?” Stephens tells him, “I’d love to find out.” He flips Flesher a small salute again. “Sayanora.” Tom Flesher folds his arms and glowers after the departing Tag Champion, fingers of one hand drumming on his other arm, then turns and realises for the first time that the previous target of his ire has now disappeared. “How the hell did I let Joe talk me into this job…?” the Superior One grumbles. Share this post Link to post Share on other sites
Ace309 0 Report post Posted January 19, 2007 -=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=- Tom Flesher presents.... SWF STORM Live, Wednesday, January 17, from THE 1ST MARINER ARENA in BALTIMORE, MARYLAND! (5pm PST, 8pm EST; check local listings) (Send all promos/marked matches to Ace309) -=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=- THE MAIN EVENT – SWF WORLD CHAMPIONSHIP "The Beast" Gabriel Drake vs. Insane Luchador -> Sure, this match took place last week, but Drake didn't seem... there, really. Nevertheless, IL holds a clean win over the World Champion, and for that, he must be rewarded! Rules: Standard. -=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=- CRUISERWEIGHT CHAMPIONSHIP MATCH Alan Clark of the Caribbean ©© vs. Wildchild -> Wildchild cashes in his number-one contendership! Rules: Standard, with cruiserweight addenda. -=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=- TAG TEAM CONTEST The Cadillac Boys (Zack Malibu and Calvin Szic.... Calvin Czec.... Calvin. Zack and Calvin.) vs. The Predators (Jay Hawke and Nighthawk) -> Rules: Standard tag team rules -=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=- CRUISERWEIGHT EXHIBITION Landon "La Cucaracha" Maddix vs. Michael Cross -> Maddix defeated the number-one contender, Wildchild, last week. Trust me, there will be rewards! In the mean time, Mike Cross tries for the same feat! Rules: Standard, with cruiserweight addenda. -=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=- CRUISERWEIGHT TRIPLE THREAT Zyon vs. Ricky Barbosa vs. MANSON -> Rules: Standard, with cruiserweight addenda. Countouts and disqualifications eliminate a competitor but don't end the match; first pin or submission wins. -=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=- JERKIN THE GHERKIN CURTAIN Matt Myers vs. Wayne Blank -> Trying to avenge his brother's loss last week, Wayne Blank comes after Matt Myers! Rules: Standard. Try not to kill Matty, eh, Wayne? -=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=- Share this post Link to post Share on other sites
Ace309 0 Report post Posted January 19, 2007 We’re about 20 minutes from show time, backstage somewhere in the darker parts of the Mariner Arena. A figure dressed all in black, clutching a steel chair is barely noticeable in the corner where he’s trying to stay out of the light. A low moaning whimper kinda gives him away though. “What the hell is wrong with you son?” The voice is unmistakable, the “Maker of Stars” James Matheson who himself had gone in search of a quiet corner to contemplate his next career move. “Is… I mean do you see anyone?” Matt asks timidly “Yeah I see you, in the dark… looking like a fool” Matheson wasn’t really in the mood for this, he needed an idea, something to show the world and especially Tom Flesher that Matheson was the biggest factor in Flesher’s success. “No I mean Ghost Machine” Matt says while cowering behind the folded chair. “Yeah” *wink* “Ghost Machine… nope he’s no there, haven’t seen or smelled him yet.” Matheson says when he realizes who Myers is hiding from. After being relatively reassured that it’s safe Matt comes out from the shadows but he’s still clutching the chair, nervously looking left and right. James stares at the kid, he stares at the pale, sweating scared kid wondering just how the hell he’s EVER supposed to amount to anything in the wrestling business. “Just… just don’t tell anyone you saw me okay? They’re going to get me! They booked me against Wayne Blank to get back at me for last week! It was a fluke man!! It was an accident I didn’t mean to do it!” Myers says almost as if he’s pleading with Matheson. “Come on Matt snap out of it!” Matheson says with enough bass in his voice to make Myers pay attention. “You know what you did last week? You struck a blow for the little guy Matt, you stood up to the big bad bully and said “Hell no” Myers looks confused, he thought he just got a lucky win over the latest Ghost Machine “Give yourself credit son, most people in your position would have quit a long time ago, left this place and gone somewhere else where they’d win once in a while” Matheson says in a voice that’s somewhere between encouraging and demeaning. “I like the SWF” is Matt’s only meek response, Myers figures that Matheson is about to let rip on him for being such a loser. “That’s the spirit Matt.” “Huh?” “That spirit and determination Matt… that’s what’ll help you tonight, just like it did last week, just like it will forever if you don’t lose your heart Matt then the rest will follow” “You.. you think so?” “I’ve seen you in the ring, you know what you’re doing Matt, you’re not some bumbling fool – you just need to go out there and give it everything you’ve got, go out there and take the fight to them!” “Yeah??” “Yeah Matt” Matheson says with a sly grin “YEAH!” Myers yells out as he pumps his fist in the air, apparently all he needed was a little pep-talk. The youngster runs off, fired up and ready for his match as James Matheson just stands there and watches him leave. Then he laughs to himself. “He’s so getting his ass kicked” Share this post Link to post Share on other sites
Ace309 0 Report post Posted January 19, 2007 “Ladieeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeees and Gentlemen, good citizens of Baltimore!!” Funyon says as he tries to get the crowd attention, a hometown mention usually works and today is no different *Cheap Pop* “The following match is the opening contest of Storm, Introducing first a man not seen in the SWF for many months – hailing from Mobile Alabama with a fighting weight of 175 pounds! Here is the man nicknamed the Drunken Dragon for his many alcohol fuelled high risk manoeuvres – WAYNE BLAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAANK!!! BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!! Baltimore hasn’t forgotten the Blank name or their legacy of cheating, cheating and beer drinking and gives Wayne the same nasty reception Bruce usually gets wherever he goes. Wayne walks out in full Dragon gear, save for the mask which he has tugged into the waistband of his tights and displaying that trademark “slightly sideways” gait that he’s got when he’s had a couple of “adult beverages” back stage. “Why do we see WAYNE Blank and not his bigger, better and much more successful bigger brother Bruce?” King laments, King has missed Bruce’s brand of mayhem and unpredictability. “Maybe because Bruce lost to Myers last week and he’s still sulking at home?” Mak replies as Wayne crawls under the bottom rope and then drags himself to his feet like he just wrestled 30 minutes. “That was the Ghost Machine you dumbass! It wasn’t Bruce under the mask so GET OVER IT!!” the Suicide King says while neglecting to take his own advice. Referee Ced Ordonez approaches Wayne, sniffs him and then asks him if he’s drunk “Drunk? Me? Schhell no!!” Wayne says and tries to get away from Ced’s observant gaze “How many beers did you have back stage?” “Oh come on man, I came out here to wrestle – I didn’t expect the fucking Spanish Inquisition” Wayne says. NOOOOOOOOBODY EXPECTS THE SPANISH INQUISITION! DUN-DUN-DUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUN!!! “What?” King blurts out The crowd can’t help but cheers as Matt Myers bursts through the curtains wearing a bright red Cardinal’s robe complete with a wide brimmed red hat and red gloves looking like he stepped right out of an episode of the Monty Python’s Flying Circus. Gregorian chants accompany the arrival of Cardinal Myers as he heads for the ring while running his hand over his rosary beads. Wayne does a double take when he sees Myers get up on the apron and then climb up the ropes. "Ie Jesus Domine - HUR!! Pax Vobiscum Sanctum Ie Jesus Domine - HUR!! Pax Vobiscum Sanctum" Funyon can’t help but stare at Matt Myers as he balances on the top rope with his hands folded in a pious pose. Then he holds up the cue card to read the special introduction written for Matt Myers tonight. “Saints and Sinners! believers and lost souls – religious belivers of ALL AGES! God’s representative on earth - Pope Benedict XVI -PRODULY PRESENTS the church’s left and right fist, straight out of the Vatican City by Honolulu Hawaii hitting the ring at 221 saintly pounds – then man that will save my soul and yours…” Funyon pauses a second to ponder just HOW Myers will save Funyon’s soul, after that one night in Bangkok he figured it was lost forever. Then he tears himself away from the flashback to finish up the introduction. “Here he is: CARDINAL MATTHEW XIMENEZ MYERS” Myers quickly crosses himself and then mumbles a quick prayer to the god of Wrestling before leaping into action with a cross body block on the Drunken Dragon “Wayne rolled through the move, this could be a quick one tonight” King says as the young Blank manages to roll through the cross body block so that he ends up on top with a handful of tights ONE!! TWO!!! HAND ON THE ROPE!! YEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHH!! “Divine intervention saved Cardinal Myers” Mak says with a sigh of relief. “Divine intervention my ass, it was the ring rope and that’s not divine, it’s steel cable covered in plastic” Wayne leaps to his feet and starts to push Ced and complain about the crappy officiating. Behind Wayne Blank’s back Matt kips up to a sizable pop from the crowd and then hits the ropes. WAYNE TURNS RIGHT INTO A FLYING FOREARM!! YEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHH!! Cardinal Myers is a Cathedral on Fire as he drops a spinning leg drop on Wayne Blank and then a standing Senton on the Drunken Dragon. After the pep talk from James Matheson before the match Myers seems to be more focused than he has been in a while, heading to the top rope while Wayne is still trying to figure out what Cardinal Myers hit him with in the first place. “Holy Elbow drop!!” Mak says as Myers leaps off Randy Savage style and connects with an elbow to the chest of Wayne Blank. BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!! Myers is too busy climbing up on top of Wayne to realize why the crowd is booing like crazy “BRUCE IS HERE!! BRUCE BLANK IS HERE!!” The Suicide King yells out as the Redneck Superman runs out from backstage Myers has the cover ONE!! TWO!!! THR-NO!! “Bruce pulled Wayne out of the ring!!” Mak complains as the older Blank just saved his brothers hide. “He was going to kick out Mak, calm down!” The Suicide King says as he sits back down after leaping out of his chair only moments earlier. Bruce and Wayne exchange a few words, then Bruce takes Wayne’s mask from his waist band and puts it on his younger brother, talking about how Wayne wasn’t ready yet and that it was totally unfair. BULLSHIT!! BULLSHIT!! BULLSHIT!! Wayne rolls back into the ring and gets right in Matt’s face yelling at him, telling him that he’s the biggest loser this side of “Iron” Mike Sharpe while pushing him backwards into the corner. Myers tries to push Wayne’s hands off him but to no avail as the Drunken Dragon keeps on harassing Myers in the corner. *SLAP!* YEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHH!! “Myers just slapped the taste out of Wayne, he’s not one to be bullied around!” Mak says Wayne complains to the referee, claiming that he’s hurt his teeth or something. While the referee has his back turned to Myers Bruce reaches in and grabs the “Cardinal” by both legs and pulls backwards dropping Myers to the match. “Oh no, don’t do it, don’t do it!” Mak yells out as Bruce gets a good grip on Myers’ legs ready to pull him back onto the ringpost. *CRUNCH* OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOHH!! “Holy nutcracker Batman!” King quips as Bruce ensures that there will be no little Myers running around any time soon. Wayne pushes the referee out of the way the moment Bruce is done assaulting Myers and then goes to work on his own. Wayne drags Myers to his feet, then lifts him up and places him on the top rope with his back to the ring. Wayne climbs up, takes a moment to raise a hand in the air to let out a drunken ye-ha YEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE-HA!! And then proceeds to wrap his legs around the top rope for a Spider-Suplex on Myers. With Wayne still on the top rope he easily follows up the suplex with a moonsault on “Cardinal” Myers and then a cover ONE!! TWO!! NO!! “Wayne pulled Myers up? That idiot!” Mak says as Wayne himself stops the count. “Come on now Mak, Wayne doesn’t get it the ring a lot, he just wants a chance to show the world that there are two talented Blanks in the world.” King says. “That’d be Wayne and… they have a brother we don’t know about?” “Oh that’s funny Mak, funny like a spinal injury” King fires back hoping to shut Mak up. Wayne grabs Myers by the red robe and hauls him to his feet to whip him into the ropes. The Drunken Dragon catches Myers off the ropes and brings him down with a Tilt-a-whirl backbreaker that a man in his inebriate state shouldn’t be able to do – but Wayne actually works BETTER while drunk, go figure. “YOU DA MAN WAYNE!!” Bruce yells as he applauds his brother’s actions, as the only one in the arena. Wayne pulls Matt back up and whips the helpless Enhancement Talent into the corner. After doing a quick “Beer drinking” hand gesture The Drunken Dragon takes a running start towards Myers and then NAILS him with a handspring back elbow. *WHACK!!* Bruce leaps up on the apron and high fives Wayne as the Drunken Dragon does a victory lap around the ring. Bruce’s celebration doesn’t last long though as a figure in a black sweatsuit comes out from the back and pulls Bruce off the apron. “That’s… that’s ZACK MALIBU!!” Mak yells out as he realizes that Bruce’s OAOAST enemy just pulled the big man off the apron. “What’s this jackass doing here? He needs to stick to his own match later tonight!” The Suicide King complains. Zack spins Bruce around and then *WHAM!!* SCHOOL’S OUT SUPERKICK~! YEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!!! The crowd goes crazy as Bruce hits the mat like a ton of bricks. Wayne rushes over to the side of the ring and yells at Zack but only gets a two figure salute in return as Zack stands over the prone Bruce Blank. “This is the kind of shit that a third rate promotion like the OAOAST would allow, this isn’t going to wash in the SWF!” King sputters as his face turns red. “Yeah we NEVER have run ins in our matches right? I mean you PERSONALLY would never, eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeever think of doing that” Mak replies putting the Suicide King in his place. Wayne walks backwards while still cursing out Zack Malibu, backwards right into ROLL UP FROM MATT MYERS!! ONE!! TWO!!! THREEE!!!!! YEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHH!!! “Holy shit!! Two weeks in a row Matt Myers has done the impossible!” Mak yells as “Cardinal” Myers quickly rolls out of the ring and then sits on the floor with a look of surprise on his face. “Ladies and gentlemen!!” Funyon booms, he always enjoys the announcements that pleases the crowd and this one pleases them no end “The winner of the match: CARDINAL MATTHEW XIMENEZ MYERS!!” Myers surprise is only topped by Wayne’s surprise who’s livid that the little jobber got a quick pin on him. Wayne rolls out of the ring, picks up a steel chair and then goes hunting for Myers who’s still hiding on the other side of the ring. Wayne knocks the chair against the ring post just to get Myers’ attention And it has the desired effect as Myers turns pale as he sees the Drunken Dragon wielding a steel chair. Myers backs off while pressing back against the apron until he finds himself with his back to the ringpost. Wayne swings, but Myers ducks at the last moment *CLANG!!* After escaping the chair Matt high tails it to the back, clutching his hurt ribs, looking back over his shoulder to see if Wayne is following him as he sprints towards the locker room. “I don’t believe it Mak! Wayne Blank has GOT to be the unluckiest man in the world!” “Or maybe Matt is the luckiest” Mak counters. “Oh that wasn’t luck, it was a set up damn it! Myers and Malibu set this whole thing up just to get a shot at Bruce and Wayne” King says while fuming. “King… King you’re starting to lose it here, calm down! I can’t believe I’m saying this but – Myers wins again, was it because of Matheson’s advice or did he just get lucky?” “Lucky” King states “I dunno King he kinda loo…” “LUCKY!” King cuts off Mak as Storm goes to a commercial break. Share this post Link to post Share on other sites
Ace309 0 Report post Posted January 19, 2007 We’re backstage James Matheson has just exited a locker room after talking to a new potential client,. Matheson looks like it was a mixed pleasure for him when suddenly Matt Myers, still in the Cardinal’s robe runs up to him with his hand raised for a high five. A high five that Matherson leaves hanging. “WOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!! I did it man!! I did what you told me to do, I went out there and took the fight to him and I DID IT!!” Myers says excitedly. “Wait a minute… you won?” Matherson sounds surprised, but then again he had been busy trying to cut a deal with a new protégée and hadn’t paid attention to the opening match “I won!” Myers exclaims while clapping his hands with excitement, then he hears someone yelling from down the hall “Alright where is that little turd at!!” “Oh shit it’s Wayne, oh crap he’s going to kick my ass” Myers whimpers as he hides behind James Matheson. “Calm down son” Matheson says as he pulls Matt out from behind him. “Hide in there, go on now it’ll be alright” James reassures Matt The scared Myers quickly ducks into a broom closet and closes the door. Matheson pushes a button on the coffee machine and then starts to whistle like an innocent man. “Hey you, yeah you city slicker!!” Wayne says when he sees James Matheson in the hallway “Which way did he go? Which way did he go?” “That Myers? He ran right past me – I think he was headed for the parkinglot” Matheson says in his most convincing voice. Wayne doesn’t bother with such niceties as a “Thank you” but just runs off in the direction of the parkinglot. Once he’s sure Wayne is out of the way he knocks on the door to let Matt know that the coast is clear. “He’s gone?” “Yeah come on out Son” Matheson says, still not sure why he even bothered to protect the kid. “Thanks man” Myers says and then heads off in the opposite direction while talking to himself “Man I can’t believe I won two in a row, wait until I tell my momma” A thought has apparently crossed Matheson’s mind as he stands there and tries to take it all in. “Two in a row? … kid’s got potential” *Fade* Share this post Link to post Share on other sites
Ace309 0 Report post Posted January 19, 2007 “Still to come, the SWF World Heavyweight Champion Gabriel Drake looks to revenge his stunning loss last week due to the newly motivated Insane Luchador. No longer is our Psychopathic Hero slumming it up in the Doom dominated Hardcore Division, tonight could be the start of a very psychotic year…” The Franchise welcomes the viewers from commercial. “Not a fucking chance, Mak.” The Suicide King decides to partake in the discussion, “Andrew Rickman will not win the most prestigious title in the wrestling industry tonight, and it would literally be the apocalypse. Speaking of death and destruction, up next we have a triple threat match between MANSON and two nobodies.” “Two nobodies? King, we both know that Zyon isn’t a nobody.” “Point taken Mak, he’s Michael Stephens bitch.” “Point taken King…wait a second.” Not even Mak can hide his true opinion of Zyon’s latest record against the Sensation, “Anyway, Rick Barbosa while not a star in the SWF, has had success in other organizations. The Wayward Son could look to open up a few eyes tonight.” “One wrong look at Manson and the Wayward Son is going to die.” “I’M BORN!” “I’M ALIVE!!” … “I BREATHE!!!!” Interrupting the King of Heart’s theory on the power level of Manson (estimated around 5,000) “Vitamin” by Incubus causes the rambunctious audience to leap into the air and rally against the safety rails as they await what some say is “destiny’s” World Champion. Of course, when you’re not the best wrestler in the company, you sometimes just have to settle with being Unique. “First, hailing from Elkhart, Indiana and weighing in tonight at 200 lbs. The UNIQUE YOUTH…ZYYYYYYYYOOOOOONNNNNNN!” Funyon bellows as the youngster dances out to the top of the ramp, eliciting a massive wave of emotion from the audience in the form of haunting cheers. “YEEEEEAAAAAHHHH!!” Haunting the youth who somehow needs to start living up to the hype, the cheers continue to grow as the cruiserweight sprints down the ramp, slapping a few hands on the way down. Popping back to his feet with a noticeable smirk, the youth leaps on to the second rope effortlessly before tossing his arms in the air, soaking in the reaction that only few get, and only one can trump. “Well what could be said about Zyon that hasn’t been said before…” “His matches make my eyes bleed and small children cry.” The Suicide King shrugs as if everything that came out of his mouth was indeed factual. “Ya know King, I do believe that has been said before. By you nonetheless. Anyway, as most of you are aware, the youth has found himself battling the top class of the SWF in Michael Stephens, and every time the Sensation seems to outsmart the youth.” “It has nothing to do with brains Mak, Stephens has what we like to call a killer instinct. It’s the same thing that Spike had when he crippled you.” King nudges his partner jokingly while a few fans in the background chuckle. The once lively arena seems to grow cold and eerie as distorted warbling hisses over the speakers, frightening the young children in the crowd. In cult like fashion, intentionally making other uncomfortable, a few “goth” fans begin to hymn the name of their savior as the tension builds to a climax. “This is really bizarre.” Mak snorts through the smoke and mirrors. Cursing at the cloaked figure stalking down the aisle, the fans believe their voices can be heard over the wickedly startling “Scientific Remote Viewing” by Cephalic Carnage, but in reality…in this man’s reality they are peons. “And his opponent, hailing from Denver, Colorado and weighing in at 230 lbs. He…is…MANSON (MANSON)!!!!” Funyon for a second is sucked into the derange unholyness of the Raging Bull, chanting his name as opposed to announcing it. Shadowed by his raggedy brown cloak, the Savage Messiah calmly walks up the steps, tossing his cloak, chains, and metal baseball bat to the side as if he was challenging referee Ken Masters to remove them from the ring. “Ever since his return the usually masochistic Manson has taken it one step further, and transcended into a Spawn of what he once was.” “I’ve got to admit Mak, it does kind of creep me out as well, but what the hell, if he can kill Zyon then the ends certainly justify the means.” “So, you DO approve of Michael Stephens tactics as of late, despite that he is still the number one GOOD GUY in the federation.” “What?!?!? No damnit that’s not what I said…” Disrupting King’s speedy backpedal and Ken Masters removing the weapons from the ring, would be the opening riff of “Carry on My Wayward Son” by Kansas… CARRY ON MY WAYWARD SON… There’ll be peace when you are done Lay your weary head to rest Don’t you cry no more… “And their opponent hailing from the City of Champions and weighing in tonight at 180 lbs. The Wayward Son, RICKY BARBASA!!!” Funyon shouts into the nether as flairs explode at the peak of the Mariner Arena, causing the audience to come back alive after the somber entrance of Manson. The Baltimore audience eyes all deflect to the top of the ramp, staring into a blinding bright light where the young cowboy stands, his hat shadowing his face. Snapping his head up, the Wayward Son marches down to the ring, allowing himself to fall into the spectacle of it all, Ricky Barbasa smacks a few hands on his way to the squared circle, where he hopes to achieve victory… …Where he must please the great Alan Clark. “Here is another kid that has a tremendous amount of talent and he’s only 18. This kid is success waiting to happen.” “Well with Manson in the ring and Zyon always willing to kill himself along with his opponent, I don’t see the kid making it past 18. Damn shame too.” Hopping into the ring almost overanxiously, Barbosa leaves his hat and leather trenchcoat for his “butler.” Turning to see his two enemies, Barbosa nervously cracks his neck, and waits for the bell… DING DING DING!!! …And he didn’t have to wait long. Conventionally, triple threat matches begin with a feeling out process, but the unconventional Unique Youth skips the warm up and charges at the Savage Messiah with ruthless aggression. Feeling the torment from his previous encounter with NUMBER ONE BABYFACE Michael Stephens, Zyon grinds his teeth, and clenches his fists… *CRRRRRRAAACCKKKK!!!!* Blissfully, the youth realizes he isn’t facing off against the crafty Sensation. Disappointingly, the youth realizes as a trickle of blood pours out his nose that with a brutal flash elbow, the Raging Bull may have just broke his nose. Cupping his face, Zyon leaves himself open for attack, and be damned if Manson doesn’t take advantage of the situation. Tackling the youth to the canvas with a double leg shoot, Manson overwhelms his startled opponent with EXACLT one right hand… …And then he remembers that there is a third. *CRACK!!!* Blasting The Stampede with a double footed basement dropkick, Barbosa savagely rushes the shocked Manson, who somehow wonders back to his feet after taking a double dosing of boot to the face. Slicing the air with a knife edge chop, Manson feels his weight shift forward, and his feet leave the canvas. Scrapping the mat due to a lightning quick Wayward arm drag, Manson hops back to his feet, and charges unmercifully down the warpath, where the brash youngster maintains his stance. Staring into the abyss, the Wayward Son dodges a Manson Yakuza Kick, allowing Barbosa to sneak behind his opponent. “WAYWARD SON…CLAPCLAPCLAP!!!” The audience continues to show their support for the brave youngster who locks the Raging Bull down with a headlock. Stomping his foot, in an attempt to get the crowd even more behind him, Barbosa drags Manson forward with a bulldog attempt… …BUT! The unbelievable being that is Manson will not be denied as he shoves the Wayward Son into harms way…in the form of a Zyon clothesline! Blood staining his skin and clothing due to a fluke yet powerful elbow, Zyon seeks vengeance on the man that did this to him. Stubbornly, the youth dashes at Manson, who is still taken back by Ricky Barbosa’s skill. Noticing the blood trickling from the youth’s nose, Manson’s eyes grow and his breathing lengthens, it’s almost orgasmic for the Savage Messiah. Shoving his sharp elbow at the youth, Manson’s pleasure is quickly transformed into pain as the youth lowers himself, and plunges his shoulder right into the wide open sternum of his opponent. With Manson doubled over, Zyon hooks his leg over the back of his enemy’s head, and prepares for his Rolling Neck Breaker… …Suddenly, Manson comes alive, lifting the youth into the air, which plays to the youth’s strengths as well. Tossing his other leg over, the Unique Youth looks for an amazing hurricarana counter to a counter, but Manson doesn’t believe in Zyon’s culture of fun competition. Manson is the counter culture. Sloppily, Manson tosses Zyon away like yesterday’s trash, but the youth improvises, and twists into a corkscrew cross body block that lands PERFECTLY on an unprepared and unaware Ricky Barbosa!!!! “What an awesome exchange. Manson looked to blast the youth again, but Zyon was just too quick. Once Manson learned of this, the Raging Bull needed time to think about a new strategy, which was what the nonchalant toss was about, but Zyon somehow turned that into an offensive maneuver.” ONE!!! TWO…break up! Realizing that he should have known better, Zyon rubs the back of his head after having it caved in by a brutal stomp by the Raging Bull. Hoisting the youth into the air for a backdrop suplex, Manson again loses control of the youth, who effortlessly flips backward on to his feet. Is THE MANSON being outclassed? …Fuck no. *CRAAAAAACCCCK!!!* Destroying the youth’s face with another loaded elbow smash, Manson chuckles at Zyon’s grunt. Clutching his face, Zyon is once against hoisted into the air for a backdrop suplex, and this time there is no escape. Driving Zyon into the canvas back first, Manson doesn’t have time to celebrate his superiority due to the third. *SWISH!!!* This time the third doesn’t use the opportunity to take advantage, but that is mostly due to Manson aware of the Wayward Son this time around. Dodging a right hand, Manson counters by drilling the Alan Clark fanatic with a knee to the sternum. Hooking the cowboy by the tights, Manson lifts the Wayward Son into the atmosphere for a suplex, but through sheer determination and the scissoring of his legs, Barbosa deflates back to the mat… …BEFORE EXPLODING BACKWARD WITH A SNAP SUPLEX OF HIS OWN!!! “YEAAAEEHHAHAHAH!!!” The audience freaks out as the Wayward Son swivels his hips and reaches his feet with Manson hooked in a suplex position. “Jesus Christ. I really do hate these chain suplexes. It’s like the new big thing in professional wrestling, but it’s only really good for expending energy.” “I disagree King, you see…” “YOU SHUT YOUR MOUTH!” “Geez King, what is your problem?” “Nothing really, I just didn’t feel like hearing one of your monologue’s about wrasslin. No big deal really.” The calm King of Hearts simply replies. Shoving his weight backward, Barbosa’s Three Amigos does not come to fruitation as the Raging Bull blocks the second of three suplexes. Refusing to be denied a second time around, Manson hoists the Wayward Son HIGH into the air… …And drops him face first with a fall forward suplex! As the oxygen leaves his battered lungs, Barbosa skimmers away from the Raging Bull looking to buy himself some time…just enough time. Shaking his head in anger, muttering the word “coward” under his breath, Manson stalks the retreating Barbosa. *CRRRACK!* Only to get blasted in the back of the head with a forearm smash. With his veins pulsing, the immensely pissed off Messiah whips his head around along with the rest of his body, but the Unique Youth doesn’t give a damn… *CRRACK!* …And to prove it he’ll blast Manson in the face with a forearm smash this time. Detrimental to the youth’s confidence, the crazy cruiserweight simply scoffs at Zyon’s attempt at inflicting damage, and shuts the youth down with a knee to the sternum… “BOOOOOOO!” The audience roars catching Manson’s attention for a second…a second that is all the Wayward Son needed. Rejuvenated from near certain defeat, Barbosa sprints past the wide-eyed Raging Bull, springing off the second rope, the high flying cowboy twists in the air, dazzling the audience with his acrobatics. Descending on to Manson with a FANFUCKINGTASTIC MOONSAULT PRESS, Barbosa reaches laterally for his opponent’s leg for the cover… ONE! TWO!! *CRACK!* “Awesome moonsault by the Wayward Son. However, Zyon easily breaks the pin attempt with a simple stomp.” Mak calls the action as he sees it. Dragging Barbosa to his feet, the bloody Unique Youth scoops his cruiserweight peer off the canvas, which immediately sends the audience into a frenzy since they JUST KNOW the Aero Driver is soon to follow… … … …Any day now Aero Driver! … … …And Ricky Barbosa floats over, landing crisply behind the agitated youth. Zyon’s anger quickly turns to misery as he finds himself staring into the lights, while held carefully on the shoulder of his opponent. Opting to instead toss the youth forward on to his face with a modified reverse power bomb from the back suplex position, the Wayward Son intelligently sustains his aggressiveness by climbing across the youth, locking him in a TIGHT crossface!!! “AHHHHHHHHH!” The youth grunts as all the pressure is focused squarely on his damaged nose. Feeling a bit woozy, Zyon’s competition inspired grin quickly leaves, as does the feeling in his fingers. Discontinuing any attempt to break the nicely contrived crossface, Zyon has only one hope left to exit this state of punishment. …And it’s not passing out. *CRACK!!!* Stomping on the back of Barbosa’s skull, Manson hoists the energetic Wayward Son to his feet, Irish whipping him across the ring. Following the acrobatic cruiserweight, Manson’s speed diminishes evidently as he comes to a dead stop, watching as Barbosa springs off the second turnbuckle fluently, twirling in an effort to smash the Raging Bull’s face in with a Gamengiri!!! *SWISH!!!* Bleeding from his nose profusely, Zyon slowly pulls himself to his feet, just in time to watch Manson dodge the impressive spinning kick to the face. “Manson has never been known for his speed, but that was a talented defensive maneuver by the Raging Bull.” “Mak, he ducked. Sure you can’t perform such a feat anymore, but most average citizens can.” The King of Hearts pounds away at his broadcast partner’s feelings. Clasping his hands together behind the Wayward Son, Manson flashes a sadistic grin… *CRACK!!!* …Only to have it wiped away by a stunning elbow from the Alan Clark fanatic. Unlike most Disney movies, Barbosa’s latest exchange doesn’t end happily ever after as Manson simply ignores the strike, which is made even more evident by the reappearance of that sadistic grin! Growling, Manson hurls the Wayward Son away with a release German suplex!!!! … OMG TWIST ENDING! Swimming through the atmosphere, listening to the jacked up audience chant his name as if he was a god among men (Which would make Alan Clark…let’s not go there.), Barbosa flips back on to the heels of his feet. Staggering backward, Barbosa retains his balance…until the Unique Youth summons the power of the FINAL FLASH…schoolboy roll up!!! ONE!!!!! TWO!!!! Barbosa kicks his feet wildly while his arms flail into the nether as Ken Master’s hand comes down for a third time… *CRACK!* … …But not before Manson can punt Zyon in the face, sending him off of the Wayward Son, and out to the exterior of the ring. Clutching his hurt nostrils with one hand, Zyon pulls himself up with his other, and Manson…well Manson decides that it would only be respectable of him, if he bashed the youth in the face with a Yakuza Kick! “Amazing flexibility by the dominant cruiserweight, extending his foot over the top rope as it perfectly crashes into the could be broken nose of his opponent.” Mak continues to call it as he sees it. Sprawling to the arena floor, Zyon’s faulty nose continues to leak that red ooze that changes everyone’s perspective. Back inside the ring, Manson switches his attention to the standing Ricky Barbosa who beats Manson to the punch! Metaphorically speaking of course since it’s with a super kick that the Wayward Son attacks Manson with. The force behind the straight strike sends Manson himself sprawling outside the ring. Realizing that he is the last man standing, Barbosa understands that his hero Alan Clark lives in the spotlight constantly (At least in his perspective), so the Wayward Son calmly welcomes the spotlight as both Manson and Zyon reach their feet…and immediately start brawling. Blasting each other, the mindless drones forget about that all important third man. Dashing off the far ropes, Barbosa plants his hands into the canvas, dazzling the audience with a cartwheel of all things. But what he does next is truly excellent. Using the momentum from the cartwheel, Barbosa morphs into an upright position for just a moment... …And lest we forget, a moment is all he needs. Springing over the ropes with a FANMOTHERFUCKINGTASTICMOONSAULT, the cowboy that has made the ascension in the fans eyes, finishes the amazing Space Flying Tiger Drop, which leaves destruction in its wake. “What the hell was that!?!?!” King exclaims, leaving Mak to pick up the pieces. “That King…was simply amazing.” Mak rattles off, “But for the smarks, it’s the Space Flyer Tiger Drop…now what an astronaut tiger has to do with a moonsault…I have no idea.” Mak brings the funny. “YEAAAHHHHEEHHHHAEHHH!!!” The massive audience, no longer lingering in their seats, releases a killer roar as Barbosa rises back to his feet, rolling the Unique Youth back into the ring. Stepping on to the ring apron, the Wayward Son reaches farther into his “Put Zyon’s offense to shame” spotty offense, Barbosa slings himself over the top rope with a somersault leg drop. *CRRRRRRRRRAAAACCCKKKK!* Two heels + One damaged nose = ? Any guesses? How about this for an answer. “GAH…fuck!” “Did you hear that Mak, I bet the FCC just passed out. The squeaky clean child who is supposed to become a man once he reaches his apparent destiny just dropped the F-Bomb. You wouldn’t happen to have any soap would you?” Rather that’s funny or not doesn’t matter to the Suicide King, he just hates Zyon. Retreating back into the nearest corner, Zyon lifts himself up with help from the ropes. Blood staining his shirt, the youth is unable to deflect the rambunctious other youth who lunges at the Unique Youngster with a monkey flip attempt. Sure the youth couldn’t deflect the attack, but he sure could absorb it. Twirling around, Zyon places the Wayward Son safely on the ropes, before climbing up after the cowboy. *CRACK!!!* And he pays for it as the Wayward Son jabs the youth in the face. Now isn’t the time for courage, but the Unique Youth doesn’t really care as he retaliates with a devastating head BUTT. Stunned, Barbosa can only watch as the youth returns to what brought him to the dance. Leaping into the air, Zyon wraps his legs around his opponent’s neck, and DRIVES HIM TO THE CANVAS WITH A SUPER HURRICARANA…FEEL IT! What is it, you ask? ANOTHER OMG TWIST ENDING! None outdoes the beauty of a super hurricarana, but Barbosa isn’t in the business for the pretty. Countering the hurricarana by grabbing the top rope with both hands, Zyon barely manages a rebound, landing on his feet. Taken back by the crowd’s reaction to his near death experience (Read: They are too busy cheering for Barbosa), the youth doesn’t only throw caution to the wind, but he tosses wind to caution as he makes another attempt to hurt his competition. Psst…they are forgetting about the third. Rolling into the ring Manson sneaks up behind the youth who is halfway to his enemy. Grasping the youth, Manson adjusts the situation. Clinging to the top rope, Zyon desperately analyzes the situation, and realizes one thing. Destiny. Fate. Triumph. Toxxic. None of them matter right now. Its simple…Zyon is fucked. Paying the youth back, Barbosa weakly boots the youth in the face, causing a sharp pain to shoot through his pretty boy mug, which in domino like effect allows Manson to sprint across the ring and FATALLY WOUND THE YOUTH WITH A RUNNING POWERBOMB! Folding disgustingly on impact, Zyon is currently prone for defeat, but Manson isn’t going to forget about the third. Wondering his way over toward Barbosa who has dropped down a notch, now sitting on the second rope. Lunging off the second rope, the cowboy attempts a missile dropkick that Manson easily side steps leaving the Wayward Son to gasp for oxygen that goes to the wayside. “See that Mak, Manson may not be fast. But he sure as hell is quick. There is a difference. You were once fast Mak, but I will always be quick. Understand?” “No…was that another cripple joke?” Heaving and gasping, Barbosa finds himself trapped in the bottom turnbuckle between said turnbuckle and Manson’s boot…that presses violently against his throat. Ignoring the referee’s warnings, Manson pretends to abide by the insignificant rules (Compared to the power of MANSON that is), as he takes a step back… … Calm meet storm. … Barbosa meet 100% UGLY SPINNING BOOT SCRAPE! “OOOOOOOO!!!!” The crowd jostles as a daze expression overcomes the cowboy’s once boisterous outlook on the three way. Controlling everything through his own power, his own abilities, his own pleasure…Manson sneaks a peak at the charging youth on the corner of his eye. Arrogantly, Manson rolls his eyes as the spark of the cruiserweight division attempts a running forearm, which Manson counter by back body dropping Zyon over the top rope and to the floor. … … Shrug. … … OVER THE TOP ROPE AND TO THE FLOOR!!! Simultaneously screaming orders at both Funyon and the notorious Manson, referee Ken Masters has just laid down the law. “Due to CRUISERWEIGHT ADDENDA, Manson has been disqualified for tossing Zyon over the top rope!!” Funyon shouts as Manson is absolutely fuming. Normally, the audience would sympathize with a wrestler, even a bad guy. But Manson isn’t your normal wrestler or your normal bad guy. He is MANSON! “BOOOOOO!!!” And he is getting jeered the fuck out of the building. The Raging Bull despite his evil intentions exits the ring, proving that he can control himself…this time at least. “Manson while acting on instinct just eliminated himself from this off the chart triple threat encounter.” Recovering, Zyon rolls into the ring as Barbosa himself rises to his feet. Exchanging fatigued glances, the two fan favorites are ready to end this explosive encounter the exact same way they fight…quick and flashy. Tossing a lariat at his opponent, Zyon almost immediately wishes he can take that back as Barbosa catches the Unique Youth in the RIFE ASSAULT position! *CRACK!* *CRACK!* *CRACK!!!* Desperately firing off elbows, Zyon rolls away from the stunned Wayward Son, avoiding certain defeat. Shaking away the fear of losing, Zyon lunges at Barbosa who has returned to form, kneeing the youth in the sternum. Throwing his arms into the air as a form of playing to the crowd, Barbosa sprints off the far ropes, flips over the youth, and slams his face into the canvas with the Wayward Time!!!! Clutching the bone that used to be his nose, Zyon is prone on the canvas as the Wayward Son quickly ascends the turnbuckle. “We could be seeing the Wayward Rising!!!” “Jesus Mak, his version of the Phoenix Splash is a spotty mess not the cure to a bent spine.” Cameras flash before the leap of faith and then they seemingly explode as the Wayward Son rises from the shadows, a true final flash. Curling into a ball, Barbosa shoots himself toward the youth with the WAYWARD RISING! But Zyon has the move well scouted, rolling away from the Wayward ground zero, but the cowboy finds a way to land on his feet! Refusing to give the youth a second of peace, Barbosa charges into war with Zyon who fires back with another lariat, but Barbosa counter again with the RIFE ASSAULT!!! This time Zyon is unable to strike his way out as the young cowboy lifts the youth into the air… … …ONLY TO HAVE ZYON COUNTER INTO A NEAR ARM BAR…can we say GOUKI CROSSFACE! Obviously, Barbosa won’t die so easily as he rolls way from the youth’s arm bar attempt! Both men exerting all their energy to the point of critical, Barbosa attempts to scoop Zyon off the canvas. Imitating Barbosa’s earlier counter to the Aero Driver, Zyon simply lands on his feet. Clenching his fists, the irritated Barbosa turns RIGHT THE FUCK INTO THE BIG SHOT!!!! “YEAAAAHHHH!!!!” Zyon rolls into the cover… ONE!!! TWOOOO!!! Yep that’s it. THREEEEEE!!! DING DING DING! “The winner, the Unique Youth Zyon!!!” Funyon screams as the bloody youth quickly makes his way for the exit…MEDIC! Share this post Link to post Share on other sites
Ace309 0 Report post Posted January 19, 2007 "Alright, coming up next we've got cruiserweight action," greets Mak Francis on your return to Storm, perusing over his runsheet while next to him, the uninterested Suicide King holds a handheld TV, "although, when the cruiserweight limit was bumped up above two hundred, thirty seven pounds, I don't know. I guess that's the beauty of having the least proud Cruiserweight Champion in our history running the show. Regardless, Michael Cross takes on Landon Maddix up next with Cruiserweight Addenda in effect, just like last week during Landon's victory over Wildchild... and, what the hell are you doing?" "Wha... oh, turns out this new schedule is great!" cheers King. "I get the runsheet early enough to know who's on the card when and I can come prepared. So, seeing as Landon's up next..." King goes back to the TV. "King, much as I'm tempted to take advantage of the silence, you ca..." "Hoho. Man, this Conan guy still cracks me up, even after all these years!" Suddenly, the lights go dark. With red lights flashing, plus the faint glow of a protable television, the opening strains of Queen’s “The Show Must Go On” begin to play. "Empty spaces - what are we living for Abandoned places - I guess we know the score On and on, does anybody know what we are looking for..." Michael Cross steps out through the curtains and snorts his nostrils (which'd look cooler with Goldberg pyro, admittedly) as he glares at the ring. After last week's unsuccessful outing in the Clustertease, he's got something to prove. He's usually all business. Tonight, he's ALL all business~! "Another hero, another mindless crime Behind the curtain, in the pantomime Hold the line, does anybody want to take it anymore And yet... people forget... The show must go on!" Making short work of the aisle, Cross rolls into the ring and heads straight for his corner. The formalities are just that to him, a formality, allowing referee Eddy Long go through the pre-match checks without a second glance. "Ladies and gentlemen, the following contest is scheduled for one fall, to be contested under SWF Cruiserweight Rules! Introducing first... hailing from Detroit, Michigan! He weighs in tonight at two hundred, thirty seven pounds... the former SWF Cruiserweight Champion of the world... "IRON"... MMMMIIIIIIIIIIIIKKEEEE... CCRRRRRRRRROOOOOOOOOOSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS!!!!" "BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!" "And it was just about five months ago that Mike Cross lost that Cruiserweight Title, since when he's piled on some muscle-mass and suprassed the weight limit." points out Mak. "Not for the title tonight though, so that weight-limit doesn't really come into play." "It does makes you wonder what he has to gain tonight." King muses. "Besides a win over Maddix on his resumé." "Oh, so you are paying attention." "Yeah. Commercial break." "Of course." "Tell me exactly, what am I supposed to do Now that I have allowed you, to beat me! Do you think that we could play another game Maybe I could win this ti-ime." "I kinda like the misery you put me through Darling you can trust me, completely! If you even try to look the other way I think that I could kill this ti-ime!" "The Game" by Disturbed hits and Cross' expression doesn't change a bit, even as Megan Skye leads out her Tag Team Champion charge. Thrusting his arms sideways, Landon Maddix is the polar opposite of Cross, soaking up every bit of the crowd's reaction with a cheesy grin on his face. Landon then leads Megan arm in arm to the ring. "And introducing the opponent. Accompanied to the ring by his manager, Ms. MEGAN SKYE! Hailing from Huron, South Dakota by way of Madrid, Spain... he weighs two hundred and six pounds. One half of the SWF World Tag Team Champions... LLLLAAAAAAANNDDOOOOOOOOOOOONN... "LA CUCARACHA"... MMMMMMMMAAAAAAADDIIIIIIIIXXXXXXXXXXXX!!!!!" "YYYEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHH!!" Maddix makes the leap to the apron right on his name, like a true professional egotist. Shooing Funyon out of the way, Maddix then spins into the ring, soaking up every inch of the spotlight. Cross just watches on, stoic. "Last week, Landon scored a victory over Wildchild, the Cruiserweight #1 Contender later on tonight. A victory which I'm sure didn't go unnoticed, as Landon is once again placed against a former Cruiserweight Champion, with Cruiserweight Addenda, this week. No co-incidence, surely." "I don't know," argues King, "this is Tom's TV I'm borrowing. And his philosophy on Maddix is similar to mine. 'Snore'." "Well either way, if Wildchild wins his third Cruiserweight Title tonight, then you can bet Landon will be top of the queue for first title shot by virtue of last week's win." Removing his entrance jacket and handing it to his vale... sorry, manager, Megan Skye, Maddix turns to Cross and over-dramatically double-dawg-DARES him to 'bring it on'! Still no real change of emotion threatens 'Iron' Mike's face, as referee Long declares both men good to go and then calls for the bell. *DINGDINGDING!* At which point, like a prize fighter, Cross immediately leaves his corner. However, the distance his territoriality caused gives Landon time to hop up in his corner, onto the middle turnbuckle on the bell. Cross sees it and picks up a little speed to try and reach La Cucaracha in time, but Maddix is already flying, catching 'Iron' Mike coming in with a front dropkick off the middle! "Woah!" pops Mak. "Lured him in right from the bell!" And a quick cover follows... ONE! TWO! Cross quickly out in time, but Landon's quick start continues, landing on his feet from the kickout and instantly making for the ropes. As Landon shoots back Cross just about makes it to his feet in time to duck under the expected strike. An expected strike, not an actual one, as Landon fakes out and floats over with a sunset flip... ONE! TWO! Kickout again! Up scrambles Cross, Maddix still on the run and sweeping underneath an elbow. Off the opposite ropes now, in barrels Landon with an ill-advised clothesline, which only sends Cross back a step, step and a half at best. "No no." Mak shakes his head. "At two oh six, Landon isn't going to put someone of Cross' build down with a clothesline." Very true. But it doesn't stop him trying again, hitting a second clothesline, the fact Cross is still off-guard from the opening the only reason he teeters and totters a little. "Maybe now he'll get the message..." Still Landon is trying though and he pumps his fist, drawing on some Puroresu POWAH from Baltimore, Maryland, USA, not Japan, as he hits the ropes a third time, whipping his arm at Cross with a LARIATOOOOO - NO! Cross blocks with his forearms, Landon recoiling with a hold of his right arm in his left and 360ing back into a POWER clothesline from Cross who shows La Cucaracha how it's done!! "BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!" "Landon got the jump-start on Cross with a very well thought out attack, but that was nothing of the sort right there." criticises Mak, gaining King's attention. "Well, what do you expect from him?" "Did you even see what happened?" "No, but it sounded like it hurt. Which is good." Just like that, the early momentum has shifted and Cross now dictates the pace, peeling Landon off the canvas and measuring for a forearm to the side of the jaw! Maddix droops towards one knee. But the hold of the hair allows Cross to keep him upright, albeit it with a warning from the referee, as he drags him into a corner and slams the GQ features of La Cucaracha face-first into the top turnbuckle pad. Landon finds himself pinned in the corner and Cross aims to pin him in even tighter, with a shoulder charge to the gut! Another shoulder! And a third! With Maddix winded, Cross then takes a step back and shows absolutely no finesse in trying to take Landon's head off with a haymaker. Luckily for Landon he manages to duck and brushes Cross back, leaning back on the top turnbuckle and kicking up his legs. Only for 'Iron' Mike to block, grabbing the ankles and hauling Landon out of the corner and to the canvas with a jarring back-first landing! "OOOOOOOOHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!" Grimacing, Maddix begins to pull himself up. Cross gives him help the rest of the way, not as kind as it would seem however as he then lands the haymaker he was looking for earlier! Landon collapses against the turnbuckles again as Megan bemoans the use of a closed fist. "Now, this is where Cross needs to be." King states. "On the offence, slow, methodical, able to pick his spots. We've said it before but it bears repeating, he tends to make mistakes when he gets too aggressive. When he can dictate the pace, he's as good as anybody in the SWF today." "Which is exactly why Landon came out of the traps so quickly tonight. You have to believe he and Megan identified that as the weakness, coming out with the gameplan to frustrate Mike with speed and wait for him to rush in and make mistakes." "Which in theory is great. But Maddix doesn't follow theory, he follows glory. Glory and ego." Cross drags Maddix out of the corner and into the centre of the ring. Front facelock applied, Cross taking Landon up, then over with a Snap Suplex! Cross doesn't hang on but he does roll through, pulling Landon to his feet for a second Snap Suplex! Still not done, Cross brings Landon to his feet and executes a third consecutive Snap Suplex, Megan slamming her fists into the ring apron and demanding some fight from her man. Which is easier said than done, as Cross pins his shoulders to the canvas... ONE! TWO! Kickout! Positioning himself behind Landon, Cross lays in wait until The Next Generation gets halfway up. At which point he snatches out, chancing on applying the Full Nelson and the Iron Cross early. Landon has scouted enough to know when to sense danger though, rolling to the side before Cross can get the full nelson applied. As he rolls to his feet, Landon then strikes out... *SLAP!* "WHOOOOOOOO!" ...with a knifedge chop. The right hand raps off of Cross' pectorals, but doesn't do enough to prevent a boot to the gut from 'Iron' Mike following to calm Maddix back down. Ducking low, Cross wraps his arms around Maddix's waist and drives back, until the satisfying sound of Landon's spine hitting the turnbuckles echoes through The 1st Mariner Arena! Cross then comes back out, arms still around the waist as he takes Landon coast to coast, back first into the opposite corner's turnbuckles! "Cross just wearing his opponent down, this is where he's at his best." King re-iterates. Out of the corner again, a simple scoop and a slam puts Landon where his opponent wants him in centre ring. Almost where he wants him, as Cross has to then flip La Cucaracha over onto his front and pulls him up by the hair... *WHAM!* ...exposing the jawbone for his patented Fierce Strikes! *WHAM!* ...another crossface! *WHAM!* ...and another, Landon's eyes left rolling even as his head stops! Cross then releases the blonde locks, before leaping up... ...and SANDWICHING Landon's head into the canvas with a Double Stomp!! "OOOOOOOOOOOOHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!" "And that's why Mike Cross is straight-edge and not straight-bread!" laughs up The Franchise, soon realising he's the only one and trailing off. Meanwhile, cover... ONE! TWO! Landon rolls his shoulder, unconvincingly enough to prompt Cross to make a second pin, hooking the leg this time... ONE! TWO! Kickout! "That's okay, keep your cool." coaches King from the announce table. Unfortunately, there, he can't be heard by Cross. Cross gives referee Eddy Long a sideways look. And the speed the referee backs off tells you all you need to know. For now he seems composed enough though, stalking to his feet and waiting for Maddix to join him. As Landon reaches one knee Cross gets impatient however, grabbing a front facelock and pulling him the rest of the way up. "LAN - DON!" "LAN - DON!" "LAN - DON!" "LAN - DON!" Meanwhile, Megan leads the crowd in a cheer behind her man. "Somehow I don't think that's gonna help." sneers King. "Maybe it's me, but I think Megan knows exactly what she's doing." Not one to be overly concerned with fan support, Cross doesn't let it bother him. Although, the subsequent forearm over the back does seem to pack a little more mustard than usual. "Oh yeah, it's working great so far." "Well, it might be getting Cross a little riled up. He's got emotions not matter how hidden, he's not a robot." "I know, that's Ghost Machine." Getting little resistance now, 'Iron' Mike lands another overhand forearm before finally bringing Landon to his feet once more. Cross then sends Maddix into the corner with an irish whip and as he nestles in the buckles, into the opposite corner retreats Cross. Head down, nothing but tunnel vision guides Cross at full speed towards La Cucaracha... ...NOBODY HOME!! "YYYEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHH!!" "Oh," shouts Mak, "a little rush of blood and Cross ends up eating turnbuckle! And you end up eating your words, partner!" Cross stumbles back out off the corner as Megan waves Maddix onto the attack, The Next Generation doing as he's told as he leaps up and tucks the knees into the back, bringing 'Iron' Mike down with the LUNGBLOWER!! The whiplash causes Cross to bounce forward, falling into the lower turnbuckles of the nearest corner as Maddix stays down and takes a breather. "The Lungblower from Landon! A hint of desperation, but it bought him some time nonetheless!" "That's all it did though. He's still nursing the brunt of the punishment in this match." "Very true, but now he's broken up 'Iron' Mike's dominance and the flow of the match, which was looking pretty comfortable for Cross." Both men remain down but since Mike is technically in the ropes, by virtue of his position lying against the bottom turnbuckle, Long doesn't lay a ten count on. A judgement call, I suppose. But if thems aren't the rules then I don't wanna follow them, mister! It's Cross who's getting up first, using the ropes as he nurses his back. Landon is recovering by now too, reaching his feet just as Cross does in the corner. And with a sudden surge of energy, Maddix strikes while Mike is still cornered, leaping into 'Iron' Mike with a leaping forearm strike! "YYYEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHH!!" Cross doesn't go down from the strike but stays slumped in the turnbuckles, sign enough for Megan and Maddix that it must have worked on some level. So The Next Generation affords himself a better run-up this time, leaping in with a second forearm strike! Cross doesn't go down this time either. But he does stumble out of the turnbuckles, Maddix waiting on him... *SLAP!* "WHOOOOOOOO!" ...with a knifedge chop! *SLAP!* "WHOOOOOOOO!" ...and another! Still on his feet, Cross suddenly spurts forward and tries to take Landon's head off with the same clothesline that turned the tide earlier. Except this time Landon sees it coming, ducking and weaving into the corner. Around comes Cross, still eager to strike... and running into a raised boot from La Cucaracha! Hopping up to the middle turnbuckle, Landon then vaults high, up and over Cross... ...and bringing the feet down across the back with the Mushroom Stomp!! "Landon beginning to hit and move again," calls Mak, "The Next Generation has got to keep up this kind of pace for as long as possible!" Maddix falls to his knees off the move, still feeling the effects of his opponent's offence. Behind him, Cross' forward moment takes him face-first into the middle turnbuckle and he lies against the bottom buckle for a second time. This time though he doesn't have chance to move, before Maddix pulls himself up and charges... *SMUSH!* ...and DROPKICK HIM IN THE FACE!! "GET LICKED!" is the slightly ridiculous cry from The Franchise, but hey, he didn't name it. "Cross' face got sandwiched between feet and buckle and I guess Maddix isn't straight-bread either." "Maddix isn't straight-anything." Dragging Cross away from the corner, which isn't easy when he's 237 pounds of (mostly) muscle, Maddix makes sure the ropes are out of his opponent's reach before making the pin... ONE! TWO! NO! ...BUT LANDON QUICKLY HOOKS THE HEAD BACK FOR THE LAND OF NOD!!! "Oh, Landon's going for it this week!" cries Mak, recalling last week's rejection of the hold. "He's got the head pulled back with the dragon sleeper, but he needs to turn Cross over onto his front to pin him down!" Again, 237 pounds, easier said than done. Maddix has the head latched under his arm okay but Cross remains on his side from the kickout, planting a hand to help prevent being bottomed out. The other hand manages to find the mat and Cross begins to push up, Landon unable to hold his larger opponent down and finding himself being lifted into a piggyback position! "Too much power!" delights King. "Even dazed from that Get Licked, Cross still able to block the Land Of Nod!" Still with the head, Maddix tries to make lemonade out of the lemons life has dealt him by wrapping a bodyscissors onto Cross. Hanging off of his opponent's shoulder isn't the ideal position though and before the legs can wrap around, Maddix is driven back-first into the turnbuckles!! And again! Maddix loses his grip but clings onto Cross' neck... only to be crushed in the corner a third time to finally shrug him off! "BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!" Cross walks out of the corner shaking out the cobwebs as Megan encourages Landon not to panic, though he seems more concerned with his aching spine right now. "LAN - DON!" "LAN - DON!" "LAN - DON!" "LAN - DON!" With a quick 180, Cross charges. And Maddix doesn't have time to move, getting crushed yet again in the turnbuckles, this time with a corner clothesline! Guiding Landon out, Cross then wraps on a side headlock, wrenching on it once, twice, before putting on the real hurting as he brings Landon out with a running Bulldog! "OOOOOOOHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!" Maddix's head bounces off the mat, Cross turning the rest of him onto his back and making the cover... ONE! TWO! SHOULDER UP! No let up now from 'Iron' Mike though, holding Landon by the hair as he cuts the throat to signal to the world that it's OVAH~! With The Next Generation on his knees, Cross then underhooks the arms, prompting Maddix to freak out and despairingly clasp his hands together to try and break the butterfly. By no means powerfully enough though, the hands getting ripped apart as Cross re-asserts the double underhook in bringing Landon to his feet, setting and lifti... ...Landon goes deadweight, back to his knees! "This is desperation stuff now," points out Mak, "Landon trying to prevent The Nail In The Cross!" "He can't hold him off forever though, he just can't!" Maddix is hauled to his feet again... ...but again, as soon as Cross sets he sinks back to the one knee. In his frustration, Cross gives up on the underhooks, using them to roll Maddix over like a snapmare onto his seat, before changing his grip to a Full Nelson!! "BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!" "Iron Cross," King cheers, "this one is over!" Or, maybe not. Before Cross can sink forward and put maximum pressure on La Cucaracha's neck, the Spaniard gets his feet planted and starts to try and bridge back up. He can't get all the way, but he gets far enough, sitting out suddenly and jacking Mike's jaw with a makeshift Jawbreaker! "What!?" No sooner has he got the Jawbreaker than Landon reaches up again. This time he hooks the head in a more traditional manner, shoulder up under the chin and running towards the nearest set of turnbuckles. Still stunned, Mike has no other choice but to go with Landon as he climbs the buckles, off the second, flipping off the top... ...with enough momentum to SITOUT with the Shiranui!! "Laberinto's Revenge, and straight into a pinning predicament..." ONE! TWO! THR- NOOOO!! KICKOUT BY CROSS!! "OOOOOOOOOOOOOHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!" The groan of the Baltimore crowd is matched by that of Megan Skye, sure that her man had done enough to get the win right there. Landon holds up three fingers to referee Eddy Long but gets just two in return, much to his frustration. "Just a two, but mymy that was mighty close." Mak gasps. "Cross never should have given up on the Nail In The Cross. Puny weakling that he is, Maddix could have only blocked for so long before he became easy prey, but Cross tried to force the issue and it almost cost him." The crawl to his feet is a little more painful now for Landon but he's got the bit between his teeth again and actually encourages Cross up to meet him. Not neccessarily wise, although as Cross gets up it's The Next Generation who strikes first... *SLAP!* "WHOOOOOOOO!" ...with the knifedge again! *SLAP!* "WHOOOOOOOO!" ...and again! Cross stands up to the strikes, so Maddix goes to the gut with a quick boot and tries to send him to the ropes with an irish whip, momentum reversed however by 'Iron' Mike. Hitting the ropes, Maddix builds up a head of steam before leaping into the air, firing down a forearm strike from over Cross' head, the extra force and momentum enough to put 'Iron' Mike down! On his knees already, Landon decides why not make a cover... ONE! TWO! NO! "Momentum is on Landon's side right now, he needs to strike and strike now!" encourages Mak, as Megan shares his opinion and slams her fists into the apron, motioning for Landon to 'do it'. Slowly 'Iron' Mike starts to clamber back up. But he's still dazed. And as he gets halfway up he has to stop to try and collect his thought, unfortunately having fed one knee out and enticing Landon in to spring off the leg... "SHINING WIZAAA..." ...NO, BLOCKED!! Cross throws up his muscular forearms and sheilds his face, Landon's knee bouncing harmlessly off the arms and leaving him to crash back to the canvas. Scrambling back up, Landon tries to make up for the failure with a forearm strike. Cross ducks underneath though, grabbing a waistlock and throwing the Tag Team Champion over with an instictive German Suplex, folding him up on his head!! "OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!" "WHAT A MOVE! Where the hell did Cross pull that from!?" "Who cares? Pin him already, pin him! Chances are Cross still can't hear King. But he needs no extra encouragement, rolling Landon over and making the cover... ONE! TWO! T- KICKOUT! Growling, Cross climbs to his feet and once more he signals that it's OVAH~!, hoping this time it actually will be OVAH~! as he uses an inverted front facelock to help bring Landon to his feet. The Iron Cross and Nail In The Cross didn't work earlier. So, that leaves one go to, Cross grabbing hold of the waistband of Landon's red and yellow shorts as he prepares to lift him up for the Silent Rage Syndrome! "BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!" Not so silent is the sounds of exertion as Cross powers Landon up... ...a little too far, Landon going up and over and landing behind 'Iron' Mike! "YYEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHH!" As Mike looks around for where his opponent landed, said opponent ends his search, waistlocking Cross the short distance forward into the ropes and pulling him down with the O'Connor roll... ONE! TWO! Cross, using his leg strength, powers out and causes Maddix to go flying forward. As the ropes approach Landon goes up and over, guiding himself onto the apron and saving referee Eddy Long from a tough decision. As Cross comes back up, Maddix then leaps up to the top rope for a springboard. 'Iron' Mike sees the leap at it's earliest and lunges for the rope to knock Landon's balance away. ...but Landon springboards off the rope and leapfrogs over Cross, who ends up lunging into the ropes anyway and takes the top strand up under the jaw! That leaves him a little off balance, but nothing too major as he turns on his heels and runs after Maddix. Maddix is already hitting the ropes though and rebounds, spinning through the air... ...and spinning an extra 180 degrees past the dreaded spinning wheel kick, whipping the kickpad on his right leg directly into the bridge of Cross' nose with the Cucaracha Kick!! *SMACK~!* "YYYEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!" "He ran right into it!" shouts Mak. "Cross ran right into that flailing boot and he didn't get his hands up to block or deflect the blow in the slightest!" Flat out on the canvas, there are no signs of movement from Cross. Signs of movement are all coming from Landon, taking a second or so to gauge where Cross is after he finally comes to a stop. But once he does find Cross, he wastes no time in diving across, hooking the leg tight as he makes the pin... ONE! TWO! THREEEEE!!! "YYYEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHH!!" "And that's gonna do it!" *DINGDINGDING!* Landon punches the air in relief as soon as the bell sounds, rolling out of the ring before Cross can come back to his senses. The Tag Team Title is already retrieved so Landon and Megan quickly shuffle off down the aisle, out of potential harm's way. "Here is your winner... LANDON "LA CUCARACHA"... MMMMAAAAAAAAAAADDIIIIIIIIXXXXXXXXX!!" "YYYEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHH!!" "That kick caught Mike Cross flush," analyses Mak, "flush as could be and that was it for 'Iron' Mike. His impetulance proved the downfall again here tonight, although he more than matches Landon for long portions of the match." "One lucky shot, that's all it was." "And another big victory for Landon, another former Cruiserweight Champion knocked off. Two-time World Champion he may be, but in the past couple of weeks he's gone a long way to proving himself worthy of a Cruiserweight Title shot, one belt which has alluded him for so long. And with Clusterfuck on the horizon too, 2007 could prove to be quite a year for La Cucaracha!" "God I hope not." "Diplomatic as ever, The Suicide King. Folks, we'll be right back with more on SWF Storm right after we pay the bills by letting our sponsors try to sell you stuff. Don't go anywhere!" As Landon and Megan glory in their victory, Cross slowly coming back to his senses as in the best SWF tradition we FADE OUT. Share this post Link to post Share on other sites
Ace309 0 Report post Posted January 19, 2007 Storm returns from a commercial break for Danny Williams' Strong Style Ribs: "Fuck you, JJ Johnson! Fuck you in the eye! Those are my elbows, you fucking 'kimo!" and unemployed Ravens quarterback turned camera man Kyle Boller pans around the 1st Mariner Arena before focusing on Mak and King. "Welcome back to Storm, folks, and man, have we got a ton of action still to come!" Francis shouts. "Yeah, like the World champ, Gabriel Drake, destroying Insane Luchador," King says. "I wouldn't be so sure of the outcome, King. Luchador did beat Drake rather soundly last week, something the new champ wasn't very pleased with," Mak says. "So the fluke victory results in Luchador getting his face smashed? Not exactly fair, but it should be fun to watch," King says. To make things seem dramatic, the lights turn off, instantly quieting the crowd. Heavy, marching footfalls boom from the entranceway, along with chanting voices. Doom! Doom! Doom! Doom! Doom! The lights snap back on to reveal a horde of druids around the ring and the Hardcore champion at the top of the stage. Boots Randolph's "Yakety Sax" blares over the speakers, and Jimmy the Doom walks down the ramp, Lois the Unethical not far behind. "Now what the hell is he doing?" King moans. "Just let him speak, King. I, for one, am curious to see what the champ has to say, especially since he's basically been absent since Crimson Yuletide," Mak says. Jimmy slides into the ring and helps Lois into the squared circle as well. Doom calls for a microphone and Funyon tosses one to the Straight-Bread Sensation. The crowd goes completely silent, not so much out of respect for the champ, but due to the fact that it takes full attention to decipher the Doomtopian's gibberish. Jimmy raises the mic to his lips and and begins speaking, but the content of his speech is unknown as the microphone is turned off. Oblivious to this fact, the Straight-Breader continues on, very low-key in mannerisms, and presumably also in tone. "This actually isn't that bad. Granted, he's taking up valuable air time, but at least I don't have to hear him mangle the English language," King says. "Apologies, folks, as we're experiencing some technical difficulties right now, but that is the risk of running a live show. Hopefully someone can let Jimmy know what's going on and this problem can be fixed as soon as possible," Mak says. However, nobody moves to help the Hardcore champion, and his speech continues. Doom ramps up the intensity a bit, jabbing a thumb into his own chest and wheeling around to face each side of the ring. Jimmy now points to the fans, possibly imploring them to do something, but everybody excepting Lois the Unethical is unsure of his words, and even the Panic Ogre is oblivious to the situation. Jimmy begins pacing around the ring as he speaks, alternately gesturing at himself and the crowd. "I guess Jimmy and Lois can hear Doom talking just fine, so they really aren't aware that nobody else can," Mak says. "However, you'd think that one of them would notice that Doom's voice isn't as loud as it would be were the microphone working properly." "Working properly? Look, the only problem with the microphone is that Jimmy didn't turn the damn thing on!" King shouts. "If that doesn't scream 'undeserving of being a champion', then I don't know what does." The Straight-Bread Sensation appears to almost be screaming now, and he deftly whips his shirt off, displaying the consequences of being in as many hardcore matches as he has. Jimmy points out each scar, and pantomimes the action that was responsible, taking the most time with his most recent set suffered at Crimson Yuletide. Doom spins around and snatches the title belt from Lois, thrusting it aloft. The Doomtopian lays the belt on his shoulder and pats it while continuing to walk the ring and address the crowd. Once more, the champ looks to the fans, but again whatever his pleas might be, they fall on deaf ears. Growing emotional over the non-reaction, Jimmy stares at the SmarkTron and perhaps tries to speak to the people backstage. Doom glances back at the fans, but is ignored yet again. The Straight-Breader looks to the entrance, then continues to speak to the SmarkTron. "You know, King, this minor flub could end up mentally breaking the Hardcore champion. I'm not sure what his initial point of being out here was, but I've got very little doubt that it's changed dramatically," Mak says. "So it'll run him off? Excellent," King says and he tents his fingers in fine Montgomery C. Burns fashion. Doom slowly turns around the entire ring, hoping to garner some type of reaction, but alas, the crowd, unsure of his intentions, remain silent for fear of approving to confessed evil deeds. Now gasping for breath due to delivering quite possibly his longest single speech in SWF history, the Straight-Bread Sensation faces the SmarkTron, says his final words into the microphone and lays his Hardcore belt on the canvas. Jimmy drops the mic to the mat and throws his arms wide. The Straight-Breader turns his head to possibly check for movement, either fan or wrestler-based in the crowd, then checks back on the screen, trying to notice the faintest flicker of video feed. "Now, I, along with everyone not in the ring am completely unaware of what Jimmy the Doom just said, but it looked like he poured out his heart and soul, and he's being treated like he made the most disgustingly offensive comments ever uttered," Mak says. "Not true, Mak. He'd probably get booed if he said something too horrible, like the local sports teams are mediocre at best or were he to insinuate that a specific religion, race, gender, nationality, or sexual preference was superior or inferior to another. I mean, he's no Borat, after all," King says. After a few minutes of waiting for anything to happen and nothing transpiring, Jimmy's shoulders slump and he clambers out of the ring, leaving Lois to gather up his shirt and title while "Yakety Sax" plays again. "I wonder what kind of fallout there'll be due to this," Mak says. "What, Fallout's coming back? That would be choice!" King exclaims. "Didn't he kick your ass a lot back when he was in Prime Evil and then The Clan and you were still a Carnie?" Mak asks. "Shut up your face parts!" King bellows. Storm fades out with Jimmy disappearing behind the curtain as the final shot before the commercial break. Share this post Link to post Share on other sites
Ace309 0 Report post Posted January 19, 2007 (edited) We pan around the First Mariner Arena in Baltimore, Maryland, the standing-room-only crowd on their feet for yet another electric edition of SWF Storm! "So let me get this straight," ponders the Suicide King. "We only have one show a week now?" "Yep," replies his partner, "The Franchise" Mak Francis. "And we call it Storm?" "Yes sir." "So if I decide I'm going to challenge someone… ON STORM!" "Uh huh." "Realistically, it could be for any show I wanted." "Well, presumably your challenge would be for the next occurring Storm, but yes, I can see your point." "Okay." Mak looks at King. "No snotty remark?" "No, that actually makes perfect sense to me." "Well, good. Folks, we're back with more LIVE Storm here in Baltimore, Maryland, and this next match-up is certainly interesting on a number of levels." "Indeed it is," says King. "On the one side you have the Predators, experienced and always dangerous and a couple of fine specimens, if I'm allowed to say that without sounding like Bobby Riley." "I'll let it slide." "And on the other side you have two complete newcomers to the SWF in the Cadillac Boys, Calvin Szechstein and Zack Malibu." "Who picked up an impressive victory in their first match together in the SWF," interjects Francis. "Well… 'impressive' is in the eye of the beholder, I suppose." The lights in the arena go out, as "Learning to Fly" by Pink Floyd comes over the loudspeakers and a single spotlight flashes onto the ramp, illuminating Jay Hawke, his partner Nighthawk, and their valet, the Falcon. "Is Falcon a male or a female, Mak?" "You know, I'm not entirely sure." The three men walk down to the ring, and one will note that Jay Hawke has a microphone in his hand—but before he can use it, before the Predators are even in the ring, we can hear the sound of a needle being pulled off a record, the lights come up, and Calvin Szechstein appears atop the ramp, microphone of his own in hand. "Enough with the Floyd, boys. Let's hear those hits!" "EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEVERYBODY KNOWS I’M IN OVER MY HEAD OVER MY HEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEAD…" The lights are cut again, leaving the Predators in the dark as "Over My Head (Cable Car)" by the Fray comes over the loudspeakers and a single spotlight illuminates Calvin Szechstein, in a National Bohemian shirt and the trademark Royal Crown Cola tights! The crowd boos—nothing says heel heat like having the Fray do your opening music—but as Zack Malibu (shaking his head and wearing a "you-have-got-to-be-kidding-me" expression) enters the spotlight, a smattering of cheers greets the unlikely duo! "Say what you will about motive, these fans adore Zack Malibu," Mak points out. The Predators have already entered the ring, obviously none too happy about being upstaged, and Malibu and Szechstein walk down the ramp. "Ladies and gentlemen," Funyon's voice beams over the P.A., "the following is a TAG TEAM contest scheduled for ONE fall! Already in the ring, at a combined weight of five hundred pounds and accompanied by Falcon, Jay Hawke and Nighthawk, theeeeeeee PREDATORS!" Boos, as Hawke and Nighthawk conference in their corner and Malibu and Szechstein saunter around the outside of the ring, too smart to get caught entering the ring. "And their opponents, at a combined weight of four-hundred and three pounds, the team of Zack Malibu and Calvin Szechstein, the CAAAAAADILLAC BOYS!" Cheers, as Zack and Calvin stand on the outside, curtly discussing strategy before walking up the steps, Malibu entering the ring while Szechstein takes his spot in the corner. Nighthawk emerges from the Predator corner, and the two men eye each other down in the middle as Soapdish calls for the bell. ::DING DING DING!:: "And THIS match is underway!" Malibu and Nighthawk circle slowly in the middle of the ring, the considerably smaller Malibu not eager to make a move, while Nighthawk's wariness stems from a respect for Malibu's speed. The two circle momentarily, and as they do the crowd chimes in with their opinion. "MAL—I—BU!" "MAL—I—BU!" "MAL—I—BU!" "If Calvin wants to get his products over," says Mak, "he picked the right man to help him out." Zack pauses to acknowledge the fans, nodding at a portly fella' in an "In Crowd" t-shirt in the front row, and Nighthawk takes this opportunity to stampede the prep, swinging his arm out for a harsh clothesline that sends the OAOAST legend to his back. Nighthawk turns around, looking at Malibu, who shakes out the cobwebs on the mat before getting to his feet, staring Nighthawk down with a look of defiance. "Malibu is showing no fear in the face of Nighthawk here!" "Idiot…" Nighthawk glares at Malibu, charging forward once more and looking for another clothesline—but Malibu ducks! Nighthawk goes flying into the corner, showing the LOCOMOTIVE SPEED~, and before Zack can even turn around and get situated *WHACK!* Nighthawk catches him across the sternum with another vicious clothesline! He pauses, the crowd "OOOOOOOOOH!"ing at the impact as Nighthawk turns around to survey the damage. Malibu is on the mat, curled up and obviously in a bit of pain, but he rises to a knee, shaking his head and standing up fully, again staring at Nighthawk, his expression clearly telling Nighthawk to bring it on, much to the delight of the crowd! "MAL—I—BU!" "MAL—I—BU!" "MAL—I—BU!" Nighthawk, furious at again being upstaged, charges at Malibu, again looking for the savage clothesline, but Malibu again ducks! Nighthawk again goes flying into the opposite corner, and as he charges back Malibu situates himself—the third time's the charm, right?—and drops down for a drop toe hold… *THWACK!* "OOOOOOOOOOOOOH!" Only to get kicked in the face by Nighthawk! The crowd boos heavily for this, as Nighthawk looks down at Zack, who clutches his face with an agony known to few people. "Third time isn't always the charm, I guess." "You know what, Mak? When you mess with the Predators, you get the teeth; or in Malibu's case, you get it in the teeth." Nighthawk grabs Malibu by the scruff of the neck and lifts him to his feet, a little bit of fury in his eyes as he easily wraps his arm around Malibu's neck and lifts him up for a suplex, holding him high in the air and walking a couple of paces before dropping straight back with a textbook vertical suplex. "Ladies and gentlemen, that suplex is a Nighthawk special—but if Nighthawk wanted something really special—" "Who keeps giving this clown live microphones?" King asks no one in particular. "—he'd step into a new pair of Timberland work boots! Timberland—not just for Canadians like Nelly Furtado anymore!" Szechstein grins, looking at the bewildered Nighthawk, who watches him from the ring. Hawke yells at Nighthawk to get his head in the game, and the big man pulls his head together, grabbing Malibu once more and lifting the prepstar to his feet. "I don't know if I can defend Calvin's actions, honestly," Mak says. "I mean, they're working, they're funny…" "…and they're completely reminiscent of the girl you let touch your jimmy last night, right?" "Don't talk about your mother that way." Nighthawk levels a stiff blow into Malibu's gut, dropping him to a knee as he tries to regain his breath—but his breath will not be regained, as Nighthawk goes behind him and locks him in a sleeper hold! The crowd begins to boo… "And speaking of Nelly Furtado, she's got an album out right now called Loose. Featuring hits such as 'Promiscuous', 'Maneater', and 'Say It Right', it's an early contender for album of the year, and trust me folks, you won't want to miss this!" Nighthawk tightens the hold on Malibu, as though responding to Szechstein's shilling, and Malibu is visibly becoming weaker. Nighthawk stares Szechstein down in the corner, daring him to continue talking, as Malibu struggles against the hold. "But folks, remember this—when you're down on the Block here in Baltimore and you get in a little bit of ruckus, there's only one way out—Slick Jimmy's Bail Bonds! Slick Jimmy is a Baltimore native, and his bail bond empire extends throughout Maryland, Virginia, and Pennsylvania… hell, I heard he just got a call from Mama Hawk last night!" Nighthawk roughly throws Malibu to the mat, not down to play real nice anymore. He stalks over to Szechstein's corner, daring the former OAOASTer to step into the ring. Calvin smiles. "My friend Nighthawk here is encouraging me to cheat, which reminds me. Have you ever felt like your lover was cheating on you? Thought that he or she might be a little bit too happy when they come home from work?" Nighthawk moves towards Szechstein, but he's halted by a hard knee to the back from Malibu! Resilience is in the prep's eyes as Nighthawk grabs his back in pain, and Malibu wraps his arm around Nighthawk's neck, driving him backwards with a reverse DDT! Szechstein grins at Malibu, who glares at Calvin, nonchalantly slapping his hand! "And Szechstein's tactics pay off, as Malibu is able to take a breather and Calvin is probably getting a fat bonus in this week's paycheck!" "Who the hell is Slick Jimmy?" Rather than immediately entering the ring, Szechstein takes off his National Bohemian shirt, tossing it into the crowd. He then proceeds to scale the turnbuckle, obviously a victim of adrenalin as he faces the crowd, raising his mic to his lips. "The following move is brought to you by Skittles—Skittles! Taste the rainbow!" Szechstein puts the mic in the back pocket of his tights and leaps off the top rope, back flipping beautifully through the air and landing on nothing but mat! Nighthawk rolls out of the way, and Calvin is left with empty lungs and a severely missed opportunity! "Well, sometimes you just talk too much, eh, King?" "No kidding." Calvin pushes up to his feet, but is quickly dropped back to the mat, thanks to a hard forearm shot across the back! His opponent then reaches down and leads him up, then scoops Calvin off his feet and slams him down to the canvas. Nighthawk hits the ropes and drops an elbow, but instead of planting it into the sternum of Szechstein, it's planted into the canvas, as Cal rolls away! Calvin scrambles to come up before Nighthawk can, and when he recovers, Nighthawk is snared in a side headlock! While holding his foe with his right arm, Calvin motions for some crowd response with his left arm, and the lack of a firm grip finds him sent into the ropes by his foe. Nighthawk then takes to the air as his name suggests, kicking both legs out in the direction of the Cadillac Boy...but his dropkick misses, as Calvin wraps both of his arms around the top rope! "They say the best offense is a good defense, and Calvin Szechstein is proving that by avoiding much contact with Nighthawk tonight!" The lack of contact is only momentarily, however, as Calvin runs forward and delivers a hard soccer kick into the chest of his opponent as he sits up! Calvin brings up Nighthawk and staggers him with a pair of forearms, then whips him to the ropes...but Nighthawk reverses the momentum and swing around, yanking Calvin into a boot to the gut! Calvin doubles over, and Nighthawk grabs him quickly and lifts, dropping him across the top rope and hanging him out to dry! "Szechstein just got hung like a load of laundry, and when I do my laundry, I'm sure to use Chlorox Bl...DAMN, now he's got me doing it!" stammers Suicide King, in a mixture of shock and embarrassment. Calvin slides off the rope, his feet hitting the apron...and then the floor, as he's sent down by a running kick from Nighthawk. Calvin stumbles upon landing, and falls into the guardrail, while Nighthawk moves towards his corner and makes a tag while he can, bringing in The Dean of Professional Wrestling. "Now the nonsense is gonna stop, because Jay Hawke isn't going to give Calvin five seconds to get a cheap product plug in. Szechstein tries that, and he'll have his foot in his mouth. Literally." Szechstein wipes the sweat from his brow, and when Malibu circles the corner to check on his friend, he's sent away by Calvin's motioning that he's fine. The former World Champion of the OAOAST steps back into the ring, still a bit dazed...and gets taken over by a deep armdrag! Calvin pops up, trying to regain his composure...and winds up flat on his back after a hard knife edge chop! Hawke quickly grabs the left arm of Calvin, trapping him in an armbar, and pulling him up to his feet while still in the hold. "Szechstein is a bit rough around the edges when it comes to technical grace, so Hawke should have no trouble keeping him off his game." "By the same token, King, Szechstein's unorthodox ways could prove to be a foil for "The Dean"." "Always gotta get the last word in, huh Francis?" Hawke keeps the arm locked, but Calvin manages to stretch his arm out, reaching and reaching and reaching and finally grasping the top rope, which calls for the break. Hawke releases without incident, but then snags Calvin by the wrist right away and propels him to the far side. Calvin rebounds, and when he does he drops low, sliding between Hawke's legs and coming up behind him...and then cradling him with a schoolboy! ONE! T-KICKOUT! Hawke kicks out of the flash pin, and when Calvin approaches again, he's thrown over with a fireman's carry. A chinlock follows, as Hawke picks up where his partner left off in grinding Calvin down. "The Predators have the right strategy in mind tonight. They're keeping Szechstein, the one with ring rust, confined to the middle of the ring, while Zack Malibu, arguably one of the most talented wrestlers to grace a squared circle, has to sit idly by!" "Presently yes, but who knows what the future may hold." "What are you doing during commercial breaks, calling Ms. Cleo? You've got a talented tag team in The Predators, taking on a dysfunctional duo who have to flip a coin each morning to decide if they're going to get along or not. Don't become a shill for the shill, will ya?" Hawke squeezes Calvin's head as it's stuck in the vice grip, causing the favorite son of brand names everywhere to struggle. Malibu starts the traditional rally for his partner, stomping his feet and turning from left to right, waving for fans to stop sitting on their hands and lend some support to his partner. "CAL-VIN!" "CAL-VIN!" "CAL-VIN!" Thanks to Malibu's magic, the crowd is now chanting in unison, stirring up emotion in Calvin that helps him power to his feet! Hawke keeps the hold locked, but Calvin turns and twists his body, turning it into more of a side headlock...but before he can follow up, Hawke simply yanks back on his head and jars him to the canvas! Hawke then pulls him up and takes him by the head, running him to the corner...but before Calvin gets his face rammed into the top turnbuckle, he puts a foot up to block! A back elbow follows, knocking Jay back a few steps, and as Calvin looms near the ropes, Nighthawk runs across the apron and delivers a lariat to Calvin while he's recovering! Immediately the referee runs over to admonish him, which provides the distraction Jay Hawke needs to stun Calvin with a low blow as soon as he's back on his feet! Calvin's jaw drops like the ratings on The OC, and he's spun around and dropped with a neckbreaker from the technical wizard! ONE! TWO! NO! "Szechstein threw a shoulder up at the last possible instant, and he's got to make it to his corner and get Malibu into this match." "He might have to, but that doesn't mean he'll get to. The Predators, like them or not, Francis, have the experience edge in this one, and they've done a fine job in isolating the human infomercial from the metrosexual on the ring apron." Calvin is brought to his feet again, rocked backwards by a European uppercut, only to fire back with a right hand! Hawke then strikes with a chop, but Calvin dishes out another right hand, followed by another, and then yet another! "He's coming alive!" Indeed he is, and so is the crowd, as Szechstein rocks Hawke with a flurry of punches, nothing stopping him from fighting his way to his corner...except a well-placed knee to the gut! Hawke shoves Calvin back into his corner, then hits a running knee into his stomach before making the tag to Nighthawk. The power behind The Predators, Nighthawk steps into the ring as Hawke moves towards center ring, allowing his partner to Irish whip him into the corner! Hawke uses the momentum to hit a running clothesline in the corner, and then pull Calvin out of it, shoving him right into a military press! Nighthawk keeps Calvin hanging overhead for several moments, showcasing his strength before throwing him down onto his back. A surge of pain races up Calvin's spine, and there's nothing to mask it...nor is there any defense for the running legdrop that follows! ONE! TWO! TH-KICKOUT! "He's a stubborn bastard, ain't he?" Calvin kicks out, but he's far from making a comeback, as his exhausted form is led off the canvas, only to be blasted with hard forearms across the back. Calvin drops to one knee, and Nighthawk sets him in a standing headscissors. It doesn't take much effort for Nighthawk to hoist Calvin up onto his shoulders as a precursor to a powerbomb...and that's when Calvin panics, drilling Nighthawk's temple with rapid punches! "He's throwing fists to try and save himself from certain doom!" Calvin fires off, and eventually Nighthawk loses his grip, dropping Calvin to the canvas! Cal tries to land gracefully like a cat, yet stumbles a bit...however he's still able to connect with his patented sitout jawbreaker that rattles Nighthawk! The big man staggers back, and Calvin turns and crawls, then leaps towards his corner, making the much anticipated tag to Zack Malibu! "YEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!" Malibu slingshots over the ropes into the ring, and races across the canvas, blasting Nighthawk with a spinning wheel kick that takes him off his feet! Jay Hawke heads into the ring to cut off the Cadillac Boys newfound momentum, but he's caught and rocked by Malibu with an inverted atomic drop, then spun around and thrown through the ropes and to the floor! Nighthawk gets up and grabs Malibu from behind in a rear waistlock, but Zack fires back two elbows and breaks the lock, spinning around and then drops Nighthawk with a German Suplex! Malibu clings to the waistlock, rolling the both of them to their feet, and a second German follows. They come up to their feet again, but this time Nighthawk fights the suplexing by reaching behind him and grabbing Malibu, then snapmaring him over to the mat! Nighthawk measures his foe up, ready for action once Malibu is back to his feet. The Preppy One gets up and turns, right into a BIG BOOT~!, but it gets CAUGHT~! Zack throws his foot down, then hops back a step or two, giving himself enough room to fire off his own kick in the form of SCHOOL'S OUT~! "What a shot that just shattered the glass jaw of Nighthawk!" The crowd roars as Malibu's trademark superkick connects, and he covers! ONE! TWO! THREE! Or not! Because Jay Hawke reaches in and yanks Malibu off of his partner, pulling him all the way out to the floor! "Come on now, he had the win in hand!" "Well, if he did, he'd have his hand raised by now, but does he? No. This slapdash duo just fell victim to tag team wrestling 101. Always watch your partner's back!" Ironically, as soon as King makes that statment, Szechstein darts acros the apron, diving over his groggy partner and onto Hawke with a bodypress! Calvin keeps him down, mounting him and striking him with lefts and rights, as Malibu hops up on the apron and springboards in, purposely soaring over Nighthawk as he staggers to his feet. Confusued, the powerhouse looks over his shoulder, but before he can turn around he can feel his feet being lifted off the ground, as Malibu picks him up across his shoulders and rotates before dropping him on the back of his head with the ANGLESAULT SLAM~! "He's even gotta shill that second-rate company in his moveset! Give me a break!" remarks a none-too-happy King. Malibu covers, and this time with Calvin keeping Hawke at bay, there's no one to interrupt the count. ONE! TWO! THREE! DING! DING! DING! "Ladies and gentlemen, your winners, THE CAAAAAAAAAAAADILLAC BOYS!" The Fray's hit single booms (well, as booming as that song can get) over the loudspeakers, as once the bell sounds Calvin gives up on Jay Hawke and rolls int the ring. Malibu has his hand raised by the official, and Calvin comes in for a celebratory embrace, visibly pleased that his choice of tag team partner has paid off in dividends for the second week in a row. "Chalk another one up for the duo of Szechstein and Malibu, who..." Calvin, never one to stop while he's ahead, grabs the mic. "Thank you, thank you people. If you were impressed with that victory, then I suggest you check out some of the great artists on Victory Records, such as Hawthorne Heights, The Audition, Bayside, Spitalfi..." Before he can go on, Zack takes the mic from Calvin and tosses it aside, telling him the match is over and it's time to head back to the locker room. Calvin nods in agreement, and the two exit the ring. As they walk up the aisle, Calvin lets Zack get a little ahead, then turns around and races back to the ring, grabbing the microphone just before Funyon can claim it again! "...artists like Spitalfield, The Forecast, and Driver Side Impact! When you get home, check them all out on VictoryRecords.com!" Calvin now tosses the mic over the ropes to Funyon and then heads out of the ring and up the aisle, where Malibu is waiting with *that* look on his face. Calvin gives an innocent "what" response, leaving Malibu to roll his eyes and continue to the back ahead of his partner, who is left with a smirk on his face and another checkmark in the win column. Edited January 21, 2007 by Ace309 Share this post Link to post Share on other sites
Ace309 0 Report post Posted January 19, 2007 (edited) FADE IN “It’s just about time for the highly anticipated Cruiserweight Title match,” says Mak Francis, “as Alan Clark will defend his World Cruiserweight Championship against Wildchild, the Number One Contender! King, Wildchild is coming off a discouraging loss to Landon Maddix last week, and there are a number of people who think that he may have been looking past Landon Maddix towards this match!” “I’d practically guarantee it,” replies the Suicide King. “For starters, everybody in the company knows that Wildchild cares more about the SWF World Cruiserweight Title than any other belt in the business, and this is his first shot at the title in close to two years, so I wouldn’t be surprised if he’s had complete tunnel vision heading into this match!” “If that’s the case, King, you can’t exactly blame Maddix for taking advantage of Wildchild’s distraction,” says Mak. “And seriously, Wildchild’s been around long enough to know that he needs to focus on the guy that he’s scheduled to wrestle that night; the talent level in the SWF is too competitive for you to only worry about your title shots!” “Definitely,” agrees King. “Any given Wednesday night, a guy can be beat, even if it’s by a twerp like Maddix!” “At any rate,” interrupts Mak, trying desperately to keep King from going off on his usual anti-Landon tangent, “I’m sure that Wildchild has completely put that loss behind him now, as he sets his sights on what he feels is rightfully his. You know, King, many people consider Wildchild to be the top cruiserweight wrestler in the SWF, but it’s been twenty months now since he last held the title and, after Zyon became the first ever three-time champion, there have been some whispers in the back that Wildchild may have lost a step!” “Well, I will say this,” replies King. “the last two years have taken a pretty heavy toll on Wildchild, in terms of how it has affected his mentality and his wrestling style: what I mean by that is that he’s been in some very intense and bitter feuds since the last time he held Cruiserweight gold: I think that you could say that they’ve slowly chipped away from what he used to be, to the point that… well, maybe you’re right: maybe he just doesn’t have what he used to have.” “And, if Wildchild is anything but at his best,” he’s going to be fighting an uphill battle here tonight,” adds Mak, “because Alan Clark is riding a wave of supreme confidence right now! Clark has been virtually unstoppable since his triumphant return to the SWF, capturing both the International Championship and the World Cruiserweight Championship! Not only that, but Alan Clark is the only wrestler in the SWF today that Wildchild has face, but never beaten… and don’t think that isn’t playing at the back of his consciousness a little bit!” “That’s right,” co-signs King. “During both Wildchild’s reigns as World Cruiserweight Champion, the only man to ever score a clean pinfall victory over him was Alan Clark, so you’ve got to give that mental edge to the Champion. Plus, he’s competed all over the world, and he’s worked so many styles that it’s going to be hard to show him something that he’s never seen before!” “That may be true, King,” replies Mak, “but there’s nobody that can bring it quite like Wildchild can!” “I beg to differ, Francis!” counters King. “When Wildchild is on his game, I will admit, there may be nobody better ever to compete in the Cruiserweight Division, but that’s kind of the point: when was the last time that he truly WAS on his game?” “So, you’re one of those who think that he doesn’t have it anymore?” “Honestly?” replies King. “Yeah, I’m inclined to think so… I mean, with Wildchild, you may have a case of a guy that flamed out too quickly.” “King, I don’t think that’s it at all,” replies Mak. “Perhaps we’ve seen Wildchild in a bit of a slump, but I still think that he has what it takes to win the big match!” “I’ll believe it when I see it,” says King stubbornly. “He’s going to have to prove it to me in the ring!” “And on that note,” says Mak excitedly, “it’s time to send it up to Funyon in the ring!” DING! DING! DING! “Ladies and Gentlemen,” booms Funyon, “the following contest is scheduled for one fall, with a twenty-minute time limit! And it is for the SWF WORLD CRUISERWEIGHT CHAMPIONSHIP!” RAAAAAAAAAAH! Nearly twelve thousand fans erupt in nervous anticipation throughout the 1st Mariner Arena, as the lights are doused. Their cheers grow even louder as Reggie Noble’s voice pierces the arena like a blade! ATTENTION! RAAAAAAAAAAH! ALL YOU NIGGAZ! ALL YOU BITCHES! TIME TO PUT DOWN THE CRISTAL, TIME TO TAKE OFF THE ICE FOR A MINUTE… TIME TO THROW A LITTLE MUD IN THIS MOTHERFUCKAAAAA… “Listen to this crowd go crazy!” shouts Mak. One solitary spotlight centers itself on the stage, flashing off and on in rhythm as Redman’s “Let’s Get Dirty” throbs melodiously throughout the arena. “Introducing first,” shouts Funyon, “the Challenger!” RAAAAAAAAAAH! “He is being accompanied to the ring by Melissa Fasaki!” continues Funyon. “From the Bahamas, and weighing two hundred fourteen pounds… the WIIIIILDCHIIIIILD!” WC slaps hands with the fans as he makes his way down to the ring; he has a generally relaxed look about him, but his eyes are nevertheless trained on the ring. “Wildchild looks ready, King,” says Mak. “I like his chances here in Baltimore tonight!” WC removes his shin guards and hands them to Melissa; he gives her a quick peck on the cheek before somersaulting into the ring between the bottom and middle ropes. The Bahama Bomber raises his arms towards the rafters and poses for the fans, who respond enthusiastically as the lights come back on. “The last singles title shot that Wildchild got, he came away empty handed,” says King, as Wildchild’s music fades out. “He’s going to have to reach back to capture some of that old fire if he expects a different result here tonight!” Suddenly, the lights cut out for a second time, and the following echoes from the loudspeakers: “Please Stand Clear of the Ring! ¡Por favor, Soporte Claro del Anillo! For the Safety and Comfort of Others… No Smoking Please! ¡Para la Seguridad Y la Comodidad de Otras... El Ningún Fumar Por favor! As sound that resembles an amusement park roller coaster rolling across tracks rumbles in the background, as the voiceover now says, “The Walt Disney Company and the SWF are proud to present…” With that, a spotlight hits the entranceway just as the music begins to play, revealing Alan Clark to the world, cheery and smiling as best he can with Walter Reynolds in tow. The duo comes to the ring with pixie dust falling from the ceiling; both title belts adorn Clark’s waist as he proceeds down the ramp. “His opponent,” booms Funyon, “is accompanied by his bodyguard, Walter Reynolds! Allegedly representing the Caribbean, and weighing at two hundred twenty-five pounds, he is the International Champion, and the reigning – and defending – WORLD Cruiserweight Champion… he is the self-proclaimed, and copyrighted, Happiest Guy On Earth©… ALAAAAAAAAN CLAAAAAAAARK!” Seeing the eagerness on Wildchild’s face to get the match started, Clark goes out of his way to take his time getting to the ring. “Look at this!” shouts Mak. “Alan Clark is making Wildchild wait on him!” “And why shouldn’t he?” asks King. “It’s his prerogative! He’s got as much time as he wants to get to the ring, he’s the champion!” Alan offers to pose for a picture with a not-particularly-willing fan near the barricade on his way to the ring; as the Champion turns to mug for the camera, the fan attempts to pour his dad’s beer over Clark’s head, only to be thwarted by the burly Reynolds. Eventually, Clark makes his way to the ring, walking very deliberately up the steel steps, as Reynolds makes his way to Alan’s assigned corner. The Champion walks back and forth across the ring apron, continuing to stall, and then lowers himself to the apron before rolling underneath the bottom rope. “Okay, this was cute for about a minute,” says Mak, as Clark’s music fades out, “but now it’s just getting annoying!” Clark removes his International Title belt and hands it through the ropes to Reynolds; he then removes his World Cruiserweight Championship and surrenders it to referee Red Herrington, who holds it above his head to display to everybody. “And that’s what it’s all about,” says Mak. “One of the most prestigious titles in all of professional wrestling!” Herrington hands the belt to Funyon as he leaves the ring, and then signals the timekeeper to ring the bell, signifying the start of the match: DING! DING! DING! “Bell’s gone!” shouts Mak, “and we’re underway!” Alan and WC meet in the center of the ring for a collar-and-elbow tie-up; Clark quickly takes advantage by driving a kneelift! Alan slams clubbing forearms repeatedly into the back of WC’s neck, and the scoops him up into his arms before slamming him back to the canvas! Clark turns to face the fans with a ridiculously wide smile on his face, as WC rolls to his feet behind the champion, with an annoyed look on his face, as if to say, ‘oh, it’s gonna be like that, huh, motherfucker?” Clark turns around to face his opponent… BAP! And a hard right jab by the challenger snaps his head back! BAP! BAP! BAP! WC reaches up and snares Alan in a side headlock; the Cruiserweight Champion calls the referee’s attention to WC’s grip, and then reaches up with his free hand and grabs the challenger by the hair! Wildchild’s sudden screaming causes Herrington to look up, but he’s too late to catch anything, seeing only the consternation on the face of the challenger and the eerie smile on the face of the Champion. Clark waits until Herrington is not paying attention and grabs WC by the hair once again, this time backing him against the edge of the ring; Alan uses the ropes to help him launch Wildchild across the ring, and raises his arm to deliver a clothesline as he rebounds, but the Bahama Bomber ducks underneath, racing back across the ring and leaping into the air explosively as he rebounds a second time to knock Clark down with a high cross-body block! ONE! TWO! Clark kicks out at two; he quickly gets to his feet, but the Bahama Bomber hooks his arms underneath his opponent’s, and takes the Champion over with a hiptoss! WC races to the ropes before Clark can get up and dives at him feet-first, knocking him flat on his back with a basement dropkick! Wildchild applies a lateral press: ONE! TWO! Clark kicks out at two, and immediately rolls towards the edge of the ring before WC can pull him back to his feet, sliding underneath the bottom rope to escape his opponent. Fans at ringside start to give the Champion grief, but Clark just looks back at them with that annoyingly imperturbable grin; Clark saunters over towards Reynolds, taking full advantage of the twenty-count. “Clark doesn’t look too eager to get back in the ring,” says Mak. “He’s controlling the pace,” replies King. “He’s reminding Wildchild that he has to beat Alan Clark; Alan Clark doesn’t have to beat him!” Clark milks eighteen seconds out of the twenty-count before returning to the ring apron; he steps back into the ring, but ducks his head between the ropes as soon as Wildchild begins to head towards him, insisting that the referee force him to back away. Finally meets WC in the center of the ring to tie up, but stuns him with an eye rake; he grabs Wildchild by the back of the head and leads him over to the edge of the ring, where he slams the challenger face-first into the top turnbuckle! Clark turns his back to WC and looks out into the crowd, his smile as wide as ever; he turns back towards Wildchild, and the challenger jams a foot into his midsection! The Bahama Bomber then grabs Alan by the back of the head and rams him repeatedly in to the top turnbuckle face-first; the fans count along with the repetitions: ONE! TWO! THREE! FOUR! FIVE! SIX! SEVEN! EIGHT! NINE! TEN! Finally, WC releases Clark, and watches as he staggers backwards before falling flat on his back. The Tropical Tumbler heads out to the apron and quickly climbs to the top turnbuckle, waiting for Alan to get back to his feet before he dives back into the ring, flipping forward before blasting the Champion in the chest with a Shooting Star Missile Dropkick! “That was an explosive dropkick by the challenger!” exclaims Mak, as Wildchild scampers over to apply a lateral press: ONE! TWO! Clark kicks out at two! WC pulls Alan to his feet and takes up position behind him; the Bahama Bomber grabs Clark by the waist and lifts him up off the canvas, dropping him on the top rope! “OOOH!” groans Mak. “That’ll give you negative attitude, and in a hurry!” With Clark still on the top rope, the Tropical Tumbler leaps from the top turnbuckle and lands in a seated position on Alan’s shoulders; he locks his ankles behind Alan’s head and arches his back sharply as he whips Clark off the top rope and back into the ring with a sensational satellite rana! DUB-CEE! DUB-CEE! DUB-CEE! DUB-CEE! “That was a spectacular maneuver by the Wildchild!” exclaims Mak. “I don’t know if I’ve ever seen that move executed quite like that!” “That idiot had better be careful,” warns King. “If he’d missed his mark by even a little bit, he would have knocked Clark outside the ring, which would have been a disqualification!” WC pulls Clark to his feet and quickly knocks him through the ropes and out of the ring with a standing dropkick! He waits for Clark to get to his feet on the apron before suddenly making a mad dash across the ring; the Human Hurricane leaps into the air as he approaches Clark, sailing over his head and grabbing him around the waist as he falls out of the ring… BANG! … Planting the Cruiserweight Champion into the padded arena floor with a devastating Bahama Bomb! DUB-CEE! DUB-CEE! DUB-CEE! DUB-CEE! “Wildchild’s being very aggressive in this match so far, King!” says Mak. “As well he should be,” replies King. “After all, like I said before, he’s got to beat Alan Clark, no the other way around!” Wildchild slides into the ring at around the eight-count, and then climbs onto the top turnbuckle, waving his arms above his head to get the crowd pumped up. “What’s this fool doing?” asks King incredulously. “Is he trying to take the count out? Doesn’t he realize that he doesn’t get the title that way?” Wildchild looks out into the crowd and gives them a primal scream before he leaps from the top rope out of the ring! The Caribbean Cruiser turns a forward flip as he falls from the sky like a shooting star! CRASH! HOLY SHIT! HOLY SHIT! HOLY SHIT! HOLY SHIT! “Oh my God!” screams Mak. “Shooting Star Press from the top rope, all the way to the floor! And with the air he got, that must have been a fifteen-foot drop!” Clark lies motionless, as Wildchild rolls around on the arena floor in pain; Melissa scurries around the ring to check on her man, while Herrington delivers the count to both men: THREE! FOUR! FIVE! “That move has undoubtedly hurt Alan Clark,” says Mak, as Melissa helps Wildchild to his knees, “but you have to wonder how badly it hurt the Wildchild, King; he could have internal bleeding after a move like that!” “They both could,” adds King, “but I’d be more worried about the way that Wildchild’s head bounced off the floor when he hit that splash; I mean, Clark broke his fall, but just barely!” TEN! ELEVEN! TWELVE! “That’s a good point, King,” agrees Mak, as Melissa helps Wildchild rolls Clark underneath the bottom rope. “He DOES look a little woozy over there! But, even then, you see that he still has the presence of mind to make sure that he gets the Champion back in the ring; he doesn’t want to let the count cheat him out of this match!” Wildchild climbs up onto the apron at the count of seventeen; he then heads over to the corner and climbs up to the top turnbuckle, where he dives down into the ring to crash into Clark’s sternum with a suicide headbutt! WC collapses wearily atop Clark: ONE! TWO! THREE! NO! CLARK GETS HIS FOOT ON THE ROPES! “That was a near-miss by Wildchild!” gasps Mak. “I thought he had him!” “That’s not a near-miss, you idiot!” snaps King. “It’s a near-hit… a PINFALL would be a near-miss!” “Be that as it may,” says Mak dismissively, “you’ve got to admit that Wildchild has pulled out all the stops here tonight!” “Well, I said before the match that he was going to have to show me something,” concedes King. “And, if nothing else, he’s definitely shown me that he wants this win!” WC pulls Clark to his feet, but the Champion stuns him with an eye rake; Alan grabs Wildchild by the wrist and whips him hard into the corner. He rushes in to follow up with a clothesline, but the Tropical Tumbler gets his foot up to blast Clark in the mouth! WC climbs up to the top turnbuckle as Alan stumbles away from the corner and leaps fearlessly into the ring, snaring the Champion by the head as he flies by… WHAM! … And smashing him face-first into the canvas with a flying bulldog! The fans cheer excitedly as WC pulls himself to his feet and they cheer him even more loudly as he raises his hands to his mouth: WC: CAW-CAW! Crowd: CAW-CAW! … And gives them a birdcall! The fans come to their feet as Wildchild steps out onto the apron and prepares to climb to the top turnbuckle! “Oh my!” exclaims Mak. “Wildchild has just called for the Bird Dropping! If he hits this, we’ve got a new Cruiserweight Champion!” WC steadies himself on the top turnbuckle before diving down to the canvas… WHAM! … But Clark pulls his knees up at the last split-second, and causes the challenger to basically crotch himself! The crowd groans in a mixture of frustration and sympathy pain! “Yikes,” grimaces Mak. “What impact! I’m glad I’m retired!” “I’m glad you’re retired, too!” quips King. Clark pulls Wildchild to his feet and whips him across the ring, sending him into the opposing corner so hard that he bounces off the turnbuckles like a superball! Alan staggers over towards his opponent and collapses atop him for a cover: ONE! TWO! THR— NO! Wildchild kicks out at two, prompting Clark to immediately apply a reverse chinlock. Alan moves WC around so that he’s facing the center of the ring, and Herrington moves into position to check the challenger’s face. “This may be just the move that Alan Clark needs to take control of this match,” says King. “But you know what I would do?” “Everybody knows what you would do, King,” replies Mak, as Clark surreptitiously positions his feet on the second rope to add pressure to the chinlock, “and I think that Alan Clark has been reading your playbook! Look up, ref!” Wildchild flails his arms and legs about desperately, causing Herrington to look up, but not before Clark has a chance to get his feet off the ropes. The beleaguered official does notice the wavering motion of the ropes, however, and asks the Champion point-blank if he had anything to do with it, but Alan simply glares back with that insufferably eerie grin. “That’s where it’s at right there,” praises King, as Clark slips his feet back onto the second rope. “Give credit to Alan Clark for surviving that offense by the Wildchild, and coming back to take control of this match!” “He deserves all the credit in the world,” replies Mak. “He took one hell of a beating… but aren’t you concerned that he’s wrestling a little conservatively right now?” “Why shouldn’t he wrestle conservatively?” asks King. “What does he have to gain by taking risks? Nothing, that’s what! And he can lose his title, so he’s better off doing what he’s doing! Hell, if I were him, I’d let it go all the way to the time limit!” “King, if you were him, you’d have walked out during instructions and taken the count out!” Herrington finally catches Alan in the act of cheating, and orders him to break the hold, which he does oh-so reluctantly. Wishing to press his advantage, Clark rolls WC on his belly and stands over him; the Champion grapevines his opponent’s legs and then reaches down to grab his arms before falling back in a surfboard! “MEXICO Surfboard!” echoes King. “We could see a submission right here!” “Highly unlikely!” replies Mak. “I don’t think there’s any way Wildchild gives up here tonight!” Herrington asks WC if he wants to submit, but the Bahama Bomber screams his negative reply; instead, he amazingly manages to wriggle his way out of Alan’s relatively loose grip and spins around in midair, crashing into Clark with a short splash! He can’t even hold him down for a one-count, though, as the Champion kicks out immediately; he beats WC to his feet and stuns him with a kick to the midsection before lifting him up onto his shoulders… WHAM! … And driving him down to the canvas with an Alabama Slam! “The Illuminator!” shouts King. “That’ll do it!” Clark applies a lateral press: ONE! TWO! THREE! NO! FOOT ON THE ROPE! Clark’s smile remains ever-present as he pulls Wildchild away from the ropes and applies another lateral press: ONE! TWO! Wildchild kicks out at two! Alan’s smile wavers, but only for a fraction of a second; this time, he reaches over to hook the leg as he tries for the pin again: ONE! TWO! Wildchild kicks out at two! Clark pulls WC up to his feet and scoop him up for a slam, but the Caribbean Cruiser hooks Alan’s legs as he comes down, and pulls the Champion into an inside cradle! ONE! TWO! Clark kicks out at two! He beats Wildchild to his feet and knocks him down with a ferocious Superkick, and then applies another cover: ONE! TWO! Wildchild kicks out at two! Clark argues with the referee about the count, and you can see telltale signs that his eerie façade is beginning to dissolve. “Wildchild is showing tremendous heart!” proclaims Mak. “And I think that he just might be starting to get to Alan Clark; I mean, the Champ has hit a couple of moves where I’m sure he felt like he should have had the win!” Alan pulls Wildchild back to his feet and whips him hard into the corner; he charges in after him and leaps into the air to blast WC with a flying dropkick, flipping off the challenger’s chest to land on his feet for a Kodak Moment… CRACK! … And gets knocked flat on his ass as Wildchild surges explosively out of the corner and blasts him in the mouth with a flying back elbow! “Tremendous determination by the Wildchild!” praises Mak. “He’s taken everything that Clark has thrown at him, and look at him fire back!” Breathing heavily, Wildchild scrambles to his feet and runs to the ropes, but Clark snatches him out of the air as he rebounds… WHAM! … And drives him down into the canvas head-first with a sitout Scoop Slam! Clark holds his shoulders down for a cover: ONE! TWO! THR—NO! Wildchild kicks out! Clark’s smile has completely vanished at this point, as he looks up in what can only be described as disbelief! “Clark is shocked,” says King, “and so am I! Wildchild is reaching back and finding something that I honestly didn’t think he had any more!” “I told you, before, King!” chides Mak. “Alan was wrestling a little too conservatively for my tastes earlier! Instead of wrestling to win, he was wrestling not to lose; like a guy that knows he still has a title in the bank! Now, it’s up to him to match Wildchild’s determination, because the kid’s starting to look like he can’t be stopped tonight!” Clark pulls Wildchild to his feet and traps him in a front-facelock; the Champion pops his hips as he lifts WC into the air, once… twice… and, finally, three times, as he delivers the Three Amigos suplex combination! He then rolls out to the apron and climbs up to the top turnbuckle! “Three O’clock Parade !” calls Mak. “And there’s no telling what Clark could be going for here!” Alan leaps off the top turnbuckle, and pumps his arms and legs together to crash into his opponent with a frog splash! CRASH! … But his opponent rolls out of the way! Wildchild pulls Clark to his feet and knocks him back to the corner with a series of forearms; he grabs Clark by the wrist and whips him across the ring. He races into the corner after him, leaping off the canvas and twisting around in midair to execute his patented Blue Crush splash! CRASH! … But Alan dives out of the way, causing Wildchild to slam face-first into the top turnbuckle! As Wildchild staggers backwards, Alan grabs him by the back of the head and slams him into the canvas with a face-plant bulldog! He immediately follows it up by running towards the edge of the ring, leaping onto the second rope, and flipping backwards to crash into WC with a springboard moonsault! ONE! TWO! THREE! NOTSOFAST! The fans erupt, and Clark’s eyes bulge in exasperation, as his opponent kicks out yet again! “He kicked out!” shouts Mak. “Wildchild refuses to lose!” “I’ll give the kid credit,” concedes King, “the kid will not stay down!” “I think Alan is going to have to try something innovative if he wants to get the win here tonight!” says Mak. Almost as if he were patched into Mak’s headset, Clark drags Wildchild over to the corner and lifts him up into a seated position on the top turnbuckle. “You asked for innovative,” says King, “and Alan gives you innovative!” Clark turns away from Wildchild and climbs backwards up the turnbuckle, pausing to extend his arms in a crucifix pose and smile to the crowd, trying desperately to project the image that he’s still in control: FUCK YOU CLARK! FUCK YOU CLARK! FUCK YOU CLARK! FUCK YOU CLARK! “Look at this!” says King. “Clark looks like he’s calling for Splash Mountain!” Alan sits up on the top turnbuckle and reaches up to grab Wildchild from behind, underneath both arms. He stands up on the middle turnbuckle and lifts Wildchild to his feet from the top turnbuckle. “This is it!” shouts King. “It’s all over!” Clark pushes Wildchild up over his shoulders and heaves him into the ring… WHAM! … BUT THE HUMAN HURRICANE SWINGS ALL THE WAY OVER CLARK’S BODY AND LOCKS BOTH LEGS AROUND HIS NECK AS HE ARCHES INTO THE RING, SLAMMING ALAN ONTO THE CANVAS WITH A DEATH-DEFYING SUPER SPACE RANA! HOLY SHIT! HOLY SHIT! HOLY SHIT! HOLY SHIT! “Oh my God!” exclaims Mak. “He countered that move in midair, into a Hurricanrana!” Wildchild scrambles over to Clark and collapses atop him for a cover. The fans begin chanting along with Herrington’s count for, as everyone has figured out by now: ONE! When it came right down to it, Clark didn’t want to keep the Cruiserweight Title… TWO! … As badly as Wildchild wanted to win it! THREE! DING! DING! DING! YEAAAAAAAAAAH! The fans erupt as “Let’s Get Dirty” begins to play once more! Melissa uncharacteristically slides into the ring and rushes over to her boyfriend to congratulate him! “He’s done it!” shouts Mak. “By God, he’s done it! He has climbed the mountain once again!” Melissa tries to help Wildchild to his feet, but the new Champion collapses to his knees in exhaustion. Herrington retrieves the title belt from Funyon and delivers it to Wildchild, who looks glances back and forth between Melissa and the belt with tears in his eyes. His girlfriend nods in understanding, and the two continue to embrace in the center of the ring. “What a match!” exclaims Mak. “What determination… what heart! Wildchild proved a lot of doubters wrong here tonight, as he becomes only the second three-time Cruiserweight Champion! His long drought is now over!” “Well, he surprised me,” admits King. “I thought that he’d lost it; I thought that he’d peaked too soon, and that he was already starting to decline, but he proved to me that he’s still got it!” “You’re damned right he did!” shouts Mak. “Let’s get the official word!” “Here is your winner,” booms Funyon… “And… NEEEEEW…” YEAAAAAAAAAAH! “… SWF World Cruiserweight Champion… The WIIIIILDCHIIIIILD!” “History has been made here in Baltimore, Maryland!” cries Mak. “We have a brand-new World Cruiserweight Champion! Could lightning strike twice here tonight? Stay tuned, and find out!” Wildchild, who finally appears to have found the strength to get to his feet, staggers over to the edge of the ring, leaning heavily against the ropes; through the sweat and tears running in buckets down his face, he finds the energy to lift his head up high, raising his newly-won title above his head to salute the fans who never doubted him… As we: FADE OUT Edited January 19, 2007 by Ace309 WINNER! Share this post Link to post Share on other sites
Ace309 0 Report post Posted January 19, 2007 FADE IN… The 1st Mariner Arena in Baltimore, Maryland is filled to capacity and the SWF audience is waiting for the last match of the night. The Franchise and The former King of Hearts sit at the booth, ready to call the action. “Welcome back to the flagship show, SWF Storm!” Mak Francis begins. “Tonight’s Main Event has to be something of a shocker, as perennial fan-favorite; Andrew Rickmen made an unbelievable return to the squared circle by defeating the current SWF World Champion, Gabriel Drake!” “The guy was once thought dead and I mean that literally Francis, D-E-A-D… DEAD,” King responds, “but through the flukiest pin this business has ever seen, this jobber is now challenging for the biggest title in the company?! I don’t believe it!” “He felled the champ with not one, but two fisherman’s busters—a move I helped make famous by the way, and then secured the win with a fisherman’s suplex!” The Franchise says with a ghost of a smile. “This wasn’t some cheap roll-up with his feet on the ropes or something-” “-Meh, I’d have more respect for him if he won like that. Insane Luchador won that match because—well, I can’t even give you a reason! But I guarantee you one thing; he won’t be winning this one!” “Say what you will, King, but through his grit, doggedness and determination, IL notched a non-title win against stiff competition.” Mak adds. “Now this time it’s for all the marbles and anything’s possible. That fact got proven when Gabe Drake ended the New Year, after only six months in this federation, the Heavyweight Champion of the World…” As the camera cuts from the announce booth towards the stage, the slow building ‘Man in the Box’ by Alice in Chains begins to play through the PA system. The crowd rises to its feet, jamming along to the guitar riffs grinding up to a climax, until finally black and red pyro explode around the entrance ramp!! A haze falls over the arena, as past the smoke and through the curtain… “YEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHH!” …the Insane Luchador appears! The Smarktron flashes cuts of Luchador’s many crazy dives and hardcore antics, as Andrew Rickmen throws his hands wide embracing the fans, before dashing towards the ring!! Luchador hits ringside and he slides into the ring and rolls up to his feet center stage, awaiting his opponent… “Insane Luchador seems truly ready for this match!” Mak comments. “An SWF veteran, he’s gonna need every single thing he’s picked up in his six years as a pro to defeat the MAN in the Smarkmarks Wrestling Federation… Gabriel Drake.” Suddenly, the Smarktron flares to life, flashes from The Beasts debut vignettes splashing across the screen, as the deliberate strum of ‘The Devil’s Rejects’ begins to build to a crescendo. Gabriel Drake’s two cold hazel eyes stare out from the Smarktron, an amused sneer crossing his face for a second before one hand reaches out and grips presumably the camera. The picture shakes violently, then blurs and cuts to black as the camera is apparently thrown into a wall. Meanwhile, the slow melody continues and the atmosphere is even amplified by the eerie menacing blue light and the flickering of several white strobes cutting across the darkened arena, until finally… “JAAAAAIIIIIL-BIIIIIRD!” …through all the bright lights, glitz and glammer; face framed by his black hair with white highlights… “JAAAAAIIIIIL-BIIIIIRD!” …with the newly won SWF World Title wrapped around his waist… “JAAAAAIIIIIL-BIIIIIRD!” …Gabriel Drake himself appears through the curtain. “I am the bad one… Distant and cruel one… I am the dream that, keeps you running down!” Hearing the opening lyrics of the Rob Zombie song, Drake pauses on the stage for a moment, looking around the arena spotting each and every single fan attempting to taunt him as mercilessly as they can! Gabe smiles wide and then proceeds to saunter down towards ringside. “And speak of the devil…” Mak Francis starts. “The SWF World Heavyweight Champion, Gabriel Drake making his way to ringside and these fans would like nothing more than to see that cocky smirk wiped off his face!” “With distraction… Violent reactions… Scars of my actions, watch me running out!” The Smarktron behind him continues to flash scenes from famous wars and bits of destruction while showing him hitting a Musclebuster on Michael Cross, twisting Akira’s broken body in the Spite and Malice and deforming Landon Maddix’s feature by tossing him into a Steel Cage interspersed… “HELL DOESN’T WANT THEM! HELL DOESN’T NEED THEM! HELL DOESN’T LOVE THEM!” …Until a final picture of the newly infamous leap off the second rope with Michael Stephens in tow, compacting his jaw with a sickening Mark of the Beast! “And I bet you think this chump he’s about to face can do it?” King asks, before laughing. “This match will prove beyond a shadow of a doubt that Gabe is the only man in that ring worthy of being SWF World Champ!” Now at ringside, Drake gets to the ring steps and bounces on his toes before high stepping up the stairs and onto the apron! Walking to the center, he brings his hands down to frame the World Title on his waist and leans back, living in the moment! “The Devil's Rejects… The Devil’s Rejects…” The music slowly begins to fade, as Gabe wipes his feet before swinging his legs through the ropes. Eying up his opponent, Drake walks to the middle of the ring and looks down at the somewhat smaller man who has not backed down at all. The crowd lets their voice be heard: “LET’S GO I-L!” *clap-clap-clapclapclap!* “LET’S GO I-L!” *clap-clap-clapclapclap!* “LET’S GO I-L!” *clap-clap-clapclapclap!* Taking off his belt, Drake hands over the strap to Senior Referee Matthew Kivell, who raises it high in the air for all to see, giving Funyon his cue… “Ladies and Gentlemen, this your Main Event!” Funyon bellows. “The following contest is scheduled for one fall and is for the Smartmarks Wrestling Federation Heavyweight Championship of the WOOOOORRLLLDDDDDDD!” “YEEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!” Funyon takes a breath and looks to his left. “Introducing first, in the corner to my left!” He begins. “In the khaki trunks! He is the challenger; from Easton, Pennsylvania, weighing in tonight at two hundred and twenty-three pounds! This is ‘YOUR Psychotic Hero’, the IN-SAAAANNNNNEEEEEE… LUCH-AH-DOOOOOOOOOORRRRRRRRRR!” “YEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHH!” “And his opponent, in the corner to my right!” Funyon turns to face Drake. “In the red trunks with black trim! He is the champion; from Athens, Georgia, weighing in tonight at two hundred and fifty-eight pounds! He is the NEEEEEEW… SWF World Heavyweight Champion! This is the ‘BEAST’, GAAAAAAB-RI-EELLLLLL… DRRRRRAAAAAAAAAAKKKKKKKKKEEEEEEEE!” “BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!” Kivell sends both men back to their respective corners, as Funyon exits the ring. Luchador lowers his head to the top turnbuckle and executes a quick north-south-east-west with his hands, preparing for the match of his life. Gabriel Drake on the other hand steamrolls ahead, arms raised for a double axe handle from behind just before Kivell can ask for the bell… *DING! DING! DING!* …but he misses!! “Drake trying to get the jump on IL,” Francis starts, as Luchador slides to the side and Drake hits nothing but turnbuckles, “but the challenger was wise to—Rickmen with an inside cradle!” Momentarily thrown off by IL’s dodge, Gabe seems wonders why he’s falling back to the canvas as Rickmen pulls him down in a school boy! Even Kivell is a little shocked but hits the mat to count anyway… ONE! TWO! …but only two! Drake bursts off his shoulders and then they break apart recovering to their feet! “Bet you didn’t see that coming, King,” Mak states spotting his partners shocked expression, “but apparently IL did, spotting Drake out of the corner of his eye!” “At least Rickmen has the common sense to realize he can’t beat Drake without a fluke pin this time.” As soon as Gabriel makes it to his feet he sees the Insane Luchador already standing center ring, almost as if he’s egging him on! “You may call them fluke pins, but roll-ups are just as legit as any other pinfall, submission or wrestling maneuver-” Charging full speed ahead, the rookie World Champion plays directly into the hands of the veteran challenger who dips low, shooting a double leg and suddenly Drake finds himself on the mat once again!! “-hey, IL with a jack-knife pin this time!” Francis calls, as IL somersaults overtop the downed Beast and lands with him weight across the champion’s body, while Kivell moves in to count… ONE! TWO! …but no further once again! The Beast throws a closed fist into the ribcage of his opponent, shoving him out of the bridge! “IL just suckered Drake into another pinning predicament and if Luchador can he’ll end it as soon as humanly possible because the longer this thing goes the more likely the champion will either overpower or outlast him. Even though he did get the upset last week people may forgot this’ll only be his second match back in the fed.” “You forgot to mention outwrestle, Francis.” King notes. “Gabe is clearly the better ring technician of the two and no amount of hyperbole from you will change that! Cream always rises to the top and it doesn’t get any higher than the SWF World Heavyweight Champion!” “RRRRRRRGGGGGGGAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHH!” Drake lets out a primal scream and is the first to his feet, incensed that Luchador has put him on the mat, not once but twice in a row! Unthinkingly charging ahead, considering his last two attempts, Gabe bull rushes forward and the Ill One has him scouted, sliding behind him and up into the air, hanging from his arms and using all two hundred twenty-three pounds to drag Drake down in a, irony or ironies, crucifix pin! ONE! TWO! TH- -but Drake rolls off his shoulders! “Another one! This is getting ridiculous!” King whines as Drake beats IL, who is breathing a little harder to his feet again. “He needs to try something else, cause Drake’s no dummy and all that these weak pin attempts are doing is pissing him off even more than he already was! Now when he catches him, instead of just getting beat, Rickmen will wish he laid down from the start!” The Beast stands irate at what’s occurring, but he’s finally realized what’s happening and noticed the pattern… going for another charge, Drake gives up his right arm like he’s about to attempt a clothesline and IL takes the bait, hooking appendages with the World Champ and attempting to pull him down in a backslide pin, but this time Gabe is wise to the challengers game and is much too strong to be leveraged over when he sees it coming! Luchador continues to strain against the larger and much more powerful man, attempting to fall to his knees and get the pin, but Drake unhooks his right limb and then spin, yanking the psychotic hero into a crisp clothesline!! *WHAM!* “IL went to the well once to often and Gabriel Drake made him pay.” Mak calls after watching the scene. “I wouldn’t be surprised if the champion knew he would go for a backslide in that position.” “Of course he knew, Francis!” King crows. “That looked like a calculated move to me if I ever saw one! He practically fed Rickmen his arm!” Now officially in control, the Beast stands overtop his opponent’s hunched form still holding his hand and toes him in the side of the head! Gabe smirks and stomps down on IL’s free hand as the challenger attempts to rise to his feet! The Insane Luchador shakes out his tender fingers while the World Champ lifts him up and snitches in a side headlock. The fans, as expected don’t like that one bit: “BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!” Drake just smiles at the crowd, content to hear their jeers and maintain control of his opponent. Besides, he’s got a plan for this particular side headlock! “Drake going to a side headlock of all things and with how upset he was earlier, his sudden change in attitude is surprising.” As the Beast grinds in the hold, wrenching IL’s neck while he wrings his arms around the challenger’s head, Rickmen slowly backs them into the nearest set of cables and attempts to make Drake run the ropes, but Gabe is still holding tight and pulls the Insane One back to center ring! “Uh-uh-uh!” Drake shouts. “We’re not done yet!” Just standing there for a moment, basking in his plan, Drake shakes his head to let everyone know more is coming. Flipping Luchador over to his back in a side headlock takedown, the Beast pushes IL’s shoulders to the mat, as Kivell jumps down… ONE! …but only receives a one count with IL immediately lifting his far shoulder up! Gabe seems quite relaxed as the Ill One attempts to move into a countering position. Having gotten there, IL flashes his leg up for a head-scissors, but the Beast just casually swats his foot away and shakes his head. Luchador flings his leg up again, but it’s just more of the same, as Drake bats the limb away like a cat playing with a mouse! “You can’t wrestle! I’m a fuckin’ wrestler!” Tired off having to use his other arm, Gabe leans forward away from the possible counter, so the challenger is forced to shuffle on the ground and slowly lift them both up to their feet. Increasing the pressure on the head of the Ill One, Gabriel Drake grinds so hard that he falls back to a knee! “If you could wrestle then you’d get out of this hold!” “This is classic, Francis!” King exclaims gleefully. “Not only is he bad mouthing him, but he’s doing it while using one of the most simplistic holds in his repertoire!” The crowd seems to catch on to IL’s situation and cheer the challenger on as he attempts to get free of the side headlock: “LET’S GO I-L!” *clap-clap-clapclapclap!* “LET’S GO I-L!” *clap-clap-clapclapclap!* “LET’S GO I-L!” *clap-clap-clapclapclap!* Andrew Rickmen feeds of the audience as they stomp and clap along with the rhythmic chant, getting up to his feet and elbowing Drake in the gut! Then twice! Then three times! Turning into the Beast, IL lands a punch to the Champ’s gut! And another! And one more finally frees him from Gabe’s grasp! “YEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHH!” ...but as he takes off Drake grabs at his hair yanking IL back into the side headlock! “BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!” “Not quite! Your not fuckin’ going anywhere!” Drake shouts. “And I’m not doing anything else until you prove you can wrestle!” “HAH!” King cries out. “He’s giving Rickmen a little wrestling 101! I’ll bet he learns how to escape a side headlock after being embarrassed like this!” “I’ve seen Tom Flesher use this same ploy a few times as well, though a little less vulgarly.” Mak answers, as Kivell gets on Drake for grabbing the hair counting to four. “He used a hair pull, which is illegal by the way and Kivell is going to break the hold instead of giving him a warning, because Drake needs to be taken down a peg!” “Rickmen still didn’t break the hold did he?” ‘ONE!’ ‘TWO!’ “He has to get Kivell to do his dirty work for him!” ‘THREE!’ ‘FOUR!’ Finally, Drake shoves IL away at the behest of Kivell. The Insane One rubs the side of his head, fuming at the lack of respect, but gets a chance to redeem himself as Gabe challenges him point towards the far ropes! “Is he telling him to run the ropes for a shoulder block, King…?” IL, having his pride hurt by Drake’s recent mistreatment takes off for the cables and rebounds back… but he just bounces off of Drake’s body! Gabe just brushes some imaginary dirt off his shoulder, so Luchador backpedals into the ropes again, getting another full head of steam and tries it again, shoving his body into the Beast’s once again to no avail!! Rickmen, having been bested once again shouts at Drake to prove he can do it! Gabe is up for the challenge and rebounds off the ropes, not really thinking about the consequences of his actions and when he returns realizes that Luchador has set him up! IL pushes through his shoot and double legs Drake down shouldering the World Champ into the canvas!! “Mind games work both ways and now IL is on top and pounding away on the champion!” Currently, Rickmen sits in a mount- *BAM!* *BAM!* *BAM!* *BAM!* *BAM!* *BAM!* -driving his fist repeatedly through Drake’s attempt at a half-guard! Gabe slides off his side and finally shrugs the Insane Luchador off him, then attempts to get back to his feet! Drake isn’t ready for Rickmen’s fist- *BAM!* -that catches him right on the chin! Staggered for only a moment, Drake fires right back with a- *WHAM!* -stinging right-hand of his own! Now standing toe-to-toe, Insane Luchador and Gabriel Drake decide it’s officially time to throw down!! *BAM!* *WHAM!* “This is like a heavyweight title fight, King!” Francis states, causing Applewhite to give him a look. “Well, it is a heavyweight title fight…” King retorts snarkily, leaving Mak muttering about him meaning in boxing. *BAM!* *WHAM!* *BAM!* *WHAM!* *BAM!* *WHAM!* *BAM!* After the last punch from IL, the Beast reaches behind the Luchador’s head and ties him up in a Muay Thai clinch- *CRACK!* -and cracks him in the face with a sharp knee! Luchador feels the second knee coming and grabs a clinch of his own to protect, shielding his side with a raised knee! Placing that one on the ground IL fires a knee of his own into Drake’s body- *CRACK!* -landing a clean blow! The two men battle from the clinch, each deflecting knees while moving back and forth in the ring, someone hoping to gain some sort of an advantage! *CRACK!* *CRACK!* *CRACK!* *CRACK!* *CRACK!* Until one blow sneaks through from Insane Luchador, stunning the World Champion by catching him flush in the ribcage taking his wind! Yanking Gabe down from the clinch into a front headlock, Rickmen grabs hold of his tights and lifts, impacting his cranium into the canvas by way of an implant DDT!! IL flips the Beast over and then covers, hooking the leg as Kivell counts… ONE! TWO! THR- -but he only get two and a half, as Drake kicks out! “Concussion on Delivery from the Insane One!” Mak calls, as IL rolls to his feet. “He’s going after the head and neck like in their match last week, but he could be about to end it early!” As Gabe attempts to get to his feet, IL slides his arms around Drake’s clasping them together in a full nelson! The crowd rises to its feet, cheering loudly as they all know what the vet is planning! Looking to run to the ropes, Luchador gets ready to take off, but his hands begin pull apart… he looks around in shock, as his arms begin to quake under the new pressure being exerted upon them!! “Drake’s fighting!” Mak calls shocked by the display. “This is an unbelievable show of pure power to break a mans grip!” IL tries his hardest but his arm succumbs to the power of the Beast, who slams his head back into the Ill One’s face, cracking him in the nose! IL cringes, concentration momentarily seized by the pain and in that second Drake reaches back hooking Rickmen into a facelock, hoisting the World Champ onto his shoulders like a backpack!!! Gabe smiles, this match is all but over now. He’s messed around and proven that Rickmen isn’t on his level but now it’s time to go home. Suddenly Drake finds that instead of having a limp body on his back IL’s legs have locked around his waist and his opponent’s right arm has formed a tight seal around his throat. Panic is the first thing to come as his airway begins to be constricted… “A Rear Naked Choke!” Mak shouts. “Gabriel Drake gave up his back when his opponent wasn’t incapacitated enough and now he’s in some serious trouble! That’s the main problem with his devastating Cradle Stunner!” The Luchador sits on Drake’s back, trying to make the champion fall backwards, but Drake takes a slow step ahead. And another step and another, making his way towards the corner! “He’s carrying him on his back!” King shouts. “He didn’t let Toxxic beat him with this hold so what makes you think he’d go down to the Insane Luchador of all people!” Turning backwards, Gabriel uses his momentum to slam the challenger on his back into the corner, but IL holds on like a petulant child with a toy hoping to end this match right now! “Drake looks out on his feet!” Mak calls, as Gabe’s head dips and shoots back up while he seemingly blinks in and out of consciousness. “We may have a NEW CHAMPION!” His visions getting fuzzy and Drake nearly passed out on his feet, tumbles back into the corner one last time, crushing him against the turnbuckles and luckily for him, breaking the hold! IL hits the back of his neck on the buckle feeling a stinger shoot through his left arm as he lands on the canvas! Meanwhile, the Beast stumbles away from his challenger and holding his throat plows into Insane Luchador, crushing him in the corner with a deep shoulder thrust! Trying to regain his wind now that he has IL stunned, Gabe lowers his head and deliberately drives another shoulder into Rickmen’s gut! Finally feeling a little better, Drake picks up the pace, implanting another shoulder… and another… and another, lifting the challenger off his feet! Shifting the psychotic hero up to the top rope, Gabe backs away and the Ill One is easy pickings as Drake jumps- THWACK! DAAAAAAAAAAAAMN! -and pretty much DEMOLISHES Rickmen with a leaping palm strike!! The audience even substitutes a shocked sound for the commonly used chant! Hopping up onto the second rope, Gabe hooks IL and then, throws his arm off, wagging his finger as he goes all the way up to the top rope… “This is definitely gonna’ hurt…” Mak winces, sure of his words as Gabe picks IL up to his feet and they both now stand on the top rope, before Drake leverages them both up and over so that they collide with the canvas in a certified train wreck!!!!! *BANG!* “A TOP ROPE Superplex, Francis!” King crows, as both men lay in the ring a mass of humanity. “Not just a suplex, or even a superplex, but a TOP ROPE SUPERPLEX!” As Kivell checks on the two men who just lay there for a few seconds, Drake slowly floats over looking for a lateral press… “SMALL PACKAGE BY IL!” …but IL manages to lifts his legs, lacing them with Gabriel’s in a small package!!!! ONE! TWO! “He’s got him!” THREE- -Nope, Drake breaks free at the last second!!! Both men fall away from each other still feeling the effects of the Top rope superplex, but wanting to be the first man to their feet! “IL caught Drake in a cocky moment as he floated over, but the Champ somehow found a way to kick out!” The Franchise says, as the crowd begins to chant, hoping to rally IL one more time: “LET’S GO I-L!” *clap-clap-clapclapclap!* “LET’S GO I-L!” *clap-clap-clapclapclap!* “LET’S GO I-L!” *clap-clap-clapclapclap!* Struggling to their feet, Gabe and IL both fall back into their respective ropes and tumble forward towards center ring, but Drake is the first one to realize this and smashes IL with his patented Shotgun Lariat- *WHAAAAAAM!* -flipping him inside out!!!!! Standing over the downed IL, Gabriel Drake steps onto the chest of his opponent in another arrogant cover!! “BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!” ONE! TWO! …but only two as IL won’t go down to that weak cover, even after being murdered! Having his foot shrugged off, Drake slowly walks over to the corner directly behind his opponent and knees down, awaiting IL’s attempt to rise! Mak calls the scene… “Well, he couldn’t put him down with that lax cover and almost lost the match a few seconds ago… you’d think there’d be a sense of urgency, but Drake’s been like this all match.” “He’s going to crack his ribs with a Spear, Francis, what more do you want?!” “Some respect for people who’ve been busting their asses in this business for years. Just because he won the title doesn’t give him the right to act like everything revolves around him!” Drake sits in the neutral corner stalking Luchador as he pushes himself up to his hands and knees, then up to his vertical base and takes off diving into the Insane One- *WHAAAAAAAM!* -just as he turns around with a Spear!!! Falling back across IL’s body raises his hand and counts along with Kivell… ONE! TWO! THREE- -but IL fights a shoulder into the air through another lax cover! Drake stares a hole into Senior Referee Matthew Kivell and then gets to his feet moving over to the other corner. Once again Rickmen shows his determination, trying to rise to his feet, but Gabe doesn’t even wait until he gets all the way to his feet- *BAAAAAAAAM!* -slicing him in half with another sickening Spear! ONE! TWO! THREE! “KICKOUT!” Mak and King scream as one. “He kicked out! Unbelievable!” Drake claps his hands together three times angrily and goes for a more serious cover hooking the leg and head! ONE! TWO! …but IL kicks out again! Gabe seems furious as he grabs at Luchador’s legs and yanks them over stacking the Ill One onto his shoulders as much as possible, before Kivell counts again!! ONE! TWO! …but the Insane One pushes up off his shoulders!! “I tell you what… I know IL’s one tough son-of-a-bitch but even I didn’t expect this much fight!” Mak says shaking his head. “He has frustrated the World Champ to no end, but it doesn’t look good for him now…” Through playing games Drake lifts Luchador off the canvas and- *SMACK!* *SMACK!* -lands to shoteis to the gut! Then rears back and- *THWAP!* *THWAP!* -lands to palm strikes to the face!! Spinning backward, Gabe lashes out- *THWACK!* -cracking IL across the face with a spinning back fists to the mush! Lifting his leg up into the air Drake swings his foot up into the side of the Luchador’s face with a nasty high kick that hits the mark!!! *THWAAAACK!* Gabe grabs the staggering IL and shoves him into a standing head-scissors. IL, truly having been knocked loopy by the last move, has no fight left in him as he’s dragged up into the air with Gabe’s hands on his back holding him up only to send him right back down!! *BANG!* The Powerbomb hits with a dull thud, but Drake hoists against with a deep knee bend, dropping IL’s on his battered body in a second Powerbomb!! *BANG!* Letting Rickmen crumple to the canvas, Drake steps away and looks out at the crowd who is booing him mercilessly. Pushing some hair out of his cold eyes, the Beast falls into a lateral press and nods his head, sure it’s over… “If that’s not it I don’t know what is…” ONE! TWO! THREE! YES! AND BY YES I MEAN YES HE GOT THE SHOULDER UP! “SLOW COUNT!” King bellows clearly upset, while the Beast who’s more than upset stalks over to the referee, Matthew Kivell and shouts in his face losing his cool! Pointing his finger in Kivell’s face, Drake curses him out as IL sits on the mat looking out cold… “This is a rookie mistake! He needs to finish off IL and worry about the ref after the match is done!” “Well the match should be done, damnit that was a slow count!” Finally done arguing with the ref, Drake walks over and grabs IL by the face, then smacks the Ill One around a bit, paint brushing him across the face with slap, after slap, after slap… when suddenly Luchador rolls with the strike and spins around hitting a spinning backfist! Then IL follows up with a kesagiri chop to the neck and an elbow smash to the face! The adrenaline flowing, Drake takes another kesagiri chop to the neck and then flashes out his right leg, kicking Gabe in the quad two times, throwing him off balance, before spinning into a back kick to the gut! Having doubled him over IL yanks Drake’s face into flying knee and then Luchador hooks him in a front facelock to lift him vertical for the Fisherman’s Buster but he can’t get him up with the pain in his ribcage, so he kinda rolls backward into a Fisherman’s suplex bridging up and putting an immense strain on his body… ONE! TWO! THREE! …but Drake kicks out in time! Realizing he can’t lift Drake, IL stumbles through the ropes and climbs up to the top of the turnbuckles, knowing he has one shot at catching Drake by surprise! Gabe rises to his feet, turning around and spots a flying Insane Luchador, who soars through the air for the first time in the match going for… And hitting a top rope cross-body!!!! ONE… …but suddenly Gabe rolls through, using IL’s momentum to slides to his feet! Positioning the Insane One onto his shoulder in a fireman’s carry Drake snarls as he runs in a circle and then flings Rickmen off his back jaw first into a sickening stunner!!!!! Crawling over to IL, Drake covers… “He could have a ten count and not get up from that!” ONE! “I’m telling you Mak, Drake put some stink on that one!” TWO! “Rickmen’s dead for real this time!” THREE! *DING! DING! DING!* “And that’s all she wrote!” King crows, as Funyon gets on the mic. “The winner of the match… and STILL your SWF World Heavyweight Champion… the ‘BEAST’, GAAAAAAB-RI-EELLLLLL… DRRRRRAAAAAAAAAAKKKKKKKKKEEEEEEEE!” Kivell receives the title belt from the time keepers table and slides back into the ring. Handing the strap over to the now reigning and defending champion, Matthew raises the winner’s hand! “That was one hell of a match folks, but in the end the Beast reigns supreme!” Mak says, as Drake raises his title belt high. “His first title defense is a successful one and he’s still officially the man!” As We: FADE… ©2007 Smartmarks Wrestling Federation A Superior One Production Raising Workrate by getting the matches in almost on time… Share this post Link to post Share on other sites
