SWF Clusterfuck '05!

[Chuck Woolery 0]

The camera opens up on Tom Flesher behind his desk. He wears his standard blue-and-white-striped dress shirt, collar open, and a navy blazer. As Flesher speaks, the camera slowly pulls back.

 

“Well, gentlemen… ma’am… it’s good to see all… most… of you again.” Flesher looks toward one side of the screen, shudders at something still offscreen, and continues. “It’s a pleasure to see you’re all still loyal to the SWF, and I’m happy to see you stepping up when we needed you.”

 

The camera continues pulling back, finally settling on a view that partially obscures Flesher behind four rear silhouettes. One, in particular, is nearly seven feet tall; another’s back is so wide that he dwarfs even the broad-shouldered Superior One. The third is a slightly-built junior heavyweight who looks oddly familiar.

 

“Two former World Champions… one of the most talented athletes ever to fail to reach his potential… and… you.” Flesher looks again to his right, pausing to grimace before shaking off the disgust. “Unfortunately, I only have slots available for three of you, and, well, I think it’s clear who they’ll go to. Gentlemen, please go get warmed up. I’ve taken the liberty of drawing your numbers for you. You’re coming in at #8,” Flesher says, nodding at the particularly muscular specimen in front of him. “#10 for you,” he says to the giant, “so don’t go too crazy with the Kielbasa. You’ve got a long night. And you,” he says to the junior, “you’re coming in at #17, just because I like you. Wardrobe has something for each of you, in case you came unprepared. Your checks are in your lockers, and remember… the winner goes to From the Fire to face Sacred or Francis.”

 

Flesher grins.

 

“God, I’m excited about that. Anyways, it’s a pleasure having you back on board for the night, and I’m looking forward to seeing you screw with some of the young’uns. Would you believe Jenkins is legit all of a sudden? … but I digress. Go on and get ready.”

 

With that, the three men nod and file out of the room, ready to be revealed in the Clusterfuck match when their numbers come up. As the fourth starts out, Flesher stands up and says, “Wait a second.”

 

She turns around, facing Flesher.

 

“And what the hell did you bring me out here for? You knew you only had three slots open.” The beady, dark eyes of the black, misanthropic ferret-weasel mix pierce through the screen.

 

“Well, frankly… Allison couldn’t make it out for the show, and I haven’t had any coffee.”

 

Ebony’s eyes narrow into slits. “You… flew me out… to make coffee?!”

 

“If it’s any consolation, I didn’t call you until Cutthroat turned me down… and JT Playa, I think. I couldn’t understand a word the kid was saying.”

 

“God, and you wonder why you’re obsolete,” Ebony mutters, before throwing a stiff kick squarely into Flesher’s crotch. Tom staggers forward, then drops to his knees, gasping to try and get his breath back after being Ebonised. The crossbreed turns around, her snout in the air, and struts off looking accomplished.

 

Flesher, meanwhile, tries to get one more sentence out.

 

“Can… I… at least… stretch you?”

 

~fin~

[Chuck Woolery 0]

BANG! BANG! BANG! BU-BU-BU-BU-BOOOOMM!!!

 

Yeeeeeeeeeeeeeaaaaaaaaaaaaaaahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!!

 

LDP: Welcome SWF fans, it’s time for Clusterfuck 2005 and we are LIVE from Washington DC, in front of a sell-out crowd in the MCI Center!

 

King: Sellout crowd? You mean they’ve abandoned their moral principles for money?

 

LDP: No, not at all.

 

King: Damn, I thought I might like them for once…

 

Before LDP can reply the Smarktron abruptly whites out as the crashing opening chord of ‘Rookie’ by Boy Sets Fire rings out over the arena, the screen quickly darkening to black as the words ‘PREPARE TO BE PROVED WRONG…’ flash up in jagged white letters. The image quickly changes to show various clips of Toxxic in combat with the Insane Luchador, Aecas and Nathaniel Kibagami before shifting once more to show him taking Mike Van Siclen off a balcony and through a table, the devastating landing timed to coincide with the final, stagewide eruption of pyro as blast of red climb the entrance ramp-

 

BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BOOOM!

 

-and announces the arrival of the SWF’s premier straight-edger!

 

Booooooooooooooooooooooo!

 

Toxxic sucks! Toxxic sucks!

 

Toxxic strides out from the back, not even accompanied by Jet on this occasion, and heads straight down for the ring as the fans boo in derision.

 

Funyon: Ladies and gentlemen, the following contest is a Pure Wrestling match scheduled for one fall with a 30-minute time limit. There will be no punching allowed, and each competitor is limited to a maximum of three rope breaks. Introducing first, from Nottingham, England; he is the leader of Revolution Zero and weighs in tonight at 218lbs; the ‘Straight-Edge Sensation’… TOXXXXXXX-IIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIC!!

 

Booooooooooooooooooooooo!

 

Toxxic pays no attention to the fans and rolls into the ring, then pops upright and throws his arms wide to ignite yet more red pyro at the top of each turnbuckle.

 

BAM!

 

LDP: Well, Toxxic at least showed some honour and respect by agreeing to face Dace in this contest tonight instead of taking his title shot against Sacred, but the fans here in Washington don’t seem to be taking kindly to him!

 

King: Some people just don’t recognise talent when they see it. Which is presumably why the Redskins suck so bad.

 

Before Suicide King can continue any further it is his turn to be kit off as the drum solo intro to ‘Painkiller’ by Death kicks up and the lights flash red and white to the beats. The opening scream tears out of the PA system as white pyro lights the ramp from top to bottom-

 

BOOOM!

 

-before the song kicks into full gear, and Dace Night walks out from the back throwing the horns to the crowd as the Smarktron screen seems to shatter!

 

Yeeeeeeeeeeaaaaaaaaaaaaahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!

 

Dace! Dace! Dace! Dace! Dace!

 

Funyon: And his opponent, from Birmingham, England and now residing in Tampa Bay, Florida; he weighs in tonight at 255lbs; he is the High Priest of Horrocore, DACE!

 

Fucking!

 

Funyon: NIIIIIIGGGGGGGHHHHHHHHT!!

 

Dace climbs through the ropes and throws the horns to the crowd once more, then strips off his shirt and throws it into the front rows where it starts a small riot. Toxxic meanwhile strips off his ‘Hardcore Punk’ T-shirt and just throws it at Dace, who swats it aside and kicks it out of the ring.

 

DING, DING, DING!

 

Yyyyyyyyyyyyaaaaaaaaahhhhhhhh!

 

LDP: It’s time to get down to bid’ness! The first match of Clusterfuck 2005 - and yes, Dace Night vs. Toxxic is the FIRST match!

 

King: And the shortest as well, it won’t take Toxxic long to wear this lumbering ox out.

 

The two man still stand facing each other, from across the ring, eyeing each other slowly, moving slowly, like mountains playing chess with each other. Throwing his arms over head again, Dace calls out of the roaring crowd and cuts a finger slowly across his throat as he points at Toxxic with his other hand. The Straight Edge Sensation just shrugs it off and advances, mouthing to Dace, words unheard by anyone else apart from referee Hebner. Giving a small grin, Dace advances as well, the two men coming together, Horrorcore towering over the former World Champion.

 

Let’s Go Dace! Let’s Go Dace! Let’s Go Dace! Let’s Go Dace!

 

Jaws moving, words and insults clearly passing quickly between the two. Almost shoving, but no more than posturing as a shoving match between the two wouldn’t really last very long. Hebner holds back, staying well away from the two men, knowing there is no need to step in yet. Having warned both men of the rules, Hebner hopes there wont be much else for him to do during the match.

 

Let’s Go! CLAP CLAP! Let’s Go! CLAP CLAP! Let’s Go! CLAP CLAP! Let’s Go! CLAP CLAP!

 

Ever so slowly, not wanting to give an inch, the two men back down, stepping apart, just slightly, just enough room to move a bit. Sticking his hand out roughly, Dace offers a handshake, looking Toxxic straight in the eye all the while. Not shifting his gaze either, the Straight Edger takes Night’s hand and starts a handshake. A grimace crosses Toxxic’s face as Night squeezes on the handshake but he doesn’t back away, as the crowd watches on, seeing the mounting tension between Horrorcore and the Straight Edger.

 

STOMP! STOMP! STOMP! STOMP! STOMP! STOMP! STOMP! STOMP! STOMP! STOMP!

 

The sounds of the crowd echo around the arena as the fans beat themselves into a frenzy while the rings stands like the eye of a storm, with Toxxic and Dace Night at the very centre of it, still locked in a stare and a handshake. Toxxic tries to back away and break the grasp, wanting to start the match. But Dace holds him tight and just drags him back in, with a glare on his face...

 

Ooooooooooooohhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!

 

King: See, Dace knows he’ll be outmanoeuvred, he’s not letting go of him!

 

A slight look of shock crosses Toxxic’s face, turning into another yelled insult as he twists around, drawing Night’s arm with him into a Hammerlock behind Night’s back. The Straight Edge Sensation quickly spreads his legs into a base and pushes his weight forwards, driving it into Dace’s shoulder, adding pressure to the Hammerlock. Reaching back across his shoulder, Dace grabs at the back of Toxxic’s head and neck as he matches a twist, the snap on Toxxic’s neck giving him more room to spin around, shifting to a Hammerlock of his own. Sliding his other arm through the bent arm, Dace adds a bar to the hold, making sure Toxxic can’t twist around again in a catch as catch can game.

 

The Straight Edger still tries to twist way, but his arm his firmly pinned to his back and Dace can easily turn with him, keeping his arm bent and pressed hard against his back. Toxxic tries to copy Dace’s earlier tactic if reaching over his shoulder and snapping around but the form on his arm just makes him grunt as the bar holds the Hammerlock in tight. With every step the former World Champion takes, Horrorcore just drives him forwards, putting more and more weight across the hold. With a low growl, Dace throws all his weight forwards as the Straight Edger tries to drop to his knees and roll way from the hold.

 

Oooooooooooohhhhhhhhhhhhhh!

 

Riding him down like a guard taking down a prisoner, Night brings all his strength to bare, tipping Toxxic face first to the mat as he tries to drop and roll. Calmly seating his weight across Toxxic’s lower back, Night leans forwards and keeps the Hammerlock clamped and barred in. Scrabbling around with his free arm, Toxxic tries to find something to hit, some body part to connect with, but finds nothings and just feels even more pain shooting up his arm and along the joint of his shoulder. Looking at the ropes infront of him, Toxxic starts to crawl, as best his can with over two hundred and fifty pounds pinning him down, hoping to make Dace change tactics rather than actually hoping to get to the ropes.

 

And Night does change tactics, unbarring the arm and just slapping the Straight Edge Sensation around the side of it head, hard enough to make his ears ring. And again and again, just boxing the one side of Toxxic’s head, making him feel like a church bell and destroying any sense of balance for a few moments. Now using the Hammerlock to keep control, Night rains in slaps and a few chops across Toxxic’s back and between his shoulder blades, making the Straight Edger cry out at each blow, his back slowly turning pink from the strikes. Only barely managing to cover his head, Toxxic tries to shield the sensitive back of head and ears from any more strikes and hoping that Dace doesn’t start raining down Elbows Smashes as well.

 

SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! Yyyyyyyyyaaaaaaaaaaaaaahhhhhhhhhhhh!

 

King: That’s totally unnecessary! This is meant to be pure wrestling, not a slapping contest!

 

LDP: It’s only closed fists that are illegal in this one, King.

 

Twisting his weight around on the mat, Night moves to lay across Toxxic’s shoulders and starts to slam his knee quickly into the side of Toxxic’s neck and where the Straight Edger hasn’t covered his face. Hebner steps in and kneels down, checking everything is legal, checking that Toxxic hasn’t decided to give up from the blows. Still holding the Hammerlock and using it like a chain to stop the former World Champ from scrambling way, Night drives the point of his elbow onto Toxxic’s arms, trying to use them like a chisel to break the defence apart. One blow and then another and another and the arms start to slacken, the guard dropping.

 

Pivoting around on his knees, Dace drops infront on Toxxic now, but still keeps his grip on the arm with the Hammerlock. With the free arm, Dace snakes a quick Front Facelock around the Sensation’s neck, clamping down and now having a combo of two controlling holds on at once. Franticly flapping around like a fish out of water, Toxxic tries to wriggle know, knowing he has to get off the mat and into the air or he’ll slowly be taken apart, piece by piece. Twisting this way and that, it’s only his speed that allows him to get any leverage from the hold, as Dace just sandbags all of his weight, forcing every little ounce of pressure onto the hold he can.

 

Let’s Go Dace! Let’s Go Dace! Let’s Go Dace!

 

LDP: Toxxic is caught here, he’s going to need to think of something soon or Dace will have won this well before the half hour mark!

 

King: Dace bringing out his best ‘boring Grappler’ impression, I see.

 

Rolling to one side just enough, Toxxic managed to tuck one of his knees under his body before Dace snaps him back roughly and cranks the hold again. Hebner is still there, asking, checking the hold, checking it’s not a choke. With one knee under, Toxxic has room to get the other tucked under himself as well, lifting his body off the mat, taking some weight off his ribs and giving himself just a little room to suck in air as best he can with an arm around his neck.

 

Swinging his free arm in a closed fist, it’s only a warning yell from Referee Hebner that stops Toxxic from landing an illegal punch. Opening his fist quickly, he struggles to pull back for another blow as Night twists the hold, pulling Toxxic’s neck and arm around to an unnatural angle. With very little else he can do, Toxxic settles for using slaps to the side of the ribs, hearing the crack through the muffle of Dace’s arm. Twice more Toxxic lands the open handed slaps but they’re not enough to do more than sting Horrorcore’s sides.

 

Pushing his weight forwards now, Night releases the hold suddenly, catching Toxxic off guard and nearly over-balancing him, not expecting the pull on his neck and arm to suddenly vanish. Catching the Sensation’s other arm, the one that had been slapping at his ribs, Dace twists to the side, snapping both men over to the mat on their backs. Back rolling, Night holds onto the arm and ends up sitting around Toxxic’s waist this time, still holding the arm. Again Toxxic launches into a rain of wild slaps but a quick forearm to the face knocks him back for a moment. Using the arm as a lever, Horrorcore drops his weight across it, half pinning Toxxic down to the mat. But a quick yell from Hebner lets everyone know only one shoulder is down.

 

Again using the point of his elbow, Dace drives it into the middle of the Straight Edger’s chest, sending air rushing out from his lungs. Swinging his legs around, Dace moves himself into a seated position besides Toxxic’s shoulders, wrapping his arms around Toxxic’s head and cranking back with a simple Side Headlock, keeping the Straight Edge Sensation firmly grounded. With his legs still half tangled around Toxxic’s arm, Dace simply scissors them closed, trapping the arm, removing the leverage from it and any risk of him being rolled onto his back. Leaning backwards, Dace grins at Toxxic’s yell of the pain shooting up his arm and around his neck. Flipping his legs back up over his body, Toxxic tries to lace them around Horrorcore’s neck to pull him off with a Headscissors but finds him just out of reach.

 

LDP: Did you want a side order of headlock with your resthold, King?

 

King: Oh shut up.

 

Once more the free arm frails about, the last struggles, trying to break free in the easiest way rather then wasting more energy. Toxxic can already feel his head throbbing, from the pressure of Dace Night’s grip around it, the arms cutting off oxygen and trying to crush bone at the same time as well. Managing to hook his hand into the crook of Horrorcore’s elbow, the former World Champ tries to use it as leverage point to roll Dace onto his back and into a pinning combination, but with his arm trapped and Dace’s weight riding on his chest, he just doesn’t have the strength to manage it.

 

As if the clamp on his head wasn’t bad enough, two hundred and fifty pounds resting on his chest was starting to do more that dig into his ribs, his lungs struggling to expand and suck in more with air with the extra weight, Toxxic starts kicking again. He wasn’t going to pass out anytime soon, but he would if he didn’t escape the hold and start getting some offence in or the Straight Edger would be done for. For a second time, Toxxic tries for a Headscissors but Dace keeps his head down away from the move. Then Toxxic tries to roll him again, but Dace releases the Headlock just to drill the point of his elbow into Toxxic’s chest again. The blow takes nearly every last bit of air from the Sensation’s lungs and leaves him staring up at the lights, gasping.

 

LDP: There just doesn’t seem to be any way out here for Toxxic.

 

King: Bah, if Dace thinks a headlock is enough to beat Toxxic then that explains why he’s never managed it before!

 

Quickly gripping Toxxic’s free arm in a Knuckle Lock, Night un-scissors his legs and moves around, grabbing the other hand in a Knuckle Lock as well. Even though he’s still in trouble, Toxxic can feel his arm start to relax as the blood flows freely down it again. But the cry the and the sound of a hand slapping on the mat jerks him back to the match.

 

ONE!

 

 

 

TWO!

 

 

 

Kickout!

 

Barely jerking his shoulders off the mat, Toxxic struggles to keep at least one of his arms up, struggling against Dace’s greater strength and his positioning advantage. Bringing all his weight to bear again, Dace forces the Straight Edger’s shoulder back to the canvas and Hebner jumps in to count again.

 

 

ONE!

 

 

 

TWO!

 

 

Kickout!

 

Dace watches Toxxic’s chest heave, the effort of refilling his lungs and of trying to keep his shoulders back taking it’s toll on the former World Champ. Horrorcore continues to press, determined to keep Toxxic trapped on the mat and too worn down to fly around, to worn down to slip away from holds or Suplexes. Watching as Toxxic bunches his legs up, Night waits for it as the Straight Edger tries to kip up, hoping for the spring to break him free from the Knuckle Lock. Giving just a little slack in his grasp, Night waits for Toxxic’s body to start to rise up before jerking his arms with a sharp push, stopping the kip up with a bone jarring jolt and leaving Toxxic with his shoulders down once again.

 

ONE

 

 

 

TWO!

 

 

 

Kickout!

 

Almost half bridged up, Toxxic tries to use the arch of his body to at least take some weight from his arms, even if he can’t escape from the Knuckle Lock, hoping to be able to kick Dace’s legs out from under him. Seeing this position, Dace acts almost like a cruiserweight and throws his weight up, as if he was going for a handstand before dropping his weight back down, knees first into Toxxic’s ribs. There’s a sound of air rushing out of Toxxic’s lungs as Dace grins and holds his weight down again for yet another cover.

 

 

ONE!

 

 

 

TWO!

 

 

 

Kickout!

 

Even after dropping all his weight onto Toxxic’s chest isn’t enough to get the pin, Dace thinks it will have at lest worn the Straight Edger down without a lot of effort from himself. Using the hold of the Knuckle Lock, Night pulls Toxxic up into a sitting position before cracking him around the face with two short forearms. Leaving him reeling like a drunk, Dace breaks away and stands up, giving himself a small run up before charging forwards and swinging his left around, cracking Toxxic with a kick to the chest.

 

CRACK!

 

King: Are you wrestling or playing football?

 

Watching Toxxic flop back to the mat, Dace throws up his arms for a moment, as the Straight Edge Sensation rolls along the mat, bailing out under the ropes, clutching at his chest. Moving to follow, Horrorcore goes to charge under the ropes after Toxxic and to beat him around the outside of the ring. But Hebner steps in front of Horrorcore and warns him to keep it inside of the ring. Even as he turns around and starts to count Toxxic out.

 

One.... Two.... Three.... Four... Five...

 

LDP: Toxxic wisely taking a break here as he has been totally outgunned in this match so far!

 

King: Sooner or later Dace will decide to break out the big guns, and that’s when Toxxic will have more room to move and counter. It’ll all work out fine, just you wait.

 

Chest still heaving, Toxxic shakes his head, trying to clear his mind out quickly, trying get himself some plan of attack, knowing he needs to get into the air for this one right now. From the ring, Dace looks over the ropes as yells for Toxxic to get back him, yelling at him to get a move on with it and to start fighting again. Just wanting to force Toxxic into rushing himself and getting caught again.

 

Toxxic Sucks! Toxxic sucks! Toxxic sucks!

 

....Six ....Seven ....Eight and Toxxic finally rolls back in, keeping close to the ropes to give himself another few seconds before he lunches forwards, at least having his lungs full of air again.

 

Cracking his neck, Dace moves in, keeping his legs in a wide base, ready to have to tackle a flying target, looking for the best way to ground the former World Champ again and to take away all his options. Toxxic edges in and snaps like an over stretched spring, leaping into the air and throwing his feet out for a Dropkick that would have taken Dace straight in the jaw. If it hadn’t been the sort of move Dace was expecting, swinging his arms like a fan, Night swats the Dropkick out of the air, leaving Toxxic to flop to a mat. And again Night pounces, leaping over Toxxic’s body and dropping into a Side Headlock, this time with the Sensation face down on the mat. But the hold still works the same, clamping down on the skull, making it hard to breath and move, taking away any rest the break on the outside might have done for Toxxic.

 

Keeping the hold locked with all the weight he can managed, Dace tries to keep the Straight Edger down on the head, and unable to really recover. Horrorcore can feel the shift of weight as Toxxic gets his knees under himself. Wrapping his arms around Night’s waist, Toxxic pushes as hard as he can, forcing his weight off the mat and bringing both men into a standing position. Digging his heels into the mat, the Straight Edger lurches forwards, making the best push he can, hoping to run Dace into the ropes to escape the Side Headlock.

 

There’s a counter to everything though and Dace simple lets go of the Headlock and stops himself dead, with Toxxic almost running him over as he makes his race for the ropes. Twisting around on his heel Night drives the edge of his hand into Toxxic’s chest with a Knife Edge Chop, again driving the air out of him.

 

SMACK!

 

Grabbing Toxxic by the arm now, to hold him in place for the attack, Horrorcore launches a rain of chops into the chest of the ex World Champ, each down turning the pink flesh an even darker shade, the sound of flesh on flesh echoing through out the whole arena, reaching the ears of every single last fan. With Toxxic doubled over and sucking in air, once again almost totally breathless, Dace jumps at the chance to keep him grounded again and takes him over into another Side Headlock, putting Toxxic on his back and staring up at the lights again.

 

Very close to being in the dead centre of the ring, Toxxic knows he has no chance of crawling away so he has to find other ways of breaking before Night starts to break out the big guns. Wrenching back on the simple hold, Dace listens to Toxxic’s grunts and shortening gasps for breath. Knowing that he’s not doing any major damage, but that he’s certainly wearing Toxxic down and keeping him grounded.

 

Bunching the legs and springing, throwing his body like wound up coil, the Sensation goes to the kip up once more as a way of trying to get himself up from the mat, but as athletic as he is, Night’s grip is too night and he just crashes back to the mat with a thud. Squeezing again, Dace rides the hold with all his weight, knowing he has to make Toxxic dazed to have a chance of hitting him with some big bombs.

 

Gritting his teeth in effort, Toxxic struggles to roll himself backwards, looking to try the only other way out of the hold. Placing his hands flat on the mat, Toxxic pushes his weight up and maybe not smoothly but surely lifts himself up into a handstand. Dace looks over with a start and tries to force the Straight Edger back down, Horrorcore moving to keep his advantage and make sure Toxxic doesn’t get a chance to take to the air. But the Sensation gives one kick and pops up from his hands, his head sliding free from the headlock and landing on his feet.

 

Before Dace has a chance to react to the escape, the former World Champ leaps again and slams both of his boots straight into Horrorcore’s face with a Dropkick, dropping him to the mat and giving himself needed moments to recover. As the ringing in Dace’s head starts to fade, he feels the clamp around his head of a Side Headlock, as Toxxic drops into one, hoping to keep Dace down long enough to recover slightly. Leaning back, Dace tries to ride out the hold, working his hands in between Toxxic’s arms and his had, taking some of the pressure off the hold.

 

King: Hah! How do you like your headlock now, ‘Horrorcore’?

 

LDP: I’m not sure if Toxxic trying a headlock is wise, given his opponent…

 

Sitting there for a few moments, the Sensation takes any chance he can to suck in air before Horrorcore starts to stir, ready to be on the attack again. Night tries to just shove Toxxic clear, but Toxxic leans backwards, dropping his weight across Night’s chest and making a quick cover of it.

 

ONE!

 

Kickout!

 

His head still groggy, Toxxic doesn’t notice the legs coming back until the latch around his head and yank him backwards into a Side Headscissors, again the vice like pressure crushing at his head and cutting off his air ways slightly. The grogginess filling him again, glad at least the effects of the Hammerlock have faded away now. Squeezing his legs as tight as he can, Dace tries to force Toxxic to tap right there, yelling at Hebner to check on his opponent, check it’s clean and see if he’s tapping. Knowing that hold after hold will be wearing Toxxic down, that the Straight Edger can’t go forever, Dace leans back again, again, feeling Toxxic kick, hoping he wouldn’t be so slippery when he starts to slam him around.

 

LDP: What did I tell you?

 

King: Shut up.

 

Kicking his legs out, Toxxic tries to get to the ropes, unable to see exactly where they are due to the legs laced around his neck, but looking around him, he can see the other sets of ropes are close, meaning he’s trapped on the wrong side of the wall. Rolling to the side, Toxxic managed to twist himself to be kneeling and head down on the mat, but it doesn’t stop any of the pressure for Night’s grip on his head. Wriggling his head from side to side, Toxxic tries to slip free. Feeling the twisting and turning, Dace waits, sitting there, watching, as Toxxic pops his head up, free of the hold with a shout. Just in time to meet a forearm to the face that cracks the side of his jaw. Grabbing Toxxic by the head, Dace forces him back down, straight back into the Headscissors, knowing he was lucky with his timing but that every bit helps.

 

SMACK!

 

The sound of a chop across Toxxic’s back echoes, Horrorcore still taking things very slowly, wearing him down. Head dizzy with the effort, Toxxic quickly plants his hands on the mat and flips himself up into another handstand, pivoting around on his head and dropping backwards. Dropping his body across Horrorcore’s, the Straight Edge Sensation collapse for a moment, hardly realising that he’s making a cover.

 

ONE!

 

 

 

TW-Kickout!

 

Rolling back from the kickout, Toxxic latches onto the ropes as he bounces against the quickly using them to haul himself up. Springing to the second rope, Toxxic dives through the air towards Night, desperately trying to put him down to get a breather. Seeing the arrow like shape of the Straight Edger’s Dropkick flying towards him, Dace barely manages to spread his arms in him, bunching up and almost plucking Toxxic from the air, stopping him from getting any from the move. With Toxxic warped up again, Night twists around to the middle of the ring to slam Toxxic down, having him worn down enough to open up with the big guns.

 

But Toxxic snakes his arms up and links them around Horrorcore’s neck, dropping all his weight backwards and pushing hard with his legs, just about getting enough leverage to take Dace over and dump him to the mat with a Monkey Flip. Rolling to the ropes, Toxxic grabs hold of them like a lifeline and hauls himself up, sucking down ragged gulps of air, shaking his head.

 

King: Yes! You show that braindead metal freak who’s in charge!

 

Looking up at the lights, blinking slowly, Dace swears at being caught like that as he scrambles to his feet, looking to take Toxxic’s head from his shoulders to stop him doing something like that again. Sending his arm sailing through the air like an iron bar, Dace aims it straight for Toxxic’s neck, but the bounce of the ropes his just enough for Toxxic. Leaping into the air, Toxxic latches onto the Lariat as he swings his body behind Night’s back and scissors Night’s over arm with his legs, rolling backwards, Toxxic drags both of them down and rolls Dace into a Crucifix pinning hold as Hebner leaps in to count the fall.

 

ONE!

 

 

 

TWO!

 

 

 

Kickout!

 

Surging now, knowing rushes don’t last long, especially when you hardly have air in lungs, Toxxic makes a run of it. Leaping into the air again as Dace comes back to his feet, the Straight Edge Sensation lands on Horrorcore’s shoulders. But rather than swinging backwards for a Hurricanrana, Toxxic tips his weight forwards, sliding down Dace’s back and rolling him up into a Sunset Flip, as Hebner dives in again.

 

ONE!

 

 

 

TWO!

 

 

Kickout!

 

Shoving himself off the mat to break the pinning combination, Dace rolls backwards for a second before lunging forwards, hoping to catch Toxxic before he can move away, and pin him down again. But Toxxic back rolls as well, slipping away from Dace’s grasp and leaving him sprawled on the mat. As soon as he gets to his feet, Toxxic jumps again and once more smashes both boots into Nights’ face with a low Dropkick. Knowing far to late that while he’s worn the Straight Edger down, it’s not quite enough, Dace tries to shake his head clear, but doesn’t have a chance as a weight drops across the back of his had and sends stars across his eyes again as Toxxic drops a Springboard Legdrop. Quickly rolling Dace onto his back, Toxxic flops into another cover, not even able to hook the leg.

 

ONE!

 

 

 

TWO! Kickout!

 

Toxxic Sucks! Toxxic Sucks! Toxxic Sucks!

 

Still sucking in air with every chance he gets, Toxxic slowly climbs back to his feet, stumbling slightly as he makes it to the ropes. Turning around, he watches as Dace picks himself up, shaking his head. Leaping to the ropes and flying through the air yet again, Toxxic makes sure Dace doesn’t catch him this time, hooking on a Facelock in mid air. But he doesn’t nail a DDT, he surprises Night and shifts to the side as he rolls, cradling him over into a Small Package, leaving Dace with his shoulders down on the mat again.

 

ONE!

 

 

 

 

 

TWO!

 

Kickout!

 

King: Just give up Dace! You’re outmatched!

 

LDP: Toxxic certainly seems to have turned the tables here, but can he maintain his momentum?

 

Clenching his teeth at the strain, Toxxic managed to hold onto the grip around Horrorcore’s neck even as he rolls free. Struggling back to his feet, Dace finds the former World Champion clinging onto he stands. Dropping his weight back in a flash, Toxxic sits out, dragging Dace down into a Sitout Jawbreaker, snapping his head back with a small crunch. Watching Night stagger backwards, Toxxic throws himself into the air and this time connects with the Dropkick, sending Dace back to the mat like a falling tree trunk. Bouncing into the ropes again, springing from the second rope, the Straight Edge Sensation twists through the air, dropping himself chest first with a simple Splash, holding on for the cover.

 

ONE!

 

 

 

 

TWO!

 

 

 

Kickout!

 

Struggling back up to his feet, Toxxic drags Dace up with him, snaking on a Front Facelock, quickly dropping to one knee with a Facecrusher, but as he pops up for the DDT part of the Sobering Thought combo, Dace snaps a desperation elbow into the Straight Edger’s ribs, stunning him for a moment. It’s a moment that Dace needs, to clear his head out, just enough for the basest of thoughts to tell him to keep hitting. Again and again Horrorcore smashes his elbows and forearms into Toxxic’s ribs, nailing blow after blow, driving Toxxic back and stopping him from hitting the DDT.

 

Wrapping his arms around the Sensation, Night surges forwards, hauling Toxxic up and slamming him back first into the nearest turnbuckle. Backing off, Dace unloads in a flurry, with slaps that box Toxxic’s face and ears, following up with a series of quick Elbow Smashes, the three blows snapping Toxxic’s head back each time with a sharp crack.

 

CRACK! CRACK! CRACK!

 

King: Punches!

 

LDP: Rubbish!

 

Stepping back, Dace sags against the ropes, catching his breath, waiting for his eyes for focus completely again. Slumped against the turnbuckles, it’s all Toxxic can do to keep himself upright, ears ringing like a church bell, spots flashing here and there infront of his vision, the age old sign that someone’s hit you hard around the head. Hebner is close at hand, having watched every single blow for sign of a punch, warning Dace all the while to back out of the corner. Now Hebner checks to make sure that the two men aren’t grappling, that there’s no need to call for a break.

 

Latching onto Toxxic’s wrist, Horrorcore digs his heels into the mat and spins around, launching Toxxic across the ring into the turnbuckles. Dazed but still managing to move, Toxxic leap up and jumps to the turnbuckles, quickly scaling to the top, but has to pause for a moment as he wobbles, his balance still not perfect from being boxed around the ears. Steeling himself, the former World Champ dives backwards, twisting around in the air to deliver a Clothesline, but he’s taking too much time balancing and Dace is there waiting for him.

 

Glad to see his tactics have been paying off in managing to counter at least some of Toxxic’s flying skills, Dace sends his leg flashing through the air like a knife. His foot connecting with Toxxic’s chest in mid air and taking him out of the air and watching him drop to the mat like stone. Easily scooping up the dead weight of Toxxic’s body, Dace hauls him into a Face Facelock and lifts his high into the air with a Vertical Suplex. Leaving him hanging, for moment after moment after moment, all the blood draining down into Toxxic’s head before Horrorcore finally drops back to the mat with the Stalling Vertical Suplex, floating over into a cover and hooking the leg.

 

ONE!

 

 

 

TWO!

 

 

 

 

Kickout!

 

LDP: And just like that Dace Night is back in control, the High Priest of Horrorcore has really been on top in this contest so far!

 

King: So far. You remember those two words, they’re very important.

 

Quickly dragging Toxxic up again, Night measure the Sensation before trying to take his head from his shoulders with a Lariat that sends Toxxic through the air with a two hundred and seventy degree spin, dropping him face first to the mat, hardly moving. Again, Dace moves into a quick, tight cover, trying to keep the pressure and if not win, make Toxxic use energy kicking out.

 

ONE!

 

 

 

 

 

TWO!

 

 

 

 

TH-Kickout!

 

Slamming his fist into the mat, Dace draws his finger across his throat just like at the start of the match and points to the top of the nearest turnbuckle. Picking Toxxic up like a ragdoll, Horrorcore just carries him across to the corner and picks him up, dumping the Straight Edger on the top rope. Hooking on a Front Facelock and using the same arm to grab Toxxic’s leg, Night reaches forwards to grab Toxxic’s other leg with his free hand. But digging down, Toxxic finds just enough to send a slap around the side of Night’s head, making his ears ring for a moment. Franticly fighting, Toxxic starts kicking his knees up, slamming them one after the other into Night’s chin, feeling the hold on him loosen slowly.

 

Now taking his turn to grab Dace’s head, the Straight Edge Sensation kicks off the ropes and uses them to spin around, leaving Night facing the turnbuckles as Toxxic drops his weight backwards, pulling Night out of the corner with an Inverted DDT. Head still ringing, it’s all Toxxic can do to make himself pitch forwards to get a cover form the move as he slumps down as well.

 

ONE!

 

 

 

 

TWO!

 

 

 

THR-Kickout!

 

LDP: Toxxic counters the Muscle Buster into the Final Shine, but it’s not enough!

 

Both men lay there for moments after the kick out, trying to set their heads straight, trying to figure our what they’re about to do next to get back into the match. Rolling over and grabbing hold of the ropes, the former World Champ uses them to help drag himself up to his feet, standing up slowly, making sure he can stand without using the ropes. As Night slowly starts to roll to his feet, Toxxic does the best thing he can and just kicks him in the face, repeatedly. Then dragging Dace all the way up to his feet, Toxxic snaps home a quick European Uppercut because scaling the ropes again, standing on the top rope, not having to worry about balance too much.

 

Watch as Dace Night staggers around, Toxxic springs from the top rope, diving through the air, looking to score a match winning Hurricanrana but as he lands on Horrorcore’s shoulders, the former World Champ finds himself being sent back towards the turnbuckles. Against dumping Toxxic on the top turnbuckle, Dace tries to hook him up for the Muscle Buster again, but against Toxxic tries to fight out, throwing chops and forearms. But Night has none of it, slapping Toxxic’s arms away and drilling him in the face with two stiff elbow smashes.

 

Fuck Him Up Dace, Fuck Him Up! CLAP-CLAP!

Fuck Him Up Dace, Fuck Him Up! CLAP-CLAP!

 

Climbing up to the second rope, Horrorcore pulls the former World Champ into a half standing position, wrapping his arms around Toxxic’s mid section for a Gutwrench Suplex but with a frantic shove, Toxxic sends Dace back to the mat with a thud, but ends up crashing down crotch first onto the turnbuckles himself. Almost bounding back to his feet, Dace races back to the corner and smacks Toxxic with another Elbow Smash before simply hauling him up, spinning him around and planting him with a Spinebuster, barely managing to drop into a cover after the move.

 

ONE!

 

 

 

TWO!

 

 

 

 

 

THR-Kickout!

 

Rolling over, both men lay side by side, staring up at the lights, chests heaving at the effort to keep sucking in air and to keep moving. A bell sounds and there’s a call, the sign that it’s only three minutes left in the match.

 

LDP: Three minutes remaining, and both men really need to step up their games here if they want to come away from this match with a win!

 

King: Ah, but it’s only Dace that really needs to - Toxxic has beaten Dace twice in singles competition, if he can hold out for a draw under Pure Wrestling rules against Dace, I’d say he can count that as a moral win!

 

LDP: What do you know about morals?

 

King: I know enough to know I can survive quite happily without them.

 

STOMP! STOMP! STOMP! Let’s Go Dace! Let’s Go! Let’s Go Dace! Let’s Go!

 

Slowly rolling into a seated position, Dace shakes his head clear, clutching at it as he slowly stands up. Toxxic’s not far beyond, the former World Champion desperate as ever to make it into the air to for the offence but a boot to the guy cuts him off, doubling him over, as Horrorcore clamps on a quick Front Facelock and snaps backwards, spiking the Straight Edger to the mat with a DDT. Rolling over, Dace makes a cover again...

 

Yyyyyyyyyyyaaaaaaaahhhhhhhhhhhhhh!

 

ONE!

 

 

 

TWO!

 

 

 

 

 

 

THR-Kickout!

 

Bbbbbbbbbbbooooooooooooo! Toxxic’s Sucks! Toxxic Sucks!

 

Roughly yanking the Sensation to his feet, Horrorcore swings behind him into a Rear Waistlock, looking to just dump Toxxic on his shoulders with a German Suplex, to knock his head about once again, but Toxxic struggles forwards wildly, grasping at the top ropes infront of him.

 

Break!

 

LDP: Dace was going for the German Suplex and that might have been enough, but Toxxic was able to make it to the ropes.

 

King: And if Dace had brains, he’d just nail Toxxic anyway but he doesn’t so oh well, he’ll lose with like three seconds to go.

 

Stepping backwards, Dace makes the break, giving Toxxic room before shoving him in the back and sending him sprawling into the turnbuckles with a thud. Backing up, Night readies his elbow to drive it into the back of Toxxic’s skull, but as he charges it, Toxxic grips the top rope and throws his body upwards, hooking his legs around Night’s neck. Swinging his body around and out of the corner, Toxxic whips his legs round and sends Dace crashing head first into the middle turnbuckle.

 

CRUNCH! Bbbbbbbbbbbbboooooooooooooooooooooooooooo!

 

Reaching up, Toxxic quickly rolls the dazed Dace Night into a School Boy, leaning all this weight up into the hold, not using the ropes but still putting on as much pressure as we can.

 

ONE!

 

 

 

TWO!

 

 

 

 

THR-Kickout!

 

Yyyyyyyyyyyyyaaaaaaaaaaaahhhhhhhhhhhhhhh! Dace! Dace! Dace! Dace! Dace!

 

LDP: Headscissors into the turnbuckles, a brilliant counter form Toxxic and it nearly won him the match.

 

King: God, I’d have seen that coming a mile off. Just doesn’t to show that a pea brain, hairy chested ape Dace Night is.

 

LDP: Wrestlers don’t have hair on their chests King.....

 

Both men try to scramble back to their feet, but Dace can only just manage to stand after having his head meet the turnbuckle in such an unexpected way, and Toxxic just drives a boot into his midsection, pulling him into a Standing Headscissors and looping his arms into a Double Underhook, hardly able to swing Horrorcore around and drop him on his face with the Toxxic Shock Syndrome. And it’s even more of a struggle to roll him over onto his back and drop into a cover, as Toxxic hopes it’s the last one.

 

King: Toxxic Shock Syndrome and this is over at last damn it. Toxxic’s one again as well he should have!

 

ONE!

 

 

TWO!

 

 

 

 

THRE-Kickout!

 

Rrrrrrrrrrrrrraaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaahhhhhhhhhhhh!

 

LDP: But it’s not over yet and there’s only one minute left to go as well!

 

King: I’ve seen guys loose matches with a minute left on the clock and I’m about to add Dace Night to that list as well damn it.

 

Racing back to his feet, Toxxic hauls Dace up with him and clamps on a Three Quarter Facelock and bounds up the turnbuckles, looking to flip over and drive Dace down on the back of his head with the Intoxxication, but in mid run, he feels the think arms on Horrorcore wrapping around his throat...

 

LDP: Ten seconds and Dace is countering the Intoxxication!

 

...Dace grabs Toxxic down, pulling him away from the turnbuckles, clamping his arms shut in a vice-like Naked Choke, wrapping his legs around Toxxic’s ribs to keep him from kicking to the ropes and squeezing for dear life as the crowd counts down.

 

Five!

 

Four!

 

Three!

 

Two!

 

One!

 

DING! DING! DING!

 

TAP! TAP! TAP!

 

LDP: Toxxic taps out but it’s a second to late!

 

Bbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbooooooooooooooooooooooo! Fuck you Toxxic! Fuck you Toxxic! Fuck You!

 

King: See, I told you Pete.

 

Five More Minutes! Five More Minutes! Five More Minutes! Five More Minutes! Five More Minutes!

 

Funyon: Ladies and Gentlemen, the time limit has expired, this match is a draw!

 

Bbbbbbbbbbbbbbbboooooooooooooooo! Five More Minutes! Five More Minutes! Five More Minutes! Five More Minutes!

 

King: Five more minutes...more time, please. There’s a time limit on a match for a reason and if a guy can’t get the job done in that time then it’s his fault for it. Besides, who’d give Dace Night five more minutes anyway?

 

Five More Minutes! Five More Minutes! Five More Minutes! Five More Minutes!

 

LDP: Apparently the guys in the back would King, as I’m being told there will be an overtime, official or not, there will be more time.

 

King: You’re kidding me....right Pete?

 

Funyon: Ladies and Gentlemen, I have been informed that this match is to receive five minutes overtime effective .....now.

 

Rrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrraaaaaaaaahhhhhhhhh!

 

DING, DING, DING!

 

Dace and Toxxic are back on their feet, but it doesn’t last long, with Toxxic’s face still purple from the effects of the choke hold, Dace lumber forwards, blocking a wild blow and spinning Toxxic around and dragging him down into a second Choke Hold and squeezing the air from his body.

 

TAP! TAP! TAP!

 

DING! DING! DING!

 

Yyyyyyyyyyyyaaaaaaaaaahhhhhhhhhhhh!

 

LDP: And Toxxic taps out to the Choke Hold.

 

King: Was that legal...did that even count?

 

LDP: I don’t know if it count’s, but it sure was legal.

 

King: Well, thank god that’s the last we’ll ever see of Dace Night.

 

Dace F’n’ Night! Dace F’n’ Night! Dace F’n’ Night! Dace F’n’ Night! Dace F’n’ Night! Dace F’n’ Night!

[Chuck Woolery 0]

“DUN DUN… DUN DUN… DUH DUH DUN!”

 

As the stirring notes of Beethoven’s Ninth Symphony hit the speaker system, a now-familiar figure appears in the entryway. He walks to the top of the ramp, microphone in hand, and surveys the scene before him: a seething mass of screaming humanity, united in their hatred of this handsome Canadian youth.

 

“Ladies and gentleman, please welcome “THE CRITIC” SCOTT PRETZLER!”

 

He walks slowly and proudly down the ramp, savoring the reaction of those for whom he holds so much contempt.

 

“Folks, Scott Pretzler is not scheduled to wrestle here at Clusterfuck,” says Longdogger Pete. “I have no idea what he is doing here, and quite frankly–”

 

Suicide King cuts him off. “Give the guy a chance. You may learn something.”

 

Pretzler stops at the bottom of the ramp and begins to speak.

 

“I’m sure each and every one of you would love to see me lose tonight.”

 

The crowd erupts!

 

“Unfortunately, that will not be possible, as I am not scheduled to wrestle. I tried – believe me, I tried – but the management here just doesn’t seem to be interested in someone who can actually work a match.” He walks up the steps and enters the ring.

 

“But I would like to shed some light on an issue that’s probably been on everyone’s mind since I first appeared here in the SWF. To be specific, I wish to introduce you to the Snowflake Clutch. If you haven’t been following the American indy scene over the past few years, my mention of this move during my last appearance may have caused you to scratch your head – it is, however, the most feared and dangerous submission hold in the business today. Countless championship reigns have been cut short by it. So have a few careers. One might even say that it… brings the swankness.

 

“Everyone should be familiar with it. But since most of you are not, I will now demonstrate it for your enjoyment and benefit.

 

“I will, of course, need a volunteer for this demonstration. Do I have any takers?”

 

He is greeted, of course, by a deafening chorus of boos, as well as the cheers of some fans who wish to get in on the action.

 

“Come on. It won’t hurt THAT MUCH. It’s not like I’m going to make you watch a Landon Maddix match or anything TRULY excruciating!” He chuckles at his own joke.

 

To everyone’s surprise, a cameraman on the outside puts down his equipment and, without hesitation, steps into the ring. He is young, Hispanic, rather heavyset, and a few inches shorter than Pretzler.

 

“Wonderful,” says The Critic. “What is your name?”

 

“Juan Murillo.”

 

“Right. And where are you from?”

 

“I was born and raised in El Salvador. But today I live right here in Washington D.C.!”

 

At the mention of their home town, the crowd once again begins to cheer loudly.

 

“Well that’s quite convenient. It’s a beautiful place, isn’t it? Home to Watergate, a crack-smoking mayor, rampant poverty, the highest crime rate in the nation… you ought to be proud. Damn proud.”

 

“BOOOOOOOOOOO!” Pretzler's attempts at getting cheap heat are immediately successful.

 

“Shut up. I take it, Señor, that you are a camera operator.”

 

“That’s right.”

 

“Tell me, Juan, what was it that made you step into the ring… No – better yet, what made you want to become a cameraman? To dedicate your entire existence to documenting the lives of famous people, while you yourself received no recognition whatsoever? Doesn’t it make you feel… small?

 

“Like a parasite?”

 

“I love my job, sir.”

 

“Oh, of course you do. Who doesn’t? Every man loves his job. And I can certainly see why you chose to remain behind the camera. I mean, you are a little dumpy, and your nose is a tad large, and the rest of your face does look like it was devoured by flesh-eating bacteria… no, you’re definitely not what one might call a looker.”

 

Juan is becoming very embarrassed. He is angry, too, but he knows that it is not his place to talk back to or strike a wrestler, and is slightly intimidated by Pretzler. He casts his eyes downward and turns away.

 

Pretzler can sense his mounting rage and humiliation.

 

“I’m sorry…” he laughs, “I… ha ha… I didn’t bring you out here to make you look like a complete tool. I’m just a dick, I guess. Sorry.”

 

He slaps the cameraman hard on the back, jolting him to alertness. The crowd “Oooooh”s at this insult. Murillo’s face is becoming red.

 

“Okay, now here’s how the move works. Pay careful attention. It begins with my opponent in a sitting position – that means you’re gonna have to sit down, pizzaface. Well, what are you waiting for?”

 

Juan hesitates, then whirls around and attempts to punch Scott in the face. Pretzler blocks it and forces Juan to his knees while still holding the microphone. He kicks Juan in the back of the neck and grabs his left arm.

 

“Now,” he grunts through exertion, “I wrap the foe’s left arm across his chest…” he does this, “…and then do same with the other arm, so the two arms are crossed over each other.”

 

He drops the microphone and secures the right arm of the struggling victim, completing the cross pattern. He then twists Juan’s body so he is lying on his stomach with Pretzler straddling his back – the effect is that of a cross-armed camel clutch. Gritting his teeth, Pretzler wrenches back on the hold, causing the cameraman to scream.

 

“Somebody stop this!” shouts Pete. “Pretzler has no right to be torturing this defenseless man!”

 

“Nice form,” says King.

 

Pretzler continues to tighten the hold, Murillo howling in pain all the while. Finally, a security crew rushes into the ring and separates them. As he relinquishes his grip, Pretzler allows himself to be restrained by the guards.

 

The medical staff have also arrived, and are loading Juan Murillo onto a stretcher.

 

Pretzler calls for the microphone. Once the security guards are certain that he is under control, they allow the referee to hand it to him. He takes it.

 

“So there you have it, my friends. Though derived from a simple camel clutch, it is actually far more effective as it puts additional pressure on the arms and shoulders and allows for less mobility in the victim.

 

“Remember to pop for it when you see it in my first match. And if you’re in the mood, try it on your little brother.”

 

He smirks and lets the security crew take him to the back.

[Chuck Woolery 0]

Backstage, Ben Hardy stands, microphone in hand awaiting his cue after the hardfought contest between Dace Night and Toxxic. Hardy smiles, while Gus changes to a wider shot, placing both the interviewer and Mak Francis in his view scope. The crowd reacts as expected, cheering for the challenger in tonight’s Main Event.

 

“I’m here with Mak Francis, the man who will be getting a shot at the Smarks Wrestling Federation champion Sacred later tonight. But you’ll notice I did not call him the number one contender. The actual number one contender was just involved in a match with Dace Night.” Hardy pauses. “Mak, some people are wondering just why you are receiving this title shot, when Toxxic is clearly the number one contender.”

 

“That’s right,” says Mak, with an air of confidence. “I’m not the number one contender, but that doesn’t matter. Honestly, I could care less what Toxxic is—I deserve this. This is my first shot—first shot, Hardy, at the World title after three years in the SWF. And if Toxx has a problem with that, then sunshine can say it to my face, so I can slap him back across the pond.”

 

Mak turns and faces the camera.

 

“Sacred, apparently soon is sooner than I could have originally hoped for.” Francis continues to stare straight into the camera, his voice eerily calm considering what he’s talk about. “See two weeks ago, I sat backstage watching your match with Landon Maddix—you were there Hardy. You saw. And I got this odd sensation of déjà vu. A rising star going up against a cagey veteran and a girl on the outside, looking at him suffer, while he slowly, slowly, realizes that he’s going to have to just give up. The chair shot was original though…”

 

A pause.

 

“For some reason seeing that made me upset… and I’m not the guy to get upset, boss. So tonight, I’m going to hurt you like you hurt me—no, I’m going to hurt you worse than you hurt me.” At the end of this sentence Mak breaks into an uncharacteristic smile. “And then—I don’t care how beaten or broken you are. After this match—I’m going to smile. Because I got my payback and you couldn’t do anything to stop it. And who the fu-*beep* are you to tell me otherwise.”

 

Hardy raises his eyebrow at the blatant f-bomb, as the scene fades to black, with just the image of Mak Francis… smiling.

[Chuck Woolery 0]

"It's that time, once again...it's Clusterfuckin' time!"

 

The cries of Longdogger Pete accompany a large roar from the crowd in the nation's capital, as the logo appears on the screen, informing everyone that the Clusterfuck is next, with 16 determined faces hovering over the Clusterfuck logo...accompanied by four, mysterious question marks. In the meantime, the hard camera pans the crowd, picking out some of signs that made it past the strict SWF security staff (Mr Bukkake and J.T Playa), including...

 

"VIVA LA REVOLUTION (EXCEPT SPIKE)"

 

"19 MEN, ONE COCKROACH!"

 

"SPOILER: NUMBER FIFTEEN WINS!"

 

...and of course...

 

"I'D RATHER BE AT ANGLEPALOOZA!"

 

 

"Yes, the SWF tradition continues as tonight, twenty more superstars will do battle over a World Title shot at From The Fire. And also, the one time of year we can drop as many f-bombs as we Fuckin' like!"

 

"How crass."

 

"As you can see, we've got a confirmed entry-list of sixteen. Amongst those confirmed; Martial Law, two of Revolution Zero, Wild and Dangerous, The Royal Order. And then, of course, we have four unnamed entrants which could really shake up an already wide-open field."

 

"...are you wearing wrestling gear Pete?"

 

"No."

 

"...you are, aren't you? What number did you draw?"

 

"...can we go up to Funyon or something? Please?"

 

 

 

*DING DING*

 

"Ladies and gentlemen, it is NOW time...FOR THE 2005 CLUSTERFUCK...MATCH!" booms Funyon, drawing a pop from the crowd. "Here are the rules..."

 

A graphic with the rules pops up on the SmarkTron...only to disappear as quickly as it had arrived, leaving the crowd confused.

 

"...uhm, okay...and now, let us all found out, who drew...number ONE!"

 

 

ATTENTION!

 

ALL YOU NIGGAZ!

 

"Woah! It's DubCee!" Pete cries as Redman's "Let's Get Dirty" brings the crowd to their feet.

 

 

ALL YOU BITCHES!

 

TIME TO PUT DOWN THE CRISTAL, TIME TO TAKE OFF THE ICE FOR A MINUTE…

 

 

TIME TO THROW A LITTLE MUD IN THIS MOTHERFUCKA…

 

The Bahama Bomber emerges through the curtains and stops, scanning the crowd momentarily before he takes a last deep breath and sets off towards the squared circle.

 

"From The Bahamas...one half of the SWF World Tag Team Champions... this is... WIIIIIILLLDDCCCHHHIIIIILLLDD!!!"

 

Sliding into the ring, Wildchild leaps to his feet and passes his Tag Title gold to the sidelines. Already, all eyes are turned towards the entrance, awaiting #2, Wildchild's amongst them as he begins to do some last-minute warm-ups. And the Bahama native's eyebrows rise ever so slightly as Alan Clark's mug appears on the SmarkTron the opening to Incubus' "Pardon Me" hits.

 

"And what a showdown this'll be!" Pete cries. "Two former Cruiserweight Champions, both fan favourites, kicking it off this year!"

 

"Oh. Joy."

 

 

"Pardon me while I burst..."

 

*BOOOOOM!*

 

As he emerges through the smoke, Alan Clark is greated by cheers from the fans, the crowd split pretty much down the middle in support.

 

"And, the man who drew number TWO! From Long Beach, California... AAAAAAALLLAAAANNN CLLLLAAAAAAARRRRRRRRKK!!!"

 

Intro over, Clark suddenly steps on the gas and sprints down the aisle, which causes Wildchild to cease his warm-ups to await Clark, jumping him as he slides in with stomps.

 

*DING DING DING*

 

"We're underway, and at full speed!" Pete proclaims.

 

Wildchild continues throwing stomp after stomp at Clark as he scrambles to his feet under the barrage, managing to catch Wildchild with a knee. Time bought, Clark clubs Wildchild across the shoulder blades once...twice, before tossing him to the corner. Clark follows in with another knee, then a kick, both to the abdomen. The Bahama Bomber is now the one under siege as Alan follows up with three more, rapid fire kicks, before whipping him across towards the opposite buckles. But Wildchild manages to vault onto the top turnbuckle before he crashes into it, tumbling instantly backwards and moonsaulting over the charging Martial. Putting the brakes on, Clark twirls away from the corner, Wildchild already shuffling a sidekick Clark's way...

 

 

 

...but Alan ducks, waiting for Wildchild to turn, before...

 

 

 

...whiffing a kick of his own. Wildchild quickly sprints to the ropes and as Clark gains his bearings, Wildchild knocks them away with a Pinball!

 

"Patented Wildchild." King points out.

 

Away bounces Clark, scrambling back up in the corner, as Wildchild lines him up. As Alan gets up, Wildchild charges, spinning and splashing Clark into the buckles with the Blue Crush. Clark is staggered by the move, wandering aimlessly from the corner, allowing Wildchild to sprint off the ropes and dive at Clark, dropkicking him over the top....only for Clark to hook the top rope, swinging himself back to safety!! Clark is back in before Wildchild can get to him. So the Tag Champion simply starts to stomp again, keeping Clark underneath the bottom rope.

 

"Our first near elimination of the 'Fuck, King."

 

"Yeah. Clark nearly gave a worse performance this year than he did last." sneers King. "If that's at all possible."

 

The split crowd are buzzing from the hectic opening exchange, as Wildchild helps Clark up. Wildchild whips Clark, catching him returning with a boot, before looking for the Carribean Cutte...Clark thrusts upwards to counter, flipping Wildchild. The agile Carribean lands on his feet, looking for another whip. Clark counters again, pulling Wildchild into a knee to the gut, before gutwrenching him and lifting. Wildchild is able to spin out expertly to his feet and hit the ropes, but Clark boots Wildchild upon his return.

 

*SLAP!*

 

"WHOOOOOO!"

 

Before lashing his chest with a knifedge.

 

 

*SLAP!*

 

"WHOOOOOO!"

 

...and a second. Wildchild is rocked, so Clark boots and re-tries, this time getting the gutwrench and flipping Wildchild into a Gutwrench Railbreaker!

 

 

Looking up, Clark spies the Clusterfuck Timer™ winding down. And with time until #3 diminishing, Clark quickly hoists Wildchild and drags him towards the ropes. Up goes a leg and instantly, Wildchild clutches the middle rope as his other leg is lifted.

 

 

"TEN!"

 

"NINE!"

 

"Here we go, we're counting down to number three!"

 

 

"EIGHT!"

 

"SEVEN!"

 

"SIX!"

 

"FIVE!"

 

"FOUR!"

 

"Wildchild, hanging on..."

 

 

"THREE!"

 

"TWO!"

 

"ONE!"

 

With Wildchild teetering, Clark turns his head to the stage...

 

*BBZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZTTT!*

 

 

"Johnny Dangerous!"

 

"Now THIS is interesting!"

 

Clark's eyes bulge out of their sockets as “After The Flesh” by My Life With The Thrill Kill Cult begins to thump through the P.A system and Johnny Dangerous charges through the curtains.

 

"From Las Vegas, Nevada..." booms Funyon. "JOHHHNNYYYYY DAAAANNGGEERRRROOUUSSSS!!!"

 

Quickly Clark upps his efforts and tries to get Wildchild up and out while he still has the chance. But Dangerous slides into the ring and goes full speed ahead, charging at Clark and pulling him off Wildchild. Johnny then pops off some right hands, staggering Clark, while Wildchild is getting back up. A knifedge to the throat sends Clark reeling off to the side, into a backhand fist from Wildchild, sending Alan stumbling back to Johnny...

 

 

*SMACK!*

 

...and his Johnny Kick!

 

"Wild and Dangerous benefitting from the luck of the draw, with numbers SO close." Pete comments. "I wouldn't want to be in Clark's shoes."

 

"Neither would I. Especially now."

 

"Indeed. Alone with the Tag Team Champions. Alan had better hope #4 is a Martial Law member."

 

"If he lasts that long."

 

The SWF's premiere tag team pull Clark to his feet and send him to the ropes, hooking him by his arms and hitting for a double hiptoss. Both Tag Champs roll straight to their feet and with Clark down, the two exchange a knowing look, glad to have the advantage of strength in numbers. Alan drags himself up, Johnny going right to him. A trip from Johnny alerts Wildchild, waiting as Dangerous slingshots Clark up...

 

 

 

…and Wildchild plucks him out of the air with a dropkick!!

 

"That's great." sighs King. "Now dump Clark and start fighting each other!"

 

"King!"

 

"Come on Pete, that's what everyone wants to see!"

 

But Johnny and Wildchild instead give each other a nod, before Wildchild hits the ropes, Johnny back-dropping him on return, sending his partner plummeting across Clark's sternum with a senton! Wildchild rolls off of Clark, as Johnny hits the ropes himself, Wildchild returning the favour, backdropping Johnny onto Clark!

 

"Again, Wild and Dangerous, able to work together." Pete makes clear again. "If they can eliminate Clark within the next entrance and continue on from there, no one man in this 'Fuck can stand up to them."

 

The crowd pop, solidly behind W&D, as Johnny salutes them, able to trust Wildchild enough to turn his back to him. Wildchild meanwhile grabs Clark and starts to pull him up, allowing Johnny to do the rest of the work for him while he backs to the corner. The winded Martial Law member is defenseless as Johnny hurls him across the ring. Clark hits the buckles as Dangerous follows in, clotheslining Clark in the corner before motioning for Wildchild. Quick as a flash, he charges in, spinning and...

 

 

...MISSING the Blue Crush, hitting the turnbuckles sternum first!

 

"OOOOOOOHHHHHHH!"

 

Wildchild staggers out and quickly Clark tries to bundle him out! Johnny reacts almost as quickly though and drags Clark off of his long-time partner, pulling him away to the opposite corner, as Wildchild slumps breathlessly to his knees. Clark and Johnny exchange right hands as they go, reaching the corner with Alan pressed against the turnbuckles.

 

 

*SLAP!*

 

"WHOOOOOO!"

 

Alan nails a chop.

 

*SLAP!*

 

"WHOOOOOO!"

 

But Johnny hits one back...

 

 

*SLAP!*

 

"WHOOOOOO!"

 

...and a second, before grabbing Alan's right leg and attempting an elimination. Clark is quick to grab the ropes, prepared to fight to stay in the match, despite Johnny getting under him and pushing up. Alan starts to club down on Johnny, keeping a nervous eye on the recovering Wildchild in the meantime...

 

 

 

"TEN!"

 

"NINE!"

 

The crowd count along, Alan's attention now flashing from Johnny, to Wildchild, to the entrance way.

 

"EIGHT!"

 

"SEVEN!"

 

"SIX!"

 

"FIVE!"

 

Suddenly, Clark takes a risk and lifts his standing leg, slamming it down across the back of Dangerous' head. The risk pays off as the former World Champion backs off with a clutch of his temple, allowing Clark to re-aquaint his feet with the canvas.

 

"FOUR!"

 

"THREE!"

 

"TWO!"

 

"ONE!"

 

*BBZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZTTT!*

 

Mastodon's "Crusher Destroyer" blasts through the speakers to a mixed reaction, heralding the arrival of entrant number four.

 

"From Denver, Colorado... this is... MAAAAANNSSSOOOOOOOONNN!!!"

 

The former USJL Champion jogs down the rampway, watching as Clark is now unloading right hands on Johnny Dangerous in the corner. But as he slides in, Manson charges Wildchild. Manson goes to work with strike after strike, just POUNDING the Bahama Bomber in the corner...whilst across the ring, Johnny is beginning to fight back on Clark. Coming out of the corner, swinging with intent, Johnny has Clark backed up almost in the ring's centre, before he charges and clotheslines Alan down!

 

"Well, the entrance of Manson has split Wild and Dangerous up, at least for now." Pete points out.

 

"True. And if Manson and Clark can keep them seperate, they stand a chance. But if they try to go team for team with them, then they're both screwed regardless."

 

Johnny now sees Wildchild in trouble and goes over, kneeing Manson in the kidneys before turning him around. But, Manson is fresh and shakes it off, turning around and Lariating Johnny down! Straight away, Wildchild grabs Manson and looks for some retribution, only to recieve a mule kick to the gut. Manson hooks on a front facelock and lifts Wildchild, spinning towards the centre of the ring and sitting out, driving Wildchild face-first with the War Ensemble! Wildchild bounces off the mat, Johnny is still down, leaving Manson and Clark standing. The latter of the two looks relieved to have some assistance finally. But, he isn't relieved for long, as Manson charges him...

 

 

*SMACK!*

 

...KOing Clark with a YAKUZAAAAAAAA~! Kick!

 

"Well, so much for that." King quips.

 

With all three opponents down, Manson has his pick. He decides to stomp on Johnny first, only to then stomp Wildchild.

 

"Just like last year, Manson has come in early and made a BIG impact!" cries Pete.

 

"Yeah, but remember last year, Manson was the first man eliminated. He has to do more than just Manson SMASH! here."

 

Clark staggers up, instantly getting hooked and hurled by Manson, over the top…

 

 

 

 

 

...AND TO THE APRON!

 

"Woah!"

 

"Clark is close..."

 

Clark desperately grabs the middle rope to avoid falling any further, while Manson goes after Johnny Dangerous with stomps. That allows Clark to pull himself up on the apron...before heading up top. Nearby, Manson drags Johnny away. So, Clark has no choice, but to aim for the face-down Wildchild. Reaching the top, Alan leaps off instantly, driving ALL his body-weight into Wildchild's ribs with a BRUTAL back senton, driving the wind out of the Human Hurricane!! But Clark is unable to pop up and take advantage. Which allows Manson to take advantage, by booting the seated Clark in the jaw!

 

"Manson, back in control!" Pete again sings the praises of Manson. "And, we're not too far away from a fifth entrant here."

 

Manson turns back to Dangerous now, pulling himself up in the corner, dazed. With a roar, Manson charges at The Barracuda, running head-long into a raised boot from the super-spy extraordinaire.

 

 

"TEN!"

 

"NINE!"

 

"EIGHT!"

 

"SEVEN!"

 

With Manson wobbled, Dangerous hops to the middle rope and waits for the quivering frame in front of him to settle...

 

"SIX!"

 

"FIVE!"

 

...before diving off the ropes, sending Manson sprawling backwards with a missle dropkick!

 

"FOUR!"

 

"THREE!"

 

"TWO!"

 

"ONE!"

 

*BBZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZTTT!*

 

“Tearing Everybody Down” by Anti-Flag kicks into gear, causing the entire crowd to kick into apathy mode.

 

"From Newark, New Jersey... RRRRAAAZZZOOO... uhm, sorry... DAAAANNYYYYYY DAAAAGGGGDDAAAAA!"

 

 

"Man, here comes a red-hot stud of a sex bomb!" drools King.

 

"Quiet Bobbo." sneers Cyclone...Pete.

 

As Dangerous goes back to work on Manson with little concern for the set-to-enter Dagda, Dagda makes a point to piss off as many people as possible on his way down, grabbing one fan's "CLARK MARK" sign and tear it up before flipping another's cap off into the third row. By the time Dagda finally reaches the ring and slides 'seductively' into the ring, Alan Clark is up.

 

 

 

And waiting with a clothesli...

 

 

...NO! Dagda lasts longer than the predicted two seconds, ducking Clark's clothesline and scrambling away from the ropes. Quickly Clark charges in again but Dagda snaps his arms and throws him with a Head And Arm Suplex! As Clark bounces away, Wildchild is up, stumbling over and EATING a Superkick!

 

"Okay, now, this I didn't expect." admits a surprise Longdogger.

 

"Why not? Dagda is HAWT~!"

 

With two down, Dagda quickly makes it three, spiking Dangerous as he turns around with an impressive standing spinebuster which bounced The Secret Agent's head off the canvas. Manson now charges over, but his momentum is stopped with a boot...and a Powerbomb!

 

"BOOOOOO!"

 

Dagda has run through the four men in the ring and finally, some of the fans react. Leaping to the middle rope, Danny flashes a smug smile and raises his arms in the air as a few fans leap up and hurl some abuse, so Dagda informs them that he is infact their biological father.

 

 

 

Moments before Alan Clark tips him over the top and to the floor.

 

"YEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHH!"

 

"Well, that turned into a big pile of wank, huh?" sighs King.

 

"And THERE is the first elimination of this year's Fuck!" a relieved Pete cheers.

 

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Danny Dagda

ENTERED: 5th

LEFT: 1st

ELIMINATED: Nobody

ELIMINATED BY: Alan Clark

LEFT IN RING: Wildchild, Alan Clark, Johnny Dangerous, Manson

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

Peering over the top, Clark waves bye-bye to Dagda before turning back to the matter at hand. Wildchild is first to meet him, the two cruiserweights exchanging some heavyweight punches as their conflict ends up in the corner. Meanwhile, Dangerous is back up, holding the back of his head in discomfort as he drags Manson to his feet, before trying to lift him up and over the top!

 

"And Manson might be about to join Danny Dagda in the showers!" calls Pete, pointing to the ring.

 

"NOW who's Bobby Riley?"

 

Manson applies a front facelock on the top turnbuckle to help preserve his Clusterfuck chances, Johnny not giving up though. As that goes on, Clark finds himself pulled to the middle of the ropes and whipped across the ring by Wildchild. Clark comes back with his bearings, grabbing Wildchild's right arm and managing to twist and swing The Bahama Bomber off to the ropes. But Wildchild is too quick for Clark's reactions, able to catch him with a leg lariat on the way back! As Alan bounces away clutching his jaw, Wildchild begins to follow. But suddenly, he gets the call from Johnny, so rushes after and starts to help push Manson over the top!

 

"This doesn't look good for Manson." Pete observes. "The Tag Champions have him up..."

 

"But Manson looks to have a good grip on the turnbuckle there Pete, so if he does go up and over, he should be okay."

 

Manson needn't worry though as after a few more seconds of struggling, he's saved by Alan Clark, pulling first Wildchild and then Dangerous off and into right hands. Safely landing on the apron, Manson rolls back in, while Clark charges at Wild and Dangerous, who duck a double clothesline...

 

*SMACK!*

 

...and connect with a Super Chicklet Buster! But as they plant their feet back on the mat, they're instantly knocked back off them, courtesy of a double Manson clothesline!

 

"Now, you have to question that move; Alan Clark could have helped eliminate Manson then."

 

"And would have left himself alone with Dub and Dee again." King rebuts.

 

"Ah, true."

 

"Although, not for long..."

 

 

..."SEVEN!"

 

"SIX!"

 

"FIVE!"

 

"Because number six is imminent!"

 

"FOUR!"

 

"THREE!"

 

"TWO!"

 

"ONE!"

 

*BBZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZTTT!*

 

No thunder, no storm...but "F.E." by 40 Below Summer does hit, to a rumbling of boos from the Washington faithful, as the first Revolution Zero representative makes his entrance!

 

"From Jacksonville, Florida... 'THE PERFECT STORM'! SSSSEEEEEEEAAAANN DDAAAAAVVVIIIIIISSSS!!!"

 

"And business has well and truly picked up!" King confidently predicts, as Manson beckons on The Perfect Storm.

 

"This is 6'5", 275 of pure bad-ass entering the ring!"

 

Manson is the only man standing as Davis climbs confidently up the steps and enters the ring, Manson jumping him from the get-go! Furiously Manson clubs away on Davis with punch, after punch, after punch, backing Davis against the turnbuckles before he finally shoves Manson off. Manson rolls through as he hits the mat, to his feet. And instantly, Manson charges in again, only for Davis to simply bounce him off with a shoulder block! That's enough for Manson to back off wearily, allowing Wildchild to charge...

 

*OOOF!*

 

 

*WHAM!*

 

 

...AND GET TAKEN HALFWAY ACROSS THE DAMN RING WITH A RUNNING FOOTBALL TACKLE!!!

 

"RAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHH!"

 

Davis howls in intensity as he steps off of Wildchild's jelly-like body, catching Manson charging at him out of the corner of his eye and connecting with a back elbow. Staggering back, Manson is lost momentarily as he stumbles around, getting hooked under the arm...AND GETTING HIPBLOCKED TO THE FLOOR BY DAVIS!

 

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Manson

ENTERED: 4th

LEFT: 2nd

ELIMINATED: Nobody

ELIMINATED BY: Sean Davis

LEFT IN RING: Wildchild, Alan Clark, Johnny Dangerous, Sean Davis

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

"Manson! Gone!" cries a shocked Pete. "And it was almost effortless!"

 

"The tide has turned Pete. Sean Davis may be the one man to stand up to Wild and Dangerous single-handedly!" comes King's glowing agreement.

 

As Manson looks up from his seat on the floor with his eyes wide-open in surprise, Davis bends down and grabs Wildchild by his dreadlocks. But before he can pull him up, Dangerous charges over and boots Davis in the jaw! Again! A third time! Fourth! Davis goes down finally as Johnny continues the onslaught, not letting up on the stomps. And he's quickly joined by a slightly weary Alan Clark, the two teaming up on Davis without so much of a word of alliance, both understanding Davis has to be halted. Together, Dangerous and Clark drag the bigman to his feet and manage to send him across the ring with a whip, both setting up for back elbows...

 

 

...but Davis ducks them both, stopping abruptly as now Clark and Johnny rush the ropes. But, The Perfect Storm turns straight into two flying clotheslines, the combined effort knocking him down!

 

"YEEEEAAAAAAAAAHHHHHH!"

 

"Johnny and Clark, putting their issues in this 'Fuck aside to go after Davis. This is how it's got to be...Davis is just too much of a threat." Pete claims.

 

Indeed he is, as the bigman simply pops back up and CRUSHES Johnny and Clark with a double clothesline of his own. Clark flops on the mat, as Davis meanwhile turns back to Johnny, heaving him off the canvas. A quick goozle and Johnny's set for a Chokeslam. But he manages to surprise Davis with a boot to the gut, before slipping behind and attempting the MI Slam..but failing to lift the 275 pounder! Johnny tweaks his back in the process, releasing Davis to tend to it. Allowing Davis to grab Johnny and headbutt him, with such force that Johnny is almost taken clear off his feet.

 

"My god, Sean Davis is dominating...and...look at this..."

 

The only other man up now is Alan Clark, so Davis walks over to him and goozles the Martial Law representative. There's no counter from Clark, as he's lifted... up..... and hovered over the ropes...... BEFORE BEING SENT TO PLUMMET TO THE FLOOR BELOW!!!!

 

"...Chokeslam, to the FLOOR!"

 

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Alan Clark

ENTERED: 2nd

LEFT: 3rd

ELIMINATED: Danny Dagda

ELIMINATED BY: Sean Davis

LEFT IN RING: Wildchild, Johnny Dangerous, Sean Davis

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

Luckily for Alan, the execution of the move means he lands feet first on the floor...but the drop causes his legs to crumple beneath him, causing immediate concern from referee Sexton Hardcastle. But none at all from Sean Davis.

 

"Sean Davis has cut through two men in less than two minutes!" says Pete in awe.

 

"And more importantly, he's eliminated a Martial Law member. Toxxic has got to be doing somersaults backstage right now!"

 

As Clark is signalled as okay, referees help him up. Meanwhile, Davis turns in search of another victim. The unlucky man is Wildchild as he stumbles over clutching his ribs and walks into a boot, before getting lifted effortlessly up by Sean, into a Canadian Backbreaker position! The crowd know what's coming and scream for Johnny to help. But he's still dazed from the headbutt. Allowing Davis the time to turn around, picking his side...before dropping to his knees, dropping Wildchild on his head!!!

 

"TEN!"

 

"NINE!"

 

"CYCLONE DRIVER!" screams King, gleefully.

 

 

"EIGHT!"

 

"SEVEN!"

 

"SIX!"

 

"FIVE!"

 

"FOUR!"

 

"Wildchild would be easy pickings here." mumbles Pete uncomfortably. "But luckily, the Clusterfuck Timer™ has wound us down towards number seven."

 

"THREE!"

 

"TWO!"

 

"ONE!"

 

*BBZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZTTT!*

 

The crowd erupt as Fabolous' "Breathe" heralds the arrival of the second of three Martial Law members, and another first time Fucker!

 

"From Hollywood Boulevard!" bellows Funyon. "'THE URBAN LEGEND'... TOOOOOOODDD CCOOOOOOORRRRRRTTEEEEEZZZZZZ!!!"

 

Showing no fear, Cortez jogs down the rampway, getting a pat on the back from his departing ally Alan Clark on the way, before picking up speed and darting into the fray! Meeting him on the slide, Davis pounds down some clubbing forearms on Cortez. But Cortez withstands the battering and pulls himself up, before firing back with right hands of his own!!

 

"It's Martial Law! It's Revolution Zero! And it's DAMN sure personal now King!!"

 

For a moment, it looks like Davis is rocked. But that moments leads into the next, as Davis drives his knee into Cortez's gut before pushing him back, buying himself time to gain his bearings. Only for Cortez to bounce off the ropes, rebounding and cracking Davis between the eyes with a spinning heel kick! DOWN goes Davis, as Cortez leaps to his feet and FIRES UP~! Quickly back up, Davis is fuming, stalking Cortez like Godzilla with a case of the human munchies...but rather than eat Cortez, he simply eats his right palm! Staggering back, Sean finds himself against the ropes..and finds his legs being lifted from underneath him!!

 

"Cortez is going for it!" Pete gasps in surprise.

 

"This may be a bad idea." replies King. "Cortez doesn't have much help or enough strength to rid us of Davis."

 

Cortez gets one leg up and comes to an abrupt stop. Any help is absent meanwhile as Johnny is trying to tend to Wildchild, who is still laid out in the corner, clutching his neck now. So Cortez has to try and lift the second leg alone. A right hand from Davis grazes his head. Before a second almost grazes his head off his shoulders, sending Cortez flying backwards. Quickly Davis pulls himself off the ropes and charges at Cortez, only just able to duck underneath a discus clothesline attempt from the desperate Urban Legend. Davis quickly puts the brakes on, grabs Cortez from behind in a full nelson, before hoisting him up from his feet and drops him down with a Full Nelson Atomic Drop!!

 

"We're at the fifteen minute mark in this match and so far, nobody has been holding back." recaps Pete. "Which may or may not cost them in the long run. As you can see, Wildchild is hurt. Dangerous is looking pretty fatigued. And now, Cortez is going hell for leather with Davis..."

 

"And commiting Clusterfuck Suicide™ in the process."

 

With Cortez holding his ass, Davis turns his attentions back to the Tag Champions and with his partner still recovering, it's left to Dangerous to go after Davis. He charges, but Davis ducks his head and drives Johnny to the canvas with a Samoan Drop.

 

 

And now, Davis is left with Wildchild in his sights.

 

"WILD - CHILD! WILD - CHILD! WILD - CHILD!"

 

Chants go up encouraging on the Carribean Cruiserweight, bringing a sneer to Sean Davis' face as he drags the limp Wildchild up...and casually tosses him over the top...

 

 

 

...but Wildchild manages to hang onto the top rope! Davis realises Wildchild isn't gone from the cheers that follow and he turns back around impatiently, forearm cocked. But Wildchild beats him to the punch! Two more rock Davis back, allowing Wildchild to springboard to the top, leaping towards Davis, hooking his head and whipping him around with a DDT, all in LIGHTNING quick succession!

 

"YEEEAAAAAAAAHHHHHHH!"

 

Davis' head bounces off the mat, both he and Wildchild remaining down from the move.

 

"Presumed Guilty! A big risk taken by the ultimate risktaker, Wildchild! But...I think it paid off." Pete thinks aloud.

 

"I think his surgeon may disagree with you when DubCee gets out of this one. His neck is HURTING, and bad."

 

As Wildchild proves King's point by grabbing his neck, Cortez has gotten back to his feet. He charges the ropes, his aching ass causing him to resemble a colonic irrigation patient as he springs off the middle, landing a Quebrada on Davis..AND Wildchild, his feet hitting the latter square in the head!! Groans from the fans die down quickly though, as they spy the spy climbing up top, Davis in his sights as he springs off...connecting with a simple, but effective splash from the top!

 

"Now the strategy is coming into effect, everyone ganging up on Daviiiii...WAIT!"

 

Pete's girlish cry comes as Cortez suddenly grabs Johnny as he gets up, hooking him around the head and lobbing him up and over the top rope. But as Johnny hangs onto the ropes and skins the cat to re-enter the ring, the shock subsides. And gives way to anger, from Johnny, as he whips Cortez around and shoves him in the chest!

 

*SLAP!*

 

And recieve some bitchslappage~ in return!

 

"OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOHHHHHHHHH!!"

 

Cortez and Johnny are about to explode, like Mega Powers or something.

 

 

That is, until Sean Davis pops up, goozles them and sends them for a DOUBLE Chokeslam ride straight to the depths of hell!!!!

 

"WHERE DID DAVIS COME FROM!?!" cries Pete.

 

"Straight outta nowhere baby!"

 

Davis is again the only man left standing, feeling more pain than the last time he was, for certain. Looking up at the Tron, Davis spies the clock. Fifteen seconds remain until number eight. So Davis quickly turns and drops a legdrop to Wildchild's head, making sure he stays down...

 

 

"TEN!"

 

"NINE!"

 

While the Clusterfuck Timer™ winds down.

 

"EIGHT!"

 

"SEVEN!"

 

"SIX!"

 

"I hope for your sake this isn't your number Pete."

 

 

"FIVE!"

 

"I told you, I'm NOT in this!!"

 

 

"FOUR!"

 

"Whatever..."

 

 

"THREE!"

 

"TWO!"

 

"ONE!"

 

"Here comes the next victim..." chuckles King.

 

*BBZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZTTT!*

 

 

...if only he knew.

 

 

For a moment, there's nothing. But before anyone can suspect a no-show, Metallica's "Some Kind Of Monster" hits and the crowd EXPLODES!

 

"Oh... my..."

 

"This is no victim King!!"

 

"No... way!"

 

"THIS... is the reigning SWF Clusterfuck WINNER!"

 

"Not him!"

 

"THIS... is the former SWF World Heavyweight CHAMPION!"

 

"Not... HIM!"

 

"THIS... IS THE GRAPPLER!!"

 

Washington D.C continues to go nuts before the curtains even so much as ripple. So when they do and The Grappler himself emerges through the entrance way, the crowd pops like oh, so many cherries!

 

"YEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHH!"

 

"Ladies and gentlemen, please welcome the DEFENDING Clusterfuck Champion... CCHHHHAAARRRRRRRLLIIIEEEEE!! GRRRRAAAPPPLLLLEEEERRRRRRRRR!! MMMAAAAAAATTTHHEEEEEEWWWWWSSSSS!!!"

 

Through all the commotion, perhaps the only one person who isn't in shock is Sean Davis...taking this mightily well for the man awaiting The Grappler. Slowly, the number eight entrant strolls down the aisle, fans around him reaching out and touching that hairy-ass body of his, his eyes firmly fixed on Davis.

 

"Well, now the hysteria has died down." sighs King. "Grappler did win the Clusterfuck last year. But he did it from number twenty. This year he's in at number eight, he's got a bad neck, a whole lot of ring rust."

 

"You're not counting out Grappler are you?"

 

"Hell no! I'm not that stupid Pete!"

 

Reaching the ring, Grappler climbs onto the apron and abruptly the music stops, leaving just the cheering crowd to provide a backdrop for Grappler and Davis to go face to face. No fear, Davis glares at Grappler. Who simply glares back. The two monsters are now nose to nose and we're set for an explosion as everyone else remains down, no-one to get in the way.

 

*BOOM!*

 

Davis throws the first shot, nailing Grappler with a right!

 

*BOOM!*

 

But Grappler nails one straight back!

 

*BOOM!*

 

Davis!

 

*BOOM!*

 

Grappler!

 

*BOOM!*

 

DAVIS!

 

*BOOM!*

 

GRAPPLER!

 

 

...

 

The sequence is broken, as Grappler ducks Davis' next swinging right hand and weaves behind The Perfect Storm, latching his arms around Davis' throat and applying a Sleeper Hold Of Impending DOOM~! Davis flails and fights, trying to escape, but Grappler suddenly pulls down, taking Davis to the mat and applying a body-scissors.

 

"Rear-Naked Choke, applied by The Grappler!" cries King mockingly. "And in one fail swoop, Grappler kills the crowd."

 

"Grappler seems to be of the 'if it isn't broke, don't fix it' mentality, as he's come into this year's Clusterfuck the same way he did last year. By trying to put biggest man in the ring to sleep."

 

While this goes on, Todd Cortez is back up, looking across at Grappler choking out Davis...and says to hell with that, instead helping Johnny up and shoving him into the corner. Cortez lands some kicks, before lifting up the Secret Agent's right leg. Meanwhile, Wildchild is pulling himself up gingerly on the ropes, looking to help out Johnny. So Cortez gives up on Johnny, giving him a parting palm strike before lifting Wildchild up and ALMOST over! The awkward little cruiserweight hangs onto the top rope for dear life, Cortez leaning all his weight into the effort, until finally Johnny wobbles over and Shoteis Cortez in the back of the head. The blow almost topples Cortez over, Johnny able to react before Cortez can get off the top, as meanwhile Wildchild pulls himself safe.

 

"Johnny almost eliminated Wildchild there." says a surprised Longdogger. "The Barracuda putting a lot of trust in his tag partner...but now, he has Cortez elevated!"

 

As Cortez teeter-totters on the top, Johnny grabs his ankles and tries to tip him over. Cortez manages to kick him off though, before turning...

 

 

*SLAP!*

 

"WHOOOOOO!"

 

...and knifedging Johnny!

 

 

*SLAP!*

 

"WHOOOOOO!"

 

...who knifedges him back!

 

*SLAP!*

 

"WHOOOOOO!"

 

*SLAP!*

 

"WHOOOOOO!"

 

Grappler glances up from his rear naked position and sees the chopfest in the progress, noteably sighing as he releases the comatose Davis. Cortez and Johnny don't see Grappler getting up...

 

 

*SLAP!*

 

"WHOOOOOO!"

 

*SLAP!*

 

"WHOOOOOO!"

 

...and continue chopping each other. Both have beat-red chests as Grappler strolls over, grabs both men by the head...AND APPLIES STEREO HEADLOCKS!

 

"CALM DOWN DAMMIT!" Grappler screams down at the two, as he cranks up on the headlock. Some of the crowd laugh. The rest are fast asleep. Grappler clings onto the two despite a couple of fists to the gut, but he doesn't spot Wildchild leaping to the middle rope beside him, moonsaulting back and crashing over Grappler's shoulder! The collossal coma-inducer doesn't go down but he does release the headlock on Johnny, who quickly hits the ropes and Shoteis Grappler in his other shoulder. Grappler releases the headlock on Todd as a result, as meanwhile the Clusterfuck Timer™ is winding down.

 

 

And so is Grappler dominance seemingly, as Wild and Dangerous swat him with a double dropkick, causing Grappler to fall into the ropes and to the mat.

 

 

..."FIVE!"

 

"FOUR!"

 

"THREE!"

 

"TWO!"

 

"ONE!"

 

*BBZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZTTT!*

 

Grave Digger's "Demon's Day" hits and the crowd groan...in a good way, honestly...as some more BEEF~ is set to be delivered to the Fuck.

 

"From Nagasaki, Japan... DOOOOMMIIIIINNIIIIICC KKOOOOOOORRRRGGAAAAATTTTHHHH!!!"

 

In the ring, Wild and Dangerous continue to batter the kneeling Grappler, whilst Cortez is now stomping on the still sleepy Sean Davis. Korgath meanwhile takes his sweet time over strolling down the aisle.

 

"Another big man entering the 'Fuck!" exclaims Pete. "Possibly the BIGGEST man!"

 

"I dunno, Grappler's pretty big too."

 

"Well, duh!"

 

"Uh-oh, Pete's getting tetchy. His number must be coming up soon." mumbles King to no-one in particular, to a growl from Pete.

 

The two seperate battles continue as Korgath climbs up the steps slowly, eyeing up the competition as he enters. As he does, Wild and Dangerous have Grappler to his feet and both grab individual thighs, trying to lift last year's winner. They succeed in that but can get no further, so Johnny calls for help. For the greater good, Cortez abandons Davis and jogs over to help...and while Grappler finds him precariously placed, Korgath goes over to the Revolution Zero member in the corner.

 

"Cortez has been doing battle with Wild and Dangerous on and off since entering, but now, he's over helping them, trying to eliminate Grappler." observes Pete. "This match breeds strange alliances sometimes."

 

As Matthews finds himself fighting three and being slowly elevated towards elimination, Korgath has Davis up in the corner and is clubbering him with forearms. Backing up, Korgath charges and avalanches Davis in the corner! Davis groans as the air rushes out of his body, soon followed by more as Korgath avalanches him a second time! Rather than a third, Korgath instead pulls Davis out, the Revolution strongman's early flurry behind him now, as Korgath scoop slams Davis with scary ease! Staying down, The Perfect Storm is winded.

 

 

The real action is across the ring though, where Cortez, Wildchild and Dangerous still have Grappler in trouble. Johnny still isn't happy though and calls over Korgath. The Big Demon glances curiously over, getting a more forceful request from Johnny to come help, so the bigman lumbers over. But rather than help, he swats Johnny across the face with his wrist! Korgath then backhands Cortez before grabbing Wildchild, knocking him away with a right hand.

 

"Well, that was dumb." Pete lambasts.

 

"Nobody ever accused Korgath of being the smartest wrestler." King responds. "And let's face it, Max King isn't out here to do Korgath's thinking for him."

 

"Yet."

 

It soon becomes clear just why Korgath did what he did though, as he looks the saved Grappler in the eyes...and tells him to bring it on!!

 

"GRA - PULL - UH! GRA - PULL - UH! GRA - PULL - UH!"

 

The crowd get behind the 2004 Clusterfuck winner as he smiles a wry smile, advancing on Korgath. Again, Grappler gets no fear from the 'newbie'...and just like with Davis, he gets no respect, as Korgath throws the first soupbone! Quickly the two men exchange right hands, clubbing away on each other as in the background, Sean Davis sneaks past and grabs Todd Cortez in a standing headscissors. Korgath and Matthews don't notice, still clubbing...

 

 

*WHAM!*

 

...as Cortez crashes to the mat behind them. Still the fists fly, as Davis now has Johnny. It seems Grappler's getting the better of the exchange as the punches begin to decrease in tempo, Korgath's eventually peetering out...

 

 

*WHAM!*

 

...while Grappler continues swinging.

 

 

"What a stand-off here!" gasps Pete.

 

"Yeah, but the really story is going on behind them! Davis has just stacked Johnny and Cortez with BRUTAL powerbombs and now, he's got Wildchild!"

 

Finally Korgath has stopped now and Grappler fires off one more, before he goes to the gut with one. Korgath looks in need of the Shell answer man currently, as Grappler stops, before applying a Bearhu...

 

 

 

...NO! Matthews can't lock his hands, allows Korgath to smash his arms across Grappler's eardrums...

 

 

 

...and apply his OWN Bearhug on Grappler...

 

 

 

*WHAM!*

 

As in the background, Wildchild gets FOLDED up by a brutal Sean Davis powerbomb!! Having run through the scrawny little cruisers, Davis is ready to play with the big boys now, charging behind the bearhug and clubbing a clothesline across the shoulder blades of Korgath. He hangs on, as Davis repeats, this time breaking Korgath's grip on Grappler. At which point, Grappler charges and bundles Davis towards the ropes, trying to lift the 275 pounder over...

 

 

"TEN!"

 

"NINE!"

 

"We're approaching the halfway mark; number TEN on the way!"

 

 

"EIGHT!"

 

"SEVEN!"

 

"SIX!"

 

"FIVE!"

 

"FOUR!"

 

Grappler can't get Davis out, as Korgath walks over and CLUBS him!

 

"THREE!"

 

"TWO!"

 

"ONE!"

 

The crowd rise, in anticipation...

 

*BBZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZTTT!*

 

...clearly not expecting to hear the opening chords of “Godzilla” by Blue Oyster Cult!! The longtime fans EXPLODE, as the SmarkTron provides the answers for the rest of the crowd...

 

 

STRANGLER

 

*BOOOOOM!*

 

"YOU WANNA TALK BIGMEN!?!" Pete cries, almost as disbelieving the stunned King. "WELL HERE COMES ONE OF THE BIGGEST AND BADDEST, OF AAAAAAALLL TIME!!!"

 

The crowd are officially going nuts now as the 6'9" frame emerges through his departed pyro, fist raised in defiance.

 

"From Boston, Massachussets... former World Heavyweight Champion... THE BOOSSSTOONN... STTRRRRRRRRRAAAAAANNNGGLLLEEEEERRRRRRRRR!!!"

 

Looking mighty surprised, Grappler casts a glance towards the aisle to check if it's true, in between clubbing Korgath and Davis with alternate right hands. The glance allows them to come back though and double team Matthews, whilst Strangler walks down the aisle.

 

"I know they said surprise entrants..." mumbles a beffudled King. "Bu..but...STRANGLER!?!"

 

"And who could possibly eliminate him!?!"

 

Strangler climbs to the apron and enters the ring, making it 7 in the ring, the most in the match thus far...and quickly, Strangler pulls Korgath off of the cornered Matthews, pulling him into a short arm clothesline! Even the 350 pounder can't stand up to that, as Strangler brings a double axehandle down across Davis' back. Strangler goes after Korgath again as Matthews punches Davis, the two men lined up against the ropes by the veterans. And the veterans nod to one another as they double-whip Davis and Korgath, Davis returning...

 

 

*SMACK!*

 

...AND EATING STRANGLER'S BIG RIGHT BOOT...

 

 

*OOOF!*

 

...while Grappler clotheslines Korgath's sternum into his body seconds later!!

 

"The SWF old-timers, dishing some punishment out, old school style!" cheers King, sounding uncharacteristically gleeful.

 

Of the seven men in, five are down. Only two are up; Strangler and Grappler. The two former World Champions stop and look at the other for about a second...before launching into action. Grappler tries to grapple Strangler to the mat, but Strangler manages to strangle Grappler back into the corner. As they tussle meanwhile, Korgath is pulling himself up, clutching his chest. Cortez is just about up now, but decided to rest up in the corner while he has the chance, as in the meantime Johnny Dangerous is recovering too. Davis is dazed. Wildchild? Well, he's hurting, having been in the ring over eighteen minutes and taken some big hits.

 

"That fatigue factor's beginning to set in now King." points out Pete. "Wildchild and Johnny haven't been in the thick of the action exclusively, but it's been a punishing pace so far."

 

"A good point Pete. I'm amazed."

 

As Strangler and Grappler tussle in the corner, Dangerous takes a deep breath before charging into...Korgath's right arm! Down goes Dangerous, but Cortez suddenly sees Johnny's gamble and takes one of his own, catching Korgath with a single leg dropkick to the face. Or, well, mask. Same difference. Korgath is dazed, as Cortez follows up with a regular dropkick, while Johnny is recovering...

 

 

...causing Korgath to fall into the ropes, tying his arms up between the top and middle strands!!

 

"Korgath's caught!"

 

Quick as a flash, Johnny runs over and fires away right hand after right hand on the defenceless monster, Cortez doubling up with him! Johnny then grabs a leg, motioning for Cortez, who does the same, the pair trying to do what they couldn't do to Grappler and dump him out. Only problem is, Korgath's tied-up arms. To the side, Grappler tastes a Strangler short-arm clothesline and rolls beside the bottom rope, so Strangler comes over. But rather than help, Strangler tosses Cortez across the ring, before telling Johnny to 'let me handle this'. Which, Johnny wisely does.

 

"And now, Strangler looks to get rid off some of the weight in that re-inforced ring!" cries Pete.

 

"He may be the only man capable of eliminating Korgath alone, Pete. Unless of course, I dunno, Janus is a mystery entrant."

 

Strangler unhooks Korgath's arms and hooks him around the thigh, beginning to lift the bigman...but recieving a large elbow across his neck. Korgath shoves off Strangler now, but the Boston native comes in again, this time catching a Korgath boot and looking to lift him over by it...

 

 

*SMACK!*

 

...but suddenly, Sean Davis appears and returns the earlier favour, BOOTING Strangler in the face!! Down goes TBS, Davis stomping away on him. As meanwhile, Korgath pulls himself off the ropes...

 

 

*SMACK!*

 

...only to taste a Johnny Kick! Korgath doesn't seem to enjoy the taste as he staggers back, the Clusterfuck Timer™ is winding down once more.

 

 

"TEN!"

 

"NINE!"

 

"EIGHT!"

 

"SEVEN!"

 

"SIX!"

 

...Korgath takes another Johnny Kick from..Johnny, teetering dangerously by the ropes, but without the momentum to be taken fully over. Johnny meanwhile scans the ring, finding the grimacing Wildchild and calling him over hurriedly.

 

"FIVE!"

 

"FOUR!"

 

"THREE!"

 

"TWO!"

 

"ONE!"

 

Wildchild walks gingerly over and Johnny quickly gives him the call, as Korgath comes off the ropes slowly...

 

*BBZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZTTT!*

 

"Back On Earth" by Ozzy Osbourne is greeted by some cheers from the crowd, as the returning David Cross charges through the curtains.

 

"From Oil City Pennsylvania...the returning DAAAAAVVIIIIIDD CCRRRRROOOOOOOOOSSSSSS!!!"

 

Cross slides into the ring, right beside Wild and Dangerous as they leap in unison, thrusting feet into Korgath who staggers back...

 

 

 

 

...AND TUMBLES TO THE FLOOR!!!

 

"YEEEEEAAAAAAAAHHHHHHH!"

 

"They got him!" Pete exclaims. "One Double Dropkick from the Tag Champions and the Big Demon From Japan finds himself out of the Clusterfuck running."

 

"And you know the worst thing about it all?"

 

"What?"

 

"That means poor Max King has to come into the Clusterfuck alone now!"

 

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Dominic Korgath

ENTERED: 9th

LEFT: 4th

ELIMINATED: None

ELIMINATED BY: Wildchild, Johnny Dangerous

LEFT IN RING: Wildchild, Johnny Dangerous, Sean Davis, Todd Cortez, Charlie Matthews, The Boston Strangler, David Cross

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

The ring remains packed with some big men, despite Korgath's deparure, as the former World Tag Champion David Cross picks a fight with the reigning winner. Wild and Dangerous meanwhile wave sayonara to Korgath, but taste a double Cortez clothesline moments later. The #1 entrant Wildchild remains down but Dangerous is somehow right back up. But Cortez meets him with a boot, looking for an irish whip. Johnny reverses the whip and wearily ducks his head, perhaps not thinking fully clearly, unlike Cortez who tumbles over Dangerous, taking him over by the waist and SPIKING HIM WITH THE RIOT ACT PLUS!!

 

"Oh MY, right on his head with that Riot Act Plus...the move Todd Cortez has been putting to use recently."

 

"Fliptastic!" crows King.

 

Both W&D are down, while Cortez remains seated, catching his breath with a smile. Across from him, Davis is still keeping Strangler grounded and pounded. David Cross takes over the centre ring meanwhile, Cortez scrambling away as Matthews is thrust to the ropes. Grappler bounces back, Cross waiting for him to come back before attempting the Spinebuster...which Matthews is heavy enough to withstand, grabbing Cross in a front facelock and falling back with the hold applyied, Cross trapped. Cortez looks confused as to what's happening, obviously not acquainted with the ways of the Grappler. So, he grabs Wildchild, pulls him in and calls for another Riot Act Plus. However, Wildchild finds something from somewhere to backdrop Cortez over. Up scrambles Todd, charging, straight into a leg lariat, Wildchild's landing jolting his own neck.

 

"Wildchild finding something, from somewhere, somehow...somebody..."

 

"You're lost, aintcha." sighs Pete.

 

"Mmm hmm. So, how long until your number Pete?"

 

Getting to his feet, Wildchild clutches his neck once more and stumbles aimlessly around the ring, looking for someone to go after while he's physically capable. Everyone is otherwise occupied (or KOed). So Wildchild tries to pull up Cortez.

 

 

Which is when Strangle finally mows through Davis with a lariat, leaving him facing Wildchild. Quickly and maybe foolishly, Wildchild pushes Todd back to the canvas and runs at Strangler, connecting with a forearm. Two. Three. Four. Strangler's still up as Wildchild rolls, throwin' elbow...AND GETTING PRESSED OVERHEAD! The crowd know what's coming and don't quite know how to react, as Wildchild is dropped...

 

 

...INTO THE BOSTON MASSACRE!!!

 

"Oh!" groans a concerned sounding Longdogger. "Uhm...Wildchild may be...well..."

 

"He's fucked, don't sugar-coat it."

 

Wildchild is OUT! COLD! Strangler meanwhile gets back up, looking for more victims. But as he turns around, Sean Davis meets him with a boot, pulls on Strangler's jeans waistband and spikes the 6'9" Strangler on his head with a Pulling Piledriver! As Strangler lands meanwhile, Grappler FINALLY releases David Cross (sweet lord that was a long facelock), going after Sean Davis.

 

 

"TEN!"

 

"NINE!"

 

"EIGHT!"

 

"SEVEN!"

 

"SIX!"

 

"We are ready for number twelve of twenty." King informs us. "Can this ring withstand any more beef entering?"

 

 

"FIVE!"

 

"FOUR!"

 

"THREE!"

 

"TWO!"

 

"ONE!"

 

*BBZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZTTT!*

 

 

"PREPARE...FOR...LANDON!"

 

...WAAAAAHHHHH...

 

*DUM DUM*

 

 

"YEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHH!!!"

 

 

"And here comes ANOTHER, former World Heavyweight Champion!"

 

"Oh, joy. This is like the Anti-Beef." sneers King.

 

"Megalomaniac" by Incubus hits and the popular in Washington (apparantely) Landon Maddix emerges through the curtains, taking one look at the ring...and deciding not to rush his entrance into his first Clusterfuck. And that's a god-damn understatement.

 

"From Huron, South Dakota... LLLLAAAANNDDOOOOONN "LA CUCARACHA" MMMAAAAAADDIIIIIIXXXX!!!"

 

As Maddix gets into a conversation with someone in the aisleway, the war rages on in the ring, Davis and Grappler going at it tooth and nail whilst David Cross lays the boots in on Todd Cortez. Cortez pulls himself up on the ropes through the onslaught, so Cross backs up and makes a charge at Cortez...

 

 

...who ducks a clothesline...

 

 

 

 

...but Cross SAVES himself by hooking his arm around the top rope, rolling back in. Cortez scampers away to get a little run-up, only to scamper beside the recovered Boston Strangler, who quickly goozles Cortez and takes him on a trip known as The Plunge~! The ride isn't too bad but the landing sucks the big one as Cortez rolls away, as Cross is charging...

 

 

*SMACK!*

 

...and CONNECTING with a Yakuza Kick!

 

"What a shot...enough to put the massive Strangler down!" gasps Pete.

 

But Cross seems to be celebrating too soon as he points down at Strangler, unawares that Charlie Matthews is just feet behind him and charging, simply barging Cross up, over..AND TO THE FLOOR!

 

"He got too cocky Pete. You NEVER turn your back on the action in the Clusterfuck if you can help it. NEVER! And that's why."

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

David Cross

ENTERED: 11th

LEFT: 5th

ELIMINATED: None

ELIMINATED BY: Charlie Matthews

LEFT IN RING: Wildchild, Johnny Dangerous, Sean Davis, Todd Cortez, Charlie Matthews, The Boston Strangler, 'Landon Maddix'

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

Cross lands, looking directly up at the smiling Maddix who kindly informs Cross that you can't win them all. From the ring, Matthews now looks down at old enemy Maddix and with body open, encourages Maddix to bring the fight to him. The ICTV and USJL Champion smiles back and looks set to do just that. Until Sean Davis whirls Grappler around...

 

 

 

...and gets a boot from Graps, before getting pulled in, front facelock style!

 

"Could this be a Wake-Up Call for the Revolution Zero member?" Pete asks in hope, clearly not noticing Landon Maddix vaulting to the apron and then to the top rope, until the last second, before he crashes down on Grappler, arm connecting squarely with the back of Grappler's neck! "...the hell?"

 

"Brilliant!" cries King. "I know it's Maddix, but still...BRILLIANT!"

 

"Well, it was...somewhat of a cheapshot. I don't see..."

 

"Pete, you're just like every other person who's been in the ring with Grappler. You're forgetting Grappler's one weakness...his NECK!"

 

"Oh..."

 

"You might wanna remember that when your number comes up."

 

"Oh hush."

 

As Davis turns the tables and drops Grappler with a neckbreaker, Maddix has scurried off to put the boots to the two motionless Wild and Dangerous members. But his damage has been done. Grappler remains on the mat holding his neck, cursing to himself, as Davis quickly goes after Strangler. That leaves Todd Cortez to struggle up and help his Martial Law team-mate Maddix. Meanwhile, Davis has found himself on the recieving end of a Strangler onslaught, rights and lefts staggering him before he takes a boot and Davis goes for the Labotomy...

 

 

...but Sean brain remains in tact as he catches Strangler on the spin, blocking and somehow MUSCLING Strangler over into a back suplex! Straight up, Strangler is hurt though, the rigours of the ring hurting so much more after so long away. Davis is able to apply a full nelson. But Strangler is still in the match, fighting the hold...and eventually breaking it, before turning behind Davis. Around turns The Perfect Storm, boot, double arm DDT!

 

"And it's Lights Out for Davis, as the timer ticks on towards lucky number thirteen!"

 

 

..."SEVEN!"

 

"SIX!"

 

"FIVE!"

 

"FOUR!"

 

"THREE!"

 

"TWO!"

 

"ONE!"

 

*BBZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZTTT!*

 

The crashing guitars of Lamb of God’s “Black Label” cause the crowd to go WILD with hatred, as the other RevZero member enters.

 

"From Hollywood, California... "HOLLYWOOD" SPPIIIIIIIKKEEEEEEE JEEEEENNKKIIIIIIINNSSSSSSSS!!"

 

Spike wastes hardly any time sprinting to the ring, running right through first Cortez and then Maddix with big Lariats. The hyped up Jenkins then wheels around, checking his co-hort Davis is okay. Which he's not, KOed on the canvas...but with Strangler going after Matthews, Spike is able to do what he REALLY wants. Put the boots to Wild and Dangerous and Martial Law!

 

"Look at this Pete, Spike Jenkins DOMINATING, FOUR men...single handedly! That's straight edge conditioning on display there!"

 

"King, he's only just come in."

 

"So?"

 

"Sure, he took down Martial Law, but Wild and Dangerous were down before he even entered."

 

The Cruiserweight Champion doesn't care though relishing the dominance...relishing the boos that wash down on him. Across the ring, Strangler is stomping away on Charlie Matthews, both more tired and hurt than in their primes, from being one-shot entrants and not regular competitors. So Jenkins has no reason not to pull Wildchild up and throw him...

 

 

 

...nowhere. Spike changes his mind about eliminating the sorry looking Wildchild. No. This is Spike's chance to do some unprotected damage to the man he's so desperate to overshadow in the Cruiser HOF. So, as Davis stumbles over and takes care of the other three grounded Revolution enemies, Spike applies a reverse front facelock. The fans will Wildchild to counter, to fight back...anything. But Wildchild is too hurt.

 

*WHAM!*

 

Spike whips Wildchild over with the Clean Living!!

 

"Damn." is all Pete can manage.

 

Spike rolls to his knees, posing for the crowd who boo him vehemently. But it matters not to Spike as he checks Davis is holding his own, before picking Wildchild's lifeless body up. Eventually he lifts the deadweight and casually as you like, drapes the Carribean Cruiserweight's head over the top, flipping his legs over after them, ELIMINATING WILDCHILD!

 

 

"BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!"

 

"Well, there goes Wildchild." sighs Pete. "Drawn number one, Wildchild is...is going to need helping out of here."

 

"Too bad."

 

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Wildchild

ENTERED: 1st

LEFT: 6th

ELIMINATED: Dominic Korgath

ELIMINATED BY: Spike Jenkins

LEFT IN RING: Johnny Dangerous, Sean Davis, Todd Cortez, Charlie Matthews, The Boston Strangler, Landon Maddix, Spike Jenkins

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

Again 7 remain. On the outside, the nearby referees jog over and check to see if Wildchild is okay, calling out for someone to give him a hand to the back...all this like sweet, unadulterated comedy to Spike.

 

"Wildchild put in a good showing early but the Cyclone Driver from Davis injured his neck, the Boston Massacre was the final nail in Wildchild's chances and...well, Spike just put the finishing touches to him." Pete mumbles, clearly more concerned with Wildchild's well-being than his performance...

[Chuck Woolery 0]

Revolution Zero have things going their way in the corner, and the weary Grappler walks in towards Strangler, swinging with a right. But TBS ducks and hooks Grappler's head, SPIKING him with a wisely chosen neckbreaker, causing grimaces and groans from the Grappler! Up pops Strangler, just in time too, as Spike has gotten a little cocky and charges him with a Lariat...

 

 

 

...which Strangler doesn't seem to feel.

 

"Spike needs to do more than that." chortles Pete.

 

"Like WHAT!?! This is the guy who no sells being RUN OVER!!"

 

Spike suddenly freezes and enters 'cowardly heel mode', backing away from Strangler, luring him into an eyepoke. Strangler clutches his eyeball as Spike hits the ropes once more, going low with soccer tackle. With his leg taken out, Strangler drops to one knee, while Spike lines him up...

 

 

*SMACK!*

 

...kick!

 

 

*SMACK!*

 

...kick!

 

 

...

 

Spike misses the kick and pirouettes a full 360, getting caught on the way back around into a standing spinebuster! Landing hard, Spike shivers and quivers as Strangler, turns away, seeing Grappler leant against the ropes in agony...

 

 

 

...PUTTING HIM OUT OF HIS MISERY, AND THE CLUSTERFUCK, WITH A CLOTHESLINE!!

 

"BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!"

 

"Matthews is GONE!" gasps Pete. "Last year's winner learns what it's like to lose in the Clusterfuck!"

 

"And could that be an omen Pete? No-one could eliminate Grappler last year, this year Strangler returns and dumps him!"

 

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Charlie "Grappler" Matthews

ENTERED: 8th

LEFT: 7th

ELIMINATED: David Cross

ELIMINATED BY: The Boston Strangler

LEFT IN RING: Johnny Dangerous, Sean Davis, Todd Cortez, The Boston Strangler, Landon Maddix, Spike Jenkins

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

Again the referees are quickly over to check on Charlie Matthews, knowing how serious neck injuries can be. But Grappler seems to be relatively okay as he looks up at the ring and Strangler, able to look on the bright side somewhat. The fallen Matthews has to get the hell out of the way quickly though as Sean Davis suddenly breaks away, catching Strangler unawares AND BUNDLES HIM OVER AND OUT!!

 

"BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!"

 

"STRANGLER'S GONE TOO!" King cries in shock.

 

"Two BIG names, two former World Champions...gone, in a matter of seconds. And what a scalp for Sean Davis, eliminating the monsterous Strangler!"

 

"Yeah. So much for omens."

 

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The Boston Strangler

ENTERED: 10th

LEFT: 8th

ELIMINATED: Charlie Matthews

ELIMINATED BY: Sean Davis

LEFT IN RING: Johnny Dangerous, Sean Davis, Todd Cortez, Landon Maddix, Spike Jenkins

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

The fans are in shock as both Strangler and Grappler wind up on the floor, Grappler able to look on the bright side MUCH easier now his conquerer is done for. Strangler is not so amused though. Infact he's pissed.

 

 

..."FIVE!"

 

"FOUR!"

 

As, in the chaos, the time has spun down to three and counting...

 

"THREE!"

 

"TWO!"

 

"ONE!"

 

*BBZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZTTT!*

 

"Who's next?"

 

 

"It's a wonderful place, oh what a wonderful place..."

 

"For you..."

 

"... for you..."

 

"For you... not me..."

 

...

 

*BOOOOOM!*

 

The cover of "Street Fighting Man" takes over as the bitter former Cruiserweight Champion saunters through the curtains.

 

"From St Louis, Missouri... AAAAUUUUSSSSTTIIIIINN SSSSSLLLLYYYYYY!!"

 

As one bitter individual makes his way towards the ring, referees are calling for reinforcements to get rid of another...The Boston Strangler, who has lost it on the floor and his kicking at railings and screaming at the zebras around him.

 

"Austin Sly doesn't look too happy with number fourteen." muses Pete.

 

"Sly doesn't look too happy with life." King corrects his partner.

 

Reinforcements are on the way, Charlie Matthews providing a word in the ear for Strangler, trying to calm him down while the two are escorted to the back.

 

 

Whilst that commotion goes on on the floor, Austin Sly skulks past and enters the ring. Davis and Jenkins are still the only men standing in the ring...and as Sly rolls in, he's already seeking peace, holding up his hands and casually backing into the corner. The Revolution let him be, as Maddix is up behind them, the freshest of the three anti-Rev Zeroers. Davis greets him, with a hand gripped around the throat...

 

*CHING!*

 

...leaving himself open to the first lowblow of the Fuck!

 

 

"SHENANIGANS~!"

 

 

Davis groans as Maddix hits the ropes and charges at Davis, who remains doubled over. Up goes Landon, Mushroom Stomping off of Davis' back...and just about springing off, into a clothesline on Spike! The crowd erupt for that, as Landon scrambles back up, connecting with a Dropsault that staggers Davis back against the ropes. Quickly Maddix tries to take advantage, lifting up a leg of Davis, the crowd routing him on, but failing to notify him of Austin Sly creeping up behind and kneeing him in the kidneys! Falling dramatically to his knees, Maddix clutches his back while Sly stands over him and puts on the bad mouth.

 

"Revolution Zero of course don't have Toxxic in this one, as must originally have been the plan." points out Pete. "But, it looks like Austin Sly is willing to help them out.

 

"That won't last. It's the Clusterfuck Pete, it never lasts."

 

Sly quickly stomps Cortez and Dangerous back to subdued positions before grabbing Maddix, irish whipping him across the ring. He hits the ropes as Sly sets, but Spike beats him to it, STOing Maddix out of Austin's path! But Sly shrugs it off and goes after Cortez. Jenkins meanwhile starts to choke Maddix, whilst Johnny is back up and suddenly EXPLODING on Davis (not like that) with right hands!

 

"Johnny Dangerous, the #3 man, still alive!"

 

With all six men paired off, the fight goes to three seperate corners, as Maddix backs away from Spike, only to jab his eyes in, retaliation for Strangler if you will. Cortez too gets the advantage on Sly and the two Martial Law members look, giving the nod and whipping Spike and Sly...

 

 

*OOOF!*

 

...into each other! Both staggers backwards breathlessly as Cortez and Maddix charge, connecting with stereo dropkicks to the back of the two men's heads, knocking them together with a modified Collision Course!! Spike and Sly wobble and get grabbed, simultaneously tossed over the top...both both hang on, skinning the cat to re-enter the ring. Or, at least, Spike does...as Cortez is alert enough to dropkick Sly in the face, causing him to lose his grip and CRASH TO THE MATS BELOW!!

 

"YEEEEEAAAAAAAAHHHHHHH!"

 

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Austin Sly

ENTERED: 14th

LEFT: 9th

ELIMINATED: Nobody

ELIMINATED BY: Todd Cortez

LEFT IN RING: Johnny Dangerous, Sean Davis, Todd Cortez, Landon Maddix, Spike Jenkins

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

"Austin Sly is eliminated. It wasn't a good day for him, for him, for him, not me!" Pete jokes.

 

Down to 5 in the ring again and Cortez quickly rushes over to help out his rival/partner for most of this Fuck, Johnny Dangerous, against Davis. Meanwhile, Spike has come back in swinging, battering Maddix down to his knees before hitting the ropes. Spike comes back, springs off the knee...

 

 

*SMACK!*

 

...and NAILS the Shining Wizard! Maddix crashes out through the bottom and middle ropes to the floor, as Spike quickly notices Davis in trouble, rushing over to assist.

 

 

"TEN!"

 

"NINE!"

 

"EIGHT!"

 

"Number fifteen will bring us to the three quarter point..."

 

"SEVEN!"

 

"SIX!"

 

"FIVE!"

 

"FOUR!"

 

"THREE!"

 

"This is the number TNT won from two years ago Pete, don't forget that!"

 

 

"TWO!"

 

"ONE!"

 

*BBZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZTTT!*

 

“Gimme Shelter” by The Rolling Stones kicks into gear to a reaction of mixed proportions, bringing out another grizzled veteran.

 

"Hailing from Dallas, Texas... MMUUUUUUUUNNIIIIICCCHHHHH!!!"

 

Munich drops his cigarettes and shirt on the stage before striding down the aisle, Landon Maddix already in his sights. Maddix is to his feet but completely lost. So he's understandably not expecting Munich to jump him from behind with clubbing blow after clubbing blow.

 

"Munich, former Hardcore Gamers Champion, taking this one to the floor!" Pete calls.

 

"Former Hardcore Gamers Champion? For 6 days, three years ago?" sneers King, before re-thinking. "Then again, anyone who beats on this snotty brat is good in my book."

 

Maddix and Munich brawl away on the floor, referees trying in vain to get them towards the ring. Meanwhile, back in that ring, it’s Rev Zero dominating Johnny and Cortez. Cortez is down as Spike directs traffic, while Davis steps behind Johnny and holds his arms, while Spike delivers a couple of slaps. The Cruiserweight Champion then leaps to the middle rope, lining Johnny up as he comes off the buckles...

 

 

*CHING!*

 

 

...LANDING A-STRADLE JOHNNY'S RIGHT LEG!!

 

 

"Dammit!" snaps King. "Maddix comes in and suddenly, everyone's going lowblow loony!"

 

Spike collapses to the side, rigid, as Johnny...

 

 

*CHING!*

 

...LETS DAVIS FEEL HIS PARTNER'S PAIN!

 

"SEE!?!"

 

Davis joins his partner on the canvas with his testicles clutches. Dangerous meantime glances behind him, seeing Cortez getting up and charging him, TIPPING CORTEZ UP AND...

 

 

 

 

...NOT QUITE OUT! Cortez hangs on by the skin of his teeth, withstanding some stomps and re-entering the ring quickly. Johnny meets him with a Shotei, Cortez retaliates with a Shotei. And as the earlier entrant, Johnny feels more effect, allowing Cortez to turn and toss Johnny out...

 

 

 

...TO THE APRON! Johnny saves himself, dragging himself to his feet on the apron, which prompts Cortez to vault off the middle rope, dropkicking at Dangerous. But he manages to drop down and avoid the contact, Cortez's legs hitting the top rope on the way down and bouncing him into an awkward landing on his head and shoulder!! Dangerous quickly re-enters the ring.

 

"Close calls for Cortez and Dangerous, both of whom have been in for some time. Infact, Johnny Dangerous has just passed the twenty-five minute mark!"

 

"Impressive, for sure." concedes King.

 

Weakly Johnny drops to one knee momentarily, but drags himself on and catches Davis as he gets up, front facelocking him and DDTing Sean. Away stumbles Dangerous, as Munich and Maddix suddenly slide in behind him. Dangerous meanwhile grabs Spike's leg and sits in, hooking the leg over his shoulder and applying The Barracuda!!

 

 

...

 

*TAP TAP TAP!*

 

Spike goes tap crazy, lucky the match doesn't accept tap-outs just yet. All the same, Johnny releases the hold as he's content with the damage done, glancing across as Munich comes at Maddix with a clothesline. The ICTV Champion ducks it though, Munich sprawling forward, unable to stop himself as quickly as he'd like. Around he whips, as Landon charges and Dropsaults Munich backwards, his relatively tall frame taking him over the top...

 

 

 

...but like many before him, Munich hooks the top rope on his way over, able to pull himself onto the apron...

 

 

*SMACK!*

 

...but, unlike those before him, he then eats some Sweet Cuca Music and CRASHES TO THE FLOOR BELOW!

 

"YEEEEEAAAAAAAAHHHH!"

 

"We're down to five again, Munich gone now!"

 

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Munich

ENTERED: 15th

LEFT: 10th

ELIMINATED: Nobody

ELIMINATED BY: Landon Maddix

LEFT IN RING: Johnny Dangerous, Sean Davis, Todd Cortez, Landon Maddix, Spike Jenkins

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

As Munich gets his marching orders, Landon does a little jig back into the centre of the ring, before old rival Johnny Dangerous takes it upon himself to charge him. He's met by forearms...three, four, five of them, before Maddix looks for the whip. Dangerous spins out though, pulling Maddix up onto a fireman's carry before tumbling forward, executing the Spinal Explosion! But as Dangerous rolls to his feet, Spike Jenkins runs from the side...

 

 

*SMACK!*

 

...and connects with his YAKUZAAAAAAAAA~! Kick! Johnny slumps to the canvas as the official Clusterfuck Timer™, sponsored by Pepsi Max, has reached ten.

 

 

"NINE!"

 

"EIGHT!"

 

"SEVEN!"

 

"SIX!"

 

"FIVE!"

 

"FOUR!"

 

"THREE!"

 

"TWO!"

 

"ONE!"

 

*BBZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZTTT!*

 

“Feuer Frei” by Rammsten hits and out from the blocks bursts the sole German representative in the Clusterfuck.

 

"From Kassel, Germany... KKAAAAAAAAAIIIIINNNEEEEEEEEE!!"

 

Tagging some hands on the way, Kaine rolls into the ring and straight away, goes right after Spike Jenkins, the two heated rivals exchanging heated right hands, backing into the corner and wailing away on one another.

 

"Kaine! It's Kaine!" Pete cries belatedly. "He had walked through his hell, fire...and he's bringing the brimstone, right here!"

 

"Wrong Kaine goofball."

 

"I know that. I was trying to provide some Bob Riley, Cy Comet style amusement. Idiot."

 

"Oh. In that case, that's either Kaine bringing brimstone or your wife is in the building." chortles King, before getting his headset knocked off his head by a casual Longdogger swipe.

 

As Kaine and Spike continue to do battle, Sean Davis strolls over behind the battle and grabs Kaine by the tights, yanking him off of Jenkins and swinging with a right hand...which Kaine evades, AND SPIKE FEASTS ON!! An apologetic Davis forgets about Kaine and helps his partner up, while Kaine backs up, getting a run-up before sprinting in. Davis avoids him, Kaine connecting with a Stinger Splash on the hapless Jenkins instead! Kaine then dives out of the way as Todd Cortez appears on the scene, drop-toe-holding Davis as he turns, sending Davis' head DEEP INTO SPIKE'S GROIN AREA!

 

"OOOOOOOOHHHHHHHH!"

 

"Revolution miscues goin' down here!"

 

"Well, that's just hideous."

 

Rolling away with a hold of his head, Davis is by far the better off of the two if Spike's facial expression is anything to go by. Davis pulls himself up and stumbles away, Kaine following while Cortez chokes Spike...Kaine hooking on a front facelock. The Perfect Storm backdrops Kaine with ease though, the German soaring over the top rope...

 

 

 

...only to land on his feet on the apron majestically, lamping Davis with a forearm. Davis stumbles away slightly, far enough for Kaine to springboard dropkick Davis.

 

"Well, I guess Kaine is taking over the mantle of eye catching cruiserweight this year." smiles Pete. "Of course, The Insane Luchador saved himself on a few occassions with much flair and finesse..."

 

"And then, got dumped anyway."

 

"Well, true."

 

Kaine scrambles to his feet and rushes Davis, sliding into him with both feet across the temple, scrambling straight up again to be met with a Spinning Backfist from Johnny Dangerous! Kaine howls, clutching his jaw as he falls to his ass, while Johnny gets whipped around...

 

 

*SLAP!*

 

"WHOOOOOO!"

 

...and Maddix = Chop! Johnny charges Maddix though, head down and taking Maddix into the corner before attempting to lift out the ICTV Champion. Back in the centre of the ring, Kaine is up, blood dripping from a busted lip as he turns around, gets goozled...and CHOKESLAMMED by Davis!! But Davis has no time to celebrate, before Cortez finds the energy to launch an attack, sweeping Davis' legs out with a scything kick. Davis bumps his head, as Cortez takes his time over crawling over, helping to pull Johnny off of Maddix, while the Timer™ decreases again!

 

"TEN!"

 

"NINE!"

 

"EIGHT!"

 

"SEVEN!"

 

"SIX!"

 

"FIVE!"

 

"FOUR!"

 

"THREE!"

 

"TWO!"

 

"ONE!"

 

*BBZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZTTT!*

 

 

...

 

But nobody comes out.

 

 

"It's your number! Get off your ass and do it Pete!"

 

"FOR THE LAST TIME, I'M NOT IN THIS YOU DOLT!"

 

The crowd seem confused, some booing at the mere thought of a Clusterfuck no-show. That is until the camera shifts to ringside, where referee Ced Ordonez is stripping off his zebra stripes, causing the crowd to go KE-RAZY!!

 

"Ced!?!"

 

"Either that or he's been drinking before he got out here and feels a little exhibitionalist."

 

Ced rolls into the ring, as #17, rushing Cortez and Dangerous who both turn in confusion...AND GET CROSSBODIED!! Rolling off of those two, Ced sees Maddix running at him and springs out of a crouching position, hurricanranaing Maddix and sending him skidding the full way across the rest of the ring!!

 

"And Ordonez is going for it King!"

 

"Well, he's no slouch."King admits. "Let's face it, Ced used to be a hot prospect in this business. Trouble is, most of our fans probably remember him best from that Waywards Sons debacle."

 

"Yeah, that did kinda suck."

 

Ordonez calls over Davis, evading his flailing grab and rotating a dropkick into Davis' jaw. Spike is next to charge, receiving a japanese arm drag. Spike scrambles back up, but Ced catches him on the way past...

 

 

*SMACK!*

 

 

...with an Enziguri! Spike collapses facefirst, as Ced hits the ropes, POWERDRIVING~! an elbow into Spike's upper back! Now the only man left to get interactive with now is Kaine, who he picks up off the canvas and irish whips into the ropes. Kaine rushes back, Ced waiting for him with a leaping, spinning back elbow. The shot seems to open Kaine's lip up even more as he gets up, clutching his bloody mouth as Ordonez lines him up for a superkick. Kaine catches the foot before it can knock his head off and Kaine is all like 'Yah, dat es goot!', but Ced is all like 'Hey, watch my funky dancing feet' as Kaine whips him off, nailing Kaine with a Dragon Whip! Kaine flies away, as Ced fires up the crowd!

 

"Ordonez has of course been watching the action from the floor all night, so, I guess he has that edge." mumbles Pete, at a loss to explain Ced's dominance.

 

Up comes Kaine, catching a boot in the jaw which sends him reeling, ALMOST over the top, but Kaine is able to skin the cat and save himself. Ced grabs him halfway in a cravaté, trying to flip Kaine out, but Kaine has hold of the middle rope. That is, until Sean Davis comes up behind the two men, SHOVING CED, CAUSING ORDONEZ AND KAINE TO FLY TO THE FLOOR!!

 

"Davis caught them! And there go two more!" cheers King.

 

"Sean Davis has now eliminated FIVE men, by far the highest running total this year and...man, I'm nothing but impressed by The Perfect Storm!"

 

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Kaine

ENTERED: 16th

LEFT: 11th

ELIMINATED: Nobody

ELIMINATED BY: Sean Davis

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Ced Ordonez

ENTERED: 17th

LEFT: 12th

ELIMINATED: Nobody

ELIMINATED BY: Sean Davis

LEFT IN RING: Johnny Dangerous, Sean Davis, Todd Cortez, Landon Maddix, Spike Jenkins

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

"And AGAIN, we're down to these five!" exclaims Pete.

 

Ordonez scrambles off the floor and quickly recovers his referee shirt, re-donning his stripes as if nothing has happened...while Kaine must leave.

 

"Davis may have made a big mistake Pete. I don't think Ordonez is above screwing Sean Davis, personally."

 

Davis turns around, soaking up his latest elimination and quickly clotheslining down both Cortez and Dangerous, who are both running on near empty currently. In the meanwhile, Landon Maddix is back up, spinning Davis around and asks him how his forearms taste with a FLURRY~!, while the Clusterfuck Timer™ appears.

 

 

..."SEVEN!"

 

"SIX!"

 

"FIVE!"

 

"FOUR!"

 

"THREE!"

 

"TWO!"

 

"ONE!"

 

*BBZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZTTT!*

 

Cypress Hill's "How I Could Just Kill A Man" hits and the crowd jeer wildly, as Australia is about to represent!

 

"From Sydney, Australia... SSSTTTRRRRYYYYYYYKKEEEEEEEE!!!"

 

Stryke jogs down the aisle, set to make it 6 in the ring, hoping to do better than the last few that preceded him. In he slides, bundling Maddix into Davis in a colission that causes both men to crash off to the side, leaving Stryke standing alone.

 

"Stryke getting a good number, number eighteen." points out King.

 

"And this is the man who put his career on the line in last year's Clusterfuck remember."

 

"Which...begs the question why he's even here. But, it's all cool."

 

Dangerous staggers back up and over to Stryke, into a sleeper hold, which quickly becomes a Sleeper Drop and Stryke drops straight south. But he cannot rest on his laurels as Todd Cortez is right up behind Stryke, whipping him into the corner. Cortez looks to go for his Handspring Elbow...but thinks better of it, instead going for a less strenuous straight charge, which ends with a boot to Cortez's jaw! Away staggers Cortez, Stryke charging him with a RUNNING European Uppercut, knocking Cortez clear off his feet and a good foot backwards! But Stryke isn't finished there...

 

 

"DOUBLE STOMP!" cries Stryke, his accent apparantely confusing some of the Washington natives as they scream 'What'. But Stryke runs in anyway...

 

 

 

...but Maddix suddenly pops up into camera shot, flipping Stryke into a tilt-a-whirl backbreaker to save his Martial Law ally. Now, it's Maddix running to the ropes, coming back and driving a double stomp into Stryke's gut. "THAT'S A DOUBLE STOMP!" Maddix screams down at Stryke. But, he takes his eye off the ball, allowing Davis to turn Maddix around, boot, lift and DROP him with a Brainbuster DDT!!

 

"Okay, I'm begging Davis to just dump everyone." sighs King. "Except Spike obviously. And...King."

 

"Leaving Max King two on one in the triple threat?"

 

"..."

 

"Touché!"

 

Maddix remains down, Davis equally hurt it seems. Meanwhile, Spike is up and pulls his fellow Smark veteran Stryke to his feet. However, Johnny Dangerous is back up, backfisting Spike in the back of the head before grabbing Stryke himself. Johnny charges, looking to toss Stryke into the front row. But Johnny is more fatigued than he thinks and can only throw Stryke through the MIDDLE rope, to the floor. Stryke pops straight back up, Johnny exhaustedly cursing his luck. Leaving himself open for a clothesline from Davis! Davis now stumbles away. Stryke meanwhile leaps to the apron, climbing up top and giving the sign for some FLIPPY FLIPPY! Up top, Stryke sets...and HITS the 450 Splash on Dangerous!

 

"Stryke connecting! If memory serves me correct, Stryke did pretty well the last two years." recalls Pete. "Maybe with this draw, he can go on to..."

 

"Main event From The Fire?" laughs King. "Stryke's great and all, but, boy would that buyrate tank!"

 

"I don't know about that."

 

Quickly Davis is on Stryke and looking for a suplex, managing to get Stryke up before turning the move into a powerslam. Davis now goes off to help Spike up...as we're approaching Clusterfuck Timer™ time. Davis pulls Spike up and checks he's okay, giving him the thumbs up. But as he does, Todd Cortez suddenly torpedoes into life, a double flying clothesline wiping out RevZero!

 

"Man, this is a back and forth Clusterfuck if I ever saw one folks! And we have just two men to enter, one of whom is Max King..."

 

 

..."SIX!"

 

"FIVE!"

 

"The other is UNKNOWN~!"

 

 

"FOUR!"

 

"THREE!"

 

"TWO!"

 

"Wouldn't it be something if it was Mark Stevens?" beams Pete, to incoherent King mumbling.

 

 

"ONE!"

 

*BBZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZTTT!*

 

 

*BOOOOOM!*

 

"Superstar" by Saliva hits and the crowd go boo crazy, as Max King emerges at #19...bringing Kelly Connelly to the ring with him!

 

"From Philidelphia, Pennsylvania... he is "THE ICON" MMAAAAAAAAXXXXX KKIIIIIIIIIINNNNNNGGGG!!!"

 

King and Kelly saunter to the ring, apparantly unaware of the rules of the Clusterfuck, that managers are banned from ringside. Either that, or they just don't give a crap.

 

 

"Here we go, my pick to win this whole Clusterfuck Pete!" King cheers. "And at number nineteen, he has to be considered the favourite!"

 

"Until number twenty comes out."

 

"Unless number twenty is Tom Flesher, I stand by my remark."

 

"What if it's The Memphis Eel."

 

"...oh crap, that'd be awesome, I might just splooge in my pants and everything!"

 

While King takes his time over entering the ring, Todd Cortez drags Spike Jenkins up and starts to stack him on the top rope with intent to send him flying to the floor. But Sean Davis is still fighting despite exhaustion, pulling Cortez off of Jenkins and clubbing him with a right. Cortez swings back. Davis nails a punch. Cortez palm strikes. That seems to daze Davis, but he shakes it off and charges Cortez, roaring his intent as he swings and CLOTHESLINES...

 

 

...SPIKE...

 

 

 

 

 

...OVER THE TOP ROPE!!!!!

 

 

"YEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHH!"

 

"What in the FUCK!?!" f-bombs King.

 

"Davis! Eliminates! Spike!" Pete emphasises through a beaming smile.

 

"What...in the FUCK!?!"

 

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Spike Jenkins

ENTERED: 13th

LEFT: 13th

ELIMINATED: Wildchild

ELIMINATED BY: Sean Davis

LEFT IN RING: Johnny Dangerous, Sean Davis, Todd Cortez, Landon Maddix, Stryke, 'Max King'

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

Jenkins rolls to his knees, looks up...and to say Jenkins is PISSED would be an understatement too large not to mention. A shocked Davis tries to apologise but Jenkins is inconsolable on the floor, having to be held back by referees.

 

"Revolution Zero might explode here!" cries Pete. "They're cracking at the seams!"

 

"It...was a mistake. No more, no less."

 

"Try telling that to Spike Jenkins!"

 

Davis suddenly finds himself spun around and getting smacked with some palm strikes, Landon Maddix coming up and helping out with some forearms, despite being hurt from the Brainbuster earlier.

 

 

Outside of the ring, there is as much action as in it though. Spike is being ejected by the referee legion and he's set to be joined by Kelly Connelly, who is just now being informed she cannot reside at ringside during the match! Meaning the referees have three very angry people howling at them in the aisle. Eventually though, Kelly and Spike are ejected...and in protest at Kelly's departure, Max King stands in the aisle, refusing to enter the ring!

 

"Now this is smart strategy."

 

"Not getting in the ring!?!" says Pete angrily. "Seems more like cowardly than smart."

 

"Smart, cowardly; whatever."

 

Meanwhile, Martial Law have Davis in trouble, trying to elevate him out. Stryke and Dangerous are renewing their battle in another corner, delivering forearms. And STILL, King won't enter the ring, despite the Clusterfuck Timer™ winds down for the final time. Already the crowd are buzzing, wondering just who it could be...the mystery, number thirty entrant...

 

"Here we go King, who could it be?"

 

"TEN!"

 

"NINE!"

 

"EIGHT!"

 

"Fallout?"

 

"SEVEN!"

 

"SIX!"

 

"FIVE!"

 

"Mayor McCheese?"

 

"FOUR!"

 

"THREE!"

 

"TWO!"

 

"Longdogger Pete?"

 

"ONE!"

 

"Shut up King, it ain't me!"

 

*BBZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZTTT!*

 

 

Out go the lights.

 

 

"IT'S SABU!"

 

"I doubt it, have you seen his wage demands?" retorts King, cut off from any more silliness by three words...

 

"WAIT...AND...BLEED!"

 

 

"YEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHH!"

 

"Uhm...this can't be right." mutters Pete.

 

"You have got to be kidding me, surely. I mean...no! He already..."

 

 

 

Suddenly the lights snap on and sure enough, BLOODSHED is in the ring!!! All heads suddenly turn, all action having stopped due to the temporary black-out and everyone looks completely befuddled, even the Martial Law duo. No, no. ESPECIALLY the Martial Law duo.

 

"Come ON!!!" whines King.

 

"Bloodshed, making his...wink, wink, nudge, nudge...Clusterfuck debut!"

 

"This is beyond unfair...HE'S ALREADY BEEN IN!"

 

"I don't know what you mean." chuckles Pete.

 

First to break from their confusion is Stryke, charging at Bloodshed and taking a trenchcoat assisted clothesline that knocks him down. Quickly Bloodshed then tears off the trenchcoat, tossing it aside as Johnny Dangerous runs in, Bloodshed ducking him before catching him with a Railbreaker! Martial Law don't know whever to attack or not and suddenly get their noggins knocked~! by Davis, collapsing as Davis now advances on Bloodshed. Stupidity, idiocy...whatever it is, Bloodshed doesn't back down...

 

 

*SLAP!*

 

"WHOOOOOO!"

 

...and even chops Davis! Bloodshed is lucky Davis is tired as Davis feels the stinging shot, Bloodshed quickly calling on some cheers before spiking Davis with a DDT! At which point, Max King slides in, trying to get the jump on Bloodshed, only to get swatted away with a thrust kick! Sure enough, The Icon rolls back under the bottom rope and stays on the floor, as now Bloodshed checks on Martial Law. Not sure why, seeing as he isn't a member. Wink wink. Bloodshed then turns back, ready to attack again. But suddenly a hand grips him by the pants, another by the hair, BEFORE HE'S TOSSED OVER TOP!!

 

"Woooooaaaaaaaahhhhhhh!" cheers King, like a U.S sitcom audience member.

 

"Bloodshed, eliminated...by Landon Maddix?"

 

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Bloodshed

ENTERED: 20th

LEFT: 14th

ELIMINATED: Nobody

ELIMINATED BY: Landon Maddix

LEFT IN RING: Johnny Dangerous, Sean Davis, Todd Cortez, Landon Maddix, Stryke, 'Max King'

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

Looking back into the ring, Bloodshed is to say the least SHOCKED AND ANGERED~ as Maddix shrugs his shoulders looking back down. Meanwhile, Cortez is watching all these, beffudled, not knowing who to be pissed off at first. Which disctracts him.

 

 

AND ALLOWS MAX KING TO ENTER THE RING AND CLOTHESLINE CORTEZ OVER THE TOP, AND OUT!!!

 

"BOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!"

 

"YES!" cheers King once more. "Beautiful, Max!"

 

"Dammit, Cortez didn't even know King was in the ring! And now, we're down to five men!"

 

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Todd Cortez

ENTERED: 7th

LEFT: 15th

ELIMINATED: Austin Sly

ELIMINATED BY: Max King

LEFT IN RING: Johnny Dangerous, Sean Davis, Landon Maddix, Stryke, Max King

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

King poses, big smile on his face as Cortez more concerned with yelling at Bloodshed for his idiocy. Meanwhile, The Icon is soaking up the boos. Clearly not realising he has an old nemesis creeping up behind him...

 

 

 

 

 

 

...AND LOBBING HIM TO THE FLOOR!!!!

 

"YEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHH!"

 

"Make it FOUR!"

 

"NOOOOOOOO!" howls King, as King bounces off the mats. "Damn it, now who am I supposed to route for?"

 

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Max King

ENTERED: 20th

LEFT: 16th

ELIMINATED: Todd Cortez

ELIMINATED BY: Landon Maddix

LEFT IN RING: Johnny Dangerous, Sean Davis, Landon Maddix, Stryke

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

"And now, we're one elimination away for some triple threatin'!"

 

Maddix quickly turns around, not making the mistake the three men before him did. Charging at him is Stryke, but Maddix weaves away from his clothesline, locking for the SoDak Moment. Stryke escapes with back elbows to the gut, breaking Maddix's grip around his jaw before SMACKING him with a European uppercut...two...three, knocking Maddix down. Hitting the ropes, Stryke leaps and double stomps Maddix...coming down with a back senton just seconds later!! Meanwhile, Sean Davis is in danger of elimination for the umpteenth time in the night by Dangerous. Johnny has one leg up and is calling for re-inforcements. Stryke quickly runs over, grabbing the other leg and tipping Davis!!

 

"Davis! Davis may be on his way out!"

 

"And there's no Jenkins to help!"

 

Davis tries to hang on while Stryke and Dangerous have him teetering dangerously above elimination, still in need of some help. The only other man in the ring is Landon Maddix, clutching his gut, hurt.

 

"The most dominant man in this year's Clusterfuck, in serious danger here!" cries Pete. "His only hope of help is Landon Maddix, Martial Law member, the man who took his USJL Title."

 

Trying to fight off Dangerous and Stryke alone, Davis almost forgets about gripping the top rope and teeters once more. But he hangs on, still in danger however. As now, Maddix is up. He looks across, sees the struggle...AND SITS BACK DOWN!

 

"BOOOOOOOOOOOOO!"

 

But the jeers from the Washington crowd pull him up. Maddix looks to the fans and points to Davis, asking if they want him to help out...and he gets a resounding cheer, so charges and starts to push too! Davis' eyes are like saucers, as he knows he's close...

 

 

 

...very close...

 

 

"Hang on Sean!"

 

 

 

 

 

...and...

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

...GONEEEEE!!!!!!

 

"YEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHH!"

 

"DAMN IT!" snaps King, as Davis hits the floor.

 

"What an effort by Sean Davis! He entered 6th! He eliminated SIX! But now, he's gone, thanks to the final three men in the ring!"

 

"Credit to Sean Davis." King applauds. "A gargantuan effort!"

 

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Sean Davis

ENTERED: 6th

LEFT: 17th

ELIMINATED: Manson, Alan Clark, The Boston Strangler, Kaine, Ced Ordonez, Spike Jenkins

ELIMINATED BY: Johnny Dangerous, Landon Maddix, Stryke

LEFT IN RING: Johnny Dangerous, Landon Maddix, Stryke

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

As the referees escort Davis back, referee Sexton Hardcastle slides into the ring, as we're down to the final three! Maddix, Dangerous and Stryke! Two former World Heavyweight Champions and a true ring veteran!

 

*DING!*

 

The bell rings and quickly Stryke crashes through Maddix with a clothesline, before schoolboying the weakest man remaining, The Barracuda, for the cover....

 

 

 

ONEEEEEE!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

TWOOOOOOO!

 

 

 

 

 

 

Kickout!!

 

Quickly Stryke pops up, but doesn't spot Maddix hitting the ropes beside him, leaping into the air and SMASHING him in the face with a leaping forearm! Stryke rolls off as Maddix spots Dangerous, tumbling behind with a sunset flip...

 

 

 

 

ONEEEEEE!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

TWOOOOOOO!

 

 

 

 

 

 

Kickout!!

 

"Both Stryke and Maddix going after Dangerous, which is sound strategy, as Dangerous has been in almost since the beginning!" points out Pete.

 

Johnny kicks out as Maddix rolls to his feet, charging at Johnny again. Stryke interjects himself in his path, but Maddix executes a running standing switch, looking for the SoDak again. Before he can drop though, Dangerous kicks Landon in the kidneys. Collapsing, Maddix retreats to a corner, while Dangerous wearily whips Stryke, looking for a spinning heel kick. Stryke ducks, booting Johnny as he turns and setting him up for a Fisherman's Suplex...maybe even the Fisherman's Neckbreaker. However, Maddix suddenly charges. Stryke throws Johnny off, catching Maddix coming in a sleeper...

 

 

*CHING!*

 

"Lowblow by Maddix!"

 

 

 

 

*CHING!*

 

"LOWBLOW BY JOHNNY!"

 

Both Maddix and Stryke clutch their testiclé as Johnny is able to pick his spots. A dropkick for Stryke. Dropkick for Maddix. Backfist to Stryke. Waistlock...belly to belly, overhead, by Dangerous to Maddix! But suddenly, Johnny hits the wall, exhaustion causing him to stop for breath. Behind him, Stryke is up, bringing his knee around into Johnny's gut...but before he goes for Johnny, he grabs Maddix and tosses him over the top rope. Even though he doesn't have to anymore, Maddix grabs the top rope, landing on the apron. Stryke meanwhile boots Johnny, before applying the pumphandle.

 

"Stryke is looking for that Low End Theory, the pumphandle piledriver!" calls King. "If he hits this, then it'll be over!"

 

Johnny looks trapped as Stryke hooks the arm and lifts Dangerous. But suddenly, La Cucaracha springs into life, springs off the top rope...and wipes out Stryke with a springboard clothesline!! Away bounces Stryke, as Maddix pulls himself up...to be confronted by old nemesis, Johnny Dangerous!

 

"Wow!" gasps Pete.

 

"Why does everything has to be so showy with this kid?"

 

"And would you look at this stand off? Dangerous. Maddix. These two men had a memorable battle back at Ground Zero for the ICTV Title. But THIS, this is SO much more important King!"

 

Dangerous and Maddix stare each other down, dueling chants going up as the two suddenly launch into action, exchanging right hands for forearm in the centre of the ring! Dangerous. Maddix. Dangerous. Maddix.

 

...

 

Maddix.

 

...

 

 

Maddix. Maddix. Maddix! Dangerous is fatigued and takes a forearm flurry, before Maddix hits the ropes. Johnny ducks a clothesline, hooking Maddix on the way around for The Interrogator! Maddix rolls through though, escaping Johnny's tired grip and scrambling to his feet. But suddenly, Stryke is up, MOWING down both with clotheslines! Johnny stays down, but Landon is able to get back up, Stryke booting him and pulling the ICTVUSJL Champ into a standing headscissors. Boos are already vehement, as Stryke lifts Maddix for a piledriver. But he pauses, which allows Johnny to pull himself up, turn back to back with Stryke...

 

 

 

*WHAM!*

 

...hitting a hangman's neckbreaker...

 

 

 

*WHAM!*

 

...WHICH COMPLETES STRYKE'S PILEDRIVER FOR HIM!!!

 

 

"Double impact! Maddix and Stryke are down, this is Johnny's chance!"

 

Stryke holds his neck as Johnny glances from body to body, deciding Stryke is the fresher man and trying his luck with Maddix and a cover...

 

 

 

ONEEEEEE!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

TWOOOOOOO!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

THRE-NOOOOOOO!!!!!

 

Some of the crowd groan, some cheer...split between Dangerous and Maddix. Dangerous meanwhile pops to his feet, cradling Stryke to the mat...

 

 

 

ONEEEEEE!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

TWOOOOOOO!

 

 

 

 

 

 

Kickout!!

 

Johnny has to curse his luck as he struggles up, encouraging either man up. Stryke is up first and Dangerous meets him, nails a boot, MI SLAAAA...NO! Stryke escapes out the back, applying a waistlock. Johnny with the standing switch, Stryke with the standing switch...Johnny with an elbow, and another standing switch. Without the energy for a german, Johnny decides to push Stryke into the ropes and look for a roll-up, sitting down across Stryke's legs with the pin...

 

 

 

*SMACK!*

 

 

 

 

...but he takes Sweet Chin Music, allowing Stryke to pull Johnny into his own pinning hold...

 

 

 

ONEEEE...

 

 

 

 

*SMACK!*

 

 

...only for STRYKE to recieve Sweet Cuca Music! He falls to the mat, Johnny still KOed too, while Maddix dives on top of the Australian with From The Fire in his sights...

 

 

 

 

ONEEEEEE!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

TWOOOOOOO!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

THREEEE-NOOOOOOO!!!!!

 

Despair hits Maddix at 100mph, collapsing to his seat, hands over his head.

 

"So very, VERY close!" sighs the drained Longdogger.

 

Maddix pulls himself up though, not giving up, knowing he has the intitative. Quickly he grabs Johnny and drags him to his feet, summoning the strength to gutwrench Johnny and rotate him up...for a Tombstone!?! Dangerous leans back though, Maddix unable to hold his weight. Picking up Maddix, Johnny has him in tombstone position now. But decides against it, somehow muscling Maddix onto his shoulder, before dropping him, snake-eyes across the top turnbuckle!!

 

"OOOOOOOOOOOOOHHHHHHH!"

 

Hearing the pattering of not so tiny feet, Johnny instinctively dives out of the way with the agility of a Secret Agent, causing Stryke to charge into Maddix in the corner! Maddix slumps as Stryke stumbles out, looking for Johnny, and walking straight into a drop-toe-hold. Stryke's head bounces violently, as Johnny rolls on top of Stryke, grabs the leg...AND APPLIES THE BARRACUDA!!!

 

"THE BARRACUDA! SUBMISSION HOLD APPLIED!"

 

"Well, it's better than Maddix I guess...

 

Stryke is trapped, Hardcastle diving to see if he's had enough. His career isn't on the line. But Stryke knows the prize at stake is closer than it's EVER been and clings on, trying to crawl to the ropes. Johnny meanwhile sits in, wrenching away.

 

 

"TAPTAPTAPTAPTAP!"

 

Stryke starts to crawl...

 

 

 

 

...but Johnny's bodyweight is too much and he stops short, clenching his fists, trying to prevent himself from tapping...

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

...another wrench though, and Stryke's hand hovers...

 

 

 

 

...he's seconds away from calling it quits...

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

*SMACK!*

 

"SHINING WIZAAAAAARD~!" erupts Pete.

 

Johnny takes the Wizard flush in the jaw and rolls across the ring, almost out to the floor. Meanwhile, Maddix rolls to his knees. He knows Dangerous is out. But rather than go for a pin, he crawls over to Stryke, who is still hurting from the Barracuda...

 

 

 

...AND WRAPS ON THE LAND OF NOD!!!

 

 

"NO!" is King's cry. "Get up Dangerous!"

 

 

 

"TAPTAPTAPTAPTAP!"

 

The chant is instant.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

*TAPTAPTAP*

 

 

"YEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHH!!!"

 

AND THE TAP IS NOT FAR BEHIND!!!

 

 

"HE GAVE IT UP!" cries Pete over the exploding Washington crowd, who are going nuts! "STRYKE TAPPED! LANDON MADDIX... IS GOIN' TO FROM... THE... FIRE!!!"

 

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Stryke

ENTERED: 18th

LEFT: 18th

ELIMINATED: Sean Davis

ELIMINATED BY: Landon Maddix

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

King is silent, but he's about the only person in the arena who is, as Maddix releases the hold and clenching his fists to his face in ecstacy! Running down the rampway, Megan Skye scrambles into the ring and embraces her man, as Dangerous is just about coming to, and releasing what's just happened...

 

 

“LADIES AND GENTLEMEN,” Funyon booms, “THE WINNER OF THE TWO THOUSAND AND FIVE CLUUUUUSSSSSTERFUCK... LAAAAAANNDDOOOOOOOOONN "LA CUCARACHAAAAAAA!!" MMMMMAAAAAAAADDDIIIIIIIIIIIXXXXXXXXX!!!!!!!!!”

 

 

As the crowd go wild, Johnny Dangerous looks up and sees Maddix's celebrations beginning, deciding to vacate the ring. Dejectedly he leaves, helped by a couple of referees, the crowd around him applauding his efforts as he goes.

 

"What a heartbreaker for Johnny, entering at number three and being pipped at the last, like so many others in year's past." sighs Pete.

 

"And like Craven, Annie, Van Siclen and those before him, he'll...uhm...fade into obscurity?"

 

"Don't bet on it."

 

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Johnny Dangerous

ENTERED: 3rd

LEFT: N/A

ELIMINATED: Dominic Korgath, Sean Davis

ELIMINATED BY: N/A

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

As Johnny leaves, Maddix is helped to his feet by Megan and Hardcastle, his arm raised in the air as the traditional Clusterfuck confetti™ rains from the ceiling.

 

"Finally, the fans have a Clusterfuck champion to cheer for, after two years of disappointment!" cheers the delighted Pete. "Landon Maddix has won the Clusterfuck and now, it's on to From The Fire! And you know what that means."

 

"Depressingly low buyrates?"

 

"No! It means we're either going to see Landon Maddix vs. Mak Francis, first time EVER... or, we're going to see the Maddix/Sacred rematch! And we'll find out which in just a few moments folks, so stay tuned..."

 

"...yeah, no matter how much you hate this result."

 

As Maddix and Megan continue celebrating and the ringside area becomes a sea of confetti, Maddix looks around with a beaming smile on his face, as he looks around the ring...his smile minimising slightly, as he realises there's no Cortez and no Clark to join in his celebration. But not for long. After all...

 

 

 

...HE'S GOIN' TO FROM THE FIRE, BABY!! (credit Grappler)

[Chuck Woolery 0]

Once long ago, a black plague descended upon the land… a fugue of suffering and a disease of torture that would have consumed all had not fate intervened…

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

But some things cannot be avoided, only forgotten about until the time comes where it will rise again…

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Evil cannot be vanquished as long as man finds it in their heart to hate, to lust for revenge, to want to subjugate…

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Assimilate…

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Destroy.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

And faith? Faith is nothing more than lies by those who wish to control you… it cannot stop the gears of this evil machine from returning to life…

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

There is only but one fate left for those who have survived this long… that the end of this pax is at hand…

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

JUDGEMENT IS COMING

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

FEBRUARY 2005

[Chuck Woolery 0]

The MCI centre in Washington is still reeling from the epic contest they just witnessed as the crowning of a new Clusterfuck Champion has just taken place. As various limbs and carcasses are swept away from ringside, Funyon stands in the centre of the ring, ready to make another triumphant announcement.

 

He has to wait, though, as the fans continue to cheer as loud as they can, even after the excitement of the Clusterfuck. They hold their signs aloft, displaying overwhelming support for the Franchise; the man Funyon has the distinct honor of announcing…

 

“Ladies and Gentleman…” He begins. “The following match… is a single match… for the WORLD HEAVYWEIGHT CHAMPIONSHIP!”

 

The announcement has the fans on their feet, knowing yet another epic contest is about to take place, and their hero introduced.

 

“Don’t turn off your television yet,” Pete reminds the viewers at home, “because we STILL have one more match to complete, which will no doubt be a memorable one.”

 

“Of course it will be!” Pete’s partner the Suicide King suddenly roars. “Two men. One Ttile. The most sought after prize in our sport on the line and an epic feud to conclude! I cannot wait!”

 

“Introducing first…”

 

The house lights shut off as the wispy sounds of a digital xylophone echo throughout the arena. You can feel the pulsation of the light dings, as a hard beat done by violins, suddenly strikes up slightly overshadowing the original background rhythm.

 

“So do you wanna’ be a Franchise… And live large… A big house… five cars…”

 

“From Philadelphia, Pennsylvania…”

 

The SmarkTron flares up with a blue and white photonegative image of Mak Francis, which is followed by ‘The Franchise’ in large green lettering, flashing on the screen in time with the beat.

 

“Weighing in at two hundred and forty pounds…”

 

“The rent charge… Comin’ up in the world, don’t trust nobody… Gotta’ look over your shoulder constantly!”

 

“He is a former United States and ICTV Champion… please welcome, the one and only Franchise…MMMMAAAAAKKKKK FFFFFRRRRRAAAAAANNNNNNCIIIIIIISSSSSSS!”

 

As the opening lyrics from Rock Superstar by Cypress Hill, slightly altered of course, blare over the PA system, it takes a little while but eventually the self proclaimed franchise makes his way through the curtain. The lights come back up and Francis comes out onto the stage, tilting his shades down on the bridge of his nose, before looking left and then right…

 

“I remember the days, when I was a young kid grownin’ up… Lookin’ in the mirror dreamin’ about blowin’ up!”

 

That cues multiple short bursts of green pyrotechnics erupting from either side of him. He readjusts his shades with a smirk, before slowly strolling down to ringside and after walking up the ring steps, he cockily wipes his feet on the apron, giving a salute to the crowd who cheer for the Franchise, before entering through the middle ropes. The pipe up and chant the Franchise’s name as he ascends to the top turnbuckles and raises his fist to all his fans!

 

“And here he is, the one and only Franchise, in only his second match since returning from the injured list,” Pete reminds us all. “Indeed, King, this feud has been bloody and filled with mind games. But tonight, the mind games will be put to a rest, and only one man will emerge victorious over the other, and become the World Champion!”

 

The television picture begins to flutter, becoming fuzzy…

 

“This is the man I’ve been waiting for, Pete,” King replies. “The two time world champion and Hall of Famer, here to put another contender out of his misery!”

 

 

“Watch it, King; you’re beginning to sound like Riley.”

 

As a slap is heard, Andrew Blackwell’s voice is heard in eerie fashion…

 

...

 

"There is nothing wrong with your television set.“

 

 

“I not attempt to adjust the picture."

 

 

“I will control the horizontal.”

 

 

“I will control the vertical.”

 

 

“I am controlling transmission...."

 

...

 

The picture returns too normal shortly after. Before Andrew Blackwell makes his entrance, the lights recede, not into complete darkness, but very near to, as 'Tainted' by Lycia begins to play, very softly, at the same time. Spotlights situated to the side of the ramp way, all along the side turn on Blackwell and follow him as he walks slowly before reaching the ringside area.

 

“And… his opponent…” Funyon continues in his booming voice. “From Adelaide, Australia. Weighing in at two hundred and sixteen pounds… he is a Grand Slam Champion and the current, reigning, World Heavyweight Champion…”

 

“…Please welcome…”

 

The boos almost drown Funyon out! But the announcer continues none the less, giving the classy gentleman who now steps into the ring with Mak the entrance he deserves…

 

“He is… SSSSAAAAAAAAAAACCCCCCCCCCCCCCCRRRRRRRRREEEEEEEEEEEDDDDDDDDDDDDDDD!”

 

The two men sit in either corner as Sacred straps his title and hands it to official Matthew Kivell as Pete continues, “At Genesis IV, Sacred injured Mak Francis, locking in the Upright Figure Four to capture the ICTV title. Tonight, a much bigger prize is on the line, and their very pride is at stake.”

 

The world title is held aloft for all to see, and both Andrew and Mackenzie glance up at the glittering gold, and then stare at one another while the crowd continues to go crazy with anticipation.

 

“If the thought of tearing each other apart wasn’t motivation enough,” begins Longdogger, “then the biggest prize in our fair company sure as hell is! These two would lock up just for the hell of it, but there’s so much on the line tonight which is sure to add fuel to the fire.”

 

“Oh, without a doubt,” King answers, a grin breaking out across his face, “but you know Francis is looking at the title, and looking at Sacred, and wondering if he shot for too much, too soon.”

 

“It’s true that he’s only had the solitary match since returning, but I think it’s safe to say that it is the furthest thing from his mind right now as he looks across at the man who halted his career just as he was climbing to the top. Well tonight, he has the chance to kill two birds with one stone and come out on top, where he rightfully belongs!”

 

“I’ll tell you where he belongs, the emergency ward of St. Alfred’s, if his last two Pay Pew View matches are anything to go by.”

 

As the Suicide King smiles gleefully and Pete simply groans, Kivell takes the only chance he’ll get to hug the World Title, before handing it to an attendant at ringside. He lays it out on the announce desk for all to see, the crowd still cheering in the background, but as Mak and Sacred look at each other, memories of the past filling their troubled minds, they remember what they’re really fighting for. Mak wants the year he’ll never get back. He wants his pride back.

 

Sacred simply wants to deny him.

 

*DING! DING! DING!*

 

The sound of the bell snaps both men back to reality as they stand toe to toe, the crowd screaming and hollering all around them, waiting on the edge of their seats for the first move to be made.

 

“Neither man wants to give an inch to the other,” notes Pete. “The first man to make a mistake will rue that as they’re pinned to the mat one, two, and three. Mak won’t have to worry about Rev0 meddling in this match, however, and that will surely give him a much needed confidence boost.”

 

“Now hold on just a second there buddy,” King suddenly interjects, “First off, we don’t even know what Sacred is going to do. Remember, he just up and vanished after merging victorious on Lockdown. For all we know, he might still stay loyal, and even if he isn’t, he didn’t need them to advance in the Coldfront Classic, or to win the title. When, and it’s only a matter of when Pete my boy, Sacred wins tonight, then we’ll know what the answer is. I hope for his sake, though, he does stay with the Revolution, because everyone is after you when you’re the World Champion; I’ve had more experience in that than anybody!”

 

“… But you’ve only won the title one solitary time.”

 

“That’s still one time more than you.”

 

While the announcers seem to prattle and bicker endlessly, the action in the ring begins, both men doing the time honoured circle of death, waiting for one another to make a move, trying to find a weakness to exploit. Sacred finally breaks the deadlock in surprising fashion, calling Mak forward to enter a good old test of strength, holding his outstretched hand high. Mak is incredibly wary, but the fans cheers ring throughout the arena as they chant his name-

 

“MAK! MAK! MAK! MAK! MAK!”

 

-and plead with him to beat down the convict. Mak has never been one to argue with his adoring public as he steps forward, his hand reaching out to link with Sacred’s. Mak flinches as both hands lock together; he expects Sacred to try a cheap shot, but Sacred is true to his word and holds out his opposite hand. Mak seemingly lets his guard down as the two finally lock up, but Sacred, as usual, has other ideas as he aims a kick towards Mak’s bum leg! The Franchise refuses to let the Australian have his way and sidesteps the attack much to Sacred’s horror, and flips the Champion over with an arm drag!

 

“FRAN- CHISE! FRAN – CHISE!”

 

“Sacred always has something up his sleeve,” Pete says, “but Mak knows this more than anyone! After all the mind games Sacred put him through leading up to Genesis, it’s clear Sacred tried to psyche him out once again by targeting the leg he injured, but Mak was one step ahead, a tough feat to achieve against the master manipulator!”

 

“Oh, so he’s only a master manipulator when someone foils his plan, huh?” King grumbles in reply. “Mak got lucky once. ONCE! The night is still young and there’s still a lot of time for the young hothead to screw up, just like his last return. Oh Zing!”

 

Blackwell bounces back to his feet, caught off-guard by Mak’s quick responses. And quick responses they are, as Mak is almost immediately on top of Sacred, swinging away forcefully with multiple right-hands!

 

*BAM!*

 

*BAM!*

 

*BAM!*

 

And the Sacred One is reeling, falling backwards as each strike finds its’ mark on the side of his head. Mak follows through on his attack, not-so-nicely guiding the slightly dazed World champion into the nearest corner, with a persuasive knife-edge chop! Continuing the trend, the Franchise rears back and lays waste to Sacred’s chest with another round of knife-edge chops!

 

*Smack!*“WHOOOOOOOOOOO!”

 

*Smack!* ”WHOOOOOOOOOOO!”

 

*Smack!*”WHOOOOOOOOOOO!”

 

“Apparently, going after Francis’ knee was not something that he appreciated.” Pete adds, while Francis continues his assault. “A fact that Mak pointed out earlier tonight in his interview with Ben Hardy. I was right to say he was one step ahead of Sacred, because I don’t think anyone, including the World champ expected this type of attack.”

 

“This is the same guy that over pursued Dace Night in his first match back and lost his wind early. And that one match was a time limit draw because he couldn’t keep up and you expect him to keep pace with Sacred. Mak is a mat wrestler, and getting away from that style can only lead to trouble.”

 

Sacred attempts to wallow in the corner, his chest stinging, while Mak leads him to the middle of the ropes, holding his hand like he’s a child in a department store. The Franchise pushes him into the ropes and sends him away with an Irish whip. Mind still focused on the pain in his chest Blackwell can do nothing, but return to the Franchise, who raises his left knee into the air, blasting Sacred with a straight shot under the chin! The crowd gasps at the sound of solid contact, as Sacred drops like a stone to the mat. Mak falls on top of Sacred in a mount and Kivell drops to the mat…

 

ONE!

 

 

 

 

 

T—No! Not even a one, because Mak’s attack is far from finished, as he straddles Sacred and grabbing a tuft of hair pounds away with right-hands to the World champions face!

 

*BAM!*

 

 

*BAM!*

 

 

*BAM!*

 

 

*BAM!*

 

 

*BAM!*

 

Sacred tries to squirm away from Mak’s grasp, but Francis doesn’t want another stare down; he has Sacred down on the mat, exactly where he wants him. Grasping a hold of Sacred’s arm, Mak keeps good distance from Sacred as he applies a simple key lock, preventing Sacred from connecting with one of his potent forearms in reply.

 

“With that outburst aside, Mak Francis has gone back to what he knows—keeping his opponent under control by using his technical prowess.”

 

“It’s a keylock, Pete,” King responds, “but damnit, this is Mak Francis and he must be a technical wizard! Sacred can definitely hold his own in any technical affair and the finish of their Genesis IV match is proof of that.”

 

Sacred does however manage to climb to his feet, cringing as Mak applies even more pressure to his arm, but the Australian manages to roll forward and spin to his feet, countering the hold into a hammerlock, pinning Mak’s arm at his back. Francis is not subdued long as he fires off a stinging back elbow, stunning the Australian for a moment, long enough for Mak to institute a standing switch, heading behind his Australian foe. Sacred suddenly charges forward for the safety of the ropes, clinging onto them and causing Mak to lose his grip and roll away harmlessly. The Australian is clearly shaken as he tries to silence his opponent with some stiff forearm blows, but Mak has the adrenaline running already as he ducks underneath the third shot, taking Sacred’s arm in the process and answering with a hammerlock of his own. Before Sacred can even attempt a reversal, Mak reaches underneath his lighter opponent and lifts him into the air for a hammerlock Suplex!

 

…But Sacred is determined to escape, wanting Mak to earn every single move he attempts as he flays about madly, causing Francis to stumble for just a second, which is all the Australian needs to flip out of the move and safely back on two feet. Sacred is lightning quick as he heads down low, targeting the leg with a quick chop block and felling Mak. Sacred digs in quickly as he latches onto Mak’s leg with an elementary Leg Lock, allowing him to get his breath back. Francis has to wince as Sacred scissors his leg, preventing him from moving and jarring his knee at a dangerous angle. Realizing the severity of the situation already, Mak works through the pain so he can turn his body over just enough…

 

*WHAM!*

 

… To connect with a STIFF boot to the Australian’s features! The crowd begins to cheer but Sacred holds on like a determined Dingo holding a baby in its mouth; he can’t argue with a second STIFF kick however, which sends him packing!

 

“Already we see Sacred focus in on Mak’s leg, which has now had time to heal,” Pete points out, “but I’m not sure that was his intention, as Francis has really had him on the back foot! Sacred has had a good couple of months, and his mat work has improved considerably, but I doubt he’s faced a proficient mat wrestler like Mak in a long time, and he may have underestimated his opponent!”

 

“Wouldn’t you?” King asks. “Like we’ve already pointed out, he’s only had one match since his triumphant return, and now suddenly he’s got the World Champion on the ropes. Sacred wouldn’t underestimate a man like Mak Francis. More likely, Mak Francis has focused all his energies into beating him, and thought of every eventuality.”

 

“Well, he’s had a long time to prepare…” Pete answers, trailing off with just a hint of foreboding as Sacred blocks a right hand and drives a knee into Mak’s stomach, doubling him over. Sacred quickly latches onto Mak with a front face lock, dropping to one knee in an attempt to bring Mak back down and wear him out. But Mak manages to keep his feet, his great upper body strength allowing him to shrug Sacred off. Sacred charges forward to get the one up on Mak, but in his haste, allows himself to be taken down with a simple Drop Toe Hold as Francis mounts on top of him, sitting directly on his shoulder and pulling back with a Fujiwara armbar!

 

“Francis once again gets the better of his opponent, and continues to weaken that arm,” Pete observes closely. “Just as Sacred made Magnifico’s arm a non-issue, Francis is doing the same here.”

 

“What a nerd,” King says rather matter-of-factly. “I bet he’s been studying old tapes just to find Sacred’s weaknesses and playing Online Rope Playing Games. Quick, Mak, hit him with your Two-handed Mace for 67 damage!”

 

“Where did THAT come from?”

 

“Too much World or Warcraft, and that’s a shoot brutha.”

 

Sacred tries his best to crawl away, but with only one arm to maneuver it’s no avail. Mak smiles as the fans cheer, watching Blackwell trapped on the mat in pain as he’s done to so many others. Mak continues to torque his arm, creating even more pressure every second Sacred in the hold. The Australian desperately escapes, lunging towards the ropes with his free hand and grabbing hold for dear life as Kivell shouts-

 

“ONE!”

 

“TWO!”

 

“THREE!”

 

“FOUR!”

 

Mak finally let’s go, but only after a little prodding from Kivell himself, and Sacred crawls away, his arm aching already, but he tries to put the slight pain out of his mind as he climbs to his feet. Mak meets him before he can even take a breather, slamming his fist into Sacred’s jaw!

 

*BAM!*

 

*BAM!*

 

The fans cry out as each blow is struck and Sacred is rocked backward towards the ropes.

 

*BAM!*

 

*BAM!*

 

Mak finally lets up, but keeps Sacred on a short leash as he whips him across the ring. Sacred bounces off the ropes, ducking underneath a Francis leapfrog and hitting the opposite ropes. Mak prepares himself for his opponents return, but the Australian hits the ropes and holds onto them for dear life, keeping himself firmly in place. Francis seizes this opportunity as he suddenly charges, but Sacred expertly leans against the ropes, giving himself enough leverage to take Mak around the neck in a headscissors, and in one fell swoop, let’s go of the ropes and sends Mak through the second rope and onto the concrete floor!

 

“A cunning, if not desperate move, from the World Champion!” Pete announces as Mak sprawls out on the floor in front of the two announcers.

 

“Desperate? Not in the slightest. If there’s one thing Sacred has had going for him since returning, it’s using his vast wealth of experience to its fullest, and since Mak is still finding his way around the squared circle, Sacred will take full advantage of that.”

 

The boos finally ring out amongst the crowd as Mak wearily gets to his feet after landing hard. Sacred, on the other hand, finally has something to laugh about as he crawls away, but the strain he placed on his arm with that move is obvious as he tries to get to his feet. The pain in his arm is soon forgotten however as he sees Mak climb to his feet with help from the ring apron, finding a golden opportunity waiting.

 

“ONE!”

 

As Kivell starts his count, the Australian suddenly sprints across the ring, aiming for Mak’s chest with a baseball slide, but Francis easily sidesteps! Sacred lands on his feet, but the feeling of relief is short-lived as he turns around…

 

*WHAM!*

 

… Right into a Mak Francis Clothesline!

 

“TWO!”

 

“Mak has his number on the mat, and now he’ll have his number on the outside!” Pete confidently shouts. “Francis wants one thing from this match, first and foremost: that’s to put Sacred through hell, and he’s in the perfect place to do it.”

 

“C’mon Pete, you have to remember, Sacred WON a STREET Fight for the WORLD title. He can MORE than handle himself in this situation.”

 

“Stop emphasizing every other word.”

 

“Well someone has to break the monotony of your commentary.”

 

Sacred gets to his feet in front of the two bickering announcers, but Mak doesn’t let him get off that easily as he takes him by the arm and whips him into the ring apron back first. The impact sends Sacred stumbling forward, right into Mak’s waiting arms as he lowers his head and lifts him into the air…

 

“THREE!”

 

 

…

 

 

*THUD!*

 

… Splattering his corpse on the concrete floor with a Back Body Drop! The fans once again have a reason to cheer as Mak doesn’t take his foot off the peddle, grabbing Sacred before he can crawl away and lifting him to his feet.

 

“FOUR!”

 

Mak looks around at the entire crowd as he grabs Sacred by the arm, hearing their response as he aims Sacred for the ring post. The crowd obviously cheers in approval as Mak yanks Sacred by the arm, hurtling him towards the post…

 

*CLANG!*

 

…but Sacred reverses the whip, and the sickening sound of head hitting steel is heard as Mak careens into the post as full speed! The crowd is up in arms as Mak crumples to the floor, his head pounding.

 

“FIVE!”

 

Sacred thanks the lord as he slides back into the ring, hoping to avoid an all out blood bath, but his last desperate reversal put great strain on his arm, and from the outside looking in, Mak can see his handiwork through blurred vision.

 

“SIX!”

 

“A stellar wrestling contest between two great athletes seems to be heading for a grim and bloody battle,” Pete announces, “but I don’t think we expected anything less from these two!”

 

“I don’t think it’s about bleeding for their art, or the title, it’s making the other guy bleed for it,” King replies. “That seems to be Mak’s plan, anyway. Sacred just wants to win, which he’s done quite often lately I might add.”

 

Mak removes his body from ground near the ring post and uses the apron to crawl to his feet. The Franchise slides back into the ring, his head still throbbing from contact with the steel, but he’s going on instinct, knowing he has to get back into the ring. Sacred for his part, is back to his feet, gently cradling his arm, while trying not to show weakness. Both men know that the other is hurting, but refuse to admit that fact about themselves. Sacred stays on the offensive, ignoring the pain by administering stomps to the downed Franchise in the corner, finally lifting him to his feet and whipping him into the opposite buckle. Mak lands back first into the buckle and stumbles out, clearly still light-headed. The Sacred One notes this as he barrels forward for his time-tested spear – but Francis, even in his loopy condition, is prepared for the attack and leapfrogs over the Aussie in a surprising counter! Sacred eyes go wide as he cannot halt his momentum, sending him spiraling into the corner post, shoulder first!

 

“What a display of athleticism from Mak!” Pete says, as Sacred sits stuck between the third and second buckle. “So far, Sacred’s attacks on his knee have had little effect.”

 

Francis slides in behind Sacred and gripping him round the middle, falls backward revolving back in a rolling prawn pin! Kivell slides into position…

 

“A rolling prawn—a quick cover and the first real cover of this match!”

 

ONE!

 

 

 

 

 

 

TWO!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

TH—No! Sacred pushes the excess weight of Francis off of him, sending Mak into the ropes.

 

“And Sacred kicks-out with ease. Give it time, Pete.” King says, while Sacred tends to his shoulder. “Sacred is in full control of this match. His arm may be weakened, but this man is a ring general and Mak will need something more than a roll-up to get the duke.”

 

Kivell comes over to check on Sacred, while Francis uses the ropes to pull himself back up. He won’t admit it, but his head is still woozy from the run-in with the post. Kivell backs away, as Mak walks over to his opponent, but the ring veteran in Sacred shows through, as he takes Francis down with a trip, sending him neck first across the bottom cable! Mak bounces off the rope and falls to his back, gagging on reaction, while clutching his throat.

 

“See, one misstep is all it takes. There’s no restart button in this game. You just can’t teach the veteran wiles of a Sacred.” adds King, as Sacred rotates his shoulder to work the kinks out. “And now it’s time to go to school! The World champ has already latched onto Mak’s leg and soon he’ll suffer the same fate as Landon Maddix… all over again!”

 

King’s words ring true, as Sacred pulls Mak by the leg towards the corner and ducks outside, before slamming his leg into the pole! Francis lets out a startled yelp, as if just awoken from a dream, as the Aussie reaches around to ensnare the other leg in an attempts to crotch Mak on the steel ring post – but Francis, in a last ditch effort to save his jewels, yanks the Sacred One back into the pole face first! Mak shakes out his leg as he slides under the ropes to get at the Sacred One, who’s on his back on the outside.

 

“And back outside they go! Amazing how something billed as a technical clinch could morph into this.”

 

Sacred stares out into the crowd as he grabs Mak by the arm, and hearing their response as he aims Francis for the ring post, he cannot help but grin. The crowd jeers the convict as Sacred yanks Mak by the arm, hurtling him towards the steel steps knee first…

 

*CLANG!*

 

…but Mak reverses the whip, and the sickening sound of shoulder meeting step reverberates throughout the arena! The crowd rises up in cheers as Mak stands tall, unlike his last effort during the outside, where the Aussie came out victorious.

 

“AHA! The tables have turned this time, King.” Pete notes. “This time SACRED is the one who’s feeling the ill-effects of the STEEL!”

 

“Must you emphasize everything like an idiot?”

 

“It worked for you, didn’t it?”

 

The Franchise looks out at the fans and nods, while Sacred continues to protect his injured wing. Mak walks over and flings Sacred back into the ring, rolling in after him, since he knows he can’t win on the outside. The Sacred One sits on a knee, blinking and cradling his arm, as Mak slides back inside the ring after his victory on the outside. This time he’s in control. This time he controls the pace and right now he wants to kick Sacred right in the mush! Blackwell sees Francis running at him directly ahead and slips to the side from his knees, dodging the Yakuza kick and catches the leg on his uninjured shoulder…

 

Mak looks perplexed and so does the crowd as Sacred stands up and positions Mak’s knee directly over his shoulder blade, before sitting out in an attempt to hyperextend the Franchise’s knee!!

 

OOOOOOHHHHHHHH!

 

Francis falls to the mat in clear pain, rolling on the canvas, while Sacred sits up and smiles, his handiwork is finally coming to fruition. Mak refuses to lie down as he grits his teeth and digs in, pulling himself up to his feet, albeit it very gingerly. Sacred simply takes a handful of his foe’s hair, looking at him, nailing a stiff forearm blow just too add insult to injury. The Australian holds his arm up high, signaling to the crowd for the end as they all rise up and jeer as he lifts the helpless Francis from the mat, holding him completely vertical, but the strain on his arm is clearly evident, and Mak turns out to be not so helpless as he shifts his weight, pulling himself down to the mat!

 

Mak quickly latches onto Sacred with a front face lock and in a desperate attempt to buy some time and weaken the Australian, tries to pull him down with a Guillotine choke! Just as he does though, Sacred plants his front foot forward, keeping himself firmly in place, and allowing him to shift the momentum with ease, answering with a Northern Lights Suplex! Kivell slides over as Sacred hooks the far leg for

 

“An old favorite of the Australian might just do the trick!” King cries

 

ONE!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

TWO!

 

… But the count is suddenly and joyfully broken as the crowd cheers Mak as he bridges back up, clearly putting himself under great strain, but in the perfect position to spin the Australian around, using his already locked arms to pull him down to the mat with a Backslide!

 

“But Mak turns it around just as quickly!” Pete shouts in reply.

 

ONE!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

TWO!

 

 

 

 

OOOOOOOOOHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!

 

But the crowd’s spirits are dampened quickly as Sacred kicks out, crawling away from Mak to avoid any more flash pins, and losing his gold just as quickly.

 

“These two are getting more desperate by the minute. They’ve done so much damage to each other, and I don’t see that ending after the final bell…”

 

Mak also attempts to escape, but Sacred realizes he needs to keep harassing and does so, aiming a Basement Dropkick to Mak’s knee as he tries to hobble away. Francis stumbles into the corner, grimacing and clutching at his leg, and the knee brace which protects it, but Sacred is an Australian on a mission as he stomps on the knee relentlessly, finally stopping to whip Mak across the ring into the opposite corner.

 

Mak somehow reverses the whip, but planting his bad leg forward he has to stop and cry out, giving Sacred an opportunity to reverse the whip once again, pulling Mak into a Short Arm Clothesline!

 

 

 

*WWHHAAAA-NO!*

 

 

 

“RRRRRRAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHH!”

 

Mak ducks, his leg may be weak, but his instincts are still sharp, and his wrestling mind works over time as he wraps his arms around Sacred’s neck with a Rear Naked Choke!

 

“Mak’s faltering Pete, that’s plain to see,” King says, nudging his partner, “he’s falling back on rest holds just to buy himself some time, but Mak, your time is up!”

 

As if he hears King’s grim prediction, Mak decides to try something daring. Sacred, however, reaches back, trying to flip Mak over his own back and down to the mat, but Francis keeps his centre of gravity towards the mat, suddenly pulling the Australian down to the mat, taking his injured arm with him, and entangling him wit ha Body Scissors!

 

“That’s no rest hold, King,” Pete answers with a wry grin. “Mak has Sacred in a troubling position, and I just don’t see how he can get out this time!”

 

“Not with Mak clutching onto that arm like a child with a new toy,” King grimly reports, watching the action unfold as the blood rushes to Sacred’s head. “He’ll exploit that any way he can in this position!”

 

The cheers from the crowd drown out any of Sacred’s cries as he flays about wildly on the mat, Mak lying beneath him, depriving him of air and pinning his arm behind his back, creating a dangerous angle to his elbow, almost pulling it out of it’s socket! Kivell leaps into action as he always does, checking on the Australian and asking him the question, but Sacred replies, in his very distinct Australian accent:

 

“No fucking way.”

 

Mak hears this, but it only spurs him on further, silencing his deviance and replacing it with a whimper as a burst of pain suddenly shoots through his arm. Sacred’s outstretched hand almost looks ready to tap the mat…

 

… But instead, the cunning Australian grabs Mak’s leg out from underneath him, holding it tightly between both arms and wrenching it at ninety degrees with heel hook! Mak’s expression suddenly changes from one of almost delight to one of horror as both men put an incredible amount of strain on one another, both refusing to let go! Sacred’s desperate strategy suddenly produces results as Mak lets his guard down, releasing his hold just long enough for Sacred to shift his body on the mat, turning over onto his stomach and pulling Mak’s leg away, lifting it into the air and…

 

*WHAM!*

 

Throwing it back down, knee first, against the pine! A loud yelp is heard as Mak turns over on his stomach, clutching at his knee brace and slamming his fist on the mat, unable to avoid the crippling pain. But Sacred doesn’t let him go yet, hooking his leg in tow with Mak’s, crossing them over and locking them into place as he suddenly throws himself forward and pulls back on Mak’s neck with a facelock!

 

“CROSS STF!” Pete shouts as the fans go insane with anger as Mak throws his arms out, trying to pull himself forward, the ropes oh so close, but Sacred has him in a bind, literally!

 

“Sacred has always used this move to work the leg at every opportunity, and him locking it on means it’s only a matter of time now!”

 

But King’s optimism is soon squashed as Mak lurches forward inch by inch, the bottom rope nearing his grasp as Sacred does his damnedest to keep him back, but Mak’s upper body strength once again plays a part as he manages to drag himself just that little bit further. Sacred shifts his focus from the facelock to Mak’s arms, trying to pin them back in a chickenwing. Mak tries to slip away, but the Australian manages to grab one arm, reaching forward desperately for the other…

 

 

RRRRRRRRRRAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHH!

 

 

… But Mak’s manages to reach the bottom rope in time!

 

“The match continues!” Pete joyfully shouts. “Mak’s not going to let this one get away, not after the long, arduous road to recovery he’s had, not after the hard ships he’s endured, some at the hands on the man he’s facing in that very ring!”

 

“No need to be so damn melodramatic,” King grunts in reply. “He may have scraped, but I assure you, the damage has been done, which started at Genesis last year.”

 

Sacred tries to remain cool, but his opponent’s infuriating defiance has him on edge. Mak tries to head under the bottom rope, but Sacred pulls him back into the ring, lifting him to his feet. The Australian tries to whip his opponent into the opposite ropes, but Mak falters the first few steps, hobbling on one leg. Andrew Blackwell is, of course, unsympathetic to Francis’ plight and pulls him right back to his feet, whipping him as hard as he can into the corner.

 

 

*BAM!*

 

 

The Franchise hits sternum first, the turnbuckles propelling him stumbling backward towards the Australian. Sacred lifts Mackenzie high into the air, ready to execute an Electric Chair Drop! But the Franchise rolls through into a Victory roll!

 

ONE!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

TWO!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

THHHHRRRRRRREEEE…!

 

 

NO! Sacred manages to continue rolling through, thanking his lucky stars, but not for long as he and Mak once again meet each other in the centre of the ring. Mak tries to pound away with right hands, but Sacred blocks them, answering with his patented forearms that stun Mak. Francis leaves himself open long enough for Sacred to take his injured leg, twisting him around and bringing him down to the canvas with a Dragon Screw!

 

“Sacred has it in the bag now, with Mak helpless on the mat!” King cries happily. “Just as he did at Genesis, Sacred will put Mak out again with the Deprogrammer!”

 

“There’s no way, not even in his state, that Mak will let this happen.”

 

Pete’s stern words resonate with truth as Mak squirms and writhes, resisting Sacred’s attack by…

 

 

 

*CRACK!*

 

 

 

… Booting him square in the face, spinning the Australian around and forcing him to release his hold! Sacred rubs his jaw, but before he knows it, he’s dragged down to the mat in a School Boy pin! Kivell slides over, eager to as the crowd chants along

 

“ONE!”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

“TWO!”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

“THREEEEEEEEEE!”

 

 

 

…

 

 

 

 

“HE KICKS OUT!” Both announcers cry as a massive sigh of disappointment fills the arena, Mak literally cursing as Sacred crawls away, breathing heavily, and realizing just how close that was. Sacred climbs to his feet, but Mak forces himself up as well by sheer force of will. Sacred knows desperate times call for even more desperate measures as he flies across the ring, using his good arm to aim a flying Forearm right at Mak’s forehead!

 

“Mak dodges, and answers with a knee to the midsection!” Pete shouts as Sacred is doubled over, clutching his stomach, but Mak immediately takes him and whips him into the ropes. Trying to plant his front foot forward proves too much as he stumbles and grimaces in pain as Sacred hits the ropes, building up enough steam as he charges head first, throwing all caution into the…

 

 

 

*BBBAAAAAMMMMMM!*

 

 

 

…Wind, spearing Mak Francis completely in two with the Kamikaze!

 

“Sacred felt truly threatened, maybe for the first time since returning,” Pete notes in his excitement, “and he knew he had to do something to turn the tide!”

 

“I’ll give it up for Mak, he has real guts,” King freely admits, “but as I knew from the start, he would always go down to Sacred, he’s just too smart!”

 

That same smart man is seen curled up on the mat, holding his shoulder after using his injured arm as a battering ram to take Francis down. The fans are on their feet, wondering what’s going to happen next as Mak coughs and splutters, almost unable to move in all his pain. Sacred is not much worse off, crawling on his hands and knees, his shoulder and his arm burning. But he summons up enough strength to turn Mak over and flop an arm across his chest as Kivell slides over…

 

ONE!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

TWO!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

THHHHRRRREEEEEEE!

 

…

 

But the count stops dead before the three. Sacred continues looking down at the mat, thinking he had won, until he hears the crowd cheering, and knows it’s not for him. Blackwell looks up at Kivell, who holds up only the two fingers! Sacred shakes his head in disbelief, but Kivell is sure as he points to Mak’s foot, perched on the bottom rope!

 

“Mak simply will not lay down and die!” Pete triumphantly shouts. “He’s gone this far already, and he’s going to take Sacred the distance!”

 

“Sacred will make sure he puts him out permanently if that happens, because he’s not letting Mak beat him and take that title, not so soon.”

 

Sacred yanks Mak to his feet with just a hint of frustration, tying to whip him across the ring as hard as possible. Mak hits the turnbuckles, but this time he hangs on, not going to leave himself open again. But Sacred is two steps ahead of him, reaching down and taking his legs out form under him. Mak tries to squirm away, but Sacred grabs his injured leg and spins him around, sliding out of the ring and dragging him around…

 

 

*CLANG!*

 

 

…and the unmistakable sound of groin on ring post is heard as Sacred crotches Mak! The fans boo, the male audience just a little louder, but Sacred isn’t finished as he grabs Mak’s injured leg and wraps it around the ring post, and entwines it with his own legs…

 

“Oh no…” Pete says with dread. “Sacred has Mak in a FIGURE FOUR AROUND THE RING POST! This is just sick the lengths he will go to.”

 

“That it may be,” King replies, “but it’s genius, it’s going to allow Sacred to hold onto his title, and eliminate another challenger.”

 

The fans cry fowl; the roar is unbelievable as Sacred’s entire body shakes as he exerts even more energy in ripping Mak apart. Kivell starts his count in haste under protest from the fans, but that doesn’t give Mak much solace as he cries out in the utmost agony.

 

“ONE!”

 

“TWO!”

 

BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

 

“THREE!”

 

“FOUR!”

 

Sacred finally let’s go, which Kivell finds odd, thinking he would simply aim for a disqualification. But as Sacred dusts himself off and climbs to his feet, he looks at Mak, in agony, and knows this match is his. He wants to end it right.

 

But Mak soldiers on despite the odds, crawling away, shaking his leg, trying to just get some feeling back so he can somehow muster something, anything. Sacred takes a small breather on the outside; he’s directed so much attention to Mak’s leg that the pain in his arm suddenly reminds him of the precarious state he’s in. Blackwell slides back into the ring, knowing victory is close, but Mak climbs back to his feet, still with fight left in him.

 

Sacred sneaks up behind Mak, taking him down with a chop block. The constant roar of the fans just adds to the tension as Mak’s eyes close tight, biting his lip and refusing to give Sacred the satisfaction. Sacred takes it upon himself to rip Mak’s knee brace off, tossing it aside like an simple inconvenience.

 

“Now he’s just going too far,” Pete stammers. “We’ve not seen behavior like this from him since… well, last Genesis.”

 

“I’d go back a little further,” King reminds Londogger, “to the Genesis before. Axis remembers that night all too well.”

 

With that ghastly image in mind, the crowd continues to pounce on Sacred as he drops elbow after elbow on Mak’s knee, jarring it at dangerous angles. Suddenly, without warning, Sacred shifts position on the mat, ending up in front of Mak, looking right into his eyes at he takes his leg, ready to lock on the Deprogrammer.

 

But Mak won’t let it happen. He kicks wildly, connecting with Sacred’s chest and thrusting him away. Sacred tries to grab at his leg again, but Mak’s boot strikes Blackwell’s shoulder and forces the Australian on the back foot. Mat pulls himself to his feet using the ropes, his arms taking the load, but they’re more than adequate for the task. Sacred, on the other hand, clutches his shoulder, the sharp kick doing more damage than he lets on.

 

Sacred sees Mak get up, near the ropes, and sets his crosshairs directly on him. Mak lies in wait as he clumsily stumbles forward, drawing Sacred in as he charges…

 

The momentum works against him as Mak suddenly pounces, wrapping his arms around Sacred’s chest and not even stopping as he lifts Sacred off of one leg, throwing him over his head!

 

“A release Belly to Belly, out of nowhere!” Pete marvels as the audience cheers, although stunned as well. “Sacred has focused on that knee so much, but Mak had to know he would, and was able to pull that move off on one leg!”

 

“But it’s only so long before he wares himself out,” King replies, “using all that upper body strength and momentum alone cannot last long.”

 

Sacred lands on his side and climbs back to his feet, clutching his shoulder, but with his free arm tries to knock Mak’s teeth out with a clothesline, but Mak expertly ducks underneath, grabbing Sacred in a waist lock and…

 

 

 

 

*BAM!*

 

 

 

 

… Throwing him up and over with a German Suplex! The fans cheer and applaud, seeing Mak pull off the impossible as he keeps a hold of Sacred, popping his hips and rolling back to his feet, still attached to Sacred. The Aussie flays his arms about like a madman, but Mak positions his good leg forward, putting the brunt of the weight on it before lifting Sacred into the air once again..

 

 

 

*WHAM!*

 

 

 

Dumping him on the back of his head with another German! “Where Mak is getting this I will never know!” Pete cries. “But he’s had enough, and he’s using his technical background to it’s fullest in this brutal high impact match!”

 

Mak tries to pull Sacred to his feet for another crippling Rommel, but Sacred focuses all his weight forward, blocking the attempt. Sacred uses his good arm to elbow Mak in the face. Once, twice, three times, Francis finally falters and stumbles backward as Sacred spins around to deliver a knock out blow…

 

Mak has almost no time to react, seeing Sacred fly towards him, he swings his leg around..

 

 

 

*BAM!*

 

 

 

…and connects with a Yazuka Kick! Sacred tumbles backward, falling over the top rope… until he entangs himself in the ropes!

 

“Mak again defies the odds and takes Sacred down, but he used his injured leg,” Pete notes, “but with no time to think, he needed to do something, but now Sacred is trapped, with no where to go!”

 

The Aussie is locked up in the ropes, much like the convict nickname the crowd has bestowed upon him. Mak stares up into the face of the Sacred One from his position on the mat, but there is no smirk present on his features this time. Only a cold, hard look, from a man that has had his career—no livelihood shortened by the person in front of him. Sacred’s head rolls to the side for a second as he grimaces from the shot he took to the face. At this point, all he can hear are the faint murmurs of cheers from the crowd, after being suplexed on his head and to his belly, then being kicked dead in the face. A blink and Sacred’s eyes flutter back into focus. He can see the limping from of his opponent and as with each step, Mak gets closer. Sacred attempts to move, and now realizes that he’s trapped, looking to his right he sees Kivell veining attempting to free him from the ropes. Out of his periphery he catches a glimmer of Mak’s fist as it comes toward his head…

 

*BAM!*

 

*BAM!*

 

*BAM!*

 

“Mak just teeing off on Sacred…” Pete says, as the Franchise continues to rear back and swing away.

 

*BAM!*

 

*BAM!*

 

*BAM!*

 

Kivell decides it’s time to step in, finished attempting to release Sacred from his imprisonment. He steps in front of Mak and tries to guide him back slightly.

 

“Okay Francis, give me a rope break. I’ve got to get him out.”

 

Mak literally reaches over Kivell continuing to pound on the Sacred One.

 

*BAM!*

 

*BAM!*

 

“Hey, break goddamnit!” shouts Kivell, now physically pushing Mak back with his own body. He’s let things on the outside and inside slide this entire match. This is where he draws the line.

 

But all he gets is a pie face for his troubles.

 

*BAM!*

 

*BAM!*

 

*BAM!*

 

*BAM!*

 

*BAM!*

 

"King, this is... does Mak even WANT to win the match?"

 

*BAM!*

 

*BAM!*

 

"I couldn't tell you what he's thinking, Pete. The kid snapped when Sacred went after his knee again with that Upright figure four..."

 

*BAM!*

 

“He clutched his leg after that Yazuka kick, and the pain he felt must have been so unbearable, and now the rage is flowing…”

 

 

 

*BAM!!!!!*

 

 

 

Kivell gets to his knees to signal for the bell – he’s the referee and Francis has gone too far, but Mak finally stops as the crowd continues to cheer his attack on Sacred. The World champ tied up in the ropes can do nothing, as Francis limps outside and struggles over to the time keeper, taking his chair. Sliding back into the ring, Mak stares Sacred in eye and smiles-

 

 

 

 

 

 

*CRACK!!!!!*

 

 

 

 

 

-Before blasting him with a chair shot to the head!!! The bell is immediate this time as Mak has to know that he’s been disqualified for that action.

 

 

 

 

 

 

*DING! DING! DING!*

 

 

 

…

 

 

 

*CRACK!!!!*

 

 

 

 

 

 

Another blow is struck before Mak finally puts the chair down, looking down at Sacred, his head hung low, blood tricking down from an open wound on his forehead. Kivell puts a hand on Mak’s shoulder and asks him to step away. Francis spin around and looks at the referee, and then the thousands of fans, some dumbstruck, but some still cheer, after see the moment they waiting so long for. Mak doesn’t smile, nor does he regret, he simply stands in the centre of the ring and listens to Funyon’s announcement.

 

“Ladies and Gentleman, the winner of this bout by Disqualification… and STILL! The S W F WORLD HEAVYWEIGHT CHAMPION… SSSAAAACCCCRRRRREEEEEEEEEEEEEDDDDDDDDDDDDD!”

 

“I guess we should have expected an outcome like this,” Pete says. “But the match was brutal, and both men will never forget it. I know I sure won’t any time soon.”

 

“Mak is nuts,” King simply replies. “I hope he’s happy with what he’s done, I know these fans are, but spare a thought for our World Champion! He’s still strung up, bloody and in need of medical attention!”

 

Some attention does come from backstage, but unfortunately for Mak; it comes in the form of Revolution Zero, who all smile as one as they stride down the ramp. Mak stands defiant in the centre of the ring, while Sacred just begins to murmur as Kivell and some ringside attendants try to unravel the mess Sacred is in.

 

“Ha HAH!” King loudly proclaims. “You thought Sacred would turn his back on the Revolution, didn’t you? But now they’re here to make sure Mak gets what’s coming to him!”

 

“This is not good, not good at all…” Pete quietly replies. “These two have been through hell, and now Rev0 are going to simply murder Mak.”

 

“I know I would. Look at Sacred, bloody, beaten and bruised after the beating of a madman!”

 

Toxxic stands at the foot of the ring as Spike and Davis swing around to the flanks, but still Francis doesn’t budge. The three members of the Revolution all climb into the ring, taking their time. The three men all stand around Francis as he looks at each of them…

 

… Before hurling himself towards Toxxic, connecting with a right hand! Toxxic takes a few shots before he answers with one of his own that knock Mak down. Spike and Davis then swoop on his corpse, bringing him to his feet as Spike holds him in a chickenwing, and Davis picks up the chair. Spike and Davis both grin as the chair is swung…

 

*CCRRRAAAAAACCCCCKKKKK!*

 

… And Mak goes down as the boos ring out amongst the throng of fans, almost ready to riot. Toxxic kindly helps Sacred from the ropes, checking to see if he’s all right, and handing him the World Title he just bled for.

 

“Just like I said, the Revolution is as strong as ever!”

 

The picture begins to fade out as the SWF logo appears on the screen…

 

 

 

 

Copyright Smarkmarks Wrestling Federation 2004

‘Raising Workrate By Typing Faster’

 

 

 

…but the camera suddenly shifts to Toxxic, who gives a sideways nod to Davis.

 

 

 

…

 

 

 

The final picture shows the chair being swung, right at the bloody Australian.

 

 

 

 

…

 

 

 

 

 

“… Oh my go-”

 

 

 

 

 

…

 

 

 

 

 

Fade out.