SWF ALL HALLOWS

[King Cucaracha 0]

And as the camera fades in to herald yet another landmark SWF broadcast (landmark in the fact that there -is- another SWF broadcast), the Galen Center crowd responds in earnest... Mostly college students with an excuse to dress up all zany...

 

Oh wait...

 

That's most every day.

 

Nevermind.

 

But be that as it may, the camera pans the 'intimate' crowd of the setting... All manners of ghouls, goblins, devils and angels, and hobos greets our eyes from the throng.

 

And when I say hobos, I mean starving college students that just got out of class, trying to get by.

 

And as the camera pans the crowd with the normal array of signs... "Will Trade Merchandise For Title"... Okay, not so normal... And almost smart... "So easy, a Caveman could do it!" More along the 'normal' lines... Unimaginative, but appropo.

 

"QMM = An Octopus"

 

Now we're just losing our minds.

 

The camera swivels down to floor level and near the announce table (not a far jaunt at all) as...

 

"It's late night on Halloween... Do you know where your kids are?" The camera pans to reveal "The Franchise" Mak Francis and The Suicide King perched in their normal wear, in their normal places at their normal table.

 

So normal, save for the screaming mob behind them scratching and pawing each other for face time.

 

Or maybe that -is- normal after all.

 

"Well if they had good parents," King picks up where Mak left off, "They'd be here at USC and spending good money to watch our show!"

 

"Uhm... Not sure that was what I was going after," Mak murmurs over the crowd, "But it -is- true.,. We're here on the USC campus... The Galen Center... Looking to cause a little mayhem on All Hallows Eve! I'm 'The Franchise' Mak Francis, and with me THE Suicide King..."

 

"Like we need introductions, Mak."

 

"Hey, there could be new folks in the audience. It's entirely possible. But as is, here we are, and we've got quite the show for you tonight..."

 

"It's the best we could do with tight purse strings," King whispers sarcastically.

 

"That's your opinion... And sadly, you're entitled to it. But tonight, we have not one, but TWO tag matches with respect riding on the line, and one is for the SWF Tag Team titles!"

 

"Wild and Dangerous were paper champions, Mak... Pure and simple. Rev-Zero has proven it once... And they'll prove it again tonight! And as for the other match... I think that even -we- can agree that 'The Superior One' has a decisive advantage." Mak nods slightly.

 

"We agree to disagree 99% of the time, but this time you're right... Chris Raynor had the short pull here as he was forced to trade now-Commish Landon Maddix for an unknown, and possibly unproven, partner against The Superior One and The Fabulous Jakey. The Rayn Man is going to have a rough go of it tonight."

 

"Damn right he is," King adds. "I saw his partner... I can tell you Raynor won't be pleased... Probably won't be helped much either." Mak's eyes light up in surprise but any questions he was going to pose were pre-empted...

 

"Why are you scared?

What have you seen?

In the castle with the silent roses...

I ask again and again"

The crowd jumps into a chorus of boos as the Zippo-wielding Canuck strides confidently to the ring. As he approaches, the ever-present Funyon is there...

 

"Ladies and gentlemen, the first contest is scheduled for one fall... Making his way to the ring, weighing in at 205 pounds... He is... Craig... MC... LLLLLENNNNNNNNNNANNNNN!!!" The crowd continues their raucous dislike of McLennan as he deposits his Zippo and vaults himself backwards and over the ropes into the squared circle. He walks around the ring in wait, shooting a look at the venomous crowd that says, "I could give a care what you people think, eh!"

 

"I think this is going to be an easy win for Craig, Mak."

 

"I'd have to disagree about how easy it will be, King... I mean... Yes, his opponent's been out over a year... But he's a 2-time Hardcore Gamer's Champ... He's held Tag gold. And even though he was with one of the most evil organizations at the time, he did win the European Title back in the day. Chris Fury is no slouch."

 

"But a year off is a year off, Mak. Plus I heard he had only 2 days to prepare." Again, Mak's response is pre-empted.

 

"And his opponent... Hailing from Tacoma, Washington... Weighing in at 232 pounds... CHRISSSSSTIANNNNN... FUUUUURYYYYY!!!" The crowd has heard a bit about this guy, and gives him his due as the antithesis to McLennan... A good pop as the red-haired, ponytailed man makes his way to the ring. No music, no pyro, no pomp.

 

"Wow... I guess he did have very little time to prepare... No intro music? This is the suck."

 

"It's rather old-school, King... But you're right. Seems like Fury's return may have been rushed for the sake of crowd and ratings?" Fury slides into the ring, eyeing his opposition in a bit of wariness as Funyon makes his way out... And...

 

DING!

 

DING!!

 

DING!!!

 

McLennan slouches down into a hunch, grinning slowly at the cagey veteran... Whom adopts his own karate-like stance, a look of indifference on his face.

 

"What are we, at a kung-fu-off?"

 

"That was terrible, King. Even for you." The vet reaches over, attempting to lock hands with McLennan, who is more than happy to oblige. But Craig's next move is telegraphed too easy it seems as Fury leans back on his heels, McLennan's attempted whip aborted before it can even get started. Fury responds, pulling hard and sending the Canuck into a whip of his own, bounding him off the ropes...

 

And somehow completely whiffing on a wound-up Polish Hammer! We can hear King laughing as McLennan slides back to a stand from the mat, having neatly slid under Fury's swing...

 

And rewarding Chris for his attempt with a uniquely-stiff standing dropkick! The crowd lashes out their anger as the impact drives Fury back, nearly to a knee.

 

During his best times, Fury might've not been overly phazed by something like that.

 

But this is really not the best time for him.

 

"That standing kick staggered Fury pretty heavily!" Mak blurts as Fury manages up to his feet. "It's becoming quickly apparent that he's not prepared for this right now."

 

"You need to credit McLennan, Mak... He probably had the same time to prep, but is looking to take his opponent apart!" And indeed, Craig is pressing the advantage as he get Fury slung across the ring this time... But Fury comes rebounding with a clothesline cocked and ready...

 

And McLennan ducks the telegraphed attack easily, sending Fury into the near ropes...

 

And...

 

**WHUMPH!!!**

 

BOOOOOOOOOO!!!

 

"Fury taken down by McLennan and that Japanese Arm Drag! This is unreal that he's taking the veteran apart like this so far!"

 

"Unreal nothing... It's fantastic, Mak!" McLennan back to his feet now, admiring the hostile crowd for a moment... He grins maniacally before leaping backwards and flipping through the air...

 

BOOOOOMPH!!!

 

YYYYYEEEEEAAAAAHHHHH!!!!!

 

... But the Senton hits nothing but mat as Fury had rolled out of the way, back to one knee, looking... A little perplexed and stunned.

 

"Fury got out of the way of that one, King!"

 

"Luck... Dumb, dumb luck... He's looked terrible otherwise..." Fury comes back towards McLennan, wanting to ground this speedster a bit, but is waylayed by a quick kip-up and shotei strike to the head by Craig. The crowd hisses its disapproval as McLennan follows the off-kilter Fury around a moment, then backs off...

 

"What's he doing?" The question from "The Franchise" seems reflected in the crowd demeanor.

 

That is, until Fury turns around.

 

With a couple of steps, McLennan's got a head of steam, and flings himself at Fury, achieving a horizontal state, and...

 

**WHAM!!!**

 

... Planting him to the mat with a wicked crossbody! A hook of the leg, and the ref is down...

 

ONE!

 

T... And suddenly McLennan finds himself flying against his will as Fury shows a bit of strength breaking the pin.

 

"A not-so-nearfall," Mak shouts over the relieved but stressed cheering of the crowd, "But it's apparent that Fury is -not- in form."

 

"While McLennan's not someone that could take out a man like The Superior One... Or even myself... He's taking advantage right now."

 

"That he is, King..." McLennan is a squeak quicker to his feet than Fury, and takes advantage of the slight lag in Fury's recovery to launch a roundhouse at Chris' head...

 

YYYYYEEEEEAAAAAHHHHH!!!!!

 

... But Fury was awares enough to catch the oncoming boot. A grimace crosses his features, evidence that the kick would've done some damage. But hesitation is not good for Fury, and is perfect for McLennan as...

 

SSSSSCHWACK!!!

 

BBBBBOOOOOOOOOO!!!

 

... He lances around, felling Fury hard to the mat with a 'desperation' Enzuigiri!

 

"Fury to the mat again!" Mak calls as McLennan hooks the leg once more...

 

ONE!

 

TW... And a power-out by Fury.

 

"McLennan is having his way with offense here."

 

"Not that he's a great wrestler, but... Hey! A win's a win, right Mak?"

 

"I suppose so, King... But the way he's handling Fury is... Disturbing." Fury finds his way to his feet, looking into the eyes of his opponent, Craig McLennan... He throws a quick jab, or rather, feints... McLennan darts out of the way, crouching down once more, seeming to have no issues with Fury swinging at air.

 

"Fury trying to figure out this speedster McLennan, King..." As Fury moves to grapple, McLennan moving out of reach...

 

"That's the problem," King responds as Fury tries to charge McLennan... Who sidesteps and laces his arms around Fury's midsection... Pulling hard...

 

And under normal circumstances, Fury could probably reverse this as he out-strengths and out-weighs McLennan, but Fury's head isn't on straight with so little time...

 

**WHAM!!!**

 

BBBBBOOOOOOOOOO!!!

 

... And it's on even less straight as McLennan plants him hard with the German Suplex... Holding it there as the ref drops once more...

 

ONE!

 

TWO!!... And Fury manages to get the shoulder up.

 

"God Fury looks like Hell out there!" King exclaims as McLennan helps Fury knock the cobwebs loose with a swift kick to the chest...

 

"I have to agree King," Mak intones as another kick meets Fury's face, "Fury is wholly underwhelming, and McLennan is taking full advantage!" The aforementioned McLennan knocks Fury back with another stiff kick to the chest, but as he goes for another headshot...

 

Fury ducks it! The delight of the crowd is audible as Fury finally mounts an attack with a...

 

SMACK!

 

WOOOOO!!!

 

slap across the chest...

 

SMACK!

 

WOOOOO!!!

 

And another...

 

SMACK!

 

WOOOOO!!!

 

And ANOTHER...

 

SMACK!

 

WOOOOO!!!

 

Driving McLennan back...

 

SMACK!

 

WOOOOO!!!

 

Towards the ropes!

 

"Fury finally showing a little fight!" Mak shouts as Fury entangles with McLennan, and drops him into the ropes with a Reverse Russian legsweep!

 

"There's no way," King responds, despondent, "NO WAY that Fury's going to pull this... What's he doing?!?!" Fury stares at the prone form of McLennan in the ropes, near-desperation in his eyes, then runs for the far ropes, rebounding...

 

"He can't be serious..." But Fury shows the seriousness he has for his course of action as he leaps through the bottom 2 ropes...

 

Grabbing hold...

 

Coming around...

 

Kicking out...

 

BBBBBOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!

 

Into nothing! McLennan makes it back to his feet as Fury shoots through the ropes, sprawling a bit as he tries to regain himself after that move.

 

"Fury tried for one of his old finishers," Mak yelps as Fury tries to take a page from McLennan's book, lacing a kick at his opponent's head, but McLennan dodges.

 

"He tried," King follows as Fury tries to follow up, "but failed to execute the 'Dead Man's Curve'... Nice scouting by McLennan!" Fury tries one more kick to the head of McLennan, and Craig once more ducks...

 

But Fury was waiitng for it as he switches directions and heights, going low and sweeping out McLennan's legs out from under him!

 

YYYYYEEEEEAAAAAHHHHH!!!!!

 

"An actual piece of sneak and technical wrestling from our returner," Mak states as Fury clambors up the turnbuckles, looking to press his momentary advantage hard and fast...

 

"And he's about to spoil it here, Mak!" And as Fury leaps down with elbow extended...

 

***WHAMPH!!!***

 

BBBBBOOOOOOOOOO!!!

 

... The moment was indeed spoiled by a convenient roll by McLennan, who is back to a stand.

 

With Fury not far behind, but wincing after that botched maneuver. McLennan launches himself once more, trying to get Fury pinned down with another crossbody...

 

... But comes up with air as Fury dives under the attack! The fans are huts as McLennan recovers himself after a moment, turning around...

 

YYYYYEEEEEAAAAAHHHHH!!!!!

 

... And getting greeted with a kick to the gut!

 

"Fury can't be..."

 

"He is, King!" Fury quickly wraps around, jamming McLennan in the 3/4 headlock, kneeling down quick, letting jaw meet shoulder, standing up...

 

"He's going for the 'Lightning And'... No!" Mak's exclamation is mirrored by the disappointment of the crowd as McLennan counters the secondary Stunner with a well'placed kick to the back of the knee! Fury comes down, the hold a lot looser than the usual, and thusly a lot less hurting to McLennan, who staggers out stunned (no pun intended... Or maybe...), but not overly harmed.

 

Fury, slow to his feet, tries to push the issue, charging McLennan again, but Craig rears back with a standing dropkick that sounds like a small explosive going off in the arena...

 

YYYYYEEEEEAAAAAHHHHH!!!!!

 

... But Fury is only staggered, not dropped.

 

"Fury starting to lose some of the ring-rust..."

 

"But not enough," screams King as McLennan slips close in the slight pause in Fury's rush, using what little momentum was left over to slap on a facelock, lifting Fury...

 

On...

 

Up...

 

And...

 

***WHAMMMMMM!!!***

 

BBBBBOOOOOOOOOO!!!

 

... Sits out, pushing Fury forward in a nasty-looking slam!

 

"Orange Crush!" King squeals. "He hit the Orange Crush on Fury!" McLennan keeps his hold on Fury as the ref dives to the mat...

 

ONE!

 

TWO!!

 

...

 

...

 

...

 

THREE!!! Fury's arm spasms up, but just a nano-second too late!

 

*Ding ding DING!*

 

BBBBBOOOOOOOOOO!!!

 

The crowd is incensed as McLennan springs to his feet, taking it all in, grinning like a fool! Fury slowly works to his knees, but keeps his eyes to the mat, in obvious disappointment and confusion, but knowing enough to not argue the decision...

 

"The winner... Craig... MC... LLLLLENNNNNNNNNNANNNNN!!!" Funyon's announcement pushes the crowd into a frenzy, and the ref holding up McLennan's hand in victory just drives the knife deeper.

 

"Fury just got blasted, Mak!" King chortles. "He should've stayed retired!"

 

"It seems Fury was out-classed and out-worked, King... I can't argue with you there... But things will get better... We have JJ Johnson and Luke-O for a $10,000 prize coming up next!" The screen fades to commercial focused on Fury's face, the mask of disappointment itself...

[King Cucaracha 0]

Backstage, Megan Skye is deep in conversation. With a furrowed brow she busily goes over the run-sheet with a backstage hand, firmly pointing something out to the lowly worker who's desperately trying to avoid the temptation to look down her top. Seriously, they're right there. In the middle of the conversation though, Megan is distracted as a 12 year-old Japanese girl walks past.

 

"...strange..."

[King Cucaracha 0]

LANDON (via text message on the big screen)

Hey, so, uh, we decided to, uh, like, not have a Ladder Match, coz the bank, right, they were shut, yeah, so we couldn't, like, get the money out, so, yeah, sorry but, you know, uh, we'll just keep the $10,000 dollars. K thx.

[King Cucaracha 0]

“Ladies and gentlemen, the following contest is scheduled for one fall and is a Hallowe’en Hardcore Match!” Funyon booms as ‘Man In A Box’ by Alice In Chains fires up. “Introducing first, from Easton, Pennsylvania; he weighs in at 223lbs, he is Your Psychotic Hero… THE INSAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAANE… LUUUUUUUUUUUUCH-ADORRRRRRRRRRRRR!!”

 

“LET’S GO RICKMEN!”

 

“LET’S GO RICKMEN!”

 

The Insane Luchador walks down the entrance way in full zombie getup, slapping some hands with the fans and sporting fake blood from a ‘wound’ on his chest as he trails Excalibur behind him.

 

“It’s entirely possible that wound is going to become real before too long,” Mak Francis comments.

 

“Against this opponent? Yeah, all too probable,” King agrees as IL climbs into the ring. Then ‘Winds Of Creation’ by Decapitated starts up, and the crowd starts cheering again!

 

“YEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!”

 

“And his opponent,” Funyon declares, “from Birmingham, England; he weighs in at 260lbs, this is ‘The High Priest Of Horrorcore’, DACE-”

 

“FUCKING!”

 

“-NIGHT!” Funyon finishes, as out of the entranceway comes a large figure in a largely featureless leather mask, and carrying a running weedwhacker.

 

“Looks like Dace went for the Leatherface look tonight, with his own personal touch,” Mak comments.

 

“This guy’s crazy and violent, and I’m glad I have a desk between me and him,” King replies.

 

“You think that’ll stop him?”

 

“OK, point taken. I’m glad I can run away from him faster than you can roll.”

 

Dace climbs into the ring and throws the horns to the crowd, who respond with enthusiasm… but then the lights drop out.

 

All of them.

 

“Huh?” Mak says in the pitch black, “there’s no-one else scheduled in this match! What’s happened?”

 

“Power cut?” King asks, ever practical. The SWF fans aren’t panicking though, as the lights dropping out at a wrestling event is nothing new…

 

…and then ‘Kabukicho Queen’ starts playing over the PA speakers.

 

The lights come back on, and standing in the ring between the startled Dace and Insane Luchador is the SHOCKING, MENACING, FOUR-FOOT TALL FIGURE OF PRESIDENT RAMU!

 

“Who the hell…?” Mak asks, looking at the Japanese child in KISS make-up, stripy socks, a gauzy skirt and an Iron Maiden T-shirt.

 

“Uh…” is King’s considered response.

 

Neither Dace nor Rickmen know what to make of the situation. Until that is, President Ramu turns around, grabs the Insane Luchador by the throat AND CHOKESLAMS HIM!

 

*BANG!*

 

“YEEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!”

 

Dace looks as shocked as a man in a full-face mask can look, but then raises the weedwhacker on the basis that any fight is as good as any other…

 

*CHING!*

 

…and gets booted in the balls!

 

*BANG!*

 

And then choke slammed, onto the Insane Luchador!

 

“YEEEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!”

 

President Ramu runs around and crosses Dace’s arms, then climbs on top of them and poses as Eddy Long dives down to count…

 

ONE!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

TWO!!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

THREE!!!

 

*DING-DING-DING!*

 

“Ladies and gentlemen, the winner of the match,” Funyon states as if it was the most natural thing in the world, “PRESIDENT RAMU!”

 

“Uh, didn’t you need to put your opponent in the casket to win this?” Mak queries.

 

President Ramu whips her head around to fix The Franchise with a menacing glare.

 

“OK, sorry…”

 

“Don’t question the President, Francis,” King scolds him. “Who’s up next, anyway?”

 

“Jay Hawke and a mystery opponent,” Francis replies, reading his card.

 

“I hope for their sakes they do better than these two…”

[King Cucaracha 0]

Francis: “SWF All Hallows continues, and we prepare for a big matchup. Jay Hawke has been around rather sporadically over the past few months, but he is in the building tonight, set for a no disqualification matchup.”

 

King: “But he’s finding himself in a rare disadvantage, Mak. He is going into this match in an unusual situation of not evening knowing who his opponent is.”

 

Francis: “Certainly not an ideal situation for any professional wrestler, but indeed, Jay Hawke is set to take on the most used wrestler in SWF history, the mystery opponent.”

 

King: “Jay Hawke likes to study videotapes of his opponents. He likes to take notes at ringside. And more importantly, he likes to go and outwrestle his opponents. Tonight, he has no way of preparing, and the very nature of the rules throws scientific wrestling right out the window. I can’t believe he allowed himself into this position.”

 

Francis: “Jay Hawke signed an open contract, and all we know is somebody put their name on the dotted line. Who is that going to be? We’ll find out in a few moments, but not until Funyon makes the opening introductions.”

 

Funyon: “Ladies and gentlemen, the following contest is a no disqualification match scheduled for one fall!”

 

The lights dim, and the opening strains of Pink Floyd’s “Learning to Fly” come over the PA.

 

Funyon: “Introducing first, from the Hall of Fame City of Cleveland, Ohio … weighing in at 215 pounds … the Dean of Professional Wrestling … JAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAY HAWWWWWWWWWWWWWWKE!”

 

 

“BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

JAY HAWKE SUCKS!

JAY HAWKE SUCKS!

JAY HAWKE SUCKS!”

 

 

Jay Hawke ignores the boos and catcalls of the crowd and begins to make his way to the ring. Jay Hawke eventually does beginning to yell at one fan at ringside, and as he does, a familiar figure begins to walk behind him. The cheers of the crowd increase as they slowly realize who it is…

 

 

Francis: “IT’S VA’AIGA!”

 

King: “No!”

 

Va’aiga shouts Hawke’s name, and when Hawke turns around, he is met with a stiff right hand that knocks him down on the concrete floor. Jay Hawke gets to his feet, likely out of instinct, but a series of punches by the super heavyweight send the former International Champion running for the ring.

 

King: “How the hell is Hawke supposed to suplex that?”

 

Francis: “He might want to try working the legs, but I’m not sure he’s ever going to get the opportunity!”

 

Hawke gets to the ring and fires a feeble kick, but Va’aiga counters with a hard kick to the midsection, then grabs the Dean of Wrestling and flings him into the guard rail with a sickening thud.

 

 

“OHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!”

 

King: “He bent the guardrail!”

 

Francis: “I’m not sure Hawke’s ever been thrown around with that much velocity!”

 

Va’aiga rolls Hawke underneath the bottom rope and into the ring. He climbs into the ring…

 

 

DING DING DING!

 

 

Francis: “And all of that before the action was ever officially underway.”

 

A disheveled Hawke tries to remove his sequined ring robe. Va’aiga goes “Let me help you with that,” only to yank it off his opponent and wrap it around his throat like a rope. Hawke’s face begin turning purple, and referee Scott Ryder can only look on and hope this monster has enough compassion not to kill Hawke in the ring.

 

King: “And this is what’s dangerous about these type of matches, and Hawke had no way to prepare himself for this!”

 

With the robe still wrapped around Hawke’s neck, Va’aiga tightens his grip and uses the robe to Beell Hawke across the ring. Jay has a look of disbelief in his eyes, which is nothing in comparison to the look of “kill” across the face of the Maori Badass. Hawke gets to his feet, only to be taken down with a hard running shoulder tackle. Hawke falls into the corner and crumbles into a heap as the fans cheer on the returning superstar:

 

 

“VA’AI-GA!

VA’AI-GA!

VA’AI-GA!”

 

 

Hawke pulls himself to his feet once again, but his opponent is waiting on him, quickly locking him into a bear hug and flinging him overhead, sending the bewildered Dean halfway across the ring.

 

 

“OHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!”

 

Francis: “Overhead belly-to-belly suplex, and Jay Hawke hasn’t even gotten out of the gate yet, King!”

 

King: “And I don’t care how good you are. When you’re unprepared for a guy with this kind of size and strength, you are in for one hell of a long night!”

 

With Hawke down, Va’aiga just barely leaves his feet, attempting to land with all 348-pounds across Hawke’s chest, but Hawke sits up instinctively, forcing Va’aiga to crash hard to the mat. The force of the landing rolls Va’aiga onto his back, and Hawke falls backward into an almost accidental cover:

 

 

ONE!

 

 

Kickout.

 

Francis: “And somehow, despite the beating, it’s Jay Hawke getting the first cover of the match.”

 

King: “He’d better hope Va’aiga knocked the wind out of himself, and he’d better spend every waking moment trying to keep him down!”

 

Jay Hawke does attempt to keep him down with a series of stomps, but Va’aiga makes his way to his knees anyway. Hawke then makes a rare attempt to leave his feet, dropkicking his larger opponent square in the face. The force of the blow knocks Va’aiga down, and he rolls to the concrete floor. Knowing he can’t allow the 6’8” monster a chance to recover, Jay Hawke follows him out to the floor. However, instead of going right after his opponent, he heads to the timekeeper’s table and yanks the chair from underneath Funyon.

 

King: “And as much as I’d hate to say it, the use of chairs might be the only shot Hawke has in this one.”

 

Jay Hawke folds the chair and, as Va’aiga reaches his feet, drives the edge of the chair into the ribs of his opponent. Hawke then tosses the chair into the ring and rolls inside, and Va’aiga makes his way back into the ring as well, rolling underneath the bottom rope. Hawke wastes no time leg dropping Va’aiga if only to buy himself a few seconds. Jay Hawke unfolds the chair in one corner of the ring. He goes back over into Va’aiga and drives a series of knees into the ribs, then locks in a headlock. Summoning up every bit of strength he can, he runs forward and drives the larger man face first into the chair.

 

Francis: “Bulldog headlock! Great thinking by Jay Hawke!”

 

King: “And he’s going into a cover!”

 

 

ONE!

 

 

TWO!

 

 

Va’aiga throws Hawke off.

 

Francis: “But still plenty of fight left in Va’aiga in this one!”

 

King: “Oh, he’s much too tough to beat with one move like that, but Hawke almost has to beat him with one move like that to win the match!”

 

Thinking instinctively, Hawke grabs the chair and folds it back up. He then levels Va’aiga in the head with it. The chair remains beside his head, so Hawke dropkicks the chair, driving it into the side of Va’aiga’s skull. The Maori Badass flinches, but he doesn’t stay down long enough for Hawke to attempt a cover.

 

King: “Damn these Samoans with their hard heads!”

 

Francis: “He’s from New Zealand, not Samoa.”

 

King: “It’s all in the Pacific Ocean, there’s no difference!”

 

Hawke drives a few knees into the ribs of Va’aiga then runs into the ropes. Bad move, as on the rebound…

 

 

 

“OHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!”

 

 

Francis: “HE NEARLY GOT HIS HEAD TAKEN OFF WITH A LARIAT!”

 

 

ONE!

 

 

TWO!

 

 

THREE!

 

 

DING DING DING!

 

 

“YAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAY!”

 

Funyon: “Here is your winner … VA’AIGA!”

 

Francis: “Va’aiga makes his return to the SWF, and he wastes no time taking Jay Hawke out of action!”

 

King: “Hawke really should have refused to take this match with no preparation. Va’aiga was just to much for him to handle tonight.”

 

Francis: “Plenty more action still to come here on All Hallows!”

[King Cucaracha 0]

At the gorilla position, an ashen-faced Chris Raynor stands waiting at the curtain. He barely acknowledges the masked Japanese luchador to his side, nervously doing the running man next to him.

 

"Okay, just follow my lead," sighs Raynor.

 

Dance Dance Dragon spins on the spot, jumps up, doing the splits upon landing, then nods his head.

 

"That seemed unneccessary."

[King Cucaracha 0]

"The following tag team contest is scheduled for one fall!" booms Funyon as a techno beat fills the arena.

 

"Introducing first, from Minneapolis, Minnesota, now residing in New York City, weighing in at 160 pounds, he is a member of Revolution Zero, THE FABULOUS JAKEY!"

 

Jakey makes his way to the ring, wearing a red blazer over his outfit and -- devil horns and a pitchfork.

 

"Jakey's in the holiday spirit!" Mak cries.

"Please don't make a joke about the horns," Suicide King pleads.

"I won't if you won't," Mak promises.

 

Jakey gets in the ring and smiles at a few frat boys in the front row. They're not sure what to do. Thankfully, they are saved by the lights dimming and music blaring -- Led Zeppelins' "Kashmir" to be specific. A blue pyro explodes as Tom Flesher comes roaring through the curtain.

 

"Introducing his tag team partner! From Buffalo, New York, weighing in at 231 lbs., "The Superior" One, TOM FLESHER!"

 

"If Tom is 231, then I'm ..." Mak begins.

"How dare you!" Suicide King berates. "He's in great shape!"

 

Tom gets in the ring and stares down Jakey, not sure what to make of his bedeviled tag team partner. The lights dim and a DDR hologram shines down in the entryway. The beginning of Madonna's "Hung Up" plays as the newcomer comes through the curtain.

 

"And I don't know what you can say about this," Mak Francis says.

 

"From Heaven's Dancefloor!" Funyon says, "Weighing in at 211 lbs., DANCE DANCE DRAGON!"

 

Dance Dance Dragon doesn't walk to the ring ... he dances to it. Jakey and Tom both look as if they're about to barf, but the crowd responds much more positively.

 

"Anything can happen in the SWF!" Suicide King cries. Dragon dives under the ropes and continues his dance in the ring as Jakey and Flesher, now on the outside, look on.

 

DDD stands in the ring, staring at his opponents through his mask, while Isle Q's "Rubberneck" hits.

 

"Introducing his tag team partner!" Funyon announces. "From Baton Rouge, Louisiana, weighing in at 250 pounds, CHRIS RAYYYYNORRR!"

Chris Raynor come through the curtain to a great ovation.

 

"Certainly a comeback story!" Mak Francis cries. "Chris Raynor set for tag team action!"

 

Raynor doffs his shirt and drops it on the way to the ring, then walks into said ring with a serious look on his face. It's quite the contrast between him and his dancing partner, but they both seem to exude a confidence. Jakey and Flesher walk to their apron and into the ring, with Jakey yelling at Dragon. Jakey removes his horns while conferencing with Flesher, and Dragon dances off to the apron. Upon seeing Raynor is starting, Flesher and Jakey decide it's best to have the bigger guy on their team start things out as well.

 

DING DING DING!!!!

 

 

“This one is underway,” says Mak Francis, as Flesher and Raynor square off in the center. Flesher crouches down, his arms guarding his legs. Raynor, on the other hand, stands more or less straight up, ready to counter Flesher's attempts to go to the mat with the hard-nosed brawling he perfected. They circle around each other, feinting the first action of the mat. Finally, Flesher drops a knee to the mat and slaps at Raynor's left knee. Raynor steps back, evading the leg shot, only to have Flesher reach for the right ankle and trip him to the mat. Flesher reaches out and pulls the ankle in, trying to control Raynor and lock on a submission, but the Rayn Man reaches out and manages to grab the bottom rope to break the hold. A bit put off, Flesher releases the ankle and backs away.

 

“Raynor's using that big reach advantage already,” Francis says. “Even though it doesn't look like he's got much of a weight advantage now...”

 

“You take that back,” snaps King. “Flesher's in the best shape of his life.”

 

“Come on. I could run a marathon faster than he could. But Raynor's not doing too well himself in the cardio department, so he knows he has to be aware of his surroundings, just like he got out of a potentially match-ending heel hook right there.”

 

As Raynor pulls himself to his feet, Flesher dives toward him, hammering him back into the ropes with a blast double-leg takedown. With his back to the ropes, Raynor doesn't go to the mat, but Flesher keeps the pressure on and drives him back toward a neutral corner. He stands up and backs away, but just as Raynor steps out of the corner, he walks straight into a patented Tom Flesher palm strike!

 

 

BOO!

 

 

“Flesher hits one of those palm strikes and it might be lights out for Chris Raynor,” Suicide King says – perhaps overly optimistic, as Raynor shakes off the damage fairly quickly but still finds himself wrapped up in a standing armbar. The Caveman shakes his arm out, trying to escape Flesher's attack, but the Superior One jerks the arm toward him to try to keep control of the situation. Raynor reaches out and grabs Flesher's wrist. As Tom tries to twist, Raynor changes his grip and twists himself in the opposite direction, freeing himself and taking control in a standing armbar of his own. He capitalizes immediately, pulling Flesher into a short-arm clothesline! As the former World Champion spills to the ground, Raynor reaches out and makes the tag.

 

“And it's time for Dance Dance Dragon to make his first entree into an SWF ring,” says Mak Francis. “I have to say, I'm not quite sure what to make of this...”

 

“Monstrosity,” says King. “I can't believe this is even being allowed to happen. When Tom Flesher was the commissioner of the SWF, we didn't see any of this kind of nonsense. We saw new, fascinating wrestlers like Michael Alexander and Luke-O, not asinine pap like this. If this is the beginning of the Landon Maddix era, I'd just as soon be put out to pasture.”

 

Dance Dance Dragon leaps into the ring and strikes a pose, with Raynor watching approvingly with Flesher's arm still in hand. As the fans applaud, Raynor pulls Flesher to his feet, only to have the Dragon hammer him with a back crescent kick to put him back down on the mat! The crowd pops for the masked dancer, who obligingly jumps back up and dances a few steps for them.

 

“Tragic. This is tragic.”

 

Before the official can get to a five-count, Chris Raynor steps out of the ring to allow Dance Dance Dragon to take over the reins. And take the reins he does, grabbing Flesher by the wrist and shooting him to the ropes. As Tom rebounds, Dragon pivots and nails him with a spinning heel kick! Flesher backs into the corner, only to have the dancing Japanese guy chase in after him. He jumps up, planting his feet in Flesher's stomach, and grabs him by the head, then falls back and kicks Flesher over with a monkey flip! Flesher bounces up, eyes Dance Dance Dragon again, and instead opts to reach out and tag in the Fabulous Jakey.

 

“And Jakey makes his first entrance into the match,” says Mak Francis. “Tom Flesher started strong against Chris Raynor, but Dance Dance Dragon seems a little too quick for him, especially considering his.... cardiovascular difficulties. He's going to let the quicker half of this team bat cleanup and try to get things under control.”

 

“Jakey, of course, is one of the more impressive rookies we've seen,” Suicide King adds. “I'm not at all surprised to see him showing some sense and moonlighting with Flesher instead of picking up Toxxic's bad habits.”

 

As Flesher collects himself in the corner, Jakey hops over the top rope. Flesher gives him some assistance, planting his feet and whipping him across the ring before stepping to the apron. Dance Dance Dragon turns to face Jakey, only to be caught with a Lou Thesz press! Caught off-guard, Dragon falls to the mat, and Jakey rolls off to release him before dropping back down onto him with a basement dropkick to the head! Dragon rolls away, but Jakey grabs him by the leg and twists him into a half crab before reaching out and tagging in Tom Flesher. With the referee starting his five-count, Flesher sprints to the ropes and throws a dropkick straight into Dragon's face as Jakey stretches him out with the half crab. Now that they've neutralized Dragon, Jakey hurries out of the ring, and Flesher takes control by slapping on a front headlock.

 

“This is the kind of thing you expect to see in a Tom Flesher match,” gushes King. “This is the brilliance of the old Magnificent Seven six-man matches with William Hearford and Ejiro Fasaki. Quick tags, control, cutting the ring in half, and always, always making sure you get the last word in before you leave the ring.”

 

Flesher tightens the front headlock, reaches behind Dragon and tries to shoot him down to the mat. Dragon, though, tries to counter by blocking Flesher's leg and looking for a takedown of his own. Sneering, Flesher releases the headlock for a moment, just long enough to grab the Dance Machine by the ankle and slam him back down to the mat. Thus flattened, Dragon is an easy target for another front headlock. Tom throws a series of hard knee strikes, hammering Dragon's head and shoulders with high-impact, low-energy strikes, until he stops fighting back. Flesher looks up, reaches out, and once again tags Jakey back in.

 

“This is really smart wrestling by Jakey and Flesher,” King reiterates, as Chris Raynor reaches out pathetically, as if his 6'4” body could reach across the ring to tag his partner. “Who's the easiest guy to deal with? You've got Raynor, who's got a brittle neck, but you've got a light guy. Flesher can stretch him out, and Jakey can fight your light guy and do more damage. If he gets out of his element, he tags in Flesher. If Flesher gets tired, he tags in Jakey. Brilliance in action.”

 

“Ladies and gentlemen, the Suicide King is passingly familiar with tag team strategy. Someone get a notebook.”

 

Flesher keeps Dragon flat on the mat in the headlock as Jakey springs up and off the top rope, then comes down on his opponent with a springboard senton! Flesher rolls out of the ring, leaving Jakey to recover and start slamming his boots into Dance Dance Dragon. As Dragon pushes his way up, trying to get to his feet, Jakey takes a step back and then slams into him with a hard boot to the head! Jakey takes the stunned Dragon and, after pointing to Flesher in the corner, whips him to the turnbuckles. Flesher sticks one boot in the air, letting the rookie walk right into a Yakuza kick! As Dragon collapses, Flesher turns to the crowd and...

 

golf claps.

 

 

BOO!

 

 

“You know,” says King, “these fans just don't know what they've got right in front of them. They're seeing some of the best wrestling in the history of the United States, and they don't appreciate it.”

 

As Flesher settles himself down on the outside, Dragon collapses to a seated position. Jakey sees his opening and charges at him, then plants a boot straight into Dragon's spine!

 

“Football kick to the spine,” cringes Francis, “and that might be it for Dance Dance Dragon.”

 

Jakey covers him, and the official counts

 

 

ONE!

 

 

But no more, as Dragon kicks out fairly easily. Rookie or not, it's going to take more than a kick to the back to put Dance Dance Dragon out of action. “More,” of course, is exactly what's in store for him as Tom Flesher tags back in and jogs out to the center of the ring. Jakey stands up and kicks Dragon into the corner. Then, he grabs Flesher by the wrist and assists him by whipping him across the ring and sending him crashing into Dragon with an avalanche! Dragon crumbles to the ground as Flesher collects himself in the center and Jakey steps out. Flesher steps in, throws a hard boot to Dragon's face, and then steps back out. As Dance Dance Dragon tries to get back to his feet, Flesher leans on the ropes and casually chats with Jakey. He points to a specific spot on Dragon's back, indicating that that will be his main point of attack. As Dragon finally manages to get to his feet, Flesher grabs him by the mask and holds him in place while he finishes his thought, then turns around and drives a knee into the small of Dragon's back.

 

King, clearly, is impressed. “Now that's strategy!”

 

Flesher takes advantage of Dragon's back pain by grabbing him in a gutwrench and pulling him up into a Canadian backbreaker. Then, without a moment's hesitation, he drops to his knees, spiking Dragon over his shoulder with a Derailleur! He shoves Dragon down to the mat and hooks his leg, making the cover.

 

 

ONE!

 

 

 

TWO!!!!

 

 

 

No more, though, as Dance Dance Dragon manages to kick himself free. He rolls toward Raynor, who stands on the apron, once again reaching out to a ridiculously inadequate distance. Flesher, for his part, merely grabs Dragon by the ankle and holds him in place. He laces Dragon's legs together and leans back, once again reclining on the ropes as Dragon tries in vain to make the tag. After a moment or two of allowing Dragon to struggle to make the tag, Flesher jerks back on the laced ankles, pulling Dance Dance Dragon back to the corner where the Fabulous Jakey waits to tag back in.

 

“I don't know how much more of this Dance Dance Dragon can take,” says Mak Francis. “He hasn't stood up to this sort of onslaught before. He's got to make the tag to Chris Raynor, or his debut is going to be over before it even begins.”

 

Flesher steps out of the ring. As Jakey re-enters, Dance Dance Dragon starts crawling back toward Raynor. As he inches closer, the fans begin to cheer, and Raynor claps and cheers him on. Jakey, however, makes sure to spoil the party by stopping Dragon in his tracks with a kneedrop to the middle of the back. He rolls Dragon over in the center of the ring and covers him for

 

 

 

ONE!!

 

 

 

TWO!!!

 

 

 

 

NO! Dance Dance Dragon kicks out again and lunges toward his corner! Jakey grabs him by the mask and drags him back, only to have the Dragon throw a flurry of elbows at him! Dragon sends Jakey backwards with another elbow and a spinning heel kick! Jakey, stunned, backs away as Dragon sprints to the side of the ring. He jumps up on the middle rope and arches his back, floating at Jake with an asai moonsault....

 

 

THUD

 

 

and lands with a crash in the middle of the ring as Jakey sprawls to the mat to avoid being hit. He shakes off the cobwebs and grabs Dragon by the mask, then leads him over to the corner where Tom Flesher waits patiently.

 

“Dragon flurries, but he can't get the job done,” says Mak Francis. “Any other time in the match he might have opened up a slot to make the tag, but he's just taken too much of a beating tonight to put the Fabulous Jakey down with a couple of elbows and a quebrada.”

 

“You're not going to put Jakey down with a couple of elbows and a quebrada any night of the year,” King retorts. “He looks like a girl, and he acts like a girl, but I've got to tell you, that's one tough damn son of a gun in there teaming with Tom Flesher.”

 

Jakey makes the tag to Flesher, and both men kick at DDR in the corner, with the ref giving them a five-count for the double-team before Jakey goes back to the apron. Flesher clubs DDD's back, then sends him off the ropes and knocks him down with a hard kick to the midsection. Flesher then takes the opportunity to trash-talk the newcomer.

 

"Flesher has a bad attitude," Mak notes.

 

Flesher stands by DDD's fallen body and points at Raynor with some trash-talking, and DDD takes the opportunity to score a roll-up!

 

"Roll-up! Out of nowhere!

 

ONE--

 

TWO--

 

and Flesher kicks out of it, but you take your eye of the ball for just a second and look what happens!"

 

Both men are up again, and Flesher NAILS DDD with a clothesline that causes the crowd to again gasp, and Raynor stands at the apron with frustration.

 

"Flesher is like a shark in there, taking his time!"

 

Flesher stomps on DDD again, then picks him up by the head and throws him off the ropes --

 

--But Flesher ducks his head at the wrong time, and DDD responds with a kick to the face then a DDT out of nowhere! -- DDD and DDT in the same sentence, only in the SWF

 

Both men are down, and the crowd continues to clap along with Raynor, sensing this could be the break that DDD needs!

 

DDD begins to crawl over to Raynor, who has his long arm extended ...

 

"Can Dance Dragon make it?!"

 

Just as he is about to reach over to his partner and is hopping one feet, Flesher, who has since stirred, grabs D's foot ...

 

...Only to be met with an enziguri! DDD makes the hot tag to Raynor, who brings down Flesher with an array of clotheslines, then sends him off the ropes for a sideslam! Raynor quickly goes for a cover:

 

ONE--

 

TWO--

 

and although Flesher would have kicked out, an overzealous Jakey kicks Raynor in the back of the head! Raynor glares down the Fabulous One --

 

"And this is not where Jakey wants to be!"

 

But while Jakey pleads, Flesher surprises Raynor with an inside cradle;

 

"Inside cradle! Did the diversion work!

 

ONE--

 

TWO--"

 

and Raynor gets out of it as the ref sends Jakey to his corner! Flesher hits Raynor with some palm strikes, then throws him off the ropes, where Jakey hits him with a cheap shot!

 

"Damn that Jakey!" Mak cries.

 

Raynor turns around and piefaces Jakey onto the apron to a huge pop!

 

"Down goes Jakey!"

 

But then turns around right into a thumb to the eye, followed by a fisherman's suplex!

 

"And Raynor got baited into it! Pinning predicament!

 

ONE--

 

TWO--"

 

and Raynor kicks out! Both men get up and this time Raynor knees Flesher in the gut to send him off of the ropes, and Jakey, who has returned to the apron, and is cluthing his face makes a blind tag to Flesher upon the return! Raynor floors Flesher with a

 

SPINEBUSTER!

 

But when he goes to make the cover, the referee doesn't count it, and Jakey runs in to stomp on Raynor! Raynor gets knocked off of Flesher's body--

 

"And Jakey might be a bit overzealous here! I don't know if he's literally tough enough to fight such a big guy!"

 

The referee is preoccupied with trying to get Flesher back onto the apron, and while the ref is distracted, Jakey levels Raynor the best way he can, with a vicious low blow!

 

"And that's how you gotta bring a big man to his knees!" Suicide King yells.

 

But while the ref is still distracted and Jakey is showboating, DDD runs into the ring and, with Raynor's encouragement, blasts Jakey with a devastating vertebreaker! DDD scurries back to the apron before the ref turns around, and Raynor has no problem making the cover:

 

ONE!

 

TWO!

 

THREE!

 

And Tom Flesher, on the apron, is livid!

 

"Here are your winners, the team of Dance Dance Dragon and Chris Raynor!!"

 

The referee holds up both arms of the victors, while Tom hops off the apron and onto the ramp, incredulous as to how his match fell apart so quickly, while a fallen Jakey rolls out of the ring in pain!

 

"Well, he took a beating, but in the end, it was Dance Dance Dragon that was the deciding factor in this match-up!" Mak Francis cries. "And there'll be another day for Tom Flesher and Chris Raynor!"

[King Cucaracha 0]

The cameras pan back to the ring area in the Galen Center in Los Angeles, where Mak Francis and the Suicide King sit at the announce table. Signs in the crowd proclaim “Sharpe for President” and “Why Not Now?” King’s shoulders are slumped with the resignation one usually finds only on a death row in Texas. Mak Francis pats him on the shoulder in mock pity. “King, you might as well snap out of it. Landon is still commissioner, and the show is still going.”

 

“It’s just fitting that the first show under that cockroach is on Halloween,” King growls sullenly. “Maddix is masquerading as a real commissioner. Our only saving graces in this fiasco are that Toxxic is SWF Heavyweight Champion and Michael Alexander is New Blood Champion.”

 

“You’re a poster child for optimism, King. And speaking of Michael Alexander, he’s up next, defending his New Blood Championship against Leon Sharpe, the SWF’s resident presidential candidate!”

 

“Well, Francis, it will be pretty interesting to see this match…Sharpe has been impressive since his debut, and Alexander is always a joy to watch. Honestly, this is kind of a win-win. I’m amazed that Maddix didn’t screw this up.”

 

Funyon huffs his way into the ring as Referee Brock Samson finishes cleaning his fingernails with a vintage Bowie knife. "Devil's Dance" by Metallica starts to play as the lights dim and we see Leon Sharpe walk through the curtains, wearing an incredibly cheesy Richard Nixon mask. Sharpe is followed by two people holding signs saying "Vote Sharpe" on them, and a security guard who is obviously smaller than Sharpe. \

 

The announcer raises microphone to mouth to do what he does sufficiently well for the SWF to pay his salary. “Ladies and Gentleman…the next match is for the SWF New Blood Championship…! First, the challenger…from Paradise Valley, Arizona…weighing in at 325 pounds…LLLLLLEEEEEEEEEEEEON…SHHHHHAAAAAAAAAAAARPE!”

 

“Sharpe probably could have picked better president to dress as…” Mak snorts.

 

“Well, maybe he just wants to invoke a president that managed to get his country out of a war instead of into one?” King asks pointedly.

 

“Well, uhm…touché,” Mak acknowledges.

 

The crowd reaction mixes jeers with some calls of “Sharpe for President!” Sharpe nods in mock magnanimity as he steps over the top rope and walks to his corner, where his bodyguard surveys the crowd and his sign-bearers continue to uphold their banners of allegiance. Sharpe removes his mask with a flourish for the crowd, then teases throwing it out into the crowd,

 

“Sharpe’s getting a mixed reaction from the crowd here. Apparently, some people in California will vote for anyone,” Mak says dryly.

 

“Well, Francis, you’ve got to admit that Sharpe is certainly a better choice than 90% of the people running for President.”

 

“Point taken, King.”

 

“Dread Rock” by Paul Oakenfold begins to play, and the a video montage of Alexander’s previous in-ring exploits interspersed with Da Vinci’s “Vitruvian Man” highlighting the areas that the various moves depicted injure on his opponents. The lights in the arena flicker in time with the Smarktron.

 

Funyon continues his announcing duties as he drawls, “And the SWF New Blood Champion…from Greenville, South Carolina…weighing in at 221 pounds…the Mad Scientist of the Mat…MMMMMMMMMMMIIIIIIIIIICHAEL AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAALEXAAAAAAAAAAAAAANDER!”

 

“BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!”

 

Alexander steps out onto the stage, wearing only his normal ring gear, and the flicker lighting stops dead. He gazes out over the crowd, smirks, and makes his way to the ring, trash-talking to the crowd. He rolls into the ring, taking up a position in his corner and stretching, adjusting his boots, apparently disinterested in his opponent or the crowd, while smirking to himself.

 

“Good to know that winning the New Blood Championship hasn’t changed Michael Alexander’s attitude,” Mak snarks. “And he’s certainly not getting into the spirit of the holiday.”

 

“That’s the attitude that’s propelled him to the gold, Francis,” King chides. “If it ain’t broke, you know. And Alexander is here to wrestle, not to dress up. For the champion, title defenses are serious, not some excuse to don a silly costume.”

 

“We seem to have different interpretations of ‘broke’ in this situation, King.”

 

Referee Samson eyes both men warily, and as Funyon rolls out of the ring, he calls for the bell!

 

DING! DING!

 

Michael Alexander approaches Sharpe cautiously, obviously trying to take the measure of the big man. Sharpe, for his part, smiles at the smaller man, motioning for him to come on. The two close with each other. Sharpe looks like he wants to close with a test of strength, but the Evil Genius shoots behind him, using his superior quickness, and delivers a vicious kick to the back the big man’s right knee! The big Arizonan’s leg buckles and he stumbles, but is able to keep himself up. Alexander snaps another vicious kick into the right knee as Sharpe tries to turn around, and this kick brings the Sharpertarian down to one knee.

 

“This is exactly what Alexander needs to do here, King. He’s got to do something to keep Leon Sharpe out of his power game,” Mak says didactically.

 

“And taking the pins out from under a big man is the best way to do that,” King agrees. “Alexander is a consummate tactician; that’s one of the things that makes him so dangerous.”

 

Alexander then charges into the ropes to build some momentum for a big flying forearm into his opponent’s face. However, his opponent has other ideas, and he catches the Mad Scientist in flight with a bear hug, and Sharpe rudely tosses Alexander over his head in an awesome belly-to-belly suplex. Alexander crashes to the mat with a grunt of surprise and pain. Leon Sharpe gets back to his feet. The crowd approves.

 

“YEEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!”

 

“Sharpe with a belly-to-belly suplex! This is why you can’t let a guy like Sharpe catch you - you might end up being tossed over his head like a rag doll.” Mak grimaces.

 

“Sharpe is dangerous in that ring, no doubt about it,” King says. “But so is Alexander. This is really going to come down to who can take his opponent out of his element the most. Right now, it looks like Leon is deep in his element, and Michael is deep in…something else.” He smiles mischievously.

 

Sharpe raises his hand to the crowd in mock presidential wave as he approaches his slowly rising opponent. The big man puts a stop to that with a stomping boot to Alexander’s head. The Mad Scientist sprawls on the ground once again. Sharpe laughs as he grabs Alexander by the throat with both hands and hoists the smaller man back up to his feet, keeping one hand on the Evil Genius’ throat. Alexander, seeing the word “chokeslam” written very clearly on the proverbial wall, decides it is time to break out a classic, promptly inserting his thumb into the big Arizonan’s eye. The crowd also breaks out its classic reaction to such maneuvers.

 

“BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!”

 

“Sharpe telegraphed that more than a little, and he paid for it,” Mak chides.

 

“You can’t make that kind of mistake in the ring with Michael Alexander,” King agrees. “The guy’s not called the ‘Evil Genius’ for nothing, you know.”

 

“Well, I think he’s the only one who calls himself that, but the basic point is still valid.” Mak smirks.

 

Sharpe reflexively loosens his grip on Alexander’s throat, allowing the Mad Scientist to escape. Seeing his chance, Alexander wastes no time in delivering a nasty dropkick to the right knee of the momentarily blinded Sharpertarian. A snarl of pain erupts from the big man as he collapses to the mat, his knee buckling. Scrambling to his feet, Alexander follows this up with a brutal knee drop to the back of Sharpe’s head. Sharpe rolls away holding the back of his head, and Alexander’s trademark wicked grin makes is first appearance.

 

“Now we’re seeing more textbook Michael Alexander…taking the legs out from under his opponent.” Mak remarks.

 

“It’s so great to get a ringside seat to a master at work.” King adds worshipfully.

 

Stalking over to his opponent, Alexander delivers a vicious stomp to Sharpe’s right leg, even as he was pushing himself up to his knees near the corner. The big man grunts in pain, but still has enough wherewithal to grab the front of Alexander’s trunks and hurl the Evil Genius headfirst into the nearby turnbuckle. Alexander’s much-vaunted cranium crashes unceremoniously into the turnbuckle, and he slumps in the corner.

 

“YEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAH!”

 

“Sharpe with a very savvy move, breaking Alexander’s momentum,” Mak observes.

 

“He may have broken more than that,” King laughs. “Michael’s head hit that turnbuckle dead on.”

 

Sharpe pulls himself back up to his feet, shaking his right leg briefly. Grabbing his opponent roughly, the Sharpertarian lifts him up into a gorilla press, holds it for a moment for dramatic effect, and then dumps the Mad Scientist face-first into the top turnbuckle. Alexander sprawls bonelessly as he collapses out of the turnbuckle.

 

“YEEEEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!”

 

“And a snake eyes to follow up,” Mak shakes his head. “Just that quickly, your fortunes can shift in an SWF ring.”

 

“I hate to say it, but Alexander might be in a lot of trouble here,” King laments.

 

The big man nonchalantly strolls over to his stunned opponent and measures him for a big leg drop right across his face. Sharpe smiles as Alexander rolls over, holding his face. Getting back to his feet, the Sharpertarian straddles his opponent’s back, clasping his hands under Alexander’s chin, and begins wrenching back in a punishing camel clutch! The Mad Scientist’s face contorts in pain as he tries vainly to break Sharpe’s grip around his chin. The big Arizonan nods to the crowd, and graciously accepts the encouragement of his entourage, as they wave their signs to the crowd. The crowd, of course, loves this, but is magnanimous enough to offer some encouragement to Michael Alexander as well.

 

“TAP! TAP! TAP!”

 

“Sharpe with a camel clutch, and the crowd is obviously behind him. Or maybe just against Alexander.” Mak smiles a little at that last.

 

“Come on, Michael,” King calls. “Don’t listen to these idiots!”

 

Alexander snarls something venomous as Referee Brock Samson asks him if wants to give up. Struggling against Sharpe’s bulk, the Mad Scientist powers his way up to his knees. This seems to amuse Sharpe more than anything, and the big man leaps up and drops his weight solidly onto the small of Alexander’s back, crushing him back down to the mat and sets the hold on again, in earnest. Consistency being the hobgoblin of little minds, the crowd offers Alexander more of its support.

 

“TAP! TAP! TAP!”

 

“Leon Sharpe made Alexander pay for that attempt to escape,” Mak points out. “Nice to see Michael Alexander on this end of things for a change.” He smiles again.

 

“Francis, gloating really doesn’t become you. I can’t believe you would revel in someone else’s suffering.”

 

“Reveling is a strong word, King. I’m just commenting on the action. It is my job. And it’s not the suffering I’m reveling in, it’s the comeuppance.”

 

Once again, Alexander struggles up to his hands and knees, a rictus of pain etched on his face. Sharpe looks out at the crowd, shrugs his shoulders amiably, and prepares to drop his stubborn opponent to the mat once more. This time, however, Alexander is ready for it. The instant Sharpe springs upward, Alexander shoots his arms behind the big man’s knees, wrenching his legs forward, causing the leaping Sharpertarian to tumble backwards, landing solidly on his back! The Evil Genius, keeping Sharpe’s legs over his shoulders, now bridges backwards into a sort of an Electric Chair cradle! Samson drops to count as the crowd is stunned to silence.

 

ONE!

 

TWO!

 

NO!

 

Sharpe kicks out of the cradle with all the authority his legs can muster, which is more than enough to send Alexander careening across the mat. Sharpe surges back to his feet angrily.

 

“Surprise move by Alexander! He almost put one over on Leon Sharpe!” Mak gasps.

 

“You can never count this guy down, Francis. Michael Alexander can take anyone out at any time in any match.”

 

Leon Sharpe charges over to Alexander, who has just scrambled back to his feet on the ropes. The big Arizonan whips his rather large foot up to deliver a brutal boot to Alexander’s rather large head. Unfortunately for the Sharpertarian, Alexander drops quickly out of the way, pulling the top rope down just enough to allow Sharpe’s momentum to place him in a decidedly uncomfortable position as the big man straddles the top rope. Sharpe’s mouth gapes in pain and surprise as Alexander grabs the top rope once again and wrenches it sharply upward, causing Sharpe’s precariously balanced bulk to tumble back into the ring. The crowd, for some reason, disapproves of this.

 

“BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!”

 

“Ouch,” King winces. “I never like seeing that.”

 

Mak averts his eyes. “I don’t think anyone does, King. Well, except maybe Michael Alexander, as this gives him a definite edge in the match now.”

 

The Evil Genius smiles evilly as he stalks over to Sharpe and begins to stomp away at Sharpe’s right leg. Sharpe seems too busy protecting other assets at this point, rolling away clutching his groin protectively. The big Arizonan takes the better part of valor for the moment, rolling out of the ring as Alexander follows him with stomps. The Sharpertarian’s attendants quickly surround him. Seeing this, Alexander allows himself to be pushed back to the middle of the ring by Referee Samson, who begins to count Sharpe out.

 

“Sharpe takes the smart way out, and goes for a breather on the outside,” King observes. “Good idea at this point, especially since he’s got his entourage outside to keep Alexander off him.”

 

“And Alexander has no intention of going out, as he’s obviously taking a bit of a rest himself,” Mak adds.

 

One…

Two…

Three…

 

Sharpe’s sign-bearers set the signs down momentarily as they help the big man back to his feet, allowing him to test his leg before placing too much weight on it. They yell to the referee to get Alexander back, but Samson snarls for Sharpe to get back into the ring or get counted out.

 

Four…

Five…

Six…

 

Seeing that the referee is not being distracted enough to break the count, Sharpe reluctantly pulls himself back up onto the apron, again calling for Samson to keep Alexander back. Samson scowls at him and continues his count.

 

Seven…

Eight…

Nine…

 

At the penultimate moment, Sharpe steps back into the ring, between the ropes this time, as he apparently feels a little betrayed by the top rope. The Evil Genius smiles at the disconsolate Sharpe, who scowls back at him.

 

“Sharpe really took his time about that.” Mak shakes his head in disgust.

 

“Well, that was the whole point, Francis,” King replies. “Break the momentum, recover a bit from that…er…unfortunate incident a bit earlier.”

 

The two men circle each other once again, and Sharpe closes with Alexander, trying to bull him into a corner. As his back presses one of the turnbuckles, the Mad Scientist tries to shoot behind the big man again, but Sharpe manages to catch him with a quick knee to the gut, doubling the smaller man over. Sharpe then grabs him around the waist and hefts him up onto his shoulders, smashing him back to the mat with a thunderous powerbomb!

 

“YEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!”

 

“A huge powerbomb from Sharpe! He almost put Alexander through the mat with that one!” Mak shouts.

 

“This doesn’t look good,” King says hoarsely. “Michael, get up!”

 

Sharpe goes for a quick pin, dropping into a lateral press! Samson drops for the count!

 

ONE!

 

TWO!

 

THREE-!

 

No?

 

“BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!”

 

Samson taps Sharpe on the back, pointing to where Alexander’s right foot rests on the bottom rope. Sharpe gripes to Samson, who just shrugs.

 

“Alexander once again shows his ring smarts!” King chirps gleefully. “He knew exactly where he was, and used it to his advantage.”

 

The big man picks Alexander up roughly, and then lifts him up, and with a terrific show of strength, presses the smaller man over his head. Sharpe holds him there contemptuously until his right knee starts to wobble a bit, then he tosses him into the center of the ring. Alexander gasps as the air is slammed out of him.

 

“The big man is keeping on the attack. It’s not often we’ve seen Michael Alexander get manhandled like this.” Mak rubs his chin thoughtfully.

 

“Michael can handle it. This sort of thing happened against Dagda not too long ago, and we saw how that ended,” King points out hopefully.

 

Leon Sharpe turns to his entourage, pretending to be testing his right leg a bit, while somewhat surrepticiously tapping the black glove on his right hand. As Alexander sprawls in the center of the ring, Sharpe’s sign bearers proceed to climb up on the apron on the other side of the ring, raising their signs to the crowd. With a growl, Samson proceeds to inform them in brutal terms the regulations regarding their permission to remain at ringside. While Samson is thus distracted, Sharpe’s security guard hands him something which he expertly and swiftly loads into his black glove.

 

“Sharpe’s loading that damned black glove of his! There’s no call for this!” Mak growls angrily.

 

“Of course there is, Francis! Sharpe wants to win, and so far Alexander has refused to tap or be pinned. Can’t blame the guy for taking a sure step to put the champion down.” King taps the table nervously. “But all the same, I wish it wasn’t Michael Alexander that was about to be on the business end of that glove, though.”

 

Making sure that Samson is still distracted, Sharpe approaches Alexander who is only now returning to wobbly uprightness. Grinning broadly, Sharpe spins to deliver his patented spinning back fist, complete with patented loaded glove. Unfortunately for Mr. Sharpe, patents are public documents, as are tapes of his previous exploits with said glove, and Michael Alexander is nothing if not thorough in his preparation. The Eidolon of Excellence ducks the back fist smoothly, placing him conveniently behind the recovering Sharpertarian, in perfect position deliver a nasty low blow with his forearm, and roll the stunned Arizonan over into a quick schoolboy rollup!

 

“Sharpe missed the backhand!” Mak shouts in surprise. “And Alexander takes advantage of the situation himself!”

 

“Alexander goes to the grapefruits!” King laughs. “It came down to a cheat-off! I love it!”

 

The Mad Scientist yells for the distracted Samson, who turns to see the cradle, if not its necessary antecedent, and drops to count!

 

ONE!

 

TWO!

 

THREE!

 

DING! DING! DING!

 

The crowd has no idea how to react to this turn of events, its voice now a strange susurrus of confusion. Both men cheated in a fairly dastardly manner, but one of them just happened to do it a little better. The murmur continues.

 

“I don’t know how to describe that turn of events, King,” Mak mutters. “I’m not sure whether I should be happy Sharpe’s glove-loading backfired on him, or sad that Alexander resulted to that cheap shot to keep his title.”

 

“Listen, Francis,” King explains. “When you’re the champion, it’s your job to keep the other guy from winning. Alexander did that, and did it smart. You can’t argue with the results, which is that belt still around his waist.”

 

Sharpe’s forces scramble to their fallen candidate, as Samson raises Michael Alexander’s hand and hands him his title. Funyon makes it official by blaring into his microphone. “Here is your winner…AND STILL SWF NEW BLOOD CHAMPION…MMMMMMMMMMMMMIIIIIIIIIIIIIICHAEL AAAAAAAAAAAALEXAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAANDER!”

 

Sharpe and his followers look none too happy with this result as the big man is helped back to his feet. Seeing the security guard’s truncheon and doing the basic numbers, Alexander quickly rolls out of the ring and proceeds up the ramp, his face sporting a cruel smile. Alexander stands on stage, holding the belt high in his right hand, pointing to it with his left as we…

 

FADE OUT.

[King Cucaracha 0]

NOVEMBER 14TH, 2007

 

The SWF World Heavyweight Champion is in...

 

*A school bell rings*

 

...for a wrestling lesson?

 

 

The SWF presents...

CLASS IS IN SESSION

 

SWF World Heavyweight Championship

Toxxic © VS. Jay Hawke

 

 

HAWKE

The Dean will see you now...

[King Cucaracha 0]

“OK, it’s main event time here in the Galen Center,” Mak Francis says, “and I’ve got to say King, I think it’s a worthy main event of this new era for the SWF.”

 

“Well, we get to see Johnny Dangerous have his ass handed to him by Toxxic again, albeit in a different format,” the Gambling Man replies, “so I think you could be right.”

 

The beats of ‘Starsky & Hutch’ by Busta Rhymes and LL Cool J fire up, prompting the entire LA crowd to burst into life! Fans start cheering all around the arena as the pumping music heralds the arrival of two men very well known to the watching audience…

 

“Ladies and gentlemen,” Funyon booms, “the following tag team contest is scheduled for one fall and is for the SWF World Tag Team Titles! Introducing first, the challengers; at a combined weight of 439lbs, they are the five-time former champions, the team of Johnny ‘The Barracuda’ Dangerous and SWF World Cruiserweight Champion the Wildchild… WIIIIIIILLLLLLLLLLLLD… AAAAANNNNNNNNNNNND… DANNNNNNNNNNN-GEROUSSSSSSSSSSSSSS!!”

 

“YEEEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!”

 

Two familiar shapes appear on the entranceway, and Johnny Dangerous and the Wildchild come rushing down! Wildchild outstrips his tag team partner and runs ahead to make a full circuit of the ring, slapping hands as he goes; Johnny holds back a little and takes a moment to exchange pleasantries with one of the cuter female fans at ringside, but there is a grim set to the Barracuda’s face as he climbs into the ring.

 

“It was at Genesis VIII that Johnny Dangerous’s third World Title run came to an ignominious halt,” The Franchise states, “for the second time in four years he defended the belt against Toxxic, and for the second time in four years he lost. Tonight is his chance to get at least partial payback for that night.”

 

“Yeah, like that’s going to happen,” King scoffs as Wildchild somersaults in between the bottom and middle ropes and pops up to his feet next to his partner, “Toxxic’s on a roll now!”

 

“King, it could easily happen,” Mak argues as Johnny and Wildchild start holding a discussion in the middle of the ring. “Toxxic has a definite edge over Johnny in singles competition, we know that, but in tag competition it’s not just about how good you are, and it’s not even about how good your partner is, it’s also about how well you work as a team. Wild & Dangerous have been teaming together for what, four or five years now? Their teamwork and their understanding of each other is unmatched. Toxxic and Austin Sly have a good chemistry, but I don’t think they can hold a candle to Wild & Dangerous.”

 

“And yet they beat them for the belts…” King scoffs.

 

“At the second time of asking,” Mak replies firmly. “This is the rubber match, if you will.”

 

The music stops.

 

Every light hits full.

 

The Smarktron whites out.

 

“WEL-WEL-W-W-WELCOME TO THE REVOLUTION!”

 

Immediately after the deep voice booms out the epileptic guitar riff of Tom Morello starts to ring out across the Galen Centre, while a large ‘REV-0’ logo appears on the Smarktron, twisting and revolving. The lights slowly start to darken down towards black as clips of Revolution Zero members start to flash up onto the screen… and then the pace of the music changes. The main guitar riff rings out, heralding the-

 

*BOOM!*

 

*BOOM!*

 

*BOOM!*

 

‘KNOW YOUR ENEMY!’

 

-three pyro eruptions and the roar of Zack de la Rocha as Rage Against The Machine kick into full gear! And hard on the heels of the explosions, with five title belts spread between two men, come the champions…

 

“BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!”

 

“And their opponents,” Funyon declares, “at a combined weight of 458lbs and representing the SWF Stable Champions, they are the reigning and defending SWF World Tag Team Champions; the team of Austin Sly and the SWF World Heavyweight Champion Toxxic… RRRRRRRRRRRREVO-LUTIONNNNNNNNNNNNNN… ZEEEEEEEERRRRRR-RRRRRROOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!”

 

These two figures navigate the entranceway in a rather more sedate fashion, although that might be a result of all the gold they’re carrying. Austin Sly has his Tag Title draped over his right shoulder and the Stables Title over his left, the two straps combining to nearly block out the Black Flag logo on his T-shirt. Meanwhile Toxxic holds his Stables belt in his left hand and the Tag Title in his right, with his newly-acquired World Title occupying pride of place around his waist.

 

“Why the hell do Revolution Zero still carry those Stables Titles around?” Mak Francis asks with a sigh, “do they really think that a three-on-one beatdown on Chris Raynor is anything they can brag about?”

 

“Tom Flesher authorised that match, and it’s not his fault if Raynor’s so damn unpopular that he can’t find himself any friends to hang about with,” King sniffs.

 

“Yeah, well look what happened to Tom,” Mak retorts, “he just had his job taken by Landon and his bonus put up for grabs in a ladder match. Justice, if you ask me.”

 

Sly and Toxxic have now entered the ring and make something of a show of handing their five belts over to Matthew Kivell, who takes the assembled gold over to the other side of the ring and hands it to the timekeeper before his arms start to shake. Toxxic then strips off his trenchcoat and the T-shirt with ‘Come And Have A Go…’ on the front and ‘…If You Think You’re Hard Enough’ on the back (the England shirt has been retired for the moment after Russia, probably until they sack McLaren) and prepares for the match while Sly just folds his arms and stares across the ring at the challengers. Johnny Dangerous steps out to the apron to let Wildchild start the match, but Toxxic isn’t interested in Wild & Dangerous’s tradition and calls for the Barracuda to start! Johnny grinds his teeth as he sees his adversary mocking him, and Sly even starts banging on the turnbuckle and starting a ‘JOHN-NY!’ chant from the crowd, all apparently in the hope of goading Dangerous into the ring!

 

“Everyone knows that Wildchild starts matches for Wild & Dangerous,” Mak protests, “what are they playing at?”

 

“Pschological warfare,” King grins.

 

“I don’t see Jimmy Liston.”

 

“You’re like the only person to remember that team. Shut up.”

 

It is ultimately to no avail; Johnny remains on the apron and Wildchild is waiting impassively to start, so Revolution Zero cease their baiting and Sly steps out to the apron to allow Toxxic to begin the match.

 

*DING-DING-DING!*

 

Toxxic cracks his neck from side to side and advances forwards; Wildchild follows suit but the Caribbean Cruiser’s speed allows him to quickly dart behind his opponent as the distance between them narrows, then grab a rear waistlock. Toxxic immediately reaches down and prises Wildchild’s hands apart to prevent his opponent from getting any leverage, then spins out and behind his opponent into a hammerlock…

 

…before pasting him in the back of the head with a slap that sends him staggering forwards a step.

 

“BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!”

 

“Every time!” King laughs as Toxxic mugs to the crowd, doing a pseudo-apologetic shrug and a ‘yeah I’m predictable, but it’s fun’ facial expression. The LA fans are not impressed; neither is the Wildchild, especially not when he turns around and sees Toxxic beckoning him in to try again. This time both men launch themselves into a classic collar-and-elbow tie-up, from which Wildchild spins out with an armwringer. Toxxic grimaces in pain as the Tropical Tumbler torques his limb, then rolls forward and comes back off to his feet with the pressure relieved before continuing his momentum with a reverse armwringer, the twist preventing Wildchild from taking the same way out.

 

“Nice touch,” King comments.

 

Wildchild looks around to see if the ropes are in range to aid him in escaping; however they’re in the middle of the ring, so the Bahaman Bomber will have to rely on his own formidable physical attributes to escape… which he does, by performing a standing backflip and landing on his feet with his arm still in Toxxic’s grip, but now untwisted!

 

“NICE!” Mak shouts.

 

Toxxic’s eyes shoot wide, and the momentary surprise allows Wildchild to slap him back!

 

“YEEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!”

 

Bad move.

 

*WHAM!*

 

“BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!”

 

The Englishman launches a European uppercut that knocks the Cruiserweight Champion off his feet, then backs up a step or two. Wildchild gets back to his feet quickly, holding his jaw, but Toxxic once more points at Johnny and demands that his Genesis opponent gets into the ring.

 

“JOHN-NY!”

 

“JOHN-NY!”

 

The fans don’t need any urging from Austin Sly this time and want to see the Barracuda get some revenge on the arrogant straight-edger. Johnny too is eager to take his shot, so Wildchild shrugs, walks over and tags in his partner.

 

“YEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!”

 

…and Toxxic flips Johnny a v-sign, grins, and tags out to Austin Sly.

 

“BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!”

 

“Don’t tell me Toxxic’s scared of facing Johnny again!” Mak exclaims as Sly steps through the ropes.

 

“OK, I won’t,” King agrees. “He’s not scared at all, he’s just winding Johnny up a bit more.”

 

Johnny glares daggers at the Straight-Edge Sensation (or possibly wristwatch-contained laser cutting beams, given the whole ‘hi-tech spy’ thing), but right now his immediate concern needs to be on Austin Sly. The Sly One is holding up one hand and calling for a test of strength; Johnny obliges, but perhaps his desire for a piece of Toxxic is still clouding his thoughts a little, as he fails to dodge or counter the kneelift that Sly immediately slams up into his gut!

 

“AUST-IN SUCKS!”

 

“AUST-IN SUCKS!”

 

Johnny is bent double and wheezing, but his condition isn’t helped much by Sly grabbing his neck and twisting around to take the Barracuda down to the mat with a neckbreaker. From there Austin rolls over into what might be a preparation for a pin… if he didn’t have all his weight on one hand around Johnny’s throat.

 

‘One!’

 

‘Two!’

 

‘Three!’

 

‘Four!’

 

‘Fi-’

 

Sly casually breaks the hold and asks Matthew Kivell what he was doing wrong; he rises to a kneeling position to ask this, and it takes the SWF’s senior official a moment to realise that Sly now has one knee across Johnny’s windpipe…

 

‘One!’

 

‘Two!’

 

‘Three!’

 

‘Four!’

 

‘Fi-dammit, Austin!’

 

Sly has broken the choke just before the disqualification point again, much to Kivell’s frustration, and starts to bring the breathless Johnny up to his feet. He then grabs Dangerous’s wrist and Irish whips the Secret Agent into the Rev-0 corner turnbuckles before following in with a charging kneelift at a speed sufficient to send spittle flying from Johnny’s mouth with the outrush of air. With Johnny incapacitated for the moment Austin tags Toxxic in, then hauls Johnny away from the corner as the Englishman starts to climb the turnbuckles.

 

“Revolution Zero taking over in the early going here,” Mak comments, “Austin may not play fair but he certainly can be effective.”

 

Sly doubles Johnny’s leg up, then hoists him up by it before bringing the luckless Barracuda down into a shinbreaker; at that exact moment Toxxic jumps off the second buckle, pasting Johnny with a flying European uppercut that knocks him backwards to the mat!

 

“BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!”

 

“Toxxic and Sly have developed some slick double-teams as well,” Mak notes, “but I still don’t think they can hold a candle to Wild & Dangerous in that department.”

 

“Well no,” King agrees, “I know of no other team that abuses the referee’s five-count so flagrantly.”

 

Toxxic has picked Johnny up off the mat and placed the Barracuda in a front facelock, but before the Englishman can launch the next phase of his dastardly plan (whatever it may be) Johnny lashes up and forward with one foot, striking Toxxic in the face with a Scorpion Kick! Toxxic staggers back, releasing his hold; Johnny takes a second to recover his balance, then whirls into a Uraken that catches the straight-edger on the jaw and knocks him back still further. With his opponent apparently in retreat Johnny lashes out with a kick to the ribs… but Toxxic isn’t quite as disorientated as Dangerous had hoped, and the World Champion manages to catch his opponent’s leg as it strikes home and traps it against his side, then hooks Johnny’s standing leg with one of his own and dumps the Barracuda back down to the mat.

 

“TOXX-IC SUCKS!”

 

“TOXX-IC SUCKS!”

 

Toxxic shakes his head to clear it, then starts hauling on his opponent’s limb and tows Johnny back towards the Revolution Zero corner, where Sly tags himself in off his partner’s shoulder. The other half of the Tag Champions then steps around the ringpost to the adjacent side of the apron, grabs hold of the top rope and slingshots himself in to land a kneedrop right on the skull of the prone Johnny Dangerous!

 

“Johnny’s in the wrong part of town right now,” King says happily.

 

Sly seems intent on welcoming Johnny to the neighbourhood properly, and makes a cover that Matthew Kivell drops to count for…

 

ONE!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

TWO!!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

…but Johnny fires a shoulder off the canvas, a long way from losing yet! Sly just shrugs and pulls Johnny back to his feet again; the Barracuda is still nursing his head from where 240lbs landed on it knee-first, so he wavers in one place long enough for Sly to run to the ropes, rebound off and deliver a chop block to Johnny’s knee!

 

“It looks like Austin is starting to go to work on that leg now,” Mak comments, and sure enough Sly has grabbed his opponent’s lower limbs and starts twisting…

 

…into the Figure Four.

 

“BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!”

 

“And that’s not just a submission attempt, that’s a calculated insult!” King points out over the crowd noise as Johnny cries out in pain, “Mak, if Wildchild needs a submission, what move does he tend to use?”

 

“The Figure Four,” The Franchise confirms.

 

Sure enough, Sly is smirking in Wildchild’s direction as he continues to apply pressure to Johnny’s legs and the Bahaman Bomber has a face like thunder as he looks on. Johnny’s concerns, by contrast, are more immediately physical than psychological however, and he starts trying to shift himself across the canvas towards the ropes.

 

“LET’S GO JOHN-NY!”

 

“LET’S GO JOHN-NY!”

 

Sly has enough weight to make it difficult for Johnny to drag him across the mat anywhere, but that’s not what the Barracuda is trying to do. He pivots himself around on the canvas with Sly as the centre of his arc; Austin tries to add a little more pressure to the hold and Johnny’s progress stops for a second with another groan of pain, but then Dangerous gets a grip on himself and shuffles, leans and reaches…

 

…and makes the ropes. No prizes for guessing when Sly breaks the hold.

 

‘One!’

 

‘Two!’

 

‘Three!’

 

‘Four!’

 

‘Fi-’

 

Kivell complains, Sly protests that their legs were tangled up and it took him a couple of seconds to disengage. Regardless, the Sly One shows no real respect for the alleged sanctity of the ropes and instead of letting Johnny recuperate he gets up and kicks Johnny in the back as the Barracuda tries to rise. Johnny slumps back down and Sly grabs the leg he’s been targeting, places it at an angle on the middle rope and then jumps up to cannonball down onto it with his backside!

 

“AUST-IN SUCKS!”

 

“AUST-IN SUCKS!”

 

Johnny rolls away, clutching his leg in agony; Sly exchanges a couple of choice words with the referee about using the ropes as an offensive aid, then goes after Johnny and grabs his leg again to put it back on the middle rope before pulling the same trick a second time.

 

“AUST-IN SUCKS!”

 

“AUST-IN SUCKS!”

 

Once more Johnny tries to roll away and once more Austin grabs him and hauls him back. He sets the leg up one more time, springboards up off the second rope…

 

…and Johnny moves his leg. Austin lands on nothing, looks puzzled for a second as he starts to straighten up…

 

…and Johnny pulls him over into a schoolboy!

 

ONE!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

TWO!!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

…but Sly kicks out! The Sly One rolls back up to his feet intent on regaining the advantage but Johnny pastes him in the jaw with a Shotei from a kneeling position; Sly is knocked staggering and Johnny forces himself back to a vertical base, then grabs Austin’s head and falls back down to the canvas taking Sly with him in a neckbreaker.

 

“YEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!”

 

Sly grabs his neck; Johnny rolls sideways, pushes himself up to one knee and reaches out to tag in his partner the Wildchild!

 

“LET’S GO DUB-CEE!”

 

“LET’S GO DUB-CEE!”

 

Wildchild vaults over the ropes into the ring, then assists Johnny in picking Sly up off the canvas. Johnny Irish whips the Tag Champion into the ropes before dropping down to take Sly over with a drop toehold as he rebounds - only for Wildchild to meet him coming the other way with a running knee smash!

 

*CRACK!*

 

“Whatever else happens in this match, I think Austin Sly will still be feeling that one tomorrow morning!” Mak Francis shouts over the roar of the crowd.

 

“Illegal double team! Illegal double team!” King shrieks.

 

But despite the pain of Austin Sly things are not all rosy for Wild & Dangerous. Johnny has rolled away, indicating to his partner that his leg is really not feeling it right now, and Wildchild is left to handle Sly himself. Not that this prospect is a daunting one for the Bahaman Bomber, who steps to the outside himself and takes hold of the top rope as he waits for Sly to get back to his feet.

 

“LET’S GO DUB-CEE!”

 

“LET’S GO DUB-CEE!”

 

Austin Sly starts to rise up to his feet, clearly a bit dazed by his recent collision with Wildchild’s patella; Toxxic shouts a warning but it’s lost in the crowd noise, and Sly turns around to find Wildchild already airborne and sailing towards him to snare the Sly One with a springboard hurricanrana!

 

“YEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!”

 

Sly tumbles across the mat, this not helping his disorientation. Wildchild follows up and slips behind the dizzy Tag Champion as he gets back to his feet, then grabs a rear waistlock and hoists Sly off his feet before dumping him facedown on the mat. Before Austin can move Wildchild runs to the ropes, then rebounds and launches himself into a senton splash to his opponent’s back. The breath whooshes out of Sly and Wildchild rolls him over for a pin…

 

ONE!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

TWO!!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

…but Sly isn’t going to be beaten that easily! Wildchild takes that in his stride and brings his opponent back up to his feet, then Irish whips the bigger man into the turnbuckles; Sly hits hard, and Wildchild follows him in fast before leaping into the air to deliver the Blue Crush!

 

*WHAM!*

 

Wildchild steps back and allows Sly to stagger out, then reaches out and grabs his opponent’s hair to pull Sly’s head down to waist level. The Caribbean Cruiser raises one hand in a salute to the crowd, then leaps upwards to bring his right leg scything down for the Caribbean Cutter…

 

…but Sly pulls his head back out of the way! Wildchild adjust as the last second and manages to land more or less on his feet, but the momentary imbalance allows Sly to straighten up and rake his eyes, then paste the blinded Cruiserweight Champion in the head with a superkick!

 

*SMACK!*

 

“BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!”

 

“God, Sly’s resourceful,” King says admiringly.

 

Austin heads over to his corner and tags in Toxxic, then motions for his partner to head to the top rope. The Englishman obliges, and Sly brings Wildchild up off the mat to scoop him up in a sidewalk slam position before bringing the Tropical Tumbler down in a pendulum backbreaker across the knee; Toxxic then comes off the top with the Hangover to the suspended Wildchild!

 

“TOXX-IC SUCKS!”

 

“TOXX-IC SUCKS!”

 

The Straight-Edge Sensation pulls Wildchild away from the ropes and makes a cover…

 

 

 

 

 

 

ONE!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

TWO!!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

…but Wildchild kicks out! Toxxic just shrugs and takes hold of the Bahaman Bomber to drag him back up to his feet, then before Wildchild can muster much opposition he fastens his arms around his opponent’s chest and hoists him off the mat, kicking his legs out to bring the Cruiserweight Champion down with the Sambo Slam. Wildchild hits hard and Toxxic takes this as his cue to head for the turnbuckles, where he steps out to the apron.

 

“Toxxic might be looking to go high-risk here,” Mak comments as the World Champion takes hold of the top rope. Sure enough, the Englishman vaults up to the top rope…

 

…to the top buckle…

 

…moonsault!

 

*CRUNCH!*

 

“YEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!”

 

“LOW BLOW!” King screams as Toxxic rolls away in agony.

 

“He got his knees up and Toxxic landed on them! He hit his ribs,” Mak protests, “how in the hell can that be a low blow!?”

 

The Gambling Man doesn’t seem to be able to come up with a response, but Wildchild does. With Toxxic trying to get up to a vertical base but still bent double from the misplaced Radford Calling Wildchild sees his chance and pushes himself to his feet, then takes off at a run. Sly tries to shout a warning but too late; Wildchild launches himself into the air and flips over Toxxic, grabbing the Englishman’s head on the way to pull him down into the Whiplash!

 

*BANG!*

 

“YEEEEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!”

 

The crowd erupts again as Wildchild starts to swing the tide of the match back in favour of the challengers, but the Caribbean Cruiserweight has no intention of stopping there. He hauls Toxxic up off the mat, then sets to with a barrage of punches that rock the World Champion and send him staggering backwards! In fact the blows are coming in so fast that referee Matthew Kivell interposes himself, actually warning Wildchild about such excessive use of the closed fist! Wildchild gives him a terse nod and then pushes past him to get back at his opponent… but Toxxic has managed to recuperate enough to grab his opponent’s head and drop down into a sitout jawbreaker.

 

“Toxxic able to regain the advantage there,” King notes, “despite Wildchild’s cheating ways and the shocking failure of Matty Kivell to disqualify him.”

 

“Please…” Mak sighs.

 

Toxxic’s head is still throbbing however, and the Englishman doesn’t follow up himself, instead electing to roll to his corner and tag in Sly. The bigger man steps through the ropes and waits for Wildchild to finish struggling to his feet before charging, but perhaps he left it too long as Wildchild sees him coming and leaps upwards to plant his feet on Sly’s chest, grab his head and flip backwards to take Austin over with the Freefall!

 

“LET’S GO DUB-CEE!”

 

Despite this piece of skill Wildchild doesn’t seem confident in his ability to handle the Sly One alone, so he heads over to his corner and tags Johnny Dangerous in to lend a hand. The Barracuda re-enters the ring and between them they manoeuvre Sly up so that his chest is on the ring ropes and his legs draped across Johnny’s shoulders; then with Matthew Kivell making his five-count Wildchild bounces off the ropes and leaps over his partner’s head to come crashing down on Sly’s back with the Slam Dance! Wildchild then steps through the ropes as Johnny makes the cover…

 

ONE!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

TWO!!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

…but Sly kicks out! Johnny grimaces in annoyance and starts to bring the winded Sly up again, then ducks his head to take the Sly One onto his shoulders in a Fireman’s carry. He takes a couple of steps forwards and rolls, driving Sly’s back into the mat with the Spinal Explosion, but as the Barracuda rolls back up to his feet he favours his leg and turns back towards his corner.

 

“Johnny signalling that his leg is still a problem,” Mak notes as the Secret Agent grimaces apologetically and tags Wildchild back in, “he struggled to get Sly up for that move.”

 

“So he leaves Wildchild to carry him,” King snorts, “heard that before.”

 

Wildchild seems happy enough to oblige; he climbs to the top rope, then comes flying off with a moonsault on the conveniently-placed Sly. Austin doesn’t manage to get his knees up, unlike Wildchild before him, and the Bahaman Bomber hooks the leg for the cover…

 

ONE!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

TWO!!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

TH-broken up by Toxxic!

 

“BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!”

 

Wildchild turns around and glowers at the Englishman after Toxxic grabs his foot and pulls him off the cover, but the straight-edger is already appeasing Kivell by exiting the ring so Wildchild will have to continue taking things out on Sly instead. So he pulls the bigger man up and then attempts an Irish whip, only for Sly to try and regain control by reversing it. Wildchild gets sent towards the ropes, but that’s not really a problem for him and he launches into a handspring, bounces off the ropes and then springs backwards into a flying back elbow that takes Sly down!

 

“LET’S GO DUB-CEE!”

 

Wildchild is back up quickly and runs for the ropes again, this time bouncing off in a more orthodox fashion and then cart wheeling into a moonsault that brings him down onto Sly again!

 

ONE!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

TWO!!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

…but Sly kicks out, not needing Toxxic (who was half into the ring in preparation). Wildchild casts one more glare at the Englishman, then heads to the ropes and steps out onto the apron where he takes hold of the top cable in anticipation.

 

“Now it’s Wildchild looking to go high-risk,” Mak predicts, “and I still don’t think we’ve ever seen a better, more exciting high-flying wrestler in the SWF than the Wildchild.”

 

“Bah, Andrea was better,” King snorts.

 

Austin Sly is starting to find his way to his feet. Toxxic is shouting a warning and pointing behind him to where Wildchild is starting to bounce on the balls of his feet, but Sly looks round too late and the Bahaman Bomber vaults up…

 

…springs off the top rope…

 

…and snares Austin for the Presumed Guilty!

 

“YEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAA-OOOOOOOOOOHHHHHHhhhhhhhhhh…”

 

Unfortunately for Wildchild Sly is able to slow his momentum on the swinging DDT and prevent himself from being driven skull-first into the mat; instead he braces his legs, then arches backwards to take Wildchild over into a Northern Lights Suplex for the pin!

 

ONE!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

TWO!!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

…but Wildchild kicks out!

 

“Now that’s impressive!” King calls in approval.

 

“Don’t get too excited, it’s going to take more than that to win the match!” Mak snaps.

 

Both wrestlers are struggling a little as they attempt to stand, but Sly is able to react first; he grabs Wildchild’s singlet and falls backwards, pulling the Caribbean Cruiser headfirst into the second buckle. Sly then gets back to his feet and puts the boot to his seated opponent, first with a series of bootscrapes to the face and then by choking him with the boot.

 

“BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!”

 

Kivell comes in and starts counting; Sly ceases, then spits at Johnny Dangerous. Johnny instantly fires up and starts down the apron towards Sly, who takes the opportunity to lean down and start choking Wildchild with both hands as Kivell tries to head Johnny off.

 

“AUST-IN SUCKS!”

 

“AUST-IN SUCKS!”

 

Dangerous finally retreats, realising he’s doing more harm than good, and Kivell is released to see what Sly’s doing:

 

‘One!’

 

‘Two!’

 

‘Three!’

 

‘Four!’

 

‘Fi-’

 

Surprise surprise, Sly releases. Then he takes hold of Wildchild and Irish whips the Bahaman Bomber to the far corner before stepping out to the apron; Wildchild staggers back out and Sly raises a hand:

 

‘CAW-CAW!’

 

“BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!”

 

The fans don’t appreciate him mocking Wildchild, but Wildchild appreciates Sly’s inch-perfect springboard dropkick even less! Austin scrambles back up to his feet and grabs Wildchild’s legs, then turns him over into a Boston Crab.

 

“Come on, tap!” King shouts.

 

Wildchild is extremely athletic however, and his body bends in various unlikely ways. Sly tries to apply pressure but finds his opponent fairly yielding; Wildchild isn’t comfortable, but he’s not in agony either. Accordingly Sly gives up on that plan, releases his hold to stamp on WC’s head, then tags in Toxxic. Sly then underhooks both of Wildchild’s arms while Toxxic picks up his legs, leaving the Bahaman Bomber parallel to the mat for a moment before Sly drops back into a spiked Double-Arm DDT!

 

*BANG!*

 

Toxxic rolls Wildchild over and makes the cover as Sly leaves the ring…

 

ONE!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

TWO!!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

THR-

-but Wildchild kicks out! Toxxic looks less than impressed but pulls Wildchild off the canvas again… then brings him into a standing headscissors and underhooks both arms.

 

“BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!”

 

“NO! No, he’s not going to-” Mak begins.

 

Well, no he’s not. Instead of bringing Wildchild vertical and dropping him with the Demonstar Driver again Toxxic just smirks at Johnny in a ‘had you worried’ way and delivers the Stephens Shock Syndrome to his opponent before rolling Wildchild over for another cover…

 

ONE!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

TWO!!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

THR-

-but Johnny breaks it up!

 

“YEEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!”

 

Matthew Kivell demands that Johnny leave the ring and the Barracuda reluctantly complies; Toxxic looks thoroughly annoyed now and gets back to his feet, then mimes cracking open a can and taking a swig.

 

“Oh, here we go…” King says in anticipation.

 

Toxxic brings Wildchild up to his feet again, then starts hooking the Bahaman Bomber up for the Caffeine Bomb; Wildchild has other ideas however and begins punching Toxxic in the ribs, forcing the Englishman to release his hold. As the World Champion tries to break away Wildchild delivers a kick to the gut, composes himself for a second, then turns around to face away from his doubled-over opponent and reaches back to thread his arms through Toxxic’s. He then twists around again, bringing Toxxic up onto his back, head-down…

 

“Wild Ride!” Mak shouts.

 

…but Toxxic kicks his legs and overbalances backwards, managing to land on his feet and disentangling his arms from Wildchild’s, only to clamp them around his opponent’s throat and under his right arm…

 

“Sleeper Suplex!” King calls in response.

 

…but Wildchild simply stamps hard on Toxxic’s foot! The straight-edger cries out in pain and his grips loosens which allows Wildchild to try and break away, but Toxxic manages to catch him and then headbutt him in the back of the skull!

 

*CRUNCH!*

 

Wildchild falls forwards to the mat before he can get to his corner, and Toxxic (after wobbling dizzily for a moment) calls in Austin Sly. Matthew Kivell protests but Sly ignores him and grabs Wildchild, then hooks him up as if for a suplex… but it’s a suplex that sees his legs rest on Toxxic’s shoulders.

 

“Welcome To The-” Mak starts to shout, but Wildchild cuts him off by repeatedly thumping Sly in the gut! Austin is taken off-guard and doesn’t follow through with the twisting drop that would nail the Welcome To The Revolution, and Wildchild manages to push him away, then use his sudden falling momentum to take Toxxic over with a headscissors!

 

“YEEEEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!”

 

“What a great counter by Wildchild!” Mak yells as Wildchild pops back up to his feet, then leaps into the air to deliver a gamengiri to Austin Sly that knocks the Tag Champion sideways and sees him topple out through the ropes to the floor!

 

“LET’S GO DUB-CEE!”

 

Toxxic gets back up and tries to position himself to cut off the Caribbean Cruiser’s escape route, but Wildchild has the drop on him and takes him down with a leg lariat… then makes it to his corner and tags in Johnny Dangerous!

 

“YEEEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!”

 

Johnny steps through the ropes and charges at Toxxic as the dazed World Champion gets back to his feet, taking out his frustration with a clothesline! Or at least part of his frustration, as he turns round and delivers another the moment Toxxic scrambles up again!

 

“LET’S GO JOHN-NY!”

 

This time Toxxic isn’t up as quickly, although Johnny seeks to help him; not out of respect or concern, but simply to hook him up for a vertical suplex and take him up and over…

 

*BANG!*

 

“LET’S GO JOHN-NY!”

 

Johnny rolls his hips and comes back up to his feet, pulling Toxxic with him, then hoists upwards again…

 

*BANG!*

 

“LET’S GO JOHN-NY!”

 

He rolls his hips again and comes upright once more; slightly slower, but still towing Toxxic for the third suplex:

 

*BANG!*

 

“YEEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!”

 

Johnny floats over into the cover, hooking the leg as he does so and Brian Warner dives to count…

 

ONE!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

TWO!!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

THHHHHHHHHHRRRRRRRRRRRRRRREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE-NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!

 

“BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!”

 

“How close was that!?” Mak gasps as Toxxic fires a shoulder off the mat. Johnny thinks it was rather too close and tells Matthew Kivell so, but the referee remains firm so the Barracuda goes back to the attack. He drags Toxxic up off the mat, slips behind the World Champion and tucks his head under the Englishman’s left arm…

 

…gets a good grip on his opponent…

 

…and lifts Toxxic up for the MI Slam.

 

Given the punishment his back’s already taken recently, it’s probably lucky for Toxxic that Austin Sly chooses this time to re-enter the ring and take out Johnny’s leg with a chop block.

 

“BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!”

 

Johnny crumples backwards as pain flares up his leg again; Toxxic lands more or less on his feet, slaps Sly on the back and then directs him to leave the ring again. The purpose for this quickly becomes clear (apart from acceding to Kivell’s demands) as Toxxic then tags Sly back in to make him the legal man and leaves the ring himself. Matthew Kivell is still keeping an eye on things though, as Toxxic hurriedly climbs to the top rope as Sly sets Johnny up for another shinbreaker; this time Toxxic comes off the top and adds his weight to Johnny’s spiking the Barracuda down onto Sly’s knee!

 

*CRACK!*

 

“Spiked shinbreaker!” Mak shouts, “…and Sly’s going for the Bootheel Stretch!”

 

Sure enough, Sly is locking in the Cloverleaf-type hold on Johnny Dangerous, and as Wildchild gets into the ring to try and stop it Toxxic charges him and clotheslines the Cruiserweight Champion back over the ropes to the outside!

 

“PLEASE DON’T TAP!”

 

Kivell shouts at Toxxic, who protests he was just stopping Wildchild from entering the ring illegally; meanwhile Johnny Dangerous is crawling his way towards the ropes. Toxxic looks over at Sly…

 

…who shouts at him to go after Wildchild…

 

…so Toxxic turns around, runs forward and launches himself to the outside with a somersault senton that crushes Wildchild just as the Tropical Tumbler was getting back up! Kivell looks over in horror as things disintegrate…

 

…and Johnny reaches the ropes!

 

The trouble is Matthew Kivell hasn’t seen it, but out of the two men involved in the hold only Austin Sly can see this. So he releases the hold, then turns around and pastes Johnny in the head with three quick kicks!

 

“BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!”

 

Sly grabs Johnny’s legs again, refastens the hold and tows Dangerous away from the ropes… just as Kivell turns away from the devastation on the outside.

 

“Johnny reached the ropes! He reached the ropes!” Mak yells desperately.

 

“Kivell didn’t see it, so it doesn’t count!” King shouts back happily.

 

Sly cranks back on the hold, yelling with the strain. Johnny reaches desperately for the sanctuary of the ropes, but to no avail this time. His head is ringing and his legs - one in particular - are on fire. There is no way out.

 

Well. There’s one way out.

 

*TAP-TAP-TAP*

 

*DING-DING-DING!*

 

“BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!”

 

“Ladies and gentlemen,” Funyon booms, “here are your winners and STILL~ SWF World Tag Team Champions; RRRRRRRRRRRRREVO-LUTION… ZEEEEEEEEEEEEEEERRRRRRRR-RRRRRRRRRRROOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!”

 

Toxxic, getting up on the outside in some pain, punches the air and winces as his back protests. Austin Sly has his hand raised in the air by Matthew Kivell, a smile on his face.

 

New Commissioner.

 

New Era.

 

But for Wild & Dangerous, a case of Same Shit; Different Day.

 

“Fans, thanks for joining us for SWF All Hallows on SWF Home Video, and thanks to the fans in attendance tonight,” Mak Francis says, “make sure you catch our next show on November 14th, check out www.theswf.com for latest updates, but for now this is Mak Francis and the Suicide King saying goodbye!”

 

 

 

 

 

©2007 Cucaracha Productions for the Smartmarks Wrestling Federation