SWF AftershoXxXXxxXXXXxX!

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"Sexton, don't touch that-"

 

KABOOM!

 

CRASH!

 

BAGN!

 

 

 

 

 

I MEAN BANG!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

I wish that was the Aftershoxxxx opening pyro, but it's not!

 

"For the love of God, get this stuff off me!" shouts Ben Hardy in the Aftershoxx studio, covered in what was supposed to be the new set design! Hunks of twisted metal and building rubble, which had been set up just so to make it look like an Earthquake had just occured, have buried the poor announcer on National TV.

 

"What?" he shouts offscreen, presumably at his producer. "What do you mean continue the show?! I can't do it like thi- Pat! Pat, seriously, come on!"

 

...

 

"You wouldn't..."

 

...

 

"... fine... ugh... I can't believe I'm doing this."

 

Hardy turns back to the camera and flashes his million dollar smi-... well, his thirty seven dollar smile...

 

"Welcome to SWF Aftershoxx!"

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(The following is a special presentation of the Smarks Wrestling Federation.)

 

(TV-MA)

(LSV)

 

Cue the opening theme music and pyrotechnic blasts as SWF AftershoX begins!

 

 

BOOM!

 

 

BOOM!

 

 

BOOM BOOM BOOM BOOM!

 

 

The camera pans across the rows and rows of excited fans before settling on the show's announcers, Cyclone Comet and Suicide King.

 

"Welcome to SWF AftershoX!" hollers Cyclone Comet. "I am CYCLOOOOONE COMET, and here with me is the Suicide King!"

 

"We're here live in the sold out Aggie Memorial Stadium at New Mexico University," says King. "And tonight we're going to run down the events of this Tuesday's wildly successful pay per view, SWF From the Fire!"

 

"We'd like to thank everyone who made From the Fire such a success," says Comet. "And what a show it was! No less than three championships changed hands, including the SWF World Heavyweight Championship!"

 

"As a bonus attraction tonight," says King, "the Ultraviolent Championship will be on the line tonight, as Bruce Blank takes on Michael Cross of the Asian Underground."

 

"Well, what are we waiting for?" asks Comet. "Let's get started!"

 

Suddenly a set of white flashing lights illuminates the stage, and "I'm Alive" by Disturbed begins playing over the sound system. The audience begins booing loudly as Kevin Coyote emerges from the entrance. He wears his usual blue jean jacket (and his ".hack//coyote" T-shirt underneath tonight), and sports a few bruises and bandaged areas, including one noticably large bandage on his forehead (where he had taken a shot from his own brass knuckles in his last match).

 

"What the hell?" asks Comet.

 

"Ladies and gentlemen," announces Funyon in the center of the ring, "please welcome to the ring at this time... KEVIN... COYOTE!"

 

The fans give Coyote their own version of a "welcome."

 

"KEV-IN SUCKS!"

"KEV-IN SUCKS!"

"KEV-IN SUCKS!"

 

"All the titles that changed hands, all the big matches at From the Fire, and THIS is the guy that comes out first?" gripes Comet. "How'd he manage to reserve this segment?"

 

"I heard he successfully arm-wrestled An Octopus," says King. "That's a serious challenge considering he has eight arms."

 

Coyote ignores the chanting from the New Mexico college audience as he heads down the ramp, climbing into the ring and snatching the microphone from Funyon's hand. He waits for the audience to die down a little before speaking.

 

"Who's on top of the world now?" Coyote asks, now waiting for an answer. "World title change? International title change? Impressive, yes, but nothing compares to what I brought to the table at From the Fire. I brought the fire to the event, dammit! I defeated Longdogger Pete in a street fight, and I ended his damned career!"

 

A few scattered chants sound out for "L! D! P!" but none echo with any pronounced effect.

 

Coyote continues. "Unfortunately, I do not have medical clearance to wrestle tonight. However, at least I managed to show up. As for LDP, well, turns out he'll be spending a little time in the severe burn/trauma unit - possibly as long as several weeks!"

 

"It's true!" agrees King. "I read the medical report myself."

 

"Now as I'm sure you all know," says Coyote, "I had a little help at From the Fire. I think it's time you met the source of that help." He reaches into his right jacket pocket and pulls out a mobile cell phone. "Excuse me a second." He flips the phone open and speed-dials a number, then speaks into the phone. "Hey, baby."

 

"...yeah, it's time. Come on out, girl."

 

Coyote hangs up the phone and returns it to his pocket before continuing on the microphone. "And now let me introduce to the world, my girlfriend and new manager... AVERY DUCIEL!"

 

The lights dim out and the arena goes silent. Suddenly a bright Zippo lighter lights up on stage. A dimly lit female figure standing on the stage holds up the lighter, and lights a fuse hanging in midair over her head. As the fuse lights, a sparkler-like light travels up the fuse until the fuse reaches its end, high overhead. An explosion sounds above, causing a shower of red and orange sparks to rain down over the woman's head. Two more explosions erupt on either side of the stage, causing fountains of red and orange sparks to shoot upward from the floor. The woman raises her arms in the air, cackling madly as the sparks shower down around her. "Chinese Burn" by Curve begins playing over the sound system as the pyro dies out and the lights resume their normal levels.

 

"Oh my God, she lights her own pyro?" asks Comet. "How freaking cool is that?"

 

With the lights back up, the audience finally gets a better look at Avery Duciel. Avery is a short woman with a somewhat muscular build and long, dark red hair. She wears a red business suit with a black inner top, a very short, straight red skirt, black fishnets, and red heels.

 

Avery gets a few whistles and catcalls from the college kids as she reaches the bottom of the ramp and climbs carefully into the ring with Kevin Coyote. She waves to the audience with one raised hand, still holding the Zippo in the other.

 

"Glad you could make it, girl," says Coyote to Avery. "I wanted the world to see the woman who would be accompanying me on my rise to the top of this federation! However... there is one more reason I came out here today... we have a little bit of unfinished business."

 

Coyote reaches into his left jacket pocket, and slides out an envelope.

 

"What I hold in my hand right now," declares Coyote, "is the SWF contract of one Peter MacDougal, aka Longdogger Pete. And I promised that after I ended Pete's career at From the Fire, that I would personally tear up this contract!" He hesitates as he considers his options. "However..."

 

Coyote hands the contract to Avery. "Since you had a hand in this. Perhaps you would like to do the honors."

 

Avery smiles wickedly as she accepts the envelope. However, instead of tearing up the envelope, she flicks her Zippo lighter and touches the flame to the envelope, setting the contract ablaze!

 

"Avery Duciel has just set LDP's contract on fire!" shouts Comet.

 

"Pretty cool, huh?" asks King.

 

Avery casually tosses the burning envelope aside, letting it land in the corner of the ring, where a frantic Funyon quickly stomps on it in order to put out the fire quickly. Meanwhile, Coyote drops the microphone, and then, in an uncharacteristic show of emotion, he grabs Avery, dips her backward, and kisses her!

 

"Well, Kevin Coyote has made one thing clear," says King. "He plans to make it to the top here in the SWF, and Avery Duciel has every intention of helping him get there!"

 

"I'm Alive" begins playing again as Coyote and Avery exit the ring, once again ignoring the audience reaction, and start to head up the ramp.

 

"Coyote has made a strong statement here on AftershoX," says Comet. "But we've still got a lot of show left! We've got to go to a commercial, but stay right where you are for more SWF action!"

Edited March 17, 2006 by Justice

[chirs3 0]

Back in the catering area, which is more densely populated than usual due to the fact 95% of the roster have been flown in for a one match show, a commotion is just in the process of being dealt with. An enraged Jimmy The Doom is being dragged away from the scene by various backstage hangers on, a tray of sandwiches having been flung across the floor and generally smushed in a show of Straight-Bread defiance. Having missed all of this, Landon "La Cucaracha" Maddix glances around the scene curiously as he routinely pours himself a coffee. After a last scream of "STRAIGHT BREAD SHALL RISES, FOREVERING!" Jimmy is hauled off out of sight. Everyone in the catering area turns back to their previous actions as Landon, coffee poured, strolls off.

 

 

"LANDON!"

 

Recognising the voice calling out, Landon turns around to check that he's not hearing things. But indeed, he's right. From the main section of seating, Megan Skye jogs over to the former Tag Team Champion which prompts a rather awkward moment. Landon sets down his coffee as Megan comes to a stop, staying cautiously out of reaching distance.

 

"So, Todd finally unchained you from the stove then?" sneers Landon. "Does your boyfriend know you're fraternising with the 'old enemy'."

 

An awkward silence sparks up between the former manager and client combo. It's been months since they last saw each other, even more since it was on anything approaching ammicable terms. Landon seems confused that Megan is even acknowledging him, let alone starting a conversation. Or, trying.

 

"Landon..."

 

"Look, whatever you're gonna say next, I don't want to hear it. You made your choice, you moved on, you're playing happy housekeeper now. And I'm supposed to stand her and listen to you the moment you finally choose to come to me and acknowledge the fact I'm even alive? Believe me, I'm not that desperate and I'm not that fickle. So save it, okay?"

 

"Landon, please...I'm..." Megan voice breaks up a little, which finally gains her Landon's attention. "...what the hell has happened to you?"

 

Landon looks confused for a moment.

 

"You know damn well what's happened to me. Hell, you and Todd were respons..."

 

"No, not that." despairs Megan. "Toxxic."

 

"What about Toxxic?"

 

"Landon, look at yourself. It's like you're a different person these past few months, to the point I don't even recognise you anymore. You're scatty, you're volatile...I hate seeing you like this Landon. It's scaring me."

 

"Oh, I'm SCARING you, am I? Oh, well I'm SO sorry!! If I'd had known what effect I'd have on my former manager who deserted me for somebody who was supposed to be my friend and tag team partner, then I never would have started this campaign in the first place! This suddenly puts me almost suffering a BROKEN NECK in such context!"

 

Noticing Megan sadly looking at the floor, Landon pauses.

 

"What the hell do you care about me anymore, anyway?" moans Maddix.

 

"I still care." replies Megan sadly. "Whether you believe it or not, I don't want to see you get hurt."

 

"You were there at From The Fire, Megan. The way you talk, you expect me to suddenly turn my feelings on and off...you might be able to do that, but I can't. Toxxic could have broken my neck Megan. He tried, god knows he tried. He ruined my life. He tore you and me apart. Whenever I remember that night, I don't just stop at the moment he dropped me on my head. Believe me, I've tried. It's all there though. The feeling of fear. My blood turning ice cold when I came to and couldn't feel my legs for those few seconds, which felt like hours and still feels like hours to this day. Being loaded onto that stretcher...you, holding my hand, sobbing as they bundled me in the ambulance. I still FEEL all of that and it makes me sick to my stomach. I still have nightmares sometimes and when I wake up in a cold sweat, I still feel it. When I see you and Todd playing happy families, I still feel it. So if you don't want to see me hurt then you might as well turn yourself around and walk off down that corridor, because I'm ALREADY hurt!"

 

"Landon, please, you have to stop this." implores Megan.

 

"You're not LISTENING are you!" snaps Maddix, reaching forward and grabbing Megan by the shoulders. A scared Megan quickly pulls herself away which is the first point Landon actually realises what he's doing, sheepishly backing off from his shaking ex-valet.

 

"This isn't right, Landon...you have to stop this, before you get hurt...even more hurt."

 

"I'm not scared of Toxxic..."

 

"That's the problem!" Megan despairs. "You used to be afraid of Toxxic! You used to be afraid of Janus! You used to have some sort of sense of where to draw the line, but now you're just out of control and you're either going to do something you regret, or somebody's going to get to you before you get chance! And not just Toxxic These security people...you don't want to annoy them. There's rumours and everything flying around about them and you and it's not good stuff Landon and I'm really beginning to get...you know...worried about you."

 

Megan brushes the hair from her eyes, biting her lip as she looks at Landon.

 

"Please, Landon, don't do something you'll regret."

 

Sighing, Landon places his hands on his hips. He looks remotely remorseful for the way Megan is looking and clearly feeling, but he'll be damned if he's gonna show it.

 

"That's the thing. I already have done...too much, infact. I regret pretty much the entire past twelve months of my life. And it's all because of Toxxic and what he did to me at From The Fire. If you wanna help, you and your boyfriend can go around the world looking for him. Otherwise...stay the hell out of my business."

 

Landon turns on his heels, snatches his coffee and storms off, leaving Megan to despondantly look on.

Edited March 17, 2006 by Justice

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“This has been a heck of a week, King, and I don’t think the ball’s about to stop rolling!” Comet exclaims as SWF Aftershoxx returns from a commercial break. The camera focuses on the Smarktron.

 

The back locker room is empty save one SWF employee. The fans in the arena give a healthy jeer as ‘The Perfect Storm’ Sean Davis enters the shot. He has a cell phone to his ear. Davis wears a tight tee shirt and sweatpants, dampened from an earlier workout.

 

“Don’t give me that bullshit!!” he shouts into the receiver, his overall emotional state obviously at a boiling point. Sean slams the flip phone shut and throws it into his gym bag.

 

“DAMMIT!!”

 

*CLANG!*

 

One of the metal lockers along the wall takes a cheap shot, leaving a nice dent in the door.

 

“Go easy, big guy.”

 

The all too familiar voice has Davis whirling around to face the newcomer, none other than ‘The Fallen Angel’ David Cross. Sean’s brows furrow and a snarl mangles his lips.

 

“You,” Sean points. “Are the last person I want to see right now.”

 

David, in slacks and a jacket, eases into the locker room, setting his bag down on the bench. “Tough, I guess.”

 

It takes Sean only a millisecond to cover the distance between him and David Cross. Barely two inches of air separates the two superstars. Cross doesn’t back down, but Sean doesn’t attack. Sean grumbles, “Give me three good reasons I shouldn’t whoop your ass right here, right now.”

 

David tilts his head slightly, a small smirk quirking the corner of his lips. “One, the security. I know, I know, you ‘ain’t afraid of them’.. just like I’m not afraid of you. But this can wait for the ring, or the hotel lobby, whatever suits your fancy.”

 

Sean leans back slightly, giving David a bit more breathing room. ‘The Perfect Storm’ takes in a deep breath. “Where’s Rashelle?”

 

Cross raises a brow. “You don’t honestly think I’d bring her here, do you? C’mon.. “

 

Davis suddenly shoves David back into the lockers, but Cross throws Sean’s arms off. Sean’s fists clench at his sides, but he sniffs at Cross, giving him a look of disdain before grabbing up his gym bag.

 

Sean warns Cross, “You shouldn’t have come back. You may’ve returned walking, but I’ll make damn sure you leave on a stretcher.”

 

As Davis turns to leave the locker room, Cross calls after him, “Just like Angelo left the party?!”

 

Sean snaps his head, glaring sixteen inch katanas at David Cross.

 

“That’s right,” David nods. “I know what happened. Don’t think I don’t know.. “

 

The Smarktron fades to black and the camera shot returns to Suicide King and Cyclone Comet at the announce table. “Knows what?! What does he know, King?!” queries Comet?

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"Hello again," Ben Hardy says, still buried under the Aftershox Decor, and now bleeding from the mouth a bit. "One of From the-... god damn it." He tongues around his mouth for a second-

 

*POP*

 

"DIBS!"

 

Sexton pounces on the tooth and runs off, desperately searching for a pillow.

 

"... One of From the Fire's most anticipated matches was the showdown between Jay Hawke and Wildchild - these two had clashed a number of times over the past few months, with Jay Hawke always managing to slip away with the title. But at From the Fire, they would fight in the confines of a Steel Cage, leaving the Dean of Professional Wrestling nowhere to run."

 

-=-=-

 

Now Jay Hawke has always prided himself on being a smart wrestler, who can almost see what his opponents are planning. Apparently Wildchild took this into account as he planned the match, because Jay Hawke never saw it coming...

 

“You can literally feel the tension, King!” says Comet. “This is going to be a tremendous match, I’m sure of it!” Jay begins to continue on towards the ring, but an unseen hand reaches out from the crowd and grabs at the back of his robe at the left shoulder, stopping him in his tracks! Hawke spins around furiously, but the mystery offender has already disappeared into the crowd, with several fans surrounding the ringside barricade pointing in the direction he took off in.

 

“This is ridiculous!” spits King, as Hawke chastises the security personnel standing around the barricade. “What is Peters paying these people for? What good is security that won’t keep the wrestlers secure?” Indignant over the lackadaisical job performance of the security personnel, Jay eventually turns his attention back towards the cage, but not before ripping the head of security a new one. And, while the International Champion is nimble man, and quick of reflex, as he turns back towards the cage, he is only able to react quickly enough to form a single thought:

 

 

 

 

“Oh shit.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

WHAM!

 

 

 

 

“By Zeus!” shrieks Comet. “Wildchild just dove from the top of the cage out to the arena floor, and turned Jay Hawke inside out with that hit!”

 

 

HOLY SHIT!

HOLY SHIT!

HOLY SHIT!

HOLY SHIT!

 

 

“What a despicable cheap shot by Wildchild!” roars King. “He couldn’t wait until Jay got into the ring… He couldn’t even wait until Jay was facing him… No, he had to wait until his back was turned, and then attack him from behind! How low can you get?” Wildchild crawls over to Hawke and begins hammering punches into the top of his head. He pulls the Champion up to his feet and leads him by the back of the head to the barricade, where he rams Hawke face-first! He then leads him down to the ringside and bashes Jay’s face into the wall of the cage!

 

“My word!” cries Comet. “Wildchild just sent Jay Hawke into the cage face-first!”

 

“And the cheap shots continue,” growls King. “This match hasn’t even officially started!”

 

 

From there, the fight spilled out into the crowd, further and further away from the cage...

 

“Back on track?” asks Comet, as Hawke crawls over towards the announce table. “I’m not aware that this match ever got on track, King; it hasn’t even officially started yet, as we see the International Champion trying to pull himself back up in front of our announce table…” Kivell steps into Wildchild’s path to dissuade him from continuing to attack Jay outside the ring, but WC pushes him aside. He pulls Jay off the table, and the Dean catches him off-guard with a sucker punch to the temple! Hawke immediately follows up by delivering a stiff European uppercut, and then grabbing him by the back of the head…

 

 

WHACK!

 

 

… And slamming Wildchild face-first against the announce table! Jay stands over the dazed challenger and begins hammering him across the back of the neck with clubbing forearm blows.

 

“Look at Jay Hawke,” observes Comet. “The International Champion’s chest is covered in bruises from where Wildchild has repeatedly thrown his body at him! He’s got huge red welts on his back from where it impacted that barricade! He’s got a small trickle of blood running from his nose, from all the punishment that he’s taken! And yet, he’s finally starting to make his presence felt here in this match!”

 

“And Wildchild is going to regret pushing Jay Hawke past his limits!” cheers King, as Jay rolls Wildchild onto the top of the announce table. “He wanted to make this a fight, well now he’s about to come face-to-face with the consequences of that decision!” Jay climbs up onto the announce table and then pulls WC to his feet, trapping him in a standing headscissors.

 

“Uh-oh!” cries Comet, as Jay pumps his hands overhead. “Jay Hawke’s going for a piledriver… Clear out of here, King!” Hawke wraps both arms around Wildchild’s midsection and starts to lift him off the table as King and Comet move off to the side, but the Caribbean Cruiser kicks his legs frantically until Jay has to set him back down. Jay tries one more time without success to lift WC up for the piledriver, and then the Bahama Bomber straightens up his back, raising the International Champion up off the table, and dumping him onto the arena floor!

 

“Wildchild just saved himself from a possible broken neck with that counter!” shouts Comet, as Jay staggers across the floor to lean against the barricade. “And Jay Hawke just sustained another punishing blow to… LOOK OUT!”

 

 

WHAM!

 

 

Comet and King are just barely able to move out of the way as Wildchild runs across the announce table, leaping off as he approaches the edge and blasts Jay Hawke in the chest with a running dropkick that sends him back over the barricade and into the crowd! The Human Hurricane pulls himself to his feet and unleashes a feral how as the crowd cheers him on:

 

 

DUB CEE!

DUB CEE!

DUB CEE!

DUB CEE!

 

“My concern, King, is whether or not we’ll ever get this match officially started?” ponders Comet. “And what kind of condition will these two men be in when the match finally DOES get going?”

 

Moments later, Wildchild finally rolls onto his knees and wearily pushes himself up to a standing position. He shuffles over to Jay and pulls him up to his feet, but the Dean rifles a clenched fist into this genitals! As WC doubles over in pain, Hawke springs into action, quickly trapping him in a standing headscissors and wrapping both arms around his waist, getting just enough lift to pull Wildchild off the ground before he can recover…

 

 

BANG!

 

 

… And bounces the top of Wildchild’s head off of the concrete floor with a piledriver!

 

 

“He hit it!” praises King, as Jay lies back against the concrete, breathing raggedly. “He got that piledriver he was going for! He didn’t get it out here on the announce table, but he may have done one better by hitting it out there on the floor instead!”

 

“Indeed,” agrees Comet. “Jay Hawke has turned the tables on Wildchild, and now has a golden opportunity to take control of this match!” After several seconds, Jay gets back to his feet, walking over to a young fan and snatching the officially-licensed Wildchild beach towel that his father just bought for him on the concourse. He walks away from the bawling tyke and rolls the towel up like a kerchief. He then stands behind Wildchild and slips it around his neck, choking him out with it!

 

“Holy garrote, this is brutal!” cries Comet. “Jay Hawke just stole that towel from that poor young fan, and now he’s choking Wildchild out with it!”

 

“Well, this is what Wildchild said he wanted,” mocks King. “He wanted a match where Jay Hawke couldn’t get himself disqualified, and now he’s paying the price for it!” Out of desperation, Wildchild turns his body in towards Hawke, wraps his arms around the Champion’s waist, and pops his hips as he falls backwards…

 

 

WHAM!

 

 

… Driving the back of Jay’s head into the concrete with a backdrop suplex!”

 

 

“Tremendous maneuver by the Wildchild!” shrieks Comet. “A suplex to counter being choked out!” A nearby security person retrieves the blanket and returns it to the fan, as both challenger and Champion writhe on the floor in pain.

 

DUB CEE!

DUB CEE!

DUB CEE!

DUB CEE!

 

 

“This has gone on long enough!” complains King. “Kivell needs to exercise some authority and get these two back in the ring, before Hawke ends up being seriously hurt!” Hawke and Wildchild begin exchanging punches as the work their way back to their feet. Several of the “off-duty” referees enter the crowd and try to steer Wildchild and Jay back towards the cage, but to no avail, as they keep progressively moving further and further away from the ringside area as they fight through the crowd. Finally, they reach the edge of the arena floor, which separates the ground-level seats from those higher up. The referees steer Wildchild and Hawke over to the tunnel leading out to the concourse, and then try to get between them, but the Dean merely takes advantage of Wildchild’s preoccupation and leaps over the officials separating them to nail WC in the side of the head with a sucker punch!

 

“What a dastardly tactic by Jay Hawke!” cries Comet. “He waited until the referee’s had Wildchild’s attention diverted, and then nailed him with a cheap shot!”

 

“What’s the matter, Comet?” mocks King. “You don’t like it when the shoe’s on the other foot? I don’t remember hearing you say anything when Wildchild was diving off the cage behind Jay’s back! Turnabout is fair play!”

 

Jay walks over to a nearby cluster of fans and snatches his custom-made souvenir folding chair. He takes it back over to where Wildchild is getting back to his feet and raises it overhead to bash his skull in, but the Tropical Tumbler dives out of the way and springs to his feet as Hawke turns back around…

 

 

WHAM!

 

 

… Driving the chair into his nose with a shuffling sidekick! Blood sprays from Hawke’s face as he collapses to the ground, and Wildchild climbs up to the upper level.

 

 

“Punch to the midsection!” screams Comet, as WC collapses back to the floor, spent. “This match has been going back and forth for several minutes, King!” Both men slowly get back to their feet, and Jay tries to reassert himself with a right cross, but WC blocks with his left forearm, and then counters with a right elbow to the face! As Hawke staggers back, the challenger presses the attack, knocking him down with a headbutt! Wildchild pulls Jay back to his feet, only to hook his arm underneath the Champion’s and executes a hiptoss that sends Hawke tumbling down the ramp towards the ring.

 

“Wildchild and Jay Hawke are slowly but surely making their way back towards the ring,” notes Comet. “We may get an actual match yet!” WC grabs Jay’s head and tries to bash it into the ring barricade, but the Dean blocks his attempt, and drives the challenger’s face into the barricade instead! As Wildchild staggers away, Jay lifts him up into a bearhug and races towards the ring, slamming his back against the wall of the cage!

 

“Looks like Hawke’s trying to get a little payback!” crows King. “Wildchild was using the cage as a weapon earlier, and now Jay Hawke’s returning the favor!” Jay reasserts his grip and rushes back towards the ring, but the Caribbean Cruiser gets his feet up, bracing them against the wall of the cage and pushing off, rolling over Hawke’s shoulders and down his back. WC wraps both hands around Jay’s waist as he falls, pulling the Dean into a Sunset Flip, but instead of making a worthless pin attempt, the Human Hurricane immediately rolls back to his feet while maintaining control of Jay’s legs. The fans begin cheering immediately as they realize what he’s about to do:

 

 

YEAAAAAAAAAAH!

 

“Oh my!” squeals Comet. “A possible slingshot coming up!” Sure enough, Wildchild locks his arms underneath Jay’s legs and falls backwards, launching Hawke through the air and sending him face-first into the wall of the cage!

 

 

Finally, the two made it into the ring, and the match began...

 

DING! DING! DING!

 

“Bell’s gone!” shouts Comet. “And this match is officially underway!”

 

“Finally!”

 

Jay continues to stall for time as Wildchild crosses the ring, and then finally stuns him with a kick to the midsection! Hawke grabs Wildchild by the back of the head and rams it into the top turnbuckle. He then begins to skip across the ring, waving for Kivell to open the cage door as he tries to get out.

 

“He’s making a break for it!” shouts King. “Jay Hawke’s heading for the exit!” Before he can reach the edge of the ring, however, WC tackles him from behind and drags him away from the door. Wildchild takes half a step back and then leaps into the air, crashing down onto Jay’s back with a senton splash! Wildchild easily beats Jay back to his feet and runs to the ropes, springing forward as he rebounds and blasting Hawke in the face with a basement dropkick!

 

“He didn’t make it!” calls Comet. “Wildchild headed him off at the pass!” WC chews furiously at the gauze on his arm, until he gets an end loose. He then unravels a length of the gauze from around his arm and grasps it in both hands as he sneaks up behind Jay… and chokes him out with the gauze!

 

 

YEAAAAAAAAAAH!

 

“He’s choking him!” roars King. “What a cowardly thing for Wildchild to do!”

 

“Now wait just a minute, King,” counters Comet. “Didn’t you just tell me a few minutes ago that turnabout was fair play? Who choked whom first?”

 

“He’s definitely a great Champion, there’s no doubt about that!” concedes Comet, as Herrington finally persuades Hawke to get off of WC’s throat. “He wouldn’t be where he is today if he wasn’t an outstanding wrestler!” Jay leads Wildchild over to the corner and bashes his head into the top turnbuckle… And then, just to be a prick, rakes WC across the eyes!

 

 

BOOOOOOOOOO!

 

 

“Hawke going back to work on the head and neck area of Wildchild,” observes Comet, as Jay hammers WC in the back of the head with a forearm smash, “and I’m a little surprised that he hasn’t attempted to work the shoulders to set up that Wing Span!”

 

“Well, sometimes you have to do certain things to create openings for other things,” explains King. “And, with as many times as Wildchild and Jay Hawke have met in the ring, Jay probably feels that Wildchild is too familiar with his usual setup for the Wing Span; he probably feels that Wildchild might be able to counter if he telegraphs his strategy… so, like any good wrestler, he softens up another part of Wildchild’s body first, making him weaker, and more susceptible to attack in other areas.” Hawke drops another knee across Wildchild’s throat, but quickly gets back to his feet and taunts the crowd, which responds with hearty booing.

 

“Well, Hawke has his confidence back, there’s no question about that,” notes Comet. “You can tell by the look in his eyes that he feels he has Wildchild on the ropes… And it will be interesting to see how quickly Jay attempts to put the match away from here, because Wildchild may be ripe for the picking!” Jay pulls Wildchild into a front facelock and then twists sharply to his left, driving the challenger down to the mat with a winging neckbreaker! Hawke floats atop WC to apply a lateral press…

 

 

ONE!

 

 

 

 

TWO!

 

 

 

 

TH— KICKOUT!

 

 

“Unbelievable that Wildchild could kick out of that!” exclaims King. “I thought that Jay had him!”

 

“It’s entirely possible that he would have won this match if he’d only hooked the leg, King!”

 

“I have to agree,” concedes King. “That was a cardinal mistake for a veteran like Jay Hawke; I’m surprised that he didn’t hook that leg!” Jay gets back to his feet and quickly leaps into the air, dropping his outstretched leg across WC’s throat. He applies another lateral press:

 

 

ONE!

 

 

 

 

TWO!

 

 

 

 

THR—

 

 

Wildchild sneaks out the back door! Hawke pounds the mat in disgust as WC tries to crawl away from him.

 

“That’s twice now!” squeals Comet. “Jay Hawke has had very poor execution on his pin attempts down the stretch in this match!”

 

“Absolutely!” agrees King. “He had better not make the mistake of taking Wildchild too lightly; Hawke might be the better wrestler, but you don’t want to take a chance of letting your opponent get a lucky shot in!” The Dean rolls Wildchild onto his stomach and then begins to deliver a series of kneedrops to the challenger’s left shoulder!

 

“Wildchild is in the zone, King!” exclaims Comet. “He has completely taken over this match!”

 

“Wildchild’s running on raw adrenaline right now,” says King. “Hawke needs to find a way to get him on the ground and sap that excess energy out of him, so that he can regain control!” WC pulls Hawke to his feet and continues to punish him with punches to the head. The gauze covering the challenger’s arms has been soaked in the Champion’s blood, as Wildchild draws back an arm and staggers Hawke with a reverse knife-edge chop! He grabs Jay by the side of the head and delivers a headbutt which drops him to one knee, and then runs towards the ropes, exploding into the air as he bounces off and knocking Jay backwards with a flying headbutt…

 

 

That sends him tumbling towards the door! Jay Hawke instinctively rolls onto his belly and begins crawling frantically towards the door of the cage!

 

“The door is open!” shouts Comet. “Jay Hawke’s going to make a break for it!”

 

“Go Hawke, Go!” cheers King. “You’re almost there!” Jay gets both hands locked around the threshold and begins to pull himself out of the cage! His hands touch the arena floor, and he begins to pull the rest of his body out!

 

“He’s done it!” crows King. “Once his feet touch the ground, it’s all over!”

 

But, before he can make a clean getaway, Wildchild races over and grabs him by his right leg! He starts to pull Jay back into the ring, but the Dean grabs onto the cage wall and begins to pull back!

 

“We’ve got a veritable tug of war going on here,” says Comet, “with the International Title on the line! Who’s going to win this battle, King?”

 

“Well, Jay Hawke would normally have the strength advantage, but the adrenaline running through Wildchild’s veins right now makes it just about even,” remarks King. “If Jay can just hold on until Wildchild starts to tire, he should be able to win this!”

 

“Perhaps,” ponders Comet. “But how long can Jay Hawke hang on before HE starts to tire?” Hawke begins kicking frantically at WC’s chest with his left leg to push him away, until the Bahama Bomber finally wises up and stands on the far side of Jay’s right leg. Suddenly, inspiration strikes him as he opens his mouth wide and latches his teeth onto Jay’s calf!

 

YEAAAAAAAAAAH!

 

 

“Whoa! He’s biting him!” roars King. “How low can you get, to bite your opponent?” Caught by surprise, Jay screams out in pain and, for an instant, relaxes his grip on the cage wall…

 

 

… And instant that proves to be all the time that Wildchild needs…

 

 

WC pulls Jay back into the cage, and Hawke desperately crawls away from the challenger, begging off as Wildchild draws near. WC pulls Hawke to his feet, but the Dean stuns him with a rake of the eyes, and then he grabs Wildchild by the side of the head and slams the back of the challenger’s head against the canvas! Hawke turns away and walks towards the edge of the ring, leaning against the top rope to catch his breath, but the fans begin to cheer loudly as Wildchild pops back to his feet, eyes wide with rage!

 

“Unbelievable!” shouts King. “He’s back on his feet! Jay… turn around, quick!” The sudden increase in the crowd’s volume clues Jay in to something being amiss, and he turns around to see WC stomping towards him. He swings desperately with a right cross, but the Bahama Bomber blocks with his left forearm and knocks him to the canvas with a ferocious right hand! Wildchild grabs Hawke by the wrist and whips in into the corner, and then charges in after him and leaps into the air to deliver a splash, only for the International Champion to dive out of the way at the last second, causing WC to crash face-first into the top buckle instead!

 

“Excellent reflexes on the part of the Champion!” praises King, as Jay grabs onto the wall of the cage and begins to climb.

 

As the match wore on, it continued to favor Jay Hawke's methodical wrestling style, but no matter how hard he tried, he just could not but the Bahaman Bomber away...

 

“That Superplex appeared to take a lot out of Jay Hawke as well,” notes Comet. “Or perhaps it’s the punishment he’s taken in this match catching up to him!” Determined to keep his title, Jay drags himself over to Wildchild, where he collapses atop his body…

 

 

ONE!

 

 

 

 

TWO!

 

 

 

 

THREE!

 

 

 

 

NO! WILDCHILD GETS THE SHOULDER UP!

 

 

YEAAAAAAAAAAH!

 

 

Jay’s eyes are nearly glassed over as he looks up at the lights in exasperation, as if asking some bodiless deity, “What do I have to do to put this guy away?”

 

“Boy, you can see it in Jay Hawke’s eyes, King,” notes Comet, “he did not think that Wildchild was going to kick out of that Superplex!”

 

 

Wildchild was just waiting for an opportunity to strike - and a few moments later, that opportunity came...

 

“Neither did I!” concedes King. “I don’t think anybody did!” Wearily, Jay stands up and then pulls Wildchild to his feet alongside him. He kicks WC in the midsection to double him over, and then slaps his forearm to indicate his next move. Hawke runs to the edge of the ring, picking up speed as he bounces off the ropes, but the Bahama Bomber suddenly springs to life, side-stepping Hawke as he draws near and leading him by the back of the head across the ring, slamming him headfirst into the cage wall! Jay staggers back towards the center of the ring and drops to one knee as WC runs to the opposing ropes, leaping into the air as he rebounds and extending his leg over the back of Hawke’s neck…

 

 

WHAM!

 

 

… Before driving him face-first into the canvas with the Caribbean Cutter! The crowd begins cheering wildly as WC pops back to his feet, and become impossibly louder when he raises his arms above his head before pulling them down to his chest in that now familiar motion!

 

 

YEAAAAAAAAAAH!

 

 

“That’s the sign for the Wild Ride!” gasps Comet. “If he hits this, we’ve got a new champion!” Wildchild traps Jay in an inverted standing headscissors and reaches back to lock in a double underhook. He then spins around and gets his feet squarely underneath him as he lifts Hawke onto his shoulders. WC looks out into the crowd and releases a primitive growl before he falls backwards…

 

 

BANG!

 

 

AND PLANTS JAY’S HEAD INTO THE CANVAS WITH THE WILD RIDE!

 

 

YEAAAAAAAAAAH!

 

 

“Wild Ride!” croaks Comet, as Wildchild rolls Hawke over. “By Zeus, it’s the Wild Ride! And Wildchild’s over for the cover… he hooks the leg… and this is about to be over, folks!” Nineteen thousand in attendance and several fans around the world count along with Red Herrington’s hand as it slaps the mat:

 

 

ONE!

 

 

 

 

TWO!

 

 

 

 

THREE!

 

 

 

 

DING! DING! DING!

 

 

 

 

YEAAAAAAAAAAH!

 

 

 

“He did it!” cheers Comet, barely audible over the roar of the crowd. “He did it! History has been made!” Wildchild collapses onto his stomach as he rolls off the chest of the former champion. Herrington walks over to the cage door and waits for Kivell to hand the International Title in to him. He then walks back over to Wildchild, helping him to his feet as the camera shows Melissa Fasaki streaking back down to ringside.

 

“History has been made here in the America West Arena!” repeats Comet. “As the Wildchild has brought the record-breaking title reign of Jay Hawke to an end… And here comes Melissa Fasaki back to the ring to help Wildchild celebrate!”

 

 

"And so," Hardy mumbles as his tongues another loose tooth-

 

*POP*

 

"I'M RICH! Where'd I put that pillow?!"

 

"Stop taking my teeth, you dick!"

 

"THE TOOTH FAIRY COMMANDS IT."

 

"... and so, Wildchild has finally ended Jay Hawke's historic International Title reign, and begins one of his own. How will it stack up? Only time will tell."

Edited March 17, 2006 by chirs3

[chirs3 0]

Aftershock returns to the ring where Joseph Peters is joined by Bruce Blank and the Insane Luchador for a contract signing. Bruce is at one end of the long table and Insane Luchador is at the other end. The two combatants glare at each other but neither is making a move to attack which Peters seems to appreciate.

 

“At From the Fire you beat Wayne Blank” Peters starts out by saying to Insane Luchador.

 

YEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHH!!

 

The crowd cheers loudly, if not for IL after his actions at From the Fire then definitely for the fact that one of the Blank boys got their ass royally kicked. Luchador just sits at his end of the table and stares at Bruce without any reactions at all.

 

“So gentlemen if you would please sign the contract for your first ever 1 on 1 encounter in an Ultraviolent match on the next Lockdown” Peters says as he slides the contract across the table to Insane Luchador.

 

Luchador doesn’t even read the contract he just quickly signs his name at the bottom of the contract and then throws the contract and the pen at Bruce with contempt.

 

“Maybe you can try not to lose the title before Lockdown” Luchador says “Cause that’ll just make defeat hurt even more when I also take your precious title”

 

Peters looks a little worried, the tempers flare and he’s worried he’ll end up in the middle of a fight. Bruce on the other hand just puts the contract on the table and begins to study it closely making sure he reads everything.

 

“Just sign the damn thing… or are you scared” IL says as he watches Bruce flip through the pages.

 

“Scared?” Bruce says as he flips to the last page “You know something? Yeah I’ve been scared of you, I figured you were truly as insane as your name suggested, I thought you were unpredictable and dangerous” Bruce admits

 

YEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHH!!

 

“Seems like I was wrong though” Bruce says with contempt, he definitely doesn’t look like he’s scared of Insane Luchador now. “You threw the Renegade at me thinking that he could stop me. That was your first mistake”

 

Bruce stands up while IL just remains seated looking totally unimpressed by his towering opponent.

 

“Then you pissed me off by turning the Blank Bomb on Wayne and putting him in the hospital. That was your second mistake” Bruce says angrily.

 

“And what was my third mistake? Signing the contract?” IL says mocking Bruce, not bothered by the Ultraviolent champion’s bluster at all.

 

Bruce doesn’t say anything at first, then he bends forward and signs the contract before picking it up from the table.

 

“No little man that wasn’t your third mistake” Bruce says in a low voice as he stares at Insane Luchador.

 

Bruce flings the contract at IL causing his opponent to take his eyes off him for a moment. That’s the opening Bruce was looking for as he quickly reaches down, grabs the edge of the table and then pushes it forward with all his power ramming the edge of the table straight into Insane Luchador’s unprotected solarplexus instantly driving the air out of him.

 

BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!

 

Peters quickly leaps from the ring to get out of harms way but Bruce never even looked at Peters direction as he knocks IL out of his chair with a stiff lariat to the chest of the Ill one.

 

“You want to use the Blank Bomb? I’ll show you how it’s done” Bruce yells at his dazed opponent.

 

Bruce grabs IL by the head and then lifts him up in the air in a stalled suplex position and just holds him here for 10 seconds.

 

Still stalling as the blood rushes to IL’s head making the already dazed superstar even more dazed.

 

Then after what feels like minutes but is probably only 20 seconds or so Bruce drops Insane Luchador forward driving him straight through the table with a might

 

*CRACK!!*

 

WHITEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE TRASH!! WHITEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE TRASH!!

 

“Your third mistake was thinking that I’m still scared of you!!” Bruce yells as he points to the more or less unconscious Luchador.

 

Bruce totally ignores the boos and the jeers from the audience as he picks up the contract and holds it in his hand. Then he pulls out a staple gun from his back pocket, places the contract on IL’s chest and. . .

 

*THACK!!*

 

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOHH!!

 

Bruce just smiles as he staples the contract twice more

 

*THACK!!*

*THACK!!*

 

To ensure that it’s still there when Luchador comes back to.

 

* Fade out as the SWF security squad led by JJ Johnson heads to the ring to get Bruce away from Insane Luchador *

[chirs3 0]

“Ladies and gentlemen, welcome back to SWF AftershoXxXXXXxxXxXxXx!” exclaims Ben Hardy, terrifying audiences nationwide as the cameras fade back in on a close up of his fat head. “In our next match--”

 

 

 

“Ben,” begins Sexton Hardcastle, tepidly, “is that officially what we’re calling it now?”

 

 

 

“Yes,” Hardy deadpans. “As I was saying, our next match--”

 

 

 

“Ben,” Sexton starts, again, “how do you pronounce that, exactly?”

 

 

 

“Easily, because I’m not an idiot.”

 

 

 

“Oh.”

 

 

 

“Now, as I was saying,” Hardy continues, with but the mildest note of annoyance in his voice, “Our next match up was the culmination of the Lethal Lottery tournament that spanned the last six weeks in the SWF! The winners had earned the right to face the tag team champions, Max King and Landon Maddix, in a TLC match. And the first tag team tournament in SWF history provided us with some interesting results indeed.”

 

 

 

“Yessir,” agrees Hardcastle. “Many people expected that Zyon & Spike Jenkins would be making the trip to From the Fire, but the Asian Underground’s performance in the Lethal Lottery has surprised many. They said that they were too young, too inexperienced, too naïve, too nubile, but Akira Kaibatsu and Michael Cross proved them wrong.”

 

 

 

“Who are ‘they’?” Ben dryly inquires.

 

 

 

“They’re me, Ben,” Sexton cryptically responds. “Every single one of them.”

 

 

 

“…right. Let’s get to the highlights,” says Ben, hurriedly. “This match was expected to be a barnburner, but Zyon and Spike Jenkins weren’t even going to wait for the introductions before they got things started!”

 

"Entering now at a combined weight of 474 pounds, they are your WORLD ES DUBYOU EFF TAG TEAM CHAMPIONS, Landon 'La Cucaracha' Maddix and Max King…" Before Funyon is able to finish, Spike Jenkins and Zyon fire out behind Maddix and King cutting their entrance short as Funyon stutters and stops, the crowd standing and flashing quick photos.

 

Comet sits up in his chair and looks on at the action, "Holy HECK," he shouts out somewhat excited but shocked as well, "Spike Jenkins and Zyon just LEAPED at the champs!"

 

"YES," King shouts out happily, "Show that no good scum bag a beating, Spike!"

 

Behind Spike, who has begun pounding on the back of an unexpected Landon Maddix, comes Zyon, wielding a long ladder, his head between the rungs. He twirls the ladder into Max, turning in time to catch the end right to his cheek sending him to his knees in pain. Just to the right of Zyon, Landon kneels, but manages to turn to Spike, fighting him off and attempting to fend off the repeated blows. Next to the pair, Zyon lifts the ladder and drops it onto the back of Max King, who folds under the slamming pressure of the metal to his bare back. Zyon turns now and begins driving his own thrusting elbows and kicks to Maddix as Spike holds up his own end, Maddix unable to fend the both of them off.

 

“The Asian Underground hadn’t even appeared in the match yet,” says Hardy, “But they weren’t about to let these four other guys get all of the attention. And when they did come, they came prepared.”

 

 

 

“With a ladder!” Hardcaslte helpfully adds.

 

 

 

“…yes. Thank you, Sexton.”

 

 

 

Zyon turns to the man who he just recently dropped his coveted Cruiserweight Title to and is blasted with an ECHOING Roaring Elbow as the crowd pops. Right behind, lagging due to a left knee injury, is Mike Cross, wielding a table awkwardly under his left arm and a steel chair in his right. He approaches the action and drops the table, turning to Max King who has managed to pull his body out from the heavy ladder and back to his feet, albeit unsteadily.

 

CRRRRRRRRRRRRRAAAAAAAAAAAACK!

 

Cross wallops King with a chair shot right over his back, making an already sore area red from the sharp and stinging metal shot. He folds just barely, Cross' attempt unable to do significant damage due to his lack of ability to get the leverage and body motion behind the shot. King stands back up almost no selling the shot and turn to Cross, who winds up again.

 

CRAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAACK~!

 

 

 

“Of course, they didn’t bring the hardware down to the arena to clean some eaves troughs,” Ben adds. “It was only a matter of time before it got involved, and we had our first big spot of the match!”

 

 

Cross hobbles, dropping the chair as King checks his face, shocked almost. Zyon and Spike turn the tides of the clusterfuck of strikes near the edge of the ramp, as Maddix and Akira are forced to fight together as SpYon works together. Cross turns his attention to the ladder near Max King, who grumbles to his side in pain. He picks it up and sets up the ladder, a good 15 feet in the air on the stage, hanging dangerously over the action several feet below. The crowd's cameras flash as they awe at the height, popping for the possibility of a MASSIVE spot.

 

"Cross is looking like he wants to fly," Comet responds informatively as if having experienced such a thing, "I can say that he's not cut out, but maybe in time he can learn from me!"

 

 

 

…

 

 

King shakes his head, and looks back over to the ramp, Cross climbing up the steps of the ladder at the crowd's requests. He makes his way to the top and raises his hand in the air, as Max King begins moving. The 4 men below look up, pausing at the man standing high above them. They hold out their hands to catch him as Cross looks confused.

 

SHHHIFFF-SHHHHHIFFFF

 

The crowd's cameras ignite in a blaze as Max King shakes Cross from the ladder sending him looping off of it and down through the air as they cheer loudly in awe. The 4 men, Spike, Zyon, Akira, and Landon hold their hands up as Cross comes crashing down over them, all 5 folding and splattering across the ramp like squashed bug under the threat of a fly swatter.

 

 

 

“Michael Cross took to the air, in what was going to become a common occurrence tonight!” exclaims Sexton.

 

 

 

“Almost all six guys would get involved in the high flying action before all was said and done,” Ben affixes. “But first, Max King would make an early dash to the titles, and his overzealousness would cost him… and Landon Maddix, possibly for the rest of the match. Let’s watch.”

 

 

Everyone but Cross is back to their feat without the slightest sign of instability. Maddix pushes the three back sending them stumbling. Gaining back their footing, the three men push Maddix hard out of the way and dash towards the ring in an effort to quickly halter the plans of Max King, edging closer to the top. Maddix flops to his hip but turns and rebounds attempting to follow and hold off his opponents. He runs, but is snagged by the ankle.

 

SLAAAAAAAAAAAP!

 

Maddix's face bounces off the ramp, offering a nasty whiplash effect.

 

…

 

One by one, Zyon, Spike, and Akira slide into the ring and rush to the ladder as Max King realizes their presence in the ring. As the three men approach, Max King slows, confused whether to make one last ditch effort to reach the belts or to abort and save himself the pain of falling from the top. At the last second, Max reaches up and snags hold of the chord, SpYKira missing their cue and knocking the ladder right out from under Max, who dangles 15 feet above their head's. The three look around and give each other an "OH SHIT" look, as the crowd's response ignites the arena in the sight of flashing cameras and loud cheers. Max wags his legs, but nothing there. Looking almost terrified, he swings his body around, thrashing as he grips to the rope (NOT THE BELTS) desperately and looking for a way out.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

In the ring, Spike and Zyon fight with Max King, who continually kicks their attempts to set the ladder up, kicking it away again and again.

 

"This guy's an idiot," King exclaims loudly and abruptly, "If he'd let him set that ladder up, he'd be able to put his feet down and get those belts!"

 

 

 

…

 

Outside, Akira grabs a table quickly after elbowing Maddix with GUSTO~! He slides it under the ring as Spike and Zyon guide the ladder together, swatting at Max King who swivels and maneuvers, not really in position to dodge the shots. Akira quickly gets to work setting up the table, sliding it under Max King who dangles and begins thrashing again. Zyon and Spike swing again and again, smacking King in the back without any real effect, King gripping tightly.

 

CRAAAAAAAAAAAAAAACK…

 

 

 

 

SMAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAASH!

 

 

 

“Oof… that wouldn’t be the last table that Max King had to go through, either,” Sexton notes. “He’s going to be picking splinters out of his trunks for weeks.”

 

 

 

“Not long after this,” Ben speaks, “Spike Jenkins and Zyon would begin to assert themselves. “

 

 

 

 

 

Almost immediately, Spike and Zyon turn to Akira and fight him into the corner, chopping, punching, and generally overwhelming him. Zyon backs away and turns to the rubble of the table as Max rolls away and under the turnbuckle. He picks up a large chunk of what's left of the wood, turns, and drives it over the head of Akira breaking it right in half. Akira drops to his BUTT, and then rolls out of the ring, where Cross and Maddix have finally made their way back to their feet. Spike and Zyon look to one another and then charge to the ropes opposite of side where Akira, Cross, and Maddix stand somewhat and temporarily stunned. They fly across the canvas, dodging the remains of the table on the way across, and cross paths, performing synchronized suicide dives onto their opposition. The crowd lights up in response, popping for the daring and impressive move.

 

"LET'S GO ZYON – LET'S GO SPIKE!"

 

The opposite sides of the crowd begin competing.

 

"LET'S GO ZYON – LET'S GO SPIKE!"

 

"LET'S GO ZYON – LET'S GO SPIKE!"

 

Zyon and Spike stand up together, facing the crowd and posing, cameras flashing as the three men who received the dives begin to roll around, attempting to raise themselves to their feet.

 

 

 

“…and not long after that,” continues Hardy, “Zyon and Jenkins would run into the dogged problems that have arisen in their relationship.”

 

 

 

 

 

The crowd huddles in a circle around Akira, as Spike picks up a nearby ladder and follows him into the crowd, followed closely by Zyon who enter the picture wielding half of a table that appears to have been broken. Akira has managed to prop himself up using his hand, as he attempts to move back to his feet as SpYon approaches. Spike drops the ladder and turns to Akira, picking him up and tearing at his mask in the process, totally disrespecting him. He holds Cross in the human-shield position as Zyon winds up.

 

 

THWAAAAAAAAAASH~!

 

 

Akira not only dukes, but manages to pull the head of Spike over slightly, putting him right in the line of fire for a CRUSHING table shot from Zyon. Akira has ample time and is able to get back to his feet as Zyon looks over at his partner, his look unremorseful yet showing he at least cares.

 

"Ha!" King's voice cuts in, pressing the point of what just happened, "That jackass, Zyon, just crossed a line! He'll be lucky if Spike doesn't annihilate him!"

 

 

 

“When Spike and Zyon work together, they’re the most devastating tandem in the SWF,” Sexton declares. “But with Spike knocked for a loop, it really had become anybody’s match once again.”

 

 

 

“And for a few moments, it was all Landon Maddix! Of course, the crowd had no intention of letting him get a few moves in edgewise without having to hear about it…” Ben trails off as the clip starts up.

 

 

 

Out of nowhere, Landon Maddix swipes a chair shot to the back of Zyon's head, swinging it exactly like you'd swing a baseball bat and nearly launching Zyon's head into the stands as the crowd somewhat boos, but erupts at the absolutely insane shot.

 

"LA CUCARACHA!"

 

"SUUUUUUUUUUCKS!"

 

"LA CUCARACHA!"

 

"SUUUUUUUUUUUUUCKS!"

 

Landon stands and turns around, welcoming the chants as he marvels in his greatness, turning and holding his arms out, and then throwing his hair back cockily. The crowd responds almost immediately.

 

"WE WANT TOXXIC!"

 

"WE WANT TOXXIC!"

 

"WE WANT TOXXIC!"

 

Landon turns and shouts in rage, kicking chairs around and throwing security round, telling them to stop the chants. He continues to kick things around, turning back to the action looking to implement his rage and frustrations on one of his opponents.

 

 

 

“This momentary distraction was enough to allow Spike and Zyon to capitalize once again!”

 

 

 

“But could they reconcile!?” Sexton exclaims melodramatically.

 

 

 

CRAAAAAAAAAAAAACK!

 

"YEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!!!!!!"

 

The cameras pan to see Spike, raised from the dead, crush a chair over the head of Landon Maddix who falls back stunned, a trickle of blood now exiting the wound newly formed just an inch away from his hairline, the crimson staining his blonde hair. Spike plays to the crowd, wielding the chair in his hand. As he turns, he's met face to face with Zyon, who pauses as they stare each other down. The crowd silences almost instantly, a pin drop heard in the distance.

 

"HIT THAT PUNK," demands King loudly, "Get him for what he did to you, Spike!"

 

Spike waits, looking down at the chair, and then back up at Zyon. The camera zooms in on the two men as the rest lay aiding their wounds.

 

"Tonight isn't about you and me," Spike says sternly, "Tonight's about those god damn belts!" Spike throws down his chair and slaps the chest of Zyon. "Let's spill these mother fuckers's blood and take those belts, you and I can fight another day." Zyon pauses and the two force a look at each other, and then turn away from one another.

 

 

 

“Well, briefly,” Hardy is able to quickly interject, before…

 

 

 

CRAAAAACK-CRAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAACK!

 

Almost instantly they're both hit with a chair. The camera zooms out to see Landon standing over Spike shaking in absolute rage, blood spilling from his cut, and then turns to see Max King standing over Zyon. The crowd boos, the moment tarnished now. Max stares over at Landon who looks up. The two turn their heads to Cross and Akira.

 

 

 

“You know, I think Spike and Zyon are headed to splitsville,” says Hardcastle, knowingly. “Population: YOU!”

 

 

 

“…Sexton, that doesn’t make any sense,” Hardy replies, shaking his head. “Anyway, could Landon Maddix and Max King make use of their own new advantage?”

 

 

 

CRAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAACK!

 

CRAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAACK!

 

The crowd erupts in cheers as both Landon and Max are floored next to the men they'd just annihilated with chair shots of their own, blood spattering the ground as the two members of Asia Underground stand side by side, glare at each other and then throw down their weapons.

 

"MY-CHUL CROSS!"

 

"AH-KEY-RAH!"

 

"MY-CHUL CROSS!"

 

"AH KEY-RAH!"

 

"Holy HECK, King!" Comet's voice breaks the silence between the commentators, nearly shriveled by the crowd's response, "I don't think there was a single man out there who didn't get assaulted by a SINISTER chair shot!"

 

"I love it, Comet," King's voice interjects; happily, "I love it! That bastard Cockroach got what was coming to him, and the rest can all go to hell…except Spike!"

 

 

 

“Again, briefly,” Sexton announces.

 

 

 

“Things were racing towards the inevitable conclusion,” announces Hardy, “With the heavy action now involving every man in this match.”

 

 

 

“However, with everyone else either paired off, or incapacitated, we got a chance to see Spike Jenkins and Akira Kaibatsu face off in a fascinating segment. As you know, Ben, Hollywood is the #1 contender to the Cruserweight title of ‘Divine Wind,’” ** notes, “And this could be a preview of that matchup!”

 

 

 

Akira leans a ladder near by up against a post and enters the ring slowly, attempt to halt Spike Jenkins's efforts to get the belts. The camera pans to Cross who has set up a third table atop the two, creating a tower like structure, proceeding to enter the ring. Before Akira can stop Spike, he drops the ladder down and OVER his head, sending him to his BUTT, and almost out of it. Akira manages to reach Spike, though, and scrapes his back, causing him to drop the ladder right on top of Cross who fidgets in pain, his knee getting crushed as the ladder's lanky body balances on an angle, caught on the ropes. Akira slowly whips Jenkins to the corner, following him over and then setting him up into a sitting position atop the turnbuckle. Akira signals for the end as Zyon begins moving on the outside. Akira steps up to the second rope, springs up, and swings his legs up and over the shoulders of Spike, attempting a super huricanrana. The crowd pops, but Spike catches it and pulls him back up into a powerbomb position. Akira fights, punching and poking at the face of Jenkins, who struggles to keep Akira up. On the outside, Zyon sees this and immediately uses the ladder left to put himself on the same level as his partner and Akira Kaibatsu. He steadies himself, and leaps forward, connecting with a drop kick that sends him folding down, totally obliterated, expending his own body and flopping down hard to the outside, laying motionless and exhausted on the outside next to the bloody Landon Maddix and the somewhat-moving Max King. Spike grips the legs of Akira and stands up on the second rope, the crowd erupting in response.

 

"RAAAAAAAAATINGS CRAAAASH! YEAAAAAAAAH!"

 

 

 

 

 

Outside the ring, decimated and laying in a rubble of three tables is Max King, utterly obliterated. The crowd is going insane as Spike takes a breather, as Cross makes a move on the tipsy ladder, setting it upright and attempting to climb, very slowly, however, and closely followed by Spike Jenkins.

 

 

CLANK...!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Slowly as the crowd is on edge, cameras flashing, both men attempting to scale the ladder, each throwing lazy and sloppy punches to obstruct each other.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

CLANK....!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

CLANK....!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Closer to the top, inching their way up as Akira and Zyon both begin showing life.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

CLANK....!

 

 

"Both men are there, at the top, nearing the prize they've been fighting for, and close than ever!" Comet's comments grace the sound waves as the crowd continues to erupt, cameras going off like nobody's business.

 

 

 

“With Cross and Hollywood nearing destiny, and the tag team champions all but out of things, it was time for both of their partners to make one last desperate intervention,” Hardy narrates, tensely, “And for Michael and Akira to make history.”

 

 

 

By now, Akira and Spike are face to face, Cross elevated up to where Spike is now almost seated on his shoulders. Spike attempts to climb up and grab the belts, his finger tips touching them. The belts dangle right in front of him, however, Cross locks his arms around and through the rungs, trapping Spike's legs as Akira climbs up. The crowd is going ballistic as Akira turns away from Spike and elbows him before wrapping his arm around his neck. Before Zyon can lunge to make a difference, Akira is up and over the top of Spike, pulling him OFF the ladder and crashing down to the ring for an at least 15 foot assisted Divine Wind! The crowd erupts as the place goes absolutely crazy; Zyon's finger tips on the first rung of the ladder as he sees his last hopes fade away.

 

"HOLY SHIT!"

 

"HOLY SHIT!"

 

"HOLY SHIT!"

 

"AH-KEY-RA! AH-KEY-RA!"

 

Cross lets out a breath and drags his one-legged body up the ladder, limping and dragging his battered knee. He makes his way to the top as the crowd shouts and cheers in response, going absolutely NUTS.

 

"ASIA UNDERGROUND!"

 

"ASIA UNDERGROUND!"

 

Cross grabs the strap of one and pulls, both of them releasing as the bell rings and the crowd's cameras go off like crazy. Zyon lays in dismay as Akira and Spike lay exhausted and destroyed on the mat - Landon and Max both out in a rubble of wood. Cross stands on one leg above the ring, raising the straps with both arms and lifting his head in satisfaction as "Voodoo People (Pendulum Remix)" by Prodigy hits the PA system.

 

"They did it, the Cinderella Story is complete!" Comet exclaims, "The Asia Underground is your NEW SWF Tag Team Champions!"

 

On that note, Funyon chimes in.

 

"LADIES AND GENTLEMAN, HERE ARE YOUR WINNERS...THE UNDEFEATED, THE LETHAL LOTTERY CO-WINNERS, AND YOUR NEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEW ESS DUBAYOU EFF TAG TEAAAAM CHAMPIONS..."

 

The crowd pauses.

 

"THE ASSSSSSIA UNDERGROUND!"

 

 

 

“The Asia Underground, the youngsters Michael Cross and Akira Kaibatsu, overcome impossible odds and take home the SWF Tag Team titles at From the Fire!” Hardy exclaims.

 

 

 

“And the second title change of the night!” exclaims Sexton along with Hardy. “It’s a youth movement, Ben! I can hardly contain myself!”

 

 

 

“…for my sake, try. We’ll be back right after this with coverage of the most emotionally charged match of the night, with father and son facing off,” says Ben. “Don’t go away!”

Edited March 17, 2006 by chirs3

[chirs3 0]

Smartmarks Wrestling Federation cameras pan to the back to see Ben Hardy standing excitedly next to the new Tag Team Champions, the Asia Underground, as usual, accompanied by Mr. Kobe. Mike Cross, standing to Kobe’s right leans on a crutch, wearing stylish, but baggy jeans, a white beanie, and the new Asia Underground shirt with a long sleeve black and red striped shirt underneath. He pats the gold on his shoulder smiling with what appears to be a battered face as the camera turns to Akira who stands somewhat exhausted with his gold around his waste, also wearing the same sort of get up, only with an unzipped hoody and his usual mask on. Kobe smiles himself and then places his hands on both of his protégé’s shoulders, as Ben turns and begins to speak, rapidly and with a nervous tone.

 

“Mr. Kobe, just two days ago - in what can be described as a highly intense and destructive match - both of the men you currently mentor entered a co-mainevented PPV, and won their first gold as a team. Obviously, Akira has held gold since then,” the camera turns to Akira who wears the SWF Cruiserweight Title proudly over his shoulder as he puts one hand on the belted tag title, his other holding up his singles belt, “But the world wants to know, what’s next for this undefeated tag team?”

 

Mr. Kobe smiles, and with heavily Japanese accented English, responds enthusiastically, “I have much faith in the two of them. Michael, tonight, has a shot at his first singles gold, and while it’s questionable whether he will be cleared to compete, we have faith that if he does that he will capture the gold from a very dominant Bruce Blank. As of now, we have not been schedueled to defend the belts, however, both men of expressed great interest in establishing themselves as the best and most dominant tag team this organization has ever seen.” Kobe pauses and smiles at both me, who are appear very satisfied with the belts and their status together, despite rumors that had circulated earlier in the week.

 

Ben cuts in, taking his chance to slip in another question, “Speaking of that, there was a lot of speculation of whether or no the Asia Underground would even show at From the Fire due to an injury attained less than a week before the show.” Both Hardy and the camera glance at Cross’ left leg as he leans on a crutch, “Some sources claimed Cross was indefinitely out of action until AT LEAST the end of April, maybe even later, while others boldly stated that the team of Akira Kaibatsu and Michael Cross were indeed on the outs. Can you elaborate on these rumors?”

 

Kobe and Cross slip out a slight chuckle as Kobe begins translating English to Akira rapid fire, not even missing a beat. Kobe finishes and Akira stands tall, his somewhat tiring and slumping posture dissolved as he too partakes in the laugh. “Well,” Kobe interjects, sounding somewhat amused, “I think both of these belts show just how exaggerated that those rumors were. Michael was injured in the finals of the Lethal Lottery tournament, and was very iffy on going into the match, even before the rumors had been ‘reported’. We made a quick flight to Japan and had some very impressive training sessions, and both Akira and Michael made an oath to each other not to no show, and to prove just how wrong those sources were. We went in there with a strategy of exactly what capacity Michael would be used, and he fulfilled that almost perfectly without flaw. While it was unexpected that Akira wouldn’t be the one to make it up the ladder, as Michael appeared slower in training, he stuck through the pain and got up there. Akira made unselfish move, took Mr. Jenkins out of the picture, and gave Michael the exact opening we needed. If that doesn’t show just how on-page these two are, then I do not know what does.” Kobe turns away to leave as the members of Asia Underground follow, however, are interrupted by Ben Hardy once again.

 

“One last question, Mr. Kobe…what’s next, will Michael Cross and Akira Kaibatsu take the singles route, or will they maintain their tag titles and defend those belts, as well as maintain the singles role they’ve showed very successfully? Will Michael Cross compete for the Ultra Violent title? What happens if he’s not cleared?” Hardy takes a big breath, as Kobe cops a smile, pausing and then turning back to face the camera. He pushes the mic towards Cross, who looks at Kobe, and then back at Hardy.

 

“Akira and myself,” Cross stops, and then proceeds, “Will defend these belts against anyone that management puts in front of us, anyone we feel the need to knock some sense into, or anyone who thinks they’re just good enough to beat us. Not only will we defend our belts at all costs, we will defend ANY belt we have anytime we are called on to do so. And whether or not I am injured does not matter, because when we won these belts, we signed our health over to the company, and told them that carrying the prestige of the company on our backs would take a shotgun seat to our health. Albeit, they have not told me whether they will clear me to wrestle against Blank tonight – I know they’ve been in contact with Doctor Ichi Zenigawa. However, I will go out there and fight for that belt with 100% of my body for this company and for that belt. Because, Ben, no matter what condition, no matter the opponent, time, place, or stipulaton, I will ALWAYS work when I am told to work. So, you can take your sources, Ben, you can take them and stick ‘em, because I have proved myself.”

 

Cross slaps the mic into Ben’s chest as the three men walk away ultimately satisfied, Ben standing there as the Asia Underground walks out with the possibility to wield the most gold in the SWF after tonight. The cameras fade to black as the echoes of fans cheering overlaps the audio.

[chirs3 0]

“Hollywood” Spike Jenkins was mere inches from the SWF World Tag Team Titles.

 

 

 

 

“The Unique Youth” Zyon was mere inches from the SWF World Tag Team Titles.

 

 

 

 

 

And yet, neither of them was able to get them.

 

 

 

And whom do they blame?

 

 

 

 

 

Each other, of course.

 

 

 

“YOU WERE RIGHT THERE!” shouts the irate Spike Jenkins, “WHY DIDN’T YOU PUSH CROSS OFF THE LADDER?”

 

“YOU WERE RIGHT THERE!” Zyon shouts back, “WHY DIDN’T YOU GET THE TAG TITLES BEFORE AKIRA GOT TO YOU?”

 

Spike Jenkins turns his back on Zyon and paces around the room. His ribs wrapped in white tape and a bandage over his forehead, obviously very frustrated with the whole situation.

 

“You said before From the Fire that we were going to make it work and win those titles! You told me we would walk out of there with gold! And you BLEW IT!”

 

“You had your opportunity, Spike!” screams Zyon, “Don’t fucking blame me because you couldn’t get the job done!”

 

“ALL YOU HAD TO DO WAS PUSH THE LADDER OVER!”

 

“WITH WHAT?” Yells the Unique Youth, his ribs taped up as well and a bandage over his shoulder, “I couldn’t even walk!”

 

“IT WAS RIGHT THERE, GOD DAMN IT!”

 

Spike, turning red in the face, grabs a table by its edges and flips it over onto the floor. Zyon, still angry but taken back by this, looks on as his “best friend” charges out of the locker room, storming down the hallway.

[chirs3 0]

"Welcome back to Aftershoxx. My name is Ben Hardy, and I'm dying from internal injuries."

 

"And I helped!"

 

"..."

 

"..."

 

"... Up next, let's take a look at one of the most heated matches to take place at From the Fire - Kevin Coyote vs. Longdogger Pete. Estranged father and son would battle it out in a streetfight, each one putting their career on the line in order to put the other down for good."

 

-=-=-=-

 

In the beginning, it seemed like Londogger's ring rust might have been too much to overcome, but after a bumpy start, Pete showed us he can still bring it when he needs to...

 

Coyote is quickly back to his feet, attacking the Miami Menace with an elbow smash, followed by a spinning wheel kick that catches Pete off guard, sending him stumbling off in the opposite direction, back turned to Coyote. Coyote jumps up and connects with a dropkick, sending Pete staggering into the ropes. As Pete holds onto the second rope for balance, Coyote runs toward the ropes and jumps atop Pete's back, clubbing him with a left fist across the back of Pete's neck. The ropes give just a little under the weight of the two men, then retract as Coyote completes the move and stands clear, springing Coyote's head upward where it collides with the top rope. That final insult doesn't hurt, but to Pete is a little disconcerting.

 

"Can we say 'ring rust?'" asks King.

 

"I wouldn't call it ring rust," replies Comet. "Pete has been training hard the last couple of weeks in preparation for this match. Kevin Coyote is simply outpacing LDP."

 

Sure enough, Coyote attempts to use speed as an advantage against the larger, physically imposing Longdogger Pete. Coyote leaps into the air as Pete stands back up, wrapping his legs around Pete's neck and pulling him down to the mat in a hurricanrana. Coyote reaches across Pete's body and covers him for a pinfall attempt. Referee Sexton Hardcastle dives down to the canvas to make the count.

 

 

ONE!

 

 

TWO!

 

 

Pete easily gets his shoulders into the air after the two count. Pete shoves Coyote out of the way and rises to get back to his feet. Coyote gets to his feet as well, but Pete is ready for him, and grabs Coyote by an arm, whipping him off to the ropes. Coyote bounces off the ropes and is propelled back toward Pete. Pete turns his back on Coyote, grabbing him from behind and hoisting him up to his shoulders, then dropping back to hit the canvas in a Samoan drop! Pete regains his footing, then executes a pair of angry stomps on Coyote's horizontal form before Coyote manages to roll out of the way. Coyote gets to his knees as Pete approaches again. Coyote raises his fist in an uppercut, attempting a low blow to Pete's groin, but Pete jumps back just in time and dodges the blow. Coyote gets to his feet and rushes at Pete, kicking high in the air in a spinning heel kick. Pete catches Coyote's foot, so Coyote tries instead for an enziguri attempt, clearing the mat entirely and kicking out with the other leg. Surprisingly, Pete catches that leg as well, and slams the hapless Coyote to the mat!

 

"Longdogger Denial!" hollers Comet. "Looks like LDP still has a few tricks up his sleeve."

 

"I don't understand," says King. "I thought Coyote could outrace LDP."

 

"Perhaps," concedes Comet, "but Pete is a wrestling veteran of almost twenty years! He's seen every trick in the book and knows how to counter them all!"

 

This match is being fought under Street Fight rules - a fact which Kevin Coyote attempted to take advantage of early on...

 

As Pete crawls across the floor, attempting to get to his feet, the faster Coyote makes his way to the timekeeper's table and grabs a steel chair, quickly folding up the chair to a closed position.

 

"And there's the other positive side of a street fight match," says King. "Weapon use is legal, even encouraged!"

 

Coyote swings the chair at Pete's head, but Pete rolls out of the way of the chair shot attempt, ending up lying on his back side. Coyote swings again, and Pete deflects by kicking the chair away with his boots. The chair clatters across the floor, and the impact of the deflection knocks Coyote backward onto the floor. Pete gets to his feet, and makes a play for the chair, but Coyote kips up quickly and reaches for it too. For a moment there is a tug of war over the chair, but the stronger Pete yanks it out of Coyote's hands, and shoves the top of the chair into Coyote's gut. Coyote doubles over in pain, and Pete swings again, sending the flat side of the chair smashing across Coyote's back. Coyote drops to the floor, and Pete holds up the now bent and mangled chair. Pete frowns, and tosses the chair aside.

 

"You know what really sucks about that?" says Comet. "After that TLC match we just had, that was probably our last good chair!"

 

"There's about twenty thousand more behind us," says King dryly.

 

Pete stops abruptly as he hears the Phoenix audience chanting his name - a reaction he is no longer used to, and misses very much.

 

"L - D - P!"

"L - D - P!"

"L - D - P!"

 

"The big guy needs to show this kid who's boss!" says Comet.

 

Pete rolls Coyote over and covers him for a pinfall attempt.

 

 

ONE!

 

 

TWO!

 

 

THR-- NO! Coyote kicks out, then stretches on the floor, his back in visible pain from the chair shot.

 

Pete steps away from Coyote, eyeing the ring ropes and smiling. He walks back toward the ring and climbs up on the apron, then ascends to the top rope, turning to face Coyote on the outside. The crowd begins to roar as he raises his hand in the air, then extends his thumb and forefinger in an "L" position.

 

"What the hell's he doing?" asks King.

 

"It looks like he's going for an old fan favorite, the Longdogger Legdrop!" exclaims Comet.

 

"But to the outside? He's going to kill himself!"

 

With all the strength he can muster, Longdogger Pete bends his knees, then leaps from the top of the turnbuckle, diving toward Coyote with leg outstretched to perform his patented diving leg drop...

 

...and Coyote rolls out of the way!

 

"NO!" hollers Comet in shock, but the damage is done as Pete crashes to the floor, missing Coyote by only inches. For a long moment neither man moves. Coyote, still recovering from the two chair shots, is the first to stir. He crawls across the floor until he regains his footing, and then he retrieves the jean jacket he had originally tossed to the floor. He begins searching the pockets for something, but begins to get frustrated when he cannot find what he is looking for. "What's he looking for?" asks Comet.

 

"I would imagine the brass knuckles he's been keeping in his jacket for weeks now," replies King. "The question is, where did they go?"

 

"That's anybody's guess," says Comet.

 

After finally giving up, Coyote angrily tosses the jacket away hard, flipping the article of clothing into the audience - probably not what Coyote intended, but certainly making one fan happy.

 

Coyote walks back toward Pete, still disgusted over the disappearance of the knuckles, and stands over Pete, connecting with a gut punch to Pete's horizontal form (which Pete doesn't react to) before dropping down for a cover.

 

"This could be it if Pete doesn't wake up," says Comet.

 

 

ONE!

 

 

TWO!

 

 

THRE --

 

 

Suddenly out of nowhere, Pete comes to, and sends his right fist directly into Coyote's face! Coyote stumbles off Pete, and shockingly, blood begins to roll down Coyote's face as he backs away. Pete smiles as he sits up, revealing a set of shiny brass knuckles on his right hand.

 

"HE WAS PLAYING POSSUM!" exclaims Comet. "And somehow he had the knuckles!"

 

"That shifty bastard," says King. "I wonder when he managed to grab them."

 

The action went back and forth, and to everyone's amazement, Longdogger Pete was holding his own... until some well timed interference showed up....

 

Suddenly a loud techno beat begins to erupt from the speaker system. Though no one recognizes the music as the theme of anyone affiliated with the SWF, the song is "Chinese Burn" by Curve.

 

"The hell...?" someone asks - it's hard to tell whose voice it was with the loud music drowning them out.

 

A young woman with long, dark red hair emerges on the stage, wheeling out a dolly with several wooden tables stacked atop them. She has a maniacal glare in her eyes and a smug grin on her face, but she says nothing as she makes her entrance.

 

"Who the fuck is that?!" asks King.

 

"And where the hell did she get all those tables?" Comet wonders. "I thought we used them all up for the TLC match."

 

Nobody in the audience seems to recognize the woman, though they cheer for her anyway, as any new woman in the SWF is sure to be a Good Thing. The only person that seems to recognize her is Kevin Coyote -- and he motions for her to come closer.

 

"Could this be the mysterious woman from Kevin's cell phone?" asks King. "Could this be Avery?"

 

"Could she have bought those tables at Home Depot?" asks Comet.

 

The woman wheels the dolly closer, and Coyote stands up by the other end of the dolly. Together, the two of them give a mighty heave, and toss the entire dolly, tables and all, off the side of the stage, letting the tables crash to the floor below. Many of the tables break into pieces, but that seems to be Coyote and his girlfriend's intent. Coyote motions for his new partner to go back to the entranceway, and she does, disappearing behind the curtain, but just for a moment, only going back to retrieve an object that she returns with now, apparently a large can of liquid of some sort...

 

"Lighter fluid!" shouts Comet. "My God, King, what are they planning?"

 

Cackling as she does so, the woman opens the can and holds it over the side of the stage, pouring out its contents all over the pile of table fragments. Then without hesitation, she lights up a match, and tosses it casually aside.

 

BOOM! The tables go up in flames as a blaze of fire shoots across the floor, burning up the lighter fluid. Coyote's partner raises her arms in the air as she watches the flames rise from the floor.

 

"HAH!" shouts an excited Suicide King. "Well, you people wanted From the Fire! And now you've got it!"

 

"This is too much!" says Comet. "Even for Coyote, I think!"

 

Coyote tries to pull Pete back up to a standing position. Pete gets to his knees and suddenly comes to with a start, sensing his surroundings and shoving Coyote away to prevent the inevitable. The camera closes up again on Kevin Coyote, bruised and bleeding, and a fierce look of determination on his face. He charges at Pete at full speed, throwing all caution to the wind, and leaps into the air, tackling Pete in a running cross body. The move is more than enough to topple Pete's precarious balance, and both men tumble off the stage, collapsing into the inferno below.

 

"OH, MY GOD!" cries Comet. "BOTH MEN HAVE JUST GONE THROUGH A PILE OF FLAMING TABLES!"

 

The audience is stunned into dead silence, except for a few rows close to the melee, that break out into a rousing and uncensored chant!

 

"HOLY SHIT!"

"HOLY SHIT!"

"HOLY SHIT!"

 

Referee Sexton Hardcastle tries to get close to the flames to see if he can pick out the two competitors. When he does so, he quickly gets on the floor -- but not too close -- to make a count.

 

 

ONE!

 

 

TWO!

 

 

THREE!

 

 

DING DING DING!

 

"Well, the match is over!" says Comet. "But who won? And is anyone left alive in there?"

 

Sexton Hardcastle quickly hurries to the timekeeper's table to tell Funyon the results of the match. Immediately new music begins playing through the arena -- ironically, the metal sounds of Disturbed's "I'm Alive."

 

"LADIES AND GENTLEMEN," announces Funyon... "THE WINNER OF THIS CONTEST... KEVINNNNNN COYOOOOOOOTEEEEEEEE!"

 

The woman on the stage jumps up and down in delight, then quickly backs off behind the curtain before anyone can get to her. Meanwhile, Hardcastle calls to the back for help, and several road agents quickly emerge, followed by several medics. One of the road agents carries a fire extinguisher and sets to work putting out the blaze as the medics prepare a pair of flatbeds.

 

"Oh, dear," mutters King. "It looks like both competitors are going to be carried out of here by the EMTs."

 

"I certainly hope they're all right," says Comet. "But the match is over, and the victor is Kevin Coyote, who put everything on the line tonight -- his blood, his energy, his body, everything -- and defeated his own father, Longdogger Pete."

 

Ben Hardy, still buried but making the best of it with a bottle of Pepsi Max and a Crazy Straw, leads us back in.

 

"The good news is Longdogger Pete is recovering. The bad news is, his contract has been terminated. For the next month, the SWF will be testing new commentators, and we'll be letting you, the viewers, vote on his replacement!

 

Don't go anywhere - coming up, we'll be hearing from more From the Fire winners and losers, and Bruce Blank defends his Ultraviolent Championship!"

[chirs3 0]

"-riously, Pat, I can't feel my legs... I think I need a doctor..."

 

"Welcome back to Aftershocks!" Sexton Hardcastle announces, proud to be taking the spotlight.

 

"It's shox. SHOX. With an X."

 

"That's what I said! Aftershocks!"

 

"... room... spinning..."

 

...

 

"So anyways," Sexton says, as a screen drops down behind him showing the promo shot for Magnifico/Davenport, "From the Fire's main event had these two guys. And...

 

... and, uh...

 

... they... fought... each other...

 

How am I doing, Pat?

 

Why are you-"

 

The SWF is experiencing some technical difficulties... please stand by...

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The SWF is experiencing some technical difficulties... please stand by...

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The SWF is experiencing some technical difficulties... please stand by...

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The SWF is experiencing some technical difficulties... please-"

 

We're back in the Aftershoxx studio, where a crudely assembled sock puppet fills the screen.

 

"Hi everybody! I'm SOCKston Hardcas-"

 

The SWF is experiencing some technical difficulties... please stand by...

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The SWF is experiencing some technical difficulties... please stand by...

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The SWF is experiencing some technical difficulties... please stand-"

 

A cardboard cutout of Ben Hardy now takes the stage, as we hear Sexton shouting the background "No! Not the men in the white coats! I don't want to go back the-"

 

...

 

 

...

 

 

...

 

 

"Er... uh... SO!" someone shouts from offscreen, in their best Ben Hardy voice, "the From the Fire main event saw El Luchadore Magnifico, the unstoppable World Champion, taking on a challenger who some said was a fluke, Wes Davenport! How did it all turn out? Let's watch!"

 

-=-=-

 

So at first, they like... fought... and stuff...

 

*DING! DING! DING!*

 

With the bell run, and the match officially underway, the fans expect an absolute frenetic pace and chaotic action to fill the ring! Their hopes are dashed however, as neither man moves from their corner. Magnifico seems totally nonchalant, examining his cuticles and pondering where he’ll celebrate his victory tonight- at a club, perhaps, or maybe his penthouse suite?

 

On the opposite side of the ring, Davenport looks dead ahead, suddenly frozen in time. He’d imagined a sweet victory tonight, but now that he’s in the ring, the gravity of the situation suddenly dawns on him. The Luchadore’s behavior has him completely off-guard and doubting himself yet again, but he’s suddenly brought back to reality as…

 

DAVEN-PORT!

 

DAVEN-PORT!

 

DAVEN-PORT!

 

…his fans, his support net, suddenly break into unanimous chanting!

 

DAVEN-PORT!

 

DAVEN-PORT!

 

DAVEN-PORT!

 

“All of these fine people are eager to see justice prevail this evening,” Comet announces, as the chant continues unabated, much to his pleasure, “and see our fine World Title around the waist of someone we can truly be proud of!”

 

“I guess they’ll have to wait until I finally make my return,” retorts King, smirking delightfully. “Don’t fool yourself, Comet, Davenport is afraid of what’s to come. Much like his movie career, he’s going down in flames tonight, and the sooner you realize--“

 

But before King can launch into yet another anti-Davenport tirade, the man himself suddenly comes to life, charging across the squared circle with all haste, and intent in his eyes!

 

SMACK!

 

… but the reenergized actor suddenly has his power cut in violent fashion as Magnifico hits him with a standing dropkick, right to the jaw! “Wes is going to make a fool of himself if he doesn’t give up now,” King proudly boasts as Magnifico quickly moves into a cover, with referee Placeholder right there on the scene!

 

ONE

 

 

 

 

 

 

TWO - but only a two count is reached before Davenport powers out! Magnifico, though slightly concerned at Wes’ powerful show of defiance, continues his assault on the actor, albeit in casual fashion. Lifting Davenport to his feet, the Mexican shoots him into the ropes, and on Wes’ return, drops to the canvas in a flash, taking Wes down with a Drop Toe Hold, while locking in a Crossface at the same time! A muted gasp is heard from the crowd as Davenport hits the mat, and Magnifico tries to lock in the Sangria Stretch! “That’s it, it’s all over,” says King, already getting up from his seat. “This time I get the window seat, Comet.”

 

… But King may have been a tad hasty in his forecast, because as soon as the World Champion has the hold locked on, Davenport suddenly pushes throws all his weight forward, breaking the hold through sheer power! The fans voice their delighted approval, much to the Champion’s distaste as he retreats-but only temporarily. “Well, well,” says the Superhero as King slinks back into his seat, “the man you incessantly call an inept buffoon, Wes Davenport, counters Magnifico’s hold with ease!”

 

“Hey…” King answers, genuinely offended. “I never said inept buffoon, I said freaking moron.”

 

“Nevertheless,” continues Comet, leering at King, “the nefarious Magnifico thought he could get a quick and decisive victory in so little time, but was foiled by Wes, who proves to be full of surprises!”

 

And, like, Wes was doing pretty good, I think... I don't remember too well, I was drinking a lot that night...

 

Then to add insult to injury, the Luchadore pokes him in the eyes, sending the actor stumbling away with a yelp! Placeholder gets in Magnifico’s face, but the Mexican just brushes past him, feeling like he could do just about anything right now…

 

 

CRACK!

 

 

… That is, until a Standing Side Kick from Wes Davenport knocks the taste right out of his mouth! “Das Boot, Das Boot!” Comet incessantly yells. “Our diligent Davenport scores with the equalizer, but now he just has to follow up!”

 

“Hey, you’re not calling people Citizen’s anymore.”

 

“When did I ever?” Magnifico wobbles back and forth, but won’t fall down! The Mexican simply rubs his jaw and darts right back towards the frustrating actor, who dodges to the side, takes him by the arm and flings Magnifico across the ring with an Arm Drag! The simple maneuver won’t keep Magnifico away for long, but it gives the crowd a little hope as the Luchadore grunts, the actor’s show of defiance starting to get on his nerves. The crowd’s cheers suddenly lift in intensity, which cause Magnifico to spit in the general direction of the tens of thousands of fans… but the momentary distraction gives Wes a small window which he exploits, rushing forward and crashing into the World Champion with a clothesline! Magnifico whirls back to his feet, but loses his way and walks right into another Davenport clothesline!

 

The Champion charges across the ring with blistering pace, his crosshairs set on Davenport as he throws his whole body forward with a spear… that misses, and the momentum sends Magnifico’s shoulder straight into the ring post! The bone crunching impact only serves to excite the crowd as they cheer, their enthusiasm returning as they chant--

 

DAVEN-PORT!

 

DAVEN-PORT!

 

--and the actor hears it, even if he’s still groggy. ELM, for once, is the one moaning in pain as he is suddenly spun around and shoved between Davenport’s legs! Magnifico is hoisted high into the air, on top of Davenport’s shoulders as the crowd rise from their seats! Magnifico tries to fight back, firing a string of forearm blows to the top of his head, causing Wes to stagger, but the Mexican’s efforts are for naught as—

 

 

 

WHAM!

 

 

 

--Davenport throws Magnifico off his shoulders and down to the canvas, right on the point of his shoulder! “Fantastic work!” Comet gushes, getting on King’s nerves. “Davenport got his first SWF win with just the same combination, and he may just win his first World Title with it too!”

 

The actor keeps hold of Magnifico, though the constant blows to the head make it hard to do so. Placeholder slides over as quick as he can as he counts—

 

ONE

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

TWO-NO! Magnifico pushes out with his powerful legs at a two count, causing Davenport to almost whimper to himself! “Do you really think Magnifico would go down that easily?” scoffs King. “Better men have tried and failed, and so will Davenport, no matter how powerful he may be.”

 

“But he’s given himself another chance,” counters Comet. “The vile Luchadore has dominated, I’ll admit, but it shows something about Wes’ character and strength of will that he won’t go down, even if things seem hopeless!”

 

But Magnifico's awesome and all, so you know, he did some cool stuff too...

 

BAM!

 

 

 

 

… Planting him on the back of his head with a Fisherman Buster!

 

BOOOOOOOOOOO!

 

“And the Barrio Buster has Davenport done and dusted!” King smirks, showing Comet’s not the only one with alliteration skills. “The awesome leverage Magnifico has just shows why he’s on top of the mountain right now. He could be stymied by his physical limitations, but he works around them and-“

 

“Darn it King, put a sock in it!” Comet shouts, much to everyone’s surprise. “Magnifico is a great wrestler, we all know that! I’m just so tired of hearing about him, and it breaks my heart to see such a man hold our World Title! Even if Davenport fails, someone else will be there to right the wrongs!”

 

Davenport lies flat on his back, his eyes closed and his mind seemingly gone wandering. Magnifico runs a hand through his hair, looking down at his palm to find it smeared with blood. The Champion grunts as he spits in Davenport’s face before hooking him by the leg, the end only three seconds away…

 

ONE

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

TWO

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

THHHHHRRRRRRRRREEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!!

 

… But Davenport kicks out at the last possible second to a massive wave of delirious cheers!

 

 

 

RRRRRRRAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHH!

 

 

 

“… But it may not yet come to that!” Comet cries happily. “By Zeus, Davenport just refuses to lie down! He’s not just a mere actor anymore King!”

 

“He’s a damn fool is what he is,” King fires back. “He’s survived, somehow, but he hasn’t proved to me that he can win. Sooner or later, it will all come to an end.”

 

The fans refuse to listen to King, as usual, and still cheer their hearts out. The Luchadore Champion pulls himself to his feet, still not impressed with Davenport in the slightest. ELM grabs Davenport by the hair and forces him to his feet, leaving the beaten and bloodied actor stooped over, a defeated man. Magnifico grins as he fires off a forearm shot, looking to the crowd to see their reaction.

 

BOOOOOOOOOOOO!

 

Magnifico scoffs as he fires off another shot, and another! He decides to end it now as he takes Davenport by the hand and whips him into the strands, licking his lips as the actor returns in shaky fashion. Magnifico suddenly drops to the canvas in a flash, taking Wes down with a picture perfect Drop Toe Hold, while locking in a Crossface at the exact same time! A muted gasp is heard from the crowd as Davenport hits the mat, and Magnifico attempts to lock in the dreaded Sangria Stretch!

 

“YES!” cries King as every fan in the arena rises from their seats, knowing that the end is near for Davenport. “Magnifico, INSULTED by the mere presence of an actor in his ring, will humiliate him in front of the entire world by making the bastard tap! It’s perfect; I can’t imagine a better ending.”

 

Magnifico takes his time applying the move, making sure Davenport’s left leg is snared between his ankles’s as he leans forward, his fingers almost touching as he wrenches back on Davenport’s neck. The crowd do all they can to inspire Davenport—

 

DAVEN-PORT!

 

DAVEN-PORT!

 

DAVEN-PORT!

 

--but their best efforts are to no avail as the World Champion’s hands finally clasp together, and the hold is locked in tight as Davenport flails about like a madman, the pain simply excruciating!

 

But then, Davenport did this thing here...

 

DAVEN-PORT!

 

DAVEN-PORT!

 

DAVEN-PORT!

 

Despite the spit smattering across his face, and the pain shooting through his body, Davenport grits his teeth and bears it. “I’m surprised,” King smugly admits, “I thought Davenport would have given up the second Magnifico locked in the hold, but I guess even B-Movie hacks have their pride, huh?“

 

Suddenly, Placeholder scurries away as Davenport plants both of his big, sweaty palms into the canvas. Magnifico looks surprised, but takes it as a sign that he’ll no doubt give up soon, but much to his shock, Wes pushes his right leg off the mat, cringing as Magnifico tightens his hold on his left. With a show of strength, he pushes off the canvas with his right hand and left leg, leaving his left hand firmly planted against the canvas. “… What the hell—“

 

With little warning, Davenport suddenly pushes himself off the mat and rolls out to the side with Magnifico STILL clinging on! The plucky Mexican, the hold still applied, finds Davenport hurl body on top of his, arching his back and pressing his weight down on Magnifico’s shoulders as Placeholder slides over for the count, the crowd still dumbstruck-

 

ONE

 

 

 

 

 

Shocked he’s in such a position, Magnifico lets go of Davenport’s neck…

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

TWO

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

… But this only causes Davenport to fall on top of Magnifico, his dead weight collapsing against his chest…

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

…Magnifico tries desperately to pry his shoulder loose…

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

THHHRRRRRREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!! The crowd can scarcely believe their eyes as Magnifico shoots his arm into the air, but it’s too late! Referee Placeholder, shocked himself, remembers his duties as he springs to his feet and calls for the bell!

 

 

 

 

 

 

*DING! DING! DING!*

 

 

 

 

 

 

King’s jaw drops. “What… just happened?”

 

…

 

The crowd’s jubilation is overwhelming as Funyon grabs his mic, proudly announcing, “Here is your winner… and the… NEW! S-W-F World Heavyweight Champion… WES DAAAAVVVVEEEEEENNNNNNPPOOOORRRRRT!”

 

“It’s over! Wes did it!” Comet deliriously cries as Davenport rolls out to the side and falls in a big heap on the concrete floor outside as “Get Over It” begins to blare through the speakers! Magnifico sits up, looking all around him and finding the crowd in a frenzy! The realization finally sinks in as Placeholder takes the World Title all the way around the ring and handing it to Wes Davenport as he wearily climbs onto his feet. Neither Magnifico, nor Wes himself, can believe what just happened.

 

“Oh no…” King mutters as Comet leans over with a huge, satisfied grin on his dial. “Don’t you start—“

 

“Finding it a little hard to believe my friend?” responds Comet, remembering King’s smug spiel at the conclusion of the last Pay Per View. “I guess I’ll explain it to you!”

 

“Ugh…”

 

“You see,“ begins Comet, “Magnifico seemingly had the match won. With Davenport locked in the Sangria Stretch, who wouldn’t believe that? But our Davenport pulled yet another crafty veteran maneuver out of his hat, those so-called “flukes” of yours, and countered just as Magnifico did at the Clusterfeck against JJ Johnson, reversing the submission into a pin! With Magnifico’s giant ego, he could never in his wildest dreams think that Wes would pull off such a counter!”

 

“But believe it or not,” continues the Superhero as Davenport looks down at his newly won gold, a wave of satisfaction and joy overcoming him, “that man did what no one else could, and is our new World Champion!”

 

“This is a nightmare, it has to be,” King replies, watching Davenport slowly raise the title above his head to the sheer delight of the fans, “Hit me, Comet, wake me the hell up!”

 

 

-=-=-

 

"Well there you have it," Hardy's carboard cutout 'says' as we return to the studio. "Wes Davenport went into From the Fire without a chance in hell, and he walked out the SWF World Heavyweight Champion...

 

... yeah...

 

... that's pretty cool...

 

... ok then."

[chirs3 0]

”Ladies and gentlemen the following mach is an Ultraviolent title match” Funyon starts out.

 

”I walk a lonely road

The only one that I have ever known”

 

Bruce’s new music doesn’t immediately draw a hostile reaction as the fans have yet to associate “Boulevard of Broken Dreams” with Bruce Blank but the moment the 6’7’’ monster steps through the curtains with the Ultraviolent title around his waist they make it immediately obvious how they feel about him.

 

WHITEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE TRASH!! WHITEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE TRASH!!

 

”Don't know where it goes

But it's home to me and I walk alone”

 

If he’s phased by the hostile reaction Bruce doesn’t show it instead he just holds up his newly acquired “Eliminator” (a 2 by 4 with 30-40 nails through the “head” of it) high up in the air as he walks towards the ring.

 

”I walk this empty street

On the Boulevard of Broken Dreams”

 

“Coming to the ring from Mobile, Alabama – weighting in at 295 pounds on the 195th day of his Ultraviolent title reign this is the self professed “King of Pain” BRUCEEEEEEEEEEE BLANK!!!”

 

BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!

 

Dreams Broken: 12

 

”Where the city sleeps

and I’m the only one and I walk alone”

 

Bruce steps over the top rope into the ring where he cockily leans back against the corner with the Eliminator draped over his shoulder.

 

“And his opponent” Funyon starts – but that’s all he says as Joseph Peters makes his way from backstage towards the ring.

 

“I’m sorry but there is a slight problem with this match” Peters says as he gets up on the apron (yes he brought his own microphone, it’s a perk)

 

Bruce looks at Peters and wonders what the hell the little man is on about.

 

“We have a problem Bruce. You see Michael Cross took quite a beating at From the Fire, coupled with the heinous attack from Kevin Coyote on Lockdown and well… “ Peters kinda doesn’t know exactly how to say thing.

 

“Spill it Peters” Bruce demands.

 

“Mr. Cross insisted that he would be here tonight and that he would work through the pain just to get his opportunity against you Bruce” Peters says

 

Bruce looks rather pissed off as he can see where this is going.

 

“The doctors have just informed me that they cannot give him clearance to compete tonight. He will need a little more time to recuperate before they will let him back in the ring again. So Bruce, there will be no title match tonight – sorry but that’s how it is”

 

Peters steps down off the apron after delivering the news to Bruce Blank, but Bruce isn’t one to just take this lying down. He grabs the microphone out of Funyon’s hand as he looks like he’s got something to say.

 

“So that’s it?” Bruce asks.

 

The question makes Peters stop half way down the aisle and turn around.

 

“That’s it? “Sorry Bruce go to the back”?? That’s all you’ve got for me?” Bruce says angrily

 

“What do you want me to do? He’s not medically cleared and there is no way the SWF or its backers can take that kind of risk just for an Ultraviolent title match, it’s just not going to happen” Peters explains once again as if Bruce didn’t get the message the first time.

 

“Heh! The little weasel is probably just hiding somewhere shaking in his boots” Bruce says drawing a loud round of boos from the audience. Not that that deters him at all.

 

“This is what I get? That’s it? I come out here for the THIRD SHOW IN A ROW ready to defend my title and prove once again that no one can do what I do and I get some song and dance about medical clearance and injuries and what not? Listen pal I get injured all the time! In fact I came here tonight still taped up from the match with the Renegade but I’m here, I’m ready to go!!” Bruce spits out as he gets angrier and angrier.

 

Joseph Peters wisely just keeps quiet as Bruce rants on.

 

“I get no damn respect in this place! NO DAMN RESPECT!” Bruce yells out “Look at me – LOOK AT ME PETERS!! If you ever dismiss me as “Just the Ultraviolent champion” I will knock you on your ass.”

 

Peters looks at a very agitated and angry Bruce who’s figuratively foaming at the mouth.

 

“I’m not “just” any-damn-thing!! I’m the second longest champion this place has ever seen – I’m the busiest damn champion this place has ever seen to boot! None of these supposed greats have been able to keep the schedule I’ve kept!! 12 times, TWELEVE TIMES I’ve been successful in Ultraviolent title matches – There isn’t a champion alive that could match my pace!” Bruce asks not really expecting an answer.

 

Bruce points at Peters with the Eliminator to make sure that he’s listening and that everyone else in the back is listening to what he has to say.

 

“In my short time in this federation I’ve ended undefeated streaks, I’ve PINNED the longest reigning cruiserweight champion ever hell I’ve pinned the current Cruiserweight champion! I’ve pinned the longest reigning champion EVER right in the middle of the ring for a 1-2-3 damn it! I’ve beaten former tag-team champions, supposedly undefeated Japanese monsters and even a former World Heavyweight Champion!! And what do I get?”

 

. . .

 

“No damn respect! Not for me, not for my title, not for MY division!!” Bruce says as he taps the Ultraviolent title around his waist “I took a dying division and lit it ablaze! I AM THIS TITLE!”

 

“No doubt your accomplishments are impressive Bruce, especially considering that you haven’t been here that long” Peters admits.

 

“My past accomplishments will pale in comparison to my future Peters. Two shows in a row I’ve successfully defended my title – I was prepared to make it three in a row without any problems.” Bruce brags

 

“Bruce, pal – three shows in a row would have been an almost impossible task for anyone” Peters says

 

“You think so? You really think that little of me? Let me tell you something little man – in my division I’M UNBEATABLE!! I’ve lost in regular matches sure, tag matches and what not, but when it comes to the Ultraviolent division I have yet to be surpassed and I’ll prove it to you! You go through your little files and you drag out a challenger for EACH AND EVERY SHOW UNTIL BATTLEGROUND!! And I will knock them off one at a time”

 

“Whoa, whoa, whoa!!” Peters says shocked at Bruce’s boldness “Did you say every show? That’s (Peters counts on his fingers) 7 shows in a row?”

 

“Damn right – I’m throwing down a challenge: it’s real simple SWF alls you got to do is Beat the Champ!

 

With that Bruce throws the microphone down on the canvas and leaves the ring, he’s laid out the “Beat the Champ challenge” now it’s up to the SWF if anyone will take it.

 

*Fade Out*