the.weej

The arena is silent except for the murmuring of the crowd, but that quickly changes a massive wall of blue and silver pyrotechnics fires up all across the stage, Cypress Hill's "How I Could Just Kill A Man" kicking into action as Stryke steps out onto the stage wearing the USJL Title belt! The crowd rise to their feet in boos, Stryke quickly heading down the ramp to the beat and climbing up onto the ring apron. The Australian pauses to look out into the crowd, and as the chorus hits Stryke steps to the second turnbuckle and raises his arms to the crowd, further drawing their ire as Funyon commences the introductions. ”Ladies and gentlemen, the following contest is scheduled for one fall. Making his way to the ring, from Sydney, Australia, and weighing in at 217 pounds, the USJL Unified Champion… STRYKE!” Stryke hops over the top rope and into the ring, casually leaning back on the ropes as he waits for his opponent. “And his opponent…” The lights dim, and for a moment, everything is quiet. Then, as the SmarkTron lights up, and the guitars begin to vibrate through the arena, the fans leap to their feet! They begin to roar with approval as the Philosopher Kings’ “I Am The Man” rocks out through the arena, accompanied by a burst of blue pyro. The SmarkTron breaks into the video. Ego Buster! SUPERIOR ONE Boilermaker! AWARD-WINNING Ego Trip! MAIN ATTRACTION Logical Disconnect! THE MAN The fans continue screaming, some cheering and some booing Flesher. As the smoke clears from the entrance, the Superior One steps out from behind the curtain, prompting another huge pop from the crowd. He stands on the platform in his warm-up suit, folding his arms across his chest and smirking in a self-satisfied manner. He stands there for a few seconds, and is rewarded with a spraying backdrop of white pyro that reduces him to a silhouette. He continues walking, finally entering the ring. “From Buffalo, New York, and weighing in at 231 pounds, ‘the Superior One,’ TOM FLESHER!!!!!” Flesher nods, strips off his warm-up and stretches out as Eddy Long calls both competitors to the center. DING DING DING!!!! “And this one’s underway,” says Bobby Riley. “Flesher and Stryke, two of the SWF’s eldest statesmen, are competing once again.” “Again?” asks Comet. “Have they faced off before?” “Eh,” Riley shrugs. “I’m not sure, so let’s say yes.” Flesher starts off the match in a low crouching stance, telegraphing a coming leg attack. Stryke circles around, trying to avoid the attack he can see from a mile away, but Flesher shoots in and snags his ankle anyway! Stryke posts one hand on Flesher’s head and quickly slips his leg up and out, swinging it away from the Superior One’s hands. He pivots with one foot on the mat and reaches down, locking Flesher in a front facelock. Tom stands up, trying to get into better position and fight his way out, but Stryke quickly spins out and takes Flesher to the mat with a swinging neckbreaker! Stryke covers him as he hits the mat, but Flesher kicks out before Eddy Long can make a count. “Tom Flesher tries to take control,” says Bobby Riley, “but Stryke is ready for him and counters the low single into a swinging neckbreaker.” “Of course, Stryke isn’t about to get an early fall on someone like Tom Flesher, and so the match will continue in the continuing pursuit of…” “I thought we had an agreement about using the J-word, Comet.” “I would do no such thing. After all, it’s the catchphrase that sells t-shirts.” As Tom Flesher starts to get to his feet, Stryke quickly hops to a vertical base. Flesher moves in, angling for position, but Stryke ducks under his arm and sprints across the ring. Caught by surprise, Flesher quickly turns around, only to see the Sydney native flying at him with a dropkick! Tom staggers backwards and into the ropes, where another well-placed dropkick sends him tumbling to the outside! This draws a cheer from the crowd, always happy to see action. Flesher quickly gets to his feet as Stryke grabs the top rope with both hands and slingshots over it. Flesher looks up, but doesn’t have enough time to avoid the plancha as Stryke falls down toward him! The fans cheer the high-risk maneuver as Stryke gets up, dusts himself off and grabs Flesher by the straps of his singlet. He rolls the Superior One back into the ring, then follows quickly after. He pulls Flesher to his feet and lifts him off the mat, then sits out before hammering Flesher to the mat with a scoop slam! Stryke hooks one of Flesher’s legs, and Eddy Long counts ONE! but no more, as Flesher kicks out and rolls to his stomach. “Stryke nails the sit-out scoop slam, but only gets one,” says Bobby Riley. “The USJL Champion came into this match with a head of steam,” says Comet, “and seems to be capitalizing on that as he dominates the early portion of the match. Flesher, on the other hand, is unable to buy a break, as he toes the line between the white of goodness and the inky black of evil. As it stands, he seems to be a dovish shade of grey, and we shall see which side develops in this encounter.” Flesher sits up, as Stryke backs away and measures him for another attack. Tom gets to his knees, and Stryke charges at him, throwing a low enzuigiri! Flesher ducks, though, bellying down to the mat as Stryke overextends and lands on the mat! Flesher gets up, shaking out the last few minutes of beatings. Stryke gets onto his hands and knees, but Flesher nonchalantly boots him in the face and sends him back to the mat. Once again, Stryke tries to get up, but the annoyed-looking former World Champion simply stiffs him in the face with a Doc Marten once again as he tries to regain his bearings. “Look at that killer instinct,” says Riley admiringly. “Flesher doesn’t give a damn about his opponent. Not in the least.” “Of course, that could be because he’s delusional,” Comet replies. “After all, Flesher has shown an aptitude for self-aggrandizement the likes of which have never graced an SWF ring before.” “And you are…?” “Cyclooooooooooooooooooone COMET~!” shouts the color man. “Point being?” “Never mind.” Flesher cracks his neck and appears to be ready to fight again, just as Stryke gets back up. Tom turns around and unloads a stiff kick to the thigh of his opponent! Stryke’s leg shakes as he catches the full impact unexpectedly, but the Australian maintains his balance. Flesher casually whacks him again, nailing him in the meat of the quadriceps muscle with the steel toe of his combat boot. This time, Stryke’s leg shakes a little more, and he drops to one knee. Flesher takes that as a sign and charges toward him, nailing him with a short-range Yakuza kick and putting him on the mat. Flesher covers him for ONE!! NO! Stryke kicks out! Flesher rolls his eyes and slams a forearm down across the bridge of Stryke’s nose. He grinds the bone of his arm across Stryke’s face and once again goes for the fall. Eddy Long counts ONE!! TWO!!! NO! Once again, Stryke kicks out. “Flesher gets one, then two, but can’t seem to finish the job,” says Riley. “And once again, we have concern that Tom Flesher has lost something in the translation,” says Comet. “Perhaps his espousal of the darker side, as with his attack of Allison Onita last week, has led him to corrupt. Absolute power does, after all, corrupt absolutely.” “I don’t know, Comet. You were the one who said last week that there wasn’t really anything wrong with hitting Allison with that chair,” says Riley. “Besides, we saw Flesher bump into both of the Onitas this afternoon, and Allison wasn’t angry at all.” Stryke tries to sit up, but Flesher whacks him with a palm strike that puts him back on the mat. From there, the Superior One grabs his opponent by the right leg and drags him to the center. He spins around, applying a spinning toehold to Stryke’s right leg, and before the Australian can counter, bars the left leg and falls back into a figure four leglock! The fans pop as Flesher tightens the hold, and Stryke struggles to reach the ropes! “Fans,” says Cyclone Comet, “we’re sorry to have to do this, but we need to take a commercial break! We’ll be right back!” Riley raises an eyebrow. “What the he-?” === The camera zooms in on Michael Craven, sitting at a desk, scowling and eating a bowl of peas. “Craven’s frozen peas,” he growls. “Full of Cravenosity and green pea-ness.” He pauses. “Wait, that’s terrible. I quit.” He gets up and walks away. “I wish I had a beard,” he murmurs as he walks offscreen. “This bit’s just not as good without the French fry caught in the beard.” === As the camera returns to Smarkdown, Stryke is leaning in a corner, his back to the turnbuckles. Tom Flesher is standing in front of him and alternately whacking him with kicks to the thigh, palm strikes and backhands. Stryke tries to fight his way out and attempts to block the strikes, but simply can’t keep up! Eventually, a well-placed kick to the left quad takes Stryke’s leg out from under him once again, and leaves him sitting in the corner. The fans begin to cheer as Flesher grabs the ropes for balance. “And here we have a prime example of the darkening of Flesher’s tendencies,” says Cyclone Comet worriedly. “His actions in the ring are blackening like an overcooked piece of steak, and as we all know, a well-done steak is as good as leather.” “What the hell are you talking about?” asks Riley, truly perplexed. “Oh, it’s vital to security and crimefighting. You wouldn’t understand it.” Completely disregarding the discussion of steak and leather, Flesher lifts his boot off the mat and plants it in Stryke’s face. Then, with all the force he can muster, he scrapes the sole of the boot across Stryke’s face! The USJL Champion convulses in pain and tries to cover up, but Flesher kicks his hands down and scrapes his face once again with the sole of his boot! The fans cheer the callous attack as Flesher kicks Stryke in the face one final time and then executes a third bootscrape! He steps back and begins a golf-clap, and the fans go absolutely wild! “Regardless of the dovish coloring of Flesher’s hawkish tendencies, it seems that the fans are still beholden to him,” Comet notes. “Sadly, they may be chasing a rainbow.” “I thought we had an agreement about using that phrase.” Flesher reaches down and grabs Stryke’s hand, lifting him to his feet. He starts to whip Stryke across the ring, and the Australian quickly regains his momentum and hits the ropes. He bounces up to the middle rope and arches back, nailing Flesher with an Asai moonsault! He lands on top, holding Tom for ONE!!! TWO!!!!! NO! Flesher gets a shoulder up, but is still slightly stunned. Stryke stands up, grabbing Flesher by the head and putting him in a standing headscissors. He reaches down, threading Flesher’s arm through his legs for a pumphandle. The crowd reacts, but before Stryke can lift Flesher up for the Low End Theory, Flesher executes a quick forward roll! He stands up, hands locked with Stryke’s, and pulls his opponent into a short-arm palm blow! Stryke collapses to the mat, and Flesher covers him for ONE!!! TWO!!!! THR- NO!!!! Stryke kicks out! Flesher lifts Stryke back up and drops down, going for a low single leg, this time grabbing for the right leg! Stryke once again drops back, avoiding Flesher’s grip and swinging the right leg back. This time, though, Flesher pivots on the mat and picks Stryke’s left knee, lifting the leg off the mat! In a flash, he stands up and hooks Stryke’s head. Quickly, he arches back, locking his hands and executing a picture-perfect fisherman’s suplex! ONE!!!! TWO!!!!! THREE!!!!!!!!!!!!!! DING DING DING!!!! Just after the bell, Stryke kicks and breaks the cradle! Flesher, though, has already won the match! He rolls out of the ring and raises his arms, showing his win for all to see! “Tom Flesher snags a flash pin in this match against Stryke,” says Bobby Riley. “If there’s one thing that’s clear, though, it’s that Flesher is more than willing to focus on kicking the crap out of anyone who’s smaller than he is.” “Will that include another face-off with Ann Onita, or will Flesher merely be making a run at the Cruiserweight Championship?” asks Comet. “Only time,” he says, “will tell.” === The show fades out, and a commercial fills the screen. “From the left, I’m Paul Begala,” says the balding midget. “And from the right, I’m Tucker Carlson,” says the mop-topped, bow-tied commentator. “We hope you’ll join us on CNN’s Crossfire every day at 4:30, where you can watch me continually assault Paul Begala like so.” Carlson picks up a steel chair and slams it over Begala’s head. Begala collapses to the chair, murmuring, “I wish James Carville was here.” “And now,” says Carlson, “back to clubbing baby seals. ~fin~

Backstage, Interim Commissioner Alex Zenon has no time to relax in his new position, going right to work on the many qualms that face the Smartmarks Wrestling Federation, signing unseen papers. After a moment, Zenon sighs, putting down his pen for a moment and just looking at the avalanche of paper. CRACK Zenon’s eyes suddenly dart up from his desk and over to the door of his backstage “office,” or what was left of it as a blur of flesh tumbles through the door, slamming it against the wall and sending it recoiling back. The blur of flesh is revealed to be none other than SWF Champion Charlie Matthews and leader of the Unnamed John Duran! The camera zooms in on Duran and the Grappler, as Duran hammers away at the Champion, grunting with every right hand. Zenon gets over the shock of these two big men brawling right in front of him long enough to yell, “Security!” After a moment, the yellow shirts flood the room with the goal of protecting the Commissioner from any stray attacks by these men, immediately splitting up Grappler and Duran as the security team leads Duran away by his arms. “Won’t be much longer, Charlie!” Duran yells as the security takes him back through the door he no doubt dented. “Your time’s running out!” The Notorious One’s words echo through the narrow corridor outside Zenon’s office as security helps the World Champion to his feet and leads him out of the office. Zenon can only gawk in amazement. “Better do something about this,” Zenon remarks about the situation, before sighing again and falling back in his comfortable chair as the scene fades to black.

“Welcome back to Smarkdown, citizens!” Cyclone Comet greets the audience as the live feed returns to East Rutherford. “During the commercial break following Psychological Warfare’s defeat of Danny Williams and Dace Night - a defeat that I for one consider something of an upset - these scenes took place!” A still picture appears of the outside of the Continental Airlines Arena with the words “During The Break” in the bottom right-hand corner. As Comet finishes speak it starts playing, a fire door slamming open and the rather battered-looking figures of Toxxic and Jimmy Liston piling out. The two stop and look around desperately but moments later a car pulls up alongside them with a screech of brakes. The driver’s door opens and a girl with black-and-red dreadlocks pops out. “C’mon, get in!” she yells, and Toxxic jumps into the passenger’s seat whilst Liston dives into the back. Immediately the girl shuts the door again and evidently slams on the accelerator as the car roars off - just in the nick of time, as out of the fire door comes the menacing seven-foot figure of the Black Angel Aecas. A couple of seconds later he is followed by the even bigger shape of Terrence Bailey and the two Unholy Trinity members stare after the retreating car. “Shit!” Aecas erupts, turning and kicking the door so hard it slams into the wall and rebounds. The Black Angel angrily strides back towards the doorway, muttering “C’mon, Terrence,” as he passes the Anti-Heel Machine, but Terrence Bailey continues to stare out into the night for several seconds. As the Australian turns to follow his friend the outside lights of the arena seem to reflect oddly off his eyes, making them appear to glow red for a moment... “Well, Comet,” Bobby Riley says as the picture freezes once more before returning to the two commentators seated at the announce table, “it’s certainly gratifying to see that Toxxic and Liston were able to get away from their hard-earned victory without being assaulted by that psychotic pair!” “Perhaps, Robert,” Comet says in the tone of voice that means “No Way In Hell”. “However, what I want to know is who their mystery accomplice was.” “Some girl - that’s all we need to know,” Riley replies disinterestedly. “You might think that,” Comet counters, looking hard at his partner, “but although we only saw the back of her head she seemed to me to bear a resemblance to the girl who accosted Toxxic during his hardcore match on Lockdown, having previously mugged a Girl Scout for her uniform!” “You see conspiracy theories everywhere,” Riley snorts. “What’s up next?” “Well, since you ask Robert, the next match on tonight’s card is the mouth-watering confrontation between Stryke and the Superior One Tom Flesher!” “Really?” Riley asks, perking up. “Well, maybe I’ll be able to stay awake for the next twenty minutes after all...”

“Welcome back to SWF SMARKDOWN!!!” Cyclone Comet yells as the cameras pan around the Continental Airlines Arena. “Next, former stablemates Danny and Dace take on the team of Toxxic and Jimmy Liston, but the question on many people’s lips is: will Danny Williams come back to the Unholy Trinity?” “He can’t!” Bobby Riley objects. “A Trinity is three people, Comet. If Danny were to be added, it would become some weird, four-pointed Trinity, which would just prove that as well as being nuts, they can’t count!” The gentle melodies of In Flames’ “Jester’s Dance” emerge from the PA system and the East Rutherford crowd gets to its feet in a show of respect for a man they thought had left the SWF for good. As the chant of “DAN-E! DAN-E!” begins Danny Williams pushes his way through the curtain and makes his way onto the platform - but he is not alone, as Dace Night follows him out too! “The following tag team contest is for one fall,” Funyon booms as Williams and Night marche down the aisle, one with head held high and the other throwing the horns to the crowd. “Introducing first; from Lousville, Kentucky, weighing 243lbs... DANNY... WILLL-IIIAAAAAMMMSSSS!!” “This is great, Robert,” Comet says, wiping a tear from one eyehole of his mask. “Dace Night shows his respect by coming out to Danny’s music and a man - a former World Champion - whom we thought had gone for good has made his return to the business he loves!” “What, is there a bout of Stryke Syndrome going round?” Riley mutters sourly. “Besides, Danny has had two matches in the last two months and lost them both - talk about ringrust.” “And his partner,” Funyon continues. “From Birmingham England, weighing 253lbs... DACE...” “FUCKING!” the crowd interject. “NIGHT!” Funyon finishes resignedly. The two men enter the ring, then hug each other with slaps on the back before backing away from the entrance ramp, discussing tactics. “These two men know each other so well,” Comet says. “Tonight they have a chance to get revenge on a man who has disrespected both of them recently!” “Ah, but a new tag team is always an unknown quantity,” Riley observes. “I think Dace and Danny might be in for a little surprise...” The blacked-out Smarktron merely shows a white ankh; suddenly drums, guitars and strings explode into life as Dimmu Borgir’s ‘Progenies Of The Great Apocalypse’ blasts out over the speakers. The Smarktron screen shatters to display a shot of Psychological Warfare - the Demon wild-eyed, Toxxic grinning his cocky lopsided grin. Red spots light the entrance ramp as the crowd starts to boo. “And their opponents,” Funyon begins, trying to make his voice heard, “at a combined weight of 446 lbs; PSYCHOLOGICAL WAAARRRFFAAARRRRREEEE!!!” White pyros climb the entrance ramp from ringside until the stage explodes with a blast of red pyro as the snarling vocals kick in, smoke clearing to reveal Liston and Toxxic side-by-side. The pair approach the ring, ignoring the fans. As they reach the ring Toxxic locks eyes with first Dace and then Danny, but neither man makes any immediate move. Liston climbs one turnbuckle and thrusts his fists into the air whilst Toxxic ascends the other and sweeps his arms wide, palms flat in his Straight-Edge sign. “You know, that pyro display alone cost a tidy sum,” Comet muses as Liston and Toxxic drop back to the canvas. Referee Sexton Hardcastle gets in the ring, and tells one member of each team to climb onto the apron. Danny and Dace offer each other first turn while Liston climbs out. Dace accepts, and remains in the ring, focused on Toxxic. *DING! DING!* “No surprises here, Robert,” Comet comments as Dace moves forward eagerly. “Citizen Night will want to avenge his loss to Toxxic in their match for the ICTV Title!” “Dace lost fair and square, even with his running buddies at ringside,” Riley retorts. “I don’t see what he has to complain about!” Dace sets himself in the middle of the ring, fully aware that Toxxic is faster than him but confident in his ability to out-wrestle the cocky cruiser. Snapping his head from side to side, Toxxic closes the distance between himself and the High Priest of Horrorcore, but when Dace moves to lock up the Straight-Edge Sensation darts sideways. Dace turns to follow his opponent until he is facing his own corner and with the crowd shouting encouragement he advances towards Toxxic again - but this time the rookie runs forward and squirms through Dace’s legs before scrambling to his corner and tagging in Liston! “It looks like Toxxic is going to toy with Dace, not giving him what he wants!” Riley laughs as Toxxic flips a v-sign at Dace before stepping out onto the apron. “It looks more like cowardice to me, Robert,” Comet opines as Liston and Dace advance towards one another. “Nonsense, Comet!” Riley sneers. “Toxxic is merely allowing Liston to use his raw power to quell the fire in Dace!” “That creative writing course wasn’t worth the money you paid,” is the superhero’s only response. The Demon and the High Priest of Horrorcore size each other up for a moment. They edge closer... closer... and suddenly Dace steps right into his opponent, firing off a vicious elbow smash to the jaw! Liston reels away and Dace follows him, ducking behind the Demon and fastening a rear waistlock on. However as Dace prepares for a German suplex Liston jerks his head backwards, smashing the back of his skull into the bridge of Dace’s nose. Dace’s grip loosens and Liston turns, grabs his opponent and whips him into the ropes. Horrorcore rebounds and comes hurtling at Liston, who stretches out his arm for a clothesline... but Dace ducks, and again slips behind Liston for the rear waistlock! This time Dace hoists Liston up immediately but only drops him on his front before skating over the Demon’s back and clamping on a front facelock. “Citizen Night showing his wrestling ability here,” Comet says as the leader of the Unholy Trinity starts to bring Liston upright. “For all his power moves and vicious strikes, Dace is as good a wrestler as anyone in the SWF!” But even good wrestlers can come unstuck, and although trapped in a front facelock Liston knows exactly where he - and the referee - is at all times. The moment Hardcastle is behind him with his line of sight blocked Liston lashes out and up with his right arm... *CHING!!* “Ballshot!” Riley laughs as Dace’s knees buckle. “Liston isn’t messing around here, he pulled that one out early!” Sexton Hardcastle is very suspicious of Dace’s sudden collapse, but since he didn’t see anything he can’t call anything - a fact that Liston takes quick advantage of by hooking both of Dace’s arms up behind his back as the Brummie Goth bends double in front of him, then bringing him over with an underhook suplex! Rising to his feet again Liston lets out a roar and turns round to tell Dace to come get some more - but he has suplexed Dace into his own corner, and it is Danny Williams who steps through the ropes to face him! “And now Dace tags out, but I don’t hear you calling him a coward!” Riley needles Comet. “Citizen Night has just been hit in the miniature heroes!” Comet replies, outraged. “I think he has an excuse for sitting this out for a minute or so!” Williams advances on the Demon as Dace props himself up on the turnbuckle. Fired up after his success against Dace Liston moves in, but Danny slaps on a headlock and then pivots his hips, taking the Demon down to the mat. Instantly releasing his hold Williams rises back to his feet. The Demon is a little slower up, and his eyes narrow as the former world champion motions him to try again. Growling, Liston goes in again, but this time he is met by a brutal elbow smash. Liston fires back with a right hand, but Danny shakes it off and nails another elbow smash... and another... and as the Demon staggers, Williams slips behind him and gets a rear waistlock in place. Liston jerks his head back, looking to headbutt Danny as he did Dace, but Danny saw Liston do it last time and has his own head held back out of the way. Williams turns until he is facing his own corner - then suddenly arches backwards, launching Liston across the ring with a Dangerous German Suplex that deposits the Demon on his shoulders and neck at Toxxic’s feet. “Danny Williams sending a message to his opponents here,” Comet says as Williams points at Toxxic. “He’s not scared of either of them, and you can bet he wants to get into the ring with the man who mocked him earlier today.” “Which is, of course, Psychological Warfare’s strategy,” Riley replies smugly. Staring at Williams, Toxxic reaches down and tags in the wincing Liston before jumping over the top rope. Danny looks at him as if to say “Yeah, you can bounce - now let’s see you wrestle” and holds out his hands, asking for a test of strength. Cautiously, Toxxic moves in and takes one hand... then the other... then leaps into the air and fires off a dropkick, breaking the grip and using the purchase off Williams’ broad chest to flip backwards and land on one knee. The impact staggers Danny, but the smug lopsided grin on Toxxic’s face doesn’t last for long as Williams charges him. Toxxic rolls to one side, evading the Louisville Elbower, then jumps to the second rope and springboards back at Williams, taking him down with a spinning heel kick! “See Comet!” Riley crows. “Liston can out-cheat Dace, and Toxxic can outmanoeuvre Williams!” Danny Williams is straight back up again, but this time Toxxic moves in and starts peppering the former world champion with right hands. Switching his mode of attack, Toxxic fires off a European Uppercut, then attempts an Irish whip. Reversing the momentum Danny sends Toxxic into the cables instead and then puts his head down for a back bodydrop - but Toxxic drives Williams’ face into his knee, then drops him on his head with a DDT! “Sobering Thought!” Comet calls as Toxxic hooks a leg. “And the first pin of the match...” ONE! TW-kickout! Shrugging, Toxxic drags the woozy Williams over to where Liston waits. The Demon tags in, and as Hardcastle starts the five-count the two men hook Williams’ arms over their shoulders.. then hook both his legs behind the knee... then lift Williams up high and drop him onto his head with a double Fisherman’s Buster! “Trash Compactor!” Riley shouts as Danny writhes on the canvas, clutching his neck. “And Danny Williams is now only five foot tall!” ONE! TWO! TH-kickout! Danny’s shoulder again pops off the canvas, a little slower this time but still well before the three-count. In the far corner Dace starts pounding the top turnbuckle, trying to set up an encouraging chant. “DAN-E!” “DAN-E!” “DAN-E!” “Just listen to the crowd support Danny Williams has!” Comet says as the chants of the East Rutherford faithful rise around him. “It’s overwhelming.” “So people are chanting his name,” Riley snickers. “So what? He’s still getting pummelled in there.” Shrugging his shoulders to try and remove some of the ache left by Danny’s German Suplex, Liston brings the Louisville Elbower to his feet. He grabs Williams’ arms and hooks them underneath his own, then rams his head forward, repeatedly crushing the bridge of his opponent’s nose with a series of headbutts. Danny staggers backwards, but doesn’t fall... so Liston takes him down with the Torment! “A blatant choke there,” Comet says disapprovingly. “How are good and just wrestlers like Danny Williams supposed to prevail against that kind of tactic?” “They aren’t, Comet,” Riley answers. “That’s kind of the point.” Liston uses the full leeway of Hardcastle’s five-count to keep the choke on Williams, releasing a millisecond before the referee disqualifies him. The Demon continues to argue with the official as he reaches over to tag in Toxxic, and as the gasping Danny Williams rises to his knees Liston bends down and grabs him in a gutwrench position, then hoists him up. Instead of suplexing his opponent backwards, however, Liston holds him in mid-air as Toxxic applies a facelock with his left arm - then Liston drops to his knees and Toxxic falls backwards, spiking Danny down onto his head with an assisted high-angle DDT! “And that’s the Re-entry!” Riley laughs. “Neck brace time again, Danny!” Rolling Williams onto his back, Toxxic hooks the leg... ONE! TWO! THREEEEEEEEEE-NOOOOOOOOOOOO!!! “And Dace breaks up the pin!” Comet shouts as Horrorcore kicks Toxxic off his tag partner. “Danny may well have been able to kick out still, but Dace wasn’t taking any chances!” “Dace should stay on the apron and watch his former idol get taken apart,” Riley declares. Clutching his head and glaring at the Brummie being ushered out of the ring by Hardcastle, Toxxic drags Danny Williams upright by one arm then attempts an Irish whip towards a neutral corner. However Williams reverses, then follows the straight-edger in... ...Toxxic vaults to the top rope and comes flying back with a diving clothesline... *SMACK!!* ...and Danny Williams dropkicks him out of the air! “RAAAAAAAAAARRRRRRRR!!!” “DAN-E!” “DAN-E!” “DAN-E!” “I don’t believe it!” Comet nearly screams. “Danny Williams uses a dropkick to reverse the Role Reversal! This man is capable of the high-flying moves, Robert, but it takes something special to bring them out!” “Don’t let him tag!” Riley yells, ignoring his broadcast partner. “Don’t let him tag the psycho in!” As if hearing the colour-commentator’s words Toxxic attempts to rise from the canvas and grab Danny’s ankle, but the Role Reversal is a disorientating move anyway and being dropkicked in the middle of it doesn’t help. Meanwhile Danny shakes his aching head to try and clear it, then focuses on the seemingly distant figure of Dace, leaning over the ropes with hand outstretched... Crawling forward Danny reaches out, but he’s still too far away. He pushes himself up and takes one step... another... and with no other option available, Toxxic rushes forward and grabs his opponent in a rear waistlock. “Not a sight you see everyday!” Comet calls. “Danny Williams is more than capable of outwrestling Toxxic, but is his head working well enough?” Grabbing the hands clasped around his waist Danny appears to think about trying to switch out, amateur-style... but then simply lashes back with an elbow, catching Toxxic in the temple and dropping him to one knee. Clutching his head Toxxic gets back to a vertical base... but Danny Williams lunges forward, tagging in Dace Night! “And Dace is in!” Comet yells as Horrorcore steps through the ropes and rushes at Toxxic with malice aforethought. “Finally, Dace Night is going to get his hands on Toxxic again!” Before Toxxic can even think about moving Dace NAILS him with a brutal running elbow smash, dropping him like the straight-edger would a joint. Barely slowing, Dace barrels into Liston as the Demon stands on the apron and sends him flying off to crash into the guard rail, and the East Rutherford crowd ERUPTS! “Why did Dace attack Liston?” Riley wails as the Brummie flashes the horns at the cheering SWF fans. “What had he done?” “Robert, you know as well as I do that Liston would have jumped Dace from behind in a second,” Comet replies. “Citizen Night is just covering his own back!” With nothing to distract him Dace turns back to Toxxic, the rookie only just picking himself up off the floor. Smiling evilly Dace grabs his opponent’s head in both hands and smashes his knee into Toxxic’s forehead. The Straight-Edge Sensation staggers, but Dace holds him tight and prevents him from falling. Grabbing the back of Toxxic’s trouser Dace changes the point of attack and SLAMS his knee into Toxxic’s ribs, sending the rookie rolling across the ring. “Dace has done his homework!” Comet calls. “Toxxic’s ribs still aren’t 100% after his match against the Insane Luchador and Citizen Night is targeting them with brutal precision!” Sure enough Dace follows up by taking a couple of steps across the ring and dropping an elbow right into Toxxic’s ribs, causing the rookie’s breath to blast out of his lungs. Without hesitation Dace grabs Toxxic and hauls him upright once more before threading the Straight-Edge Sensation’s left arm through his own legs and setting him up in a pumphandle, even this simple position wrenching the rookie’s ribs. Looking around at the crowd Dace grins at the sight of the Unholy Trinity signs - including one reading “Dace: Fuck Him Up!” - and bridges backwards, hurling Toxxic across the ring with a devastating pumphandle suplex! “This is wrong, Comet!” Riley protests as Toxxic’s body bounces limply off the canvas. “Toxxic shouldn’t be stuck in there with a monster like Dace! He still hasn’t recovered from his match against the Insane Luchador!” “That’s the way the cookie crumbles, Robert!” Comet says with some satisfaction. “If Toxxic doesn’t want this sort of reception he should try showing his opponents some respect sometimes! We always knew that if Dace could actually get his hands on Toxxic he’d take him apart - here’s the proof!” Heedless of Bobby Riley’s concerns Dace advances on his smaller opponent. Toxxic tries to move, but the pounding he’s received prevents the double champion from making his escape. Reaching down, Dace locks a front necklock in, choking Toxxic as he drags the rookie upright. Referee Hardcastle calls Dace down for it, but before he can begin a count Dace smashes his knee into Toxxic’s ribs once... twice... then throws Toxxic’s arm over his own neck and brings the rookie up until they make a two-man vertical tower... ...and brings Toxxic down on his head with a sheer-drop brainbuster! Without wasting a second, Dace rolls into the cover and hooks the leg... ONE! TWO! THREEEEE-kickout! “Unbelievable!” Comet shouts. “That brief burst of offence from Dace Night was nearly enough to get the win! Surely Psychological Warfare’s days are numbered now!” Glaring at his opponent Dace grabs Toxxic and hauls him up again. Horrorcore glances over at his own corner but Danny Williams is still looking a little beat-up, and Dace decides that for the moment he’ll give his friend and tag partner a chance to recover a little more. Turning his attention back to the straight-edger in front of him, Dace fires off a low-power elbow smash - enough to stun Toxxic but keep him upright - then pats his right thigh a couple of times, turns and hits the ropes- -but Jimmy Liston pulls the top rope down, and Dace somersaults backwards and crashes onto the mats outside! “Dace was going for the Yakuza Kick, and I can tell you beyond a shadow of a doubt that would have ended it!” Comet calls. “But thanks to the sneaky Jimmy Liston, Psychological Warfare are still in this!” Sexton Hardcastle starts to get in Liston’s face about his part in Dace’s unexpected tumble but the Demon protests his innocence, and Hardcastle is suddenly distracted by the sight of Toxxic approaching the ropes. Although wincing at the pain in his ribs Toxxic grabs the top cable in preparation of launching a plancha onto Dace, but is cut off by Hardcastle. The referee backs Toxxic across the ring, lecturing him about giving an opponent time to recover on the outside - and with their plan working perfectly Liston drops to the floor, sets himself and charges Dace as the Brummie gets to his feet, slamming his back into the guard rail with the Hunt! “The Demon is on the Hunt, Comet!” Riley yells as Dace falls to the floor, an agonised expression on his face. “Dace’s back went through a glass table on Lockdown, and if it’s fully healed yet then... then I subscribe to Playboy!” “...” “I meant that I despise such publications for their objectification of women, of course,” Riley sniffs in the face of Comet’s stunned silence. Finally Danny Williams’ yells attract Sexton Hardcastle’s attention, but he turns round only to see Liston rolling Dace back into the ring. Although the referee admonishes the Demon once more he cannot take any further punitive action against the sneaky Bostonian, and despite Danny’s protests the match continues. “Well, it seems that Psychological Warfare have pinpointed Dace’s back as their target,” Comet observes. “But what can the cruiserweight Toxxic do to the much stronger Citizen Night?” The answer, it appears, is to go apeshit. Although still wheezing from his earlier beating Toxxic is plenty capable of stamping the crap out of Dace’s back, and this is exactly the Straight-Edge Sensation’s tactic. Yelling aloud Toxxic takes on the appearance of a man surrounded by cockroaches as he buries his boot again and again into the back of his opponent until finally he is pulled off by Sexton Hardcastle. The referee berates him once more, warning Toxxic about imminent disqualification - but as he does so, Jimmy Liston hops down to the floor, grabs Dace and pulls the High Priest of Horrorcore over to the ringpost. Grabbing a foot in one hand and Dace’s neck in the other - in a chokehold, for good measure - Liston pulls backwards with all his considerable strength, racking Dace’s spine over the steel post! Horrorcore yells in pain as much as he can with Liston’s hand round his throat and the noise attracts Hardcastle’s attention, but before the referee can move Toxxic dashes past him and flies through the air with both feet extended, smashing a basement dropkick into Dace’s exposed ribs! “BOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!” The New Jersey crowd rise to their feet in derision as the Brummie Goth rolls away from his opponent’s corner in pain. Sexton Hardcastle starts yelling at both Toxxic and Liston, but Toxxic cuts him off by tagging in the Demon and Hardcastle is forced to change to a five-count. Wasting no time, Liston hauls Dace upright in the middle of the ring as Toxxic bounces off the ropes behind him. The Demon hoists Dace up prior to delivering a stalling spinebuster, but as he comes past Toxxic reaches up and snares Dace in a neckbreaker to add to the impact! *WHAM!!* “Mindbender!” Comet calls in dismay as Dace bounces off the canvas. “That could spell the end for Citizen Night!” ONE! TWO! TH-kickout! “LET’S GO DA-CE!” “LET’S GO DA-CE!” “LET’S GO DA-CE!” But it will take more than one double-team to take down the High Priest of Horrorcore, and Dace Night’s shoulder shoots off the canvas just after Hardcastle’s two-count. Springing upright again Liston takes a couple of steps backwards as Dace rolls over, trying to reach the outstretched hand of Danny Williams... but then the Demon darts forwards and kicks a field-goal through the Brummie Goth’s injured back! “BOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!” Danny Williams is LIVID on the apron, leaning into the ring as far as the tag rope will allow and yelling at Sexton Hardcastle to do something, but besides admonishing Liston for his conduct Hardcastle is unable to assist Dace Night. Ignoring the referee Liston picks Dace up again, then Irish-whips his opponent into the Psychological Warfare corner with authority. The impact sends another jolt of agony down Dace’s back and Horrorcore staggers forwards, only to be scooped up across the Demon’s chest. Toxxic reaches over and tags himself in on Liston’s arm, then vaults to the top rope... ...and as Liston drops to one knee, pulverising Dace’s back with a pendulum backbreaker, the Straight-Edge Sensation comes off with a Hangover legdrop which catches Dace Night across the throat and causes the Brummie Goth’s body to flip backwards! Rolling Dace over, Toxxic hooks the far leg as high as he can... ONE! TWO! THREEE-kickout! “Citizen Night showing a great deal of resilience here,” Comet calls from the announce desk, “but Toxxic and Liston are using doubleteams and questionable tactics to great effect!” “It’d be so much easier if Dace just stopped kicking out,” Riley whines. “He’s obviously going to lose; why drag it out?” “Perhaps because the leader of the Unholy Trinity thinks you’re talking garbage, Robert...” Toxxic looks questioningly up at Hardcastle, but the referee defiantly brandishes two fingers at him. Irritated, Toxxic uses two of his own fingers to flip a v-sign back at the official and drags Dace to his feet. Twisting his opponent round, Toxxic locks in a rear headlock then drops to one knee, driving the back of Dace’s neck into the other. Popping up again, Toxxic prepares to drop Dace with a Diamond Cutter - but Dace abruptly wraps his arms around Toxxic’s waist and launches him backwards with a German Suplex, blocking the Detoxx! Toxxic flips through the move and lands on his feet, then tags Liston as he staggers against the ropes. The Demon steps through and as Dace pushes himself up to regain his vertical base Liston runs in... ...only to get hoisted up in a Fireman’s Carry! Dace’s back is clearly troubling him but Liston’s 228lbs aren’t difficult to support for a man that strong, and with one Herculean effort the High Priest of Horrorcore shrugs the Demon off, slamming him down with a reverse DVD! “RAAAAAARRRRRRRRRRRRRRR!!” “LET’S GO DA-CE!” “LET’S GO DA-CE!” “LET’S GO DA-CE!” With the chants of East Rutherford echoing in his ears Dace pushes himself up again, making for Danny Williams’ outstretched hand. Liston is rising too, not even a move that powerful able to keep the Demon down for long. Looking over at Horrorcore Liston sees that he is about to tag in Danny Williams, and mindful of Toxxic’s previous success at outmanoeuvring the former world champion Liston rolls over and tags in his partner - much to Toxxic’s dismay. Toxxic steps through the ropes and charges at Williams, trying to make the best of it and launch an attack before Danny can get his bearings, but Danny has the measure of Toxxic’s speed now. Ducking under Toxxic’s attempted clothesline Danny hits the far ropes and rebounds, picking up momentum as he goes before turning the Straight-Edge Sensation inside-out with a devastating Western Lariat! Toxxic finishes flipping and lands facedown on the canvas, but Williams hauls him up again immediately and wraps his arms around his opponent’s waist before twisting backwards and sideways, crushing Toxxic into the canvas with a classic belly-to-belly suplex! “DAN-E!” “DAN-E!” “DAN-E!” Without giving his opponent time to rest, Danny hauls Toxxic upright again and whips him into the ropes. However, as Toxxic hits the ropes Liston reaches out and slaps him on the back, making a blind tag. Danny lashes out with an elbow smash, but Toxxic ducks under - and changes direction, running at Danny’s corner where Dace Night stands recuperating. Vaulting off the second turnbuckle, Toxxic flies over over the top rope onto the battered Dace, hurricanranaing him from the apron to the floor outside! Danny looks on appalled before he sees Sexton Hardcastle’s urgent gesturing - and turns round into the Hunt from Jimmy Liston! “Jimmy Liston is the legal man, and Danny didn’t realise it!” Comet shouts as Liston powers across the ring, driving Williams back into his own corner. “And all hell has broken loose here!” Leaning over the ropes, Hardcastle yells at Toxxic to get back to his side of the ring. Leaving the winded Dace where he is Toxxic starts to make his way back - but as the referee is distracted, Liston drops to his knees in front of Danny Williams as he staggers out of his corner... *CHING!!* “Another low-blow!” Comet spits. “Why does Liston even pretend to wrestle?” “It’s the oldest trick in the book!” Riley replies. “And if the referee didn’t see it...” Liston spins Danny round so that the Demon is facing out from the turnbuckle, then forces him into a vertical headscissors. At the same time Toxxic starts climbing to the top rope, ignoring Hardcastle’s protests. Wrapping his arms around Williams’ waist Liston raises him high in the air... the slams him down on his head and neck with a brutal powerbomb! The crowd gasps, but with the veins in his forehead bulging with effort Liston hoists Danny up again - and as he drives him down this time Toxxic comes off the top rope with a clothesline! “Demonic Edge!” Riley gloats as Danny Williams lands HARD on his head and neck again and Liston leans into the pin. “Count, Hardcastle!” ONE! [Dace gets to his feet outside the ring and rushes towards it to stop the count] TWO!! [Toxxic vaults over the top rope and takes Dace down with a plancha] THREEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!!! *DING! DING!* “Here are your winners,” Funyon booms over the sudden eruption of Dimmu Borgir from the speakers and booing from the New Jersey fans, “TOXXIC and JIMMY ‘THE DEM-’” But the ring announcer is cut off as Liston shoves him aside, grabbing Toxxic’s two title belts from Sexton Hardcastle and bailing out of the ring. Outside on the ramp Toxxic is clutching his ribs, the plancha onto Dace having apparently re-injured them. Eyes blazing, Dace picks himself up and moves in on the fallen Straight-Edger... *WHAM!!* ...but gets floored as Liston nails him from behind with the belts! Grabbing his partner Liston picks him up and hands him his titles, but then both men look up fearfully as two huge figures appear at the top of the ramp. Aecas and Terrence charge down towards Psychological Warfare who take one look at the approaching behemoths and flee, rounding the ring before vaulting the guard rail and taking off through the crowd. Terrence stops to check on Dace but Aecas keeps going, the Black Angel’s dead white eyes fixed on the receding forms as he clambers over the guard rail in pursuit and we FADE OUT

Laying sprawled out across a bench in the middle of his locker room, Dace winches as Kayin kneels over his back, massaging it slowly. “Fucking glass, it’s harder to get out than sand.” Dace moans as his sink pulls tight from all the glass cuts across it. “Still, it doesn’t hurt to much. Shows you didn’t do it darlin’.” “It’s ok Dacey, it’ll heal up babe. Still, it’ll give you something to focus on when you’re beating the shit out of Toxxic later tonight.” Kayin whispers in his ear, half showing her fangs. “You twisted little girl, just because you want to sit back here and watch it.” Grinning, Dace rolls himself over and stares up at his girlfriend straddling his chest. “What about Danny? That one could be interesting, just try not to get carried away with it…hmmm?” Kayin half questions as she cocks her head to the side, staring at Dace’s scared face. Arching his back and hearing every little bit down his spine click, Dace lets a smile slip before cracking his knuckles as well. “It’s going to be fun. These things come out of the blue and well… you just never know. It won’t be old times, but Toxxic is in for a world of hurt. One last time around the block won’t hurt. Once is bad enough. Alan Clark was just an insult. May things are catching up with me, but it’s me, it’s Danny. Poor poor Toxxic.” Leaning up on his arms, Dace locks his head and checks the time on a near by clock before turning back to Kayin. “Now before you put to much work into your elbows, there’s other things you have to be doing before your match. So come here Dacey and treat me bad.” Draping herself over Dace like a sheet, Kayin purrs as the camera fades out.

"Alright," says Mark, walking down the halls with Alex beside him. "I still have some stuff to clear out of my office, but I can give you the CDs of finances, contractual information, match listings, history, our travel schedule and all that other stuff. You've got a laptop, right?" "Un-huh," Zenon nods absently. "Crappy Toshiba, but it'll get the job done." "Alright, good. I think the crew set up a little place for you to use as an office for now, since I'm still getting stuff out of mine. You shouldn't have anything to deal with today, anyway," Mark says, turning a corner and leading Alex to a metal door. "There should be some coffee in there, too. Everything's a little disorganized right now, so I'm not sure if there's anything else I can really get for you..." "Nah, it's alright, Mark. I should be fine," Zenon assures. "Although... I'm gonna' hold you to that 'not having to deal with anything today' comment." "Heh. Yeah, it seems like every show, there's always someone barging into the commissioner's office... anyway. I'm going to head back and get my files sorted out, so if you need me, you know where I am." Zenon nods as Mark turns away, opening the door and flicking on the light switch... ...and revealing Landon "La Cucaracha" Maddix leaning against the small desk, stacked with dossiers, looking indignant. Noting the lights are on, he turns around and faces Alex with a huff. "Is your office always this dark." Zenon sighs, "Somehow, this figures. If you were here before me, why didn't you turn on the lights?" Maddix frowns and looks towards the floor for a moment, "I... couldn't find the switch. But anyway! What kind of commissioner are you, never being in your office? I thought that was mandated, in case someone importanted wanted something from the booker!" "Well, it is," admits Alex, walking past Maddix and behind the desk. "But outside of myself, I don't see anyone important here." Alex grins as Maddix turns red. "Anyway, you're... Lando, right?" "You... you don't even know..." Maddix looks appalled for a moment, but shakes out his head. "What kind of commissioner are you!? You don't even know who you're employing!" "Correction," says Alex, as he absently goes over a few of the folders, taking a seat in the chair behind the desk. "I just didn't know I was employing you." Landon stares at Zenon, mouth open. His face slowly contorts into a grimace, but he soliers on, knowing he's not going to win this one at least. "I... look. The name is Landon Maddix, and I've come here to speak to the new commissioner on behalf of myself and on behalf of the Unnamed. You do at least know about the stable I'm in, right?" Alex looks thoughful for a moment. "The one started by Va'aiga, with Todd Royal and John Duran, the current leader, in it?" Landon gives Alex a blank look. He grins. "I already like you less than Stevens." "That's a shame." "Look, buddy, I've tried to be patient with you! I--" "No you haven't. You've been snippy and conceited through this entire conversation," Alex says, blinking. "Rrrr... look! It doesn't matter! I assume that you at least had the commitment to duty to see my promo a few moments ago, right?" "No," replies Alex, airily. "I can't very well look at a monitor and try to find my office at the same time, can I?" "Then let me give you the jist of it," sneers Maddix, leaning in over Alex's desk. "I am Landon Maddix, we are the Unnamed, and we are the most powerful, unified force in this federation. I came to you in the hope you'd be a little more willing to recognize this than Mark Stevens was... clearly, I was wrong. So now I'm here to warn you--don't cross us, Zenon. We're stars, and bigger stars than you ever were, considering I've never even heard of you before now!" Finding a file that interestes him, Alex leafs through it. Noting that Maddix has paused, he looks up and stares into his close proximity. "Ditto." Maddix's eyes narrow. "You... you don't even take me seriously! At least Mark had the decency to respect the best talent in his federation! You..." Alex hushes Maddix with a finger, which he uses to gently push him from over the desk, "I don't play favourites, Landon. I hate politics, and to be honest, I could care less about your boasting. I could also care less about your cheating, lying, and all that other crap. You win matches, you get shots. That's how I play the game, so get used to it. Coming in here isn't going to change anything about the way I'm going to be running the SWF--I don't want to be your firend, and I really don't care if you consider me an enemy after this." Maddix stares mutely at Zenon, then adopts a thoughtful expression. "So that means you're standing up for anyone, correct?" "Not at all." "So, if I were to offer you a deal..." Alex raises an eyebrow at Maddix, and has to refrain from chortling. "A deal. Really. What could you offer that would be more than what I've got right now?" Maddix watches Alex raise his hands and look about the office, and has to think for a minute. "Well... how about--" "Your valet. How about your valet?" inquires Alex with a grin. "WHAT!? Are you kidding me!?" "That's a no, huh? You must not be very serious about this deal, then." Maddix scowls, and then decides that whatever this is, it's really become futile. "You know... whatever, Mr. Zenon. This is pointless.I just hope you don't forget who I... we really are, and don't back down on what you said." "Yes, I imagine the results would be most terrible for me," the acidic sarcasm literally drips off Zenon's words. "It's a pity you don't like me, Landon. But since I've got the book now, I'm sure you'll find way." "Yeah, well, I've got the Book of Todd," grumbles Landon. "And don't you forget it!" And with that, La Cucaracha turns tail and heads out through the door, leaving Zenon alone. He sighs and looks at the stack of papers next to him, shaking his head. "Why do I get the feeling I'm not going to please anybody?"

***--SWF's SMARK-OUT OF THE WEEK--*** “And his opponent…he hails from Long Beach, California and is the S-W-F Cruiserweight Champion… ALAN CLARK!” As the opening notes of “Wanted Dead or Alive” play, the crowd turns their attention to the entranceway, only to see it barren and lifeless. “Oh not this again!” Riley starts, “If Alan Clark thinks Dace will fall for this two times in a row he really is messed up in the head!” “Well like I said earlier, Citizen Riley…nobody has seen Alan all day!” But in the ring, Dace does seem prepared, looking over his shoulder and all around through the crowd, making sure that he will not be ambushed once more. The lyrics begin, and still there is no sign of Clark. Referee Sexton Hardcastle slides into the ring, and he and Dace begin to chat, trying to figure out what to do… ~DARKNESS~ Suddenly, the Wachovia Center is dropped into pitch black, and the crowd can softly be heard. After a few seconds, the SmarkTron pops to life and shows a black screen and red lettering… “…never forget the bloodshed…” The letters ooze from the screen and the SmarkTron goes to darkness once more…but in a flash… ~LIGHT~ …the arena is suddenly cast into it’s normal radiance, with Dace and Hardcastle unmoving, but now a third figure stands in the ring behind them. He wears all black and his eyes are almost piercing through the back of Dace’s head. “BY ZEUS! IT CAN’T BE!” Comet exclaims as the crowd explodes in cheers and Dace turns to see what the commotion is about… …and locks eyes with Bloodshed! “NO! NO! NO!” Riley repeats over and over as Bloodshed and Dace stand a few feet from each other, neither making a move. “YES! IT IS! BLOODSHED LIVES!” ***--that was SWF'S SMARK-OUT OF THE WEEK--*** (In association with Mars...because dieting is pointless anyway.) Suddenly, we are whisked backstage where the SWF's very own intrepid reporter Benjamin Hardy is standing by at the intervieww area with Megan Skye and one of her men (no, not like that...) Landon 'La Cucaracha' Maddix. While Ben waits for his cue to begin, it's noticable that Landon has one eye constantly scanning the hallways and looking over his shoulder. "Well, that was of course on Lockdown..." Ben finally speaks up. "...but Landon, also on Lockdown this happened. If you care to take a look at this footage..." [CUE FLASHBACK] “Ladies and Gentlemen…the winner of the this ma-“ Funyon is suddenly cut off as a body comes over the top rope, knocking him to the ground. “What the…?” Comet starts, but it soon becomes clear… “IT’S LANDON MADDIX!” Riley seems overjoyed as Landon rushes toward the downed superstars, dropping over Bloodshed’s body and firing off punches into Bloodshed’s still crimson face… ~DARKNESS~ The arena suddenly drops into darkness, and the crowd goes silent… ~ LIGHT~ The lights return, and Landon is still in the same position, but Bloodshed is nowhere to be found. Landon is in sheer shock. “Bloodshed has disappeared and Landon doesn’t know what to do!? “What? Where did he go!” Riley gets to his feet and begins looking in all directions. “Sit down, Robert…” Comet says, but suddenly the arena is cast into the eye of the storm, as thunder cracks and the sound of rain brings forth the opening acoustic riffs of Bon Jovi… “What is going on now?” Riley is still confused as he sits back down, watching his monitor to see Landon watching the entranceway as ALAN CLARK, dressed in all white, steps through the curtain! “BY ZEUS! It’s Alan Clark!” Comet screams, and a close-up shows a very little bit of blood on Alan’s face as he waves down to Landon before retreating backstage, leaving Landon to rush up the ramp after him and giving Sexton the space to check on Dace, who has only just begun to move on the outside. “I have no idea what is going on!” Riley exclaims, and Comet seems uncaring… [END FLASHBACK] As the video feed ends, a rather pertubed Maddix continues to glare over to the screen with which he was viewing the recap. "Well..." "Hold up!" yells Landon. "I was under the impression we'd be talking about how I took Charlie 'The Crappler' Matthews to his limits on Lockdown. But instead you're showing that? What is this...Candid freakin' Camera? I know it was April Fools a few days ago, but it seems like someone's got their dates wrong." "What do you mean..." "What do I mean!?! What do I MEAN!?! You saw it! You all saw it! First, I've got Alan Clark stalking around after me...trying to creep me out, get into my head all week. Don't get me wrong here, I can deal with that. When you're a star on the level of Landon Maddix, people follow you around wherever you go!" Landon stops, taking a moment to adjust his hair a little and make sure he's looking in pristine condition. "Then the next thing I know...he's not Alan Clark, he's Bloodshed!?! Oh, and that's not all. Because THEN...he's not Bloodshed, he's Alan Clark again! And to top it all off, when I come out to the ring to put the two-step blues on his sorry ass...he dissappears? Into thin air? And then re-appears at the top of the ramp!?! I'm sure these un-educated heathen SWF fans are having a very good laugh at my expence...but incase you hadn't noticed, I'M not laughing!" Noticing that he's getting riled up, Landon stops for a moment and calms his breathing down, as Megan and Ben stare at him nervously. "Look at me Benjamin. People don't play jokes at my expence and expect to get away with it. And that's what this is. A joke. The very fact it's Alan Clark involved makes it a joke...by default. But this is a joke on it's own merits too. I mean...come on Ben. This is the SWF...not the X-Files! When I walk into a ring and start stomping a mudhole into someone's chest, I don't expect the guy to teleport across the other end of the arena, or whatever the hell happened." "Well, I'm no expert..." Ben drastically understates. "...but it seems from where I'm standing that Alan Clark is simply trying to play mind-games with you." "Oh, so in YOUR opinion, he's playing mind games?" Maddix sneers. "Let me tell you something Hardy...you might just be right. Alan Clark may just be trying to play mind-games with me. But it really makes no difference in the long run. All the mind-games in the world won't stop Alan Clark from getting the ass kicking he's owed. All the mind-games in the world won't stop me from eventually getting that fruitcake in the ring, kicking his ass, sending him for a Crash Landon and taking what should rightfully be mine. The SWF Cruiserweight Championship. Oh, yes...I'm still waiting for him to give me a shot at the belt. It's the LEAST he can do. It's because of him and his 'super-natural happenings'...his 'mind-games'...that I don't have 30 pound of gold over my shoulder right now to go with the 10 pounds of gold on my wrist. You see this..." Thrusting his arm towards Benjamin, Landon angrily points to an expensive looking watch on his wrist. "This watch alone is worth more than Alan Clark's car...more than Alan Clark's house...probably more than anyone would insure Alan Clark's sorry life for. I live...the life...of a champion. I should BE...a CHAMPION! How am I supposed to be a champion, and beat Charlie Matthews when I've got the disappearing man on my god-damn mind? Tell me THAT!" The increasingly angered Maddix sends a wad of spit flying to the floor in his frustration, before glaring right into the camera. "People are askin' me why. Why Landon? Why are you going after Alan Clark? What did he ever do to you...besides make himself a constant annoyance. Let me tell you why Hardy. It's about the gold. It's about the title. And it's about...class. See, Alan Clark is walking around claiming to be a champion. Sure he's got a belt around his waist, he beat the previous champion...but the way I see it, that don't make you a champion. He's a title holder, but not a champion. He's walking around in cast-off clothes, he has a 10 cent haircut and rather than ride the roads in a long, black limousine...he's crusing around in a rental car, going to rock concerts. That's not the life of a champion. Alan Clark is an embarrassment to the word 'champion'. I'm a born champion. I go to bars, I ride in limousines, I live a life of excess...hell, you could say I 'style and profile'. I'm a born champion, yet I don't have a belt. And that's starting to rile me up. That'll change as soon as I get Alan Clark in that ring...mind games, or no...mind games." Pondering for a moment, Landon smiles to himself, even managing a little chuckle as he shakes his head. "Mind games... Is this what this is about Alan? Do you REALLY think that a few magic tricks are going to play with my mind enough for you to just walk all over me? Nooooooo. If you do think this Alan...then you're DEAD WRONG! It makes no difference to me who you are, what clothes you wear or what type of industrial strength grease you're using on your hair this week. When I get you in that ring...and that time will come, sooner or later...I will kick...your...ass. End of story! Alan Clark...Bloodshed...what next Alan? Doink The Clown? Dude Love? El Conquistador? It just doesn't matter to me. 'Cause whatever you look like and talk like, you are nothing compared to 'Mr Entertainment'. In that ring, it doesn't matter who you are... ...because whoever you are, you WILL be my BITCH!" "OOOOOOOOOHHH!!!" Maddix smiles to himself, as he hears both the 'ooh'ing of the crowd, and the laughter coming from Megan Skye's direction. "Tonight, in that ring, there will be no dis-appearing acts. No mind-games. Just me proving why I, and only I, am the top cruiserweight in this company. Bar NONE! And when you're standing across that ring from me...I want you to remember this. You're not the only one with a sinister side Alan, oh no. If you're not very careful, MY sinister side may start to rear it's ugly head, because right now you're slowly beginning to get under my skin. So, whever you're Clark or Bloodshed, tonight I will show you that I'm not ALWAYS about entertainment and sex appeal. And with the 'Notorious One' and Todd Royal I will make sure you, 'Like A Rhinstone Cowboy' and Charlie Matthews get the message..." Shoving Benjamin aside, Maddix steps forward and places himself inches away from the camera lens so that his point really hits home. "...This is a mad, mad world...but I just happen...to be a mad, MAD MADDIX!!! Come on Megs..." Grabbing Megan by the wrist, Landon and his lady friend storm off...but despite his strong words, the nerves still seem to be oozing off of Maddix as he walks down the hall, staying extra-vigilant as he goes.

The crowd was roaring in approval of the last match. Their screams and shouts had now given me the jitters as they were just getting over Ann “Ichiban” Onita and Insane Luchador battle it out in a grueling singles match that definitely drew out the best out of my associates. I watched with wonder as both of them had completely given it their all and still had the strength to walk away with pride and honor. My knees felt weak and had cold shivers as I realized that within a few minutes, it would be my turn to go out and impress the audience like those before me. I only hoped that my nerves would hold steady for the match. I can’t possibly afford to lose this time. ???: This is CYYYYYYCLLLOOOOONEEE COOOOMEEEET, welcoming you back to Smarkdown. Being held here in the home of the New Jersey Nets and Devils, the Continental Airlines Arena! Once again, along side me is Citizen Bobby Riley. ???: Do you always have to shout out your name like that? Comet: But of course, Citizen Riley. How else will the Citizens at home be able to know that they are still tuned into our show? Riley: They’d know because we just started the show. We don’t get preempted like other federations. Comet: This is true, Citizen Riley. I didn’t think of that. In a few more moments, I would be standing out there in front of the awe-inspiring crowd and giving them everything I can to make sure they get their bang. It’s quite an experience to have the crowd roar to life with every move you make, cry out in shock as someone performs a deft defying stunt, or even just start chanting your name to rally from being put down. I’ve never felt a rush like it before in my life, and I understand why no one can ever truly let go of the sport. I decided to take a peek through the curtains and take a gander at that spectacle before me. The fans were all standing in appreciation of the Smarks Wrestling Federation and the glorious wrestlers that had taken to that ring. Those knees of mine just about gave out on me as I saw Funyon take to the center of the squared circle. In just seconds, he would be calling out my name, and then, I would make the long march to the ring. That’s probably the only thing I fear in wrestling. Not the moves, or injuries. Not the fans booing or cheering you. No, I fear that long dreadful walk down the ramp way and the walk to the ring. It terrifies me, because all those doubts, nagging suspicions of failure, the possibility of putting out the worst performance of your life; all those together make that walk the most agonizing thing you ever have to go through. And soon I’ll be walking down that aisle and having to go through all of that. Funyon: Ladies and gentlemen. This next match is scheduled for one fall. The first competitor stands at six feet, seven inches. He weighs in at a hefty two hundred and sixty-seven pounds. From Redwater, Alberta, Canada… He is… EDWARD JAMES~! The curtains beneath the SmarkTron parted and I knew I was up. Taking a moment, I said a silent pray for my Guardian in heaven, Yanni, to watch over me as I am about to give this match everything I possibly get my body to do. And if that wasn’t enough, I would make sure that I pull out everything possible. I wanted to perform to the best of my abilities this time. I don’t care if I win or lose, as long as I wrestle a match that makes me be respected for what I can do in the ring. Riley: So we get to watch Mr. Wookie once again? Dammit, I didn’t sign up to watch this kid just suck it in the ring. Why doesn’t he go back and get some more training from wherever he came from? As I make my way down the ramp, I take a moment to pause and absorb the fact that I am really am here and there is nothing to worry about. My head moves from left to right, my eyes gazing at all the fans as their howling is so loud that I can barely keep my thoughts straight. Comet: Citizen Riley, how can you honestly say those things about Citizen James? Has he not proved without a shadow of a doubt that he will be a fabulous wrestler when he hits his stride? He kicked out of the MI Slam if you had forgotten. Riley: And what’s with this guy’s music? That ‘An overwhelming symbol of power”, a couple of “ahs” at the beginning by a choir before giving off some creepy and eerie sounding orchestrated music, and yet he looks like an average bum we found off the streets of this town. I am supposed to like this guy? And isn’t his song called ‘The Darkest Omen’? He’s anything but an omen of what happens when you suck in the ring. Comet: Now, now, Citizen Riley. As I said before, he’s progressing and I can’t wait to see what his full potential brings out of him! Besides, he’s just a kid. He’ll become better with age. Riley: He definitely ain’t no wine, Comet. He’s more like some cheap beer from his homeland. Walking down the aisle, I start to think about all the things that could go wrong. What if I botch a simple suplex? What if I get put away? What if this match is just so awful, the fans begin a riot from it? The more I thought about it, the more my worry progressed. It wasn’t till I rolled in under the ropes and into the ring that I felt all my deepest troubles wash away. Whatever happens now, I have no chance to turn back. This will come to pass and the outcome is what I make of it now. As I got to my feet, I walked over to Funyon and lifted my hand towards him. He looked at me funny, as if trying to figure out why I would offer him an open hand. After about studying me and thinking about it, he shook my hand in the middle of the ring. Riley: Aw for crying out loud! Tell me I didn’t see this idiot shake Funyon’s hand. I know some people have respect for others, but why do you give any respect to Funyon? All the man does is announce who is in the matches! Comet: Maybe Citizen James just is thankfully to have a job here in the SWF? And is shaking hands with everyone because of it. I’d like to think that’s why he shook my hand with earnest. Riley: You too? This is getting out of hand. He’s probably just doing this before he decides to do some unspeakable horror, like crushing a kid’s skull. Or become a bigger monster than Janus and kill someone. Comet: I don’t think Citizen James would do such horrible acts. I think you are just making up falsehoods because he asked to shake your hand and when you said no, his eyes shone with such anger that you finally conceded to shaking his hand with such swiftness. Riley: I did not cower before those big, bright blue eyes, Comet. I just didn’t think it was a good thing getting him all riled up before a match. He almost beat Johnny Dangerous. Oh for the love of Suicide King! He’s now shaking Eddy Long’s hand. Please someone stop this silliness. After shaking Eddy Long’s hand, I made my way to the nearest turnbuckles. Rising to the top of the turnbuckles, I lifted a clenched fist into the air and stood there for a few brief moments, absorbing the ongoing hollering that was being created by the people in the arena. Funyon: The second competitor in this singles match hails from The Jungles of Brazil. He is most commonly known for his fierce competitions within the Street Fighter tourneys. He is … BLANKA! No one had told me who I’d be facing tonight. I had been expected someone of the roster, not from outside of it. I had heard about Blanka before, he was one of the top competitors in street fights. Even so much so that he actually was placed into a game called Street Fighter 2. I knew right then and there that I’d be in for quite possibly a great all out brawl – my favorite type of match. Comet: BLLLLAAAAANNNKAAAA~! It’s Citizen Blanka. He’s making another appearance here in the SWF. Who would book such a match? This definitely doesn’t look good for Citizen James. Riley: I’ve really got to hand it to the person who booked this match. James will be utterly crushed and taken off of my screen for good by Blanka. Blanka’s theme song was blasting throughout the arena and out he strolled from underneath the SmarkTron’s curtains. I stared at him in awe from the top of the turnbuckles. I could hardly believe the sight of the thing that was there that tired to pass himself off as a man. He was about as tall as I stood I guessed, with a face that looked like something akin to an orc, pointy elf like ears, shaggy red hair that was at least half way down his backside, and the rest of his body looked like it was jacked up with all the muscles and tones that I could easily see from my perch… Well, quite simply my jaw just dropped. I had to fight that? He looked more like a devil than a human being. Riley: From the look on our young friend’s face, it apparently seems that someone had forgotten to mention that he was facing the Animal of the Brazilian Jungle. Comet: I think Citizen James will be more than ready for the task, whether or not he was informed of who he was facing. Citizen James will prove in this match what he is made of. Riley: More likely he’ll choke. I doubt he’s prepared for anything like this at all. No amount of training will prepare him for a true street fighter like Blanka. Blanka entered the ring as I dropped down from the top of the turnbuckles. We stood barely a few feet from each other. I wasn’t sure about this, but I offered an open hand towards him. I like to wish anyone to do their best, and this is how I show it. I find actions are louder than words in most cases. As he reached out towards my hand, I briefly closed my eyes as I smiled at him. It is a bad habit I picked up when I was little kid. To Blanka’s credit, he moved a lot swifter than I expect as his hands were wrapped around my neck in a small mistake I made. Riley: That’s it Blanka! Go for the throat. Tear this pathetic kid’s jugular. Comet: Were you not critizing Citizen James if he were to do the same thing? Riley: There’s a difference between the two. Edward’s ‘respect’ handshake thing he does annoys me to no end and is a bunch of lies. He doesn’t respect anyone at all. That is why I totally condone Blanka ripping out his throat. Eddy Long immediately sounded the bell to begin the match, all the while trying to break the chokehold Blanka had upon me. I could feel his hands crushing my windpipe as I was pushed back into the corner. Long started a five count, but I was quite sure Blanka wouldn’t stop even if the ref got through the full five count. Comet: I don’t think Citizen Blanka is going to let go. He looks like he’s increasing the pressure on that illegal chokehold of his. Riley: I don’t care if he is Comet. This horrible match will be over fast and easy, and we can get onto the real wrestlers. Not some cheap wannabe like Edward. Thinking quickly of a way of escape, I smashed my fists against his elbows, I managed to make Blanka break his hold, but I knew it wouldn’t be for long. Not wasting a moment of time, I lunged myself at Blanka. Our arms tangled till we were in the famous elbow collar tie up. As I glanced at his face, I could see an all knowing smirk appear on his face and soon began pushing me back towards the corner once again. Comet: Citizen James managed to break that chokehold and looks like he is trying to use that small opening to get an advantage in this match. Riley: Spoke to soon Comet. Blanka has gotten the upper hand a second time as he is now moving James back to that same corner that the chokehold was applied in. Took me a few moments to plant my feet, but once I did, I stopped myself just short of being back in that corner. This time, my body was moving forward instead of backwards. Blanka’s eyes gave off a look of something close to uncertainty which I have to say, made me smirk just as he had earlier. Not wasting anymore time, I charged forward launching Blanka head over heels towards the other corner of the ring. Comet: By Zeus! Look at that strength! Riley: How did he do that? Nobody except Thugg can toss someone around like that. He launched him half way across the ring. With a wipeout like that it was only natural that Referee Long to go check on Blanka. Just as Long got to where the fallen Animal of Brazil was, he quickly got to his knees and snarled at Long. I took some pride when Blanka began rubbing the back of his head, as I didn’t imagine myself fazing the guy. Of course, this did nothing but anger him further, since I was clearly the stronger of the two of us. He jumped to his feet and let out a roar of frustration and humiliation. Riley: Great job, Eddy. You just pissed him off big time. Not a bright thing to do. Comet: On the contrary, I believe that Citizen James did the smart thing. Riley: What? You are insane Comet. He just pissed off the third worst guy to ever piss off. The top two you don’t is John Duran and Thugg. Blanka continually was spewing out a bunch of garble that I was quite sure was Brazilian, and I am almost sure that he what he was saying definitely should not be heard by younger portion of the audience. I’m almost regretting that I had wanted to shake his hand at the beginning of this match. He does not deserve any respect at all for being such a sore loser in a simple one-upmanship contest. Then again this street fighter has never experienced any type of loss to any sort of rookie. Blanka probably expects that I- THUD~! -‘d let him take me down to a simple charge like that that. Riley: Blanka you fool. Why did you just charge at him? Doesn’t this guy think? Comet: Did I not tell you that Citizen James had things under control. Now we shall watch as he finishes this match against Citizen Blanka. Riley: I don’t think so. Edward will have to pull out some kind of sickening move to put the Animal of Brazil away. Blanka was quite slow to get to his feet, but as soon as he could, he took a swipe at me with one of his massive arms. I easily grabbed it and criss-crossed his arms, before kicking him in the gut. His massive frame let out a pitiful groan of pain as I yanked him forward and pulled his head in between my chest and left arm. Letting go with my right arm, I reached between Blanka’s legs and lifted the man into the air. Riley: Edward is a freak of nature! No human being should be able to lift up at least three hundred pounds as easily as he is! He’s must be jacked up on steroids. There’s just no possible way… Comet: Seems like Citizen James is going for some type of move… I can’t exactly say for sure what that move is. WHAM~! Blanka’s whole body put a combined amount of pressure onto his neck, as he was almost spiked into the mat when I dropped backwards. His body fell lifelessly to the ground and I could’ve cared less if I had killed him at that moment. All I needed to do was pin him for my very first win. Riley: I will not accept him winning this match. Blanka will kick out for sure. Comet: Citizen James could possibly have his first win here in the SWF. Crawling onto the chest of my opponent, the foot steps of Eddy Long could be felt through the floor as I reached over to grasp one of Blanka’s legs. I drew it closely to my body and held on tightly, silently giving a quick pray to my Wildheart Guardian for this to be it. ONE~! TWO~! THREE~! Ring, ring, ring. Riley: NO~! Blanka should’ve kicked out. Edward is just a nobody. He can’t win! Comet: Citizen James has won his first match in the SWF and definitely has become a somebody. He has defeated Citizen Blanka in quite an impressive show of strength and seemingly proven you wrong. When I got to my feet, Eddy Long grabbed my arm and held it up high to above my head. I could hear Funyon announce that I had won the match and I couldn’t help but let out a shout of joy because I finally snagged my first win. Comet: And it seems that Citizen James will have a lot of celebrating to do tonight over his first win. When we get back from the break, Citizen ‘Deathwish’ Danny Williams and Citizen Dace F’N Night will take on Citizen Toxxic and Citizen Jimmy ‘The Demon’ Liston in tag team action. Riley: Hopefully Toxxic and The Demon will win their match, because I am so let down thanks to Edward James.

The camera settles down on everyone's favourite dynamic duo, Man Man and Boy Boy! Or Cyclone Comet and Bobby Riley. Whichever you prefer. Comet clears his throat as Bobby adjusts his stack of notes and then speaks up... "By Neptune's trident," grumbles Comet, "I cannot believe the coarse and dastardly things Todd Royal just said! Can you imagine, Robert? Believing that he could turn Coy West's own CHILDREN on their father!" "May I add," Riley adds, "That Todd was merely responding to what Coy had to say off the top of the show? And honestly, Comet, who would you choose if you were a kid? A guy who hauls you around in a Winnebago, never letting you set up roots or have any friends, and feeds ya' Kraft Dinner every night? Or a guy who lives in a MANSION, has servants at his beck and call, and could provide 'em with anyting they wanted?" "Bobbo, how could you even insinuate that that villian could provide any of the love..." Cyclone trails off, knowing this isn't worth continuing. "Anyway! Up next, loyal viewers, we have... a most intersting match. Edward James will take on... Blanka, of Street Fighter fame, next." "I have to say I was always more of a Gill fan, myself, but..." ::CRACK!:: "RAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHH!!!" "Oh, lovely." "It looks like it's going to have to wait just a little longer, though," Comet says, chuckling. "Our esteemed commissioner appears to want to have moment with us!" "Hopefully that's as long as he stays, too," mopes Riley. "Go Home" rocks the crowd as 'Grand Slam' Mark Stevens appears from the back, inciting an electric response! He walks purposely from the back, though still taking a few moments to tag hands with a few of the fans along the entranceway, before making his way up the steps and between the ropes, into the ring. A small "Mark! Mark! Mark!" chant starts up, which causes Bobby to groan and Stevens to crack a grin. He waves to the crowd, then urges them to hush as he raises up the mic to his mouth. "It's always such a love-in when he's around..." "Balderdash. Now hush, Robert." "Greetings, New Jersey!" Mark shouts, causing a cheap pop and another groan from Bobby. "I'd like to welcome you all to SWF Smarkdown! I know it's a little early to ask, but are you all enjoying yourselves?" Big pop! "I thought so," says Mark, grinning. "I assure you that the rest of this show's going to be as good as the opening match..." "Oh, yeah, Mark. That's going to keep people watching," sneers Bobby. "...but I need to delay everything just a little bit longer," Grand Slam continues. "Because you see, I have something very important to announce. And I reckon, since New Jersey fans seem smarter than your average cookie," Mark winks as he says it, inciting another cheap pop, "that you know exactly what I'm referring to." "I imagine Gran Slam is talking about his phone conversations last night, Robert," Comet speculates. "It appears that we may have a new commissioner in our midst." "I hope it's King." "Well... Mark did appear to be talking to an old 'friend'..." The crowd takes a more somber tone as Mark's face falls into a lopsided expression. "As most everyone saw on the last show, I got an usual call from my lovely wife. I have... extremely pressing family issues to attend, and as much as I love this job, this federation, and this business, I cannot put them above my family. I suppose you could say I've got a 'bundle' of family issues to attend," Mark finishes, getting a congratulatory pop from the crowd. He smirks, then continues. "However, the SWF cannot function without someone to do my job, and I certainly can't do much while I'm at home. So... ah... to hell with it, I'm just going to get right to the point. Until I come back, you've got a new commish! He's someone I'm sure you'd all be pretty familiar with... bring 'em on out, guys!" Mark indicates to the entrance with a sweeping gesture, as Riley crosses his fingers and chants 'King, King, King, King' like a mantra. However, poor Bobby's heart is about to be broken, as after a few moments of silence, a wavering synth picks up in the arena... ...followed by a steady drum beat... ...followed by the arena dimming, as multicoloured lights flash and search the arena... It takes a moment for this to sink in, but Riley's seen it before. as it sinks in, he mouths an 'Oh, no.' The main guitar kicks up, as the eerie sound of a song that hasn't been heard for well over a year in the SWF, as the lyrics plainly seal any doubt. "Driven by a strange desire I want What I need..." The crowd reaches a fever pitch, and then roars with cheers as a light cuts in front of the camera, everything refocusing on the entrance ramp, where a long-haired, jean jacketed figure saunters out of the entrace way. Alexander Zenon is back, and he's having a hard time hiding the grin on his face. "Well snap my spandex and call me the boy wonder," Comet... exclaims? "Alex Zenon is back in the SWF! And the new interim commissioner at that!" "Figures," pouts Riley. "Mark even made sure he got the hometown pop. This sucks." Zenon makes his way down the ramp, his long, brown hair trailing lightly as he tags hands with fans. Approaching the ring, he opts to roll under the ropes, and then pops up and raises an arm to a big cheer. Mark meets him halfway with a smile, as they both exchange a handshake. "Actually, Robert, it does figure that Zenon was Mark's choice to replace him momentarily," muses Comet. "He was a former member of the Midnight Carnival, clearly the easiest way to get into Mark's good books, even Grand Slam was retired before Zenon even made it to the SWF. Furthermore, what other options did he have? Bad blood between King, Edwin MacPhisto is no-where to be found, and Chris Raynor's had a devilish run as SJL commissioner." "Yeah, but really. Is Zenon even close to being the sort of guy who can handle this kind of responsibility?" Riley asks, sourly. "I mean, last time we saw him, he was on the verge of breakdown angsting over Nathaniel Kibagami. And getting his teeth kicked in by JD." "Kibagami is gone, Riley," says Comet, tersely, "And I'm sure Zenon has had more than enough time to reflect and move on from the past. Now shh! He's going to speak!" Having recived the microphone from Mark, Zenon gives a wistful look over the arena, whom are still electric from the reappearance of a hometown favourite. He raises it up to his lips, and says, simply, "Well... what can I say?" he gets a small cheer as his face spilts into another grin. "It's been so long... too long... since I've been here in the SWF. I was honestly quite surprised when Mark phoned me and asked if I'd mind taking his job for a few months, since we'd never been all that close," Zenon says, pausing. He looks slightly uncomfortable. "But I guess I was more to him than that kid who learned how to do his finisher, heh." Mark chuckles a bit at the old memories, before Zenon continues. "You know... I was never all that good at this unless I was inviting death by confronting someone to face me in a match," Alex points to the mic, a lopsided grin on his face. "So I think I'll just keep it short and sweet. Mark, I'm... still a little surprised by this, but I have to thank you again for the oppertunity. I promise that when you get it back, it'll be just how you left it." Pause. "For better or for worse as that may be." Mark laughs again, as Zenon gives another uneasy look over the crowd. "Alright. Well, I guess I'll just say this, then... we're gonna' have a blast, guys. Thank you!" The crowd cheers and applauds again, not affected by Alex's unusually short speech, who gives the mic back to Mark and recieves a pat on the back as he heads out of the ring, "Temptation" kicking up again. "Blast indeed," murmurs Riley. "He's going to blow up this federation, Comet. Mark my words." "Would you get off it, Bobbo?" sighs Comet, before realizing the poor choice of words. Riley gives him a raised eyebrow as Comet coughs and continues, "Erm, anyway... I do have to wonder, at least, how this federation is going to change with Zenon at the helm. Never the less, I suspect good things, Robert! Speaking of which, JAMES! BLANKA! UP NEXT!" The camera fades away with one last shot of the cheering crowd and Riley wondering how, perciesely, Comet manages to say that sort of thing with a straight face...

*CLICK* The camera is focused on the parking lot of the American Airlines arena, as a black SUV swings past the production trucks, pulling up next to the camera man. The picture zooms past the gold rimmed tires and tinted windows, and focuses on the license plate that reads “UNNAMD” as Ben Hardy steps up to the passenger door. The rear door opens first, and Hardy steps aside as the Unnamed’s leader John Duran steps out onto the concrete. Hardy thrusts the microphone into his face and begins to as a question, but the Notorious One just smirks and shoves the interviewer aside, grabbing his gear bag and heading for the locker room. “Tonight, the Unnamed…. UGH.” Composing himself, Hardy leaps ahead, positioning himself by the open door as Landon Maddix steps out. Wearing a “Sin to Win” T-Shirt and sunglasses, La Cucaracha stops momentarily to asses the situation before shaking his head and moving to the back of the vehicle to retrieve his bag. “Landon Maddix, tonight the Unnamed takes on the unique challenge of….mpphhphph…” Hardy is cut off again when Megan Skye bounds from the vehicle, rushing past the interviewer and whipping her hair into his face, eager to help Maddix with his gear. Frustrated, the SWF correspondent steps in front of the door, determined to get one interview out of the assignment. Maddix and Skye begin to walk away when an arm reaches out of the SUV, grabbing Megan and yanking her back into the screen. “Todd Royal, tonight the Unnamed takes on the unique challenge of taking on Alan Clark, Coy West and the SWF Champion Charlie Matthews. Do you think it’s possible for you to defeat three men of that caliber.” “ You’d think by now Hardy, you’d be a full blown disciple of the Church of Todd.” Royal says as he drags Megan towards the back of the vehicle, signaling for her to get his gear. “It’s not only possible, it is foretold in the Book of Todd. Both Landon and I have defeated Alan Clark more times than I can count, The Notorious One has Matthews’ number, and I’d be surprised if Coy West has even pulled his trailer out of the Wal-Mart parking lot yet.” A scowling Megan Skye returns with Royal’s bag and offers it to her charge. Ignoring her completely, Todd just smirks at Hardy, forcing Skye to sheepishly retract the duffel. As Megan shoots longing glances towards the locker room, Hardy responds. “ Coy West is here alright, and he’s more than prepared for battle.” Hardy comments. The intrepid interviewer- always prepared- offers Royal a sheet of West’s comments from earlier in the night. Todd pulls down his sunglasses and reads the paper, his eyebrows raising as he scans the sheet. “As you can see, he had some strong words for you in particular.” Crumpling the paper and tossing it over his shoulders- and ignoring the grunt from Megan as it bounces off her head- Royal pushes up his glasses and stares into the camera, concealing poorly the grin on his face. “Strong words indeed, West. Apparently he thinks he can thump his bible and praise his God and give me a fire and brimstone speech, and I’m supposed to cower in fear. Well tonight Coy, you’re more than welcome to step up to the altar and be baptized in the Church of Todd. See, every week I watch Lockdown, or Storm, and I see Coy West smiling for the camera, kickin’ up dirt and dodging tumbleweed as he takes his rat-nosed children on an RV tour of America’s crappiest sports facilities. ‘Well, Golly gee Jethro, I never knew bein’ poor could be so Todd-darn FUN!’ You think those kids are growing up in a life they’ll be proud of? Huh? You think they’ll sit on the back porch one day and reminisce with their cousin-wives about all the ‘good ole days’ when ‘paw’ used to drag us around the country in a sardine can and get his ass kicked so we could eat? You think you’re a role model for those brats? Some sort of modern-day cowboy? Set those kids at ringside tonight, Coy. Dress ‘em up in their best denim and flannel and throw a bolo on em. Put them front row center. Because when I pin your cow-poke ass in the middle of the ring, I want to look over and see the smiles on their faces. I want to KNOW that they’ve discovered a real hero, a real man. Because when those kids grow old and tell their children about life on the road, I want them to remember as CLEARLY as possible the best night of their lives- the night they found Todd.” Royal shoves the camera aside and clutches Megan’s arm, strutting towards the locker room and his partners. Hardy, and eventually the camera jog after him, microphone leading the way. As Todd pulls open the arena door, a breathless Hardy lets one more question fly. “Are you saying Coy West’s children would really choose YOU over the man that cares for and provides for them?” The interviewer asks incredulously. “Just more disciples waiting to be converted…” *CLICK*

S! W! F! SMARKDOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWN!!! BOOOOOOOOM!!! Pyrotechnics light up the Continental Airlines arena, and the feeling of electricity in the air isn't just a metaphor. The crowd is excited, the wrestlers backstage are excited, and most of all the two men sitting ringside are similarly stoked. Bobby Riley smooths out his purple crushed velvet jacket as Cyclone Comet looks on in utter fascination of his colleague's style. "Welcome, ladies and gentlemen, to another edition of SWF SMARKDOWN!" starts Comet, "Cyclone Comet here and next to me as always is Bobby Riley, which you will recognize as the model for those velvet art posters you saw in the seventies..." "Comet, do we need to get into the definition of style again?" asks Bobby, "After all, a man still prancing around in a mask and tights has little to debate me with." "Whatever you say Bobbo, regardless of a sense of style, we all have a sense of anticipation for tonight's card! Lots of Battleground ramifications to be seen, the return of "Deathwish" Danny Williams, and an intense 6-man tag coming up! However first, we start off with what might be an excellent show of high risk speed versus grounded technical nature..." Well I had just got back from a break from the fight, I was weighing in heavy but still feeling alright! The crowd picks up as stripes of red, green, and white pyro shoot up from the top of the entrance ramp. "The Gauntlet" continues to play, heralding in Insane Luchador from backstage! The crazy cruiserweight raises his arms in the air before sprinting to the ring, accepting high fives from the audience as he goes. "Our opening matchup," begins Funyon, "is set for one fall with a fifteen minute time limit. Introducing first from Easton, Pennsylvania and weighing in at two hundred one pounds... he is... the INSANE! LUUUUUUUUCHADORE!" Insane Luchadore dives into the ring under the bottom rope. Using his agility, he rolls through and leaps right up onto the middle rope in the nearest corner and raises his arms on high again. The crowd eats up his acrobatics and rewards him with cheers and hoots. "I'm amazed this high-flying nutjob can even move after last week's show," notes Riley, "A missed Leap of Faith could have broken every bone in his body, but it did ruin his chance at hardcore gold as Toxxic took him out in a match that was harder to call then Information Superhighway versus Mak Francis." Comet blinks at Riley unknowingly. "Just be glad you weren't there." A melodic guitar riff floats in the air as the SmarkTron goes blue, panning back slowly to show Ann "Ichiban" Onita, hand extended in gun form. As she 'shoots', baby blue pyro shoots straight up from the entrance ramp. "Risky Gamble" plays in earnest as Ann Onita and her sister Allison walk out from backstage. Ichiban puts a cigar in her mouth and leans forward slightly, waiting for a second pyro shot which shoots up inches in front of her face. With her cigar lit, she follows her sister who has charged ahead to get the crowd riled up. "Introducing his opponent," says Funyon, "from Tokyo, Japan and weighing in at one hundred seventy five pounds... ANN! ICHIIIIIIIIBAAAAAAAAAAAN ONIIIIIIIITAAAAAA!" "We've talked about Insane Luchadore's aches and pains, but don't think that Ichiban is at any sort of advantage tonight," begins Comet, "The gutsiest woman in the SWF took quite a beating herself against what some might call her Arch-Nemesis, Tom Flesher." The Onita sisters make it to ringside, Allison throwing verbal jabs at Ann's opponent in the ring. Smiling, Insane Luchadore is only too willing to throw some trash talk back. Ann stomps her cigar out and rolls into the ring. Taking off her fedora and jacket, Ann allows the official to check her for foreign objects before taking her corner. "And what a wonderful match to behold that was," notes Riley, "Flesher showed flashes of those skills and mannerisms that made me a fan back in the heyday of the Magnificent Seven. I can only hope those flashes become reality and we see a Flesher that held this federation in his iron grip, not the Tom Flesher that seeks his victims and... apologizes, did you see that earlier?" "I did, although it may have not been necessary, the match was maintained well within it's... unorthodox rules. Perhaps Tom felt some pangs of guilt for the chair shot to Allison Onita." Speaking of the devil, Allison bangs on the ring apron to encourage the crowd to come in with her chant... "I-CHI-BAN! I-CHI-BAN!" Insane Luchadore turns to the crowd himself, hoping to get some of the fans on his side... "LU-CHA-DORE! LU-CHA-DORE!" Fans of both wrestlers take turns making their voice heard. Ann simply shakes her head with a smile and approaches IL. Extending her hand, Ann waits patiently for Luchadore to gauge her sincerity and take the handshake. The crowd cheers for the show of respect as the two fighters backup and begin the fight in earnest. DING DING DING Ichiban steps in for a collar elbow tie up but the Luchadore ducks and sidesteps, making a beeline for the ropes. IL comes off the rebound with a clothesline but Onita ducks the strike herself, wrapping one arm around her opponent's waist before straightening up and wrapping the other arm around too. Ann starts to lift but Rickman blocks the momentum with his leg. Whipping and elbow up and back, IL catches Onita's forehead allowing him to slip out and turn around. A quick front kick doubles Onita over, allowing the Luchadore to snap a front-face lock on. Ichiban drops to one knee immediatly, preventing any DDT attempt, and throws a quick left hand to IL's ribs. Pushing off with her legs, Ann wraps her arms around Rickman's waist and lifts forward... up.... and backwards, reversing the headlock into a backdrop! Both fighters scramble to their feet and get into a ready position in case of attack. They both stand in the middle of the ring, watching each other as the audience bursts into applause for both fighters. "An amazing flurry of attack-counterattack from two equal bastions of good and just," notes Comet, "A match of equals one might say!" "Equally stupid you mean," retorts Riley, "These two have had their brans scrambled so much that I doubt they even think about strategy anymore. It's just pure reflex. If I had a dollar for each time these two took a chair to the head, I'd have three hundred forty six thousand, five hundred eighty two dollars and twenty nine cents." "..." "Yeah, I don't know how I got twenty nine cents either, just roll with it Justice Freak." Taking initiative, Ann steps in and successfully locks up with IL in a collar elbow tie up. Pushing down with her arms, Ichiban makes enough space to thrust a knee up into her opponent's torso, doubling him over. She then wraps her arms around the Luchadore's waist, lifting up and twisting him around before dropping back and slamming him to the mat! IL rolls to his knees from the momentum of the gut wrench suplex but can't dodge his opponent's speed to her feet. Immediatly, Ann locks IL back up, pulling him up to his feet before grabbing the waist of his tights and lifting the cruiserweight up into the air! She hold him up for a few seconds so the blood drains to his head before falling back and dropping him to the mat again! Pain wracks the Insane Luchadore's body, keeping him still just long enough for Ichiban to cover him and hook a leg for a pin.... ONE! TWO! THRE.... NO! KICKOUT! "Besides being a fighter of the good fight, Ichiban is also has an excellent study habit," says Comet, "As evidenced by the immidiate working of the Luchadore's back and ribs, which have to still be tender from his fight with Toxxic." "Didn't study enough I think," says Riley, "As dumb as he is, I've never seen Insane Luchadore go down for three from something so... pedestrian as a stalled suplex." "Excellent commentary Bobbo, pehaps I'm rubbing off on you." "You rub off on me and I'll get a restraining order placed, pronto. I don't do masked men." Ichiban drags Rickman up to his feet and whips him hard into the ropes. Luchadore comes off the ropes facing a bent over Ichiban awaiting a back drop. Thinking fast, he leaps into the air, somersaulting and landing back to back with Onita, rolling off and continuing to the other side as the audience applaudes his acrobatics. "LU-CHA-DORE! LU-CHA-DORE!" scream the Luchadore faithful. Ann, not to be outdone, spins around fast and catches IL as he comes back from the ropes. Using the cruiserweight's momentum against him, Onita twirls Insane Luchadore in the air before dropping him back first onto her knee! The Luchadore screams in pain as he's pushed off of Ann's knee onto the mat. Looking for a quick win, Ann runs to the ropes herself. Rebounding, she runs full speed and leaps over IL towards the ropes and lands on the second rope. Springing backwards, she gracefully arcs head over feet and lands with a SPLASH onto the Luchadore! Again Ichiban hooks a leg for the count.... ONE! TWO! THR.... NO! KICKOUT! "I-CHI-BAN! I-CHI-BAN" cheer the Onita supporters, enjoying the match's give and take. "Another close pinfall from Ichiban, and I tell you that my fellow Masked Man needs to start generating some offense or his only defense will be staying down for the three," notes Comet. "On a different topic," starts Riley, "Have you noticed the fickle nature of tonight's crowd? I haven't seen side-switching this much since I watched the Ric Flair DVD set." "I simply think they appreciate both of these fine noble fighters, Bobbo," says Comet. Showing a hint of frustration, Ichiban again rolls Rickman onto his feet and whips him to the ropes... only to be countered with an irish whip from Insane Luchadore... only to be reversed into an irish whip from Onita! The Luchadore finds himself going back to the ropes, rebounding off only to be caught up in Ichiban's arms and lifted up. Onita finds her self turning around forty five degrees from her opponent's weight before regaining control and SPIKEING him into the mat with a Spinebuster! Unrelenting, Ichiban grabs onto IL's legs and stands up, quickly turning over her opponent into a Boston Crab! Insane Luchadore screams out in pain as Ann Onita tries her best to twist him into the shape of a lifesaver. IL shoots his arm out as the official asks for his submission. Feeling the brush of the bottom rope on his fingertips, the Luchadore shakes his head to refuse, holding hope that he can gain those precious inches needed to break the hold... "Oh, bad luck old man," chuckles Riley, "But hey, maybe this will teach you to stop taking suicide dives all the time in matches. If he played it safe he might have had a shot against Toxxic." "This IS a horrible situation for the Luchadore but he is rather close to the ropes," notes Comet, "And remember, for all the suplexes and spinebusters she's been using, Citizen Onita is the lighter of the two fighters..." Which is exactly what Insane Luchadore is thinking right now as he desperatly thinks of solutions to the current problem. Hoping he has enough strength left, Rickman presses his hands against the canvas and pushes, lifting off successfully! Panicked, Ichiban rocks back severely, pushing herself backward and bending her opponent's back in at an even harsher angle. The Luchadore cries out, but his pain is drowned out in the alternating chants for each fighter which are rocking the arena to its supports. Reaching out, he can almost grab the bottom rope with his fingertips... IL refuses another offer of submission from the official as he presses hard against the ring and pushes off toward the ropes. The force of the move pulls Onita onto her knees and allows the Luchadore to hug the bottom rope, finally earning the rope break he so desperatly desired. "It's almost like he heard you Comet," says Riley, "That crazy bastard probably hurt himself even more with the attempt but he did use his opponent's lack of weight against her." "He very well might have, will Citizen Luchadore find a way to come back, or is this just a delay of the inevitable?" Rising to her feet, Ichiban turns to the sight of her opponent struggling to his feet, using the ropes for leverage. Confident, she walks over to continue the attack... only to get a sharp kick to the stomach for her efforts! The Luchadore support group springs to life, chanting their favorite's name even as Allison runs around trying to sway the group back to her sister's side. IL pulls himself up to his feet, throwing another kick forward to keep Ichiban from straightening up. Ignoring the pain radiating from his spine, Insane Luchadore locks a front face lock and drops back fast DRIVING Ichiban head first into the canvas! The rush of adrenaline and natural instincts start to take over in Il's head. Rushing to his feet, the cruiserweight leaps up and drops a leg on his opponent's head. Insane Luchadore can feel the energy surging through him, he rises and drops a second leg drop, repeats for a third, and rushes to the ropes. Rebounding, he leaps up high and drops a HARD fourth leg drop onto the prone noggin of Ann Onita. He quickly hooks a leg for his first pin attempt of the night.... ONE! TWO! THRE....NO! KICKOUT! "LU-CHA-DORE! LU-CHA-DORE!" scream the Insane one's fans, getting behind the underdog. "The man found a way! He must have adrenaline reserves as deep as the Pacific Ocean to be shrugging off so much abuse," says Comet, "The man has pain tolerance rarely seen in the SWF." "Hmmm... I wonder how he'd handle a cat o' nine tails...." wonders Riley. Insane Luchadore rises to his feet and watches his opponent's sluggish movements to rise herself. He pumps his fists in the air as he feels momentum finally swinging his way. Waiting for his spot, he aligns himself perpendicular to his opponent's chest, waiting for her to get up to just... the right... position... before side stepping and lashing out with a Superkick! He straddles Ann's chest and drops fist after fist to her unprotected head, garnering a count from the ref and cheers from his portion of fans. Allison reacts much like the Ichiban faithful and screaming for a break as Onita can only take the shots to the head unprotected. The official counts to three, four before the Luchadore finally breaks the attack off and jumps to his feet. Rickman crosses his arms to the crowd, signaling that he's about to end the match. The crowd splinters again into two alternating chants... "I-CHI-BAN!" "LU-CHA-DORE!" "I-CHI-BAN!" "LU-CHA-DORE!" "Insane Luchadore isn't averse to some film study himself," notes Comet, "Miss Onita took quite a lot of damage to the cranium in her last match, and Rickman is looking to take advantage of that weakness!" IL drags Onita to her feet and locks in a front face lock. As expected, the Luchadore snaps backwards and drives Ann's head to the mat! He doesn't let go however, rolling with the impact and dragging both himself and his opponent to their feet. Insane Luchadore drops back again with a second DDT, effectively scrambling Onita's brains! Still, the Luchadore doesn't release the face lock, rolling back up to his feet. Ichiban doesn't have the strength to follow, as her head is roughly pulled in an attempt to get her onto her feet. Onita lets herself get dragged back up on her feet before limply dropping to one knee. "Wow, the bitch is so messed up that IL can't even finish the Rolling DDT combination!" chortles Riley, "I guess we won't be seeing another Onita/Flesher fight anytime soon. Or an Onita/ANYONE fight anytime soon!" "Bobbo, I'll never get over how you can relish in the misery of others so easily," exclaims Comet. Insane Luchadore looks a little disappointed, but points to the crowd and crosses his throat with his thumb as if to say that the match is over. Rickman pulls hard on Ann's head to get her back up but feels resistance from her opponent... who pushes off with her feet and lifts the Insane one up and over with a back drop! The "I-CHI-BAN!" chants start to get louder as Onita stumbles forward, still discombobulated from the cranial onslaught. Insane Luchadore feels his energy slip just a little, his reaction to get up immediatly and rush at Ichiban... who sidesteps and allows IL to rush face first into the turnbuckles! The wind is knocked from the cruiser's lungs as he staggers backward in shock. Instinct takes over in Onita's limbs, snaking one arm around IL's arm and another around his neck in a Crossface Chickenwing... "What a turn of events!!!" screams Comet, "It looks like it might be..." With a grunt, Ann lifts the Insane Luchadore up and over, driving IL into the center of the mat with a Millenium Suplex! Rolling with the momentum, Onita mounts the Luchadore's back, pulls her arms up to lock elbows on knees, and cinches in the Triple C! "TRIPLE C IN THE MIDDLE OF THE RING!" screams Comet, "This time, it very well may be the end for Insane Luchadore, but after all the close calls we've had already I won't count the brave masked man out until the bell rings!" Rickman screams out in pain, the adrenaline seeping away from his body like a receding tide. A few of the Luchadore faithful still chant his name but the momentum of the match and the crowd suddenly appear in Onita's corner. Allison leads the crowd outside as they chant for I-CHI-BAN to close the deal. Rocking back, Ann puts all of her weight and pressure on the Luchadore's lower back. The official asks Rickman for a submission but he shakes him off, pressing against the ring with his free arm to try and push himself towards the ropes that seem so far away. Onita feels her victim rise up slowly under her, pushing for the ropes. She shakes her head, unwilling to let the match escape from her. Leaning forward, Ichiban relieves pressure from the Luchadore's back only to slam her rear end into his lower lumbar region, knocking him back down flat on the mat! In control again, Onita leans back and bends the Luchadore out of shape. "She learned her lesson from the Boston Crab," notes Comet, "but in the split seconds he had with room beneath him it seems that the Luchadore got closer to the ropes! Could he crawl his way to the ropes and break yet another submission?" "He's got another two or three of those moves to go to even get close," says Riley, "I know he's got pain tolerance like granite but this may be too much. Luck permitting, we'll see Rickman's back snap like a twig and be rid of the little psycho." Pain is all he feels right now, his back twisted uncomfortably and to make things worse it's getting harder and harder to breathe. Rickman thrusts his free arm out for the ropes but feels nothing but air as his blurring vision has trouble making out how far away he is. Another go... he thinks as he presses his hand against the mat and pushes up and creates space between him and the canvas. Ichiban feels it come and does a repeat performance, leaning forward and driving her ass into the Luchadore's back. Insane Luchadore screams out in agony, his lower back feeling like heavily tenderized meat. He reaches out with his hand, but still nothing. The official asks for a submission but Rickman refuses to give up. His sight goes very hazy, double vision follows and he can't make out which rope he's meant to go for. Suddenly, his back is SLAMMED into again as Ichiban refuses to wait for another move attempt before punishing him. "He's SO CLOSE," screams Comet, "The tension is insane in the arena right now Citizens... Rickman needs just one more attempt, he could break the hold!" "Can he though?" asks Riley, getting caught up in the moment, "His eyes aren't looking so clear, and I know what that means, having made legends submit under my immense power!" "It's not the time for your imaginary career, Bobbo," chastizes Comet, "This match may come down to whether Insane Luchadore can make one last push...." Pressing his hand to the mat one more time, Rickman stops thinking about what he is doing and simply does it. He pushes as hard as possible against the ring, Ichiban pulling him backwards to try and force the tap. Space breaks between Rickman's stomach and the ring... a centimeter... two centimeters... Pushing, Rickman finds the strength to go higher... three centimeters..... ... two centimeters.... ...and back to the mat... *taptaptaptaptap* DING DING DING "Risky Gamble" plays anew in the arena as Ichiban rolls off, and clutches at her head, still feeling the effects of Rickman's attack earlier in the match. Allison rushes in to help her sister as the official checks on the Luchadore's condition. "Your winner," starts Funyon, "By submission at Eleven minutes and fourteen seconds... ANN! ICHIBAN! OOOOOONIIIIIIIIIITA!" "A tough match from both competitors," says Comet, "Neither of which were 100% but regardless, a great start to the night as Onita gets off the losing streak and beats the Insane Luchadore by hard-earned submission." "And Rickman's getting to his feet... damn. No luck with the permanent injuries when you want them," bemoans Riley. "We've got commercial sign but hold on to you seats true believers," says Comet, "We've got even more hard hitting matches to go, tonight on S! W! F! SMARKDOWN!!!" The camera focuses inside the ring, where Ann Onita holds up IL's arm as the crowd applaudes for the effort of both fighters. Rickman and Onita shake hands before the Onita sisters exit the ring, arms high in victory.... *cut*

Earlier Today... Footsteps are heard with a faint echo, getting louder as two people turn a corner into the camera's view. Walking quickly ahead is Ann "Ichiban" Onita, with her sister Allison tagging behind, shouting words of support. "This is YOUR night, Ann!" Allison screams, "You're going to walk in there and take Insane Luchadore to school! You got him Ann, you GOT him!" Ichiban looks straight ahead, lost in the daze of determination. She lets the human hype machine behind her psych her up for the upcoming match. "The man's body is a wreck! Did you see what happened to him last show?" shouts Allison. Without waiting for a response she continues, "He nearly broke every damn bone in his body! And he's only two-oh-five! You're gonna throw him around like a rag doll! Millenium Suplex, Triple-C, and the man's down for good!" Without realizing, Allison continues to walk on, passing her sister and somebody else before realizing her mistake. She walks backwards, waiting unil she finds her previous position behind her sister before looking up... into Tom Flesher's face. The younger twin frowns at the man who is currently staring down Ichiban. "Ann," starts Flesher, looking to his right to nod at the other sister, "Allison." "Flesher," says Ann who then looks over Tom's shoulder to nod at an imaginary target, "Flesher's Ego." "Cute," says the Superior One, "Look..." Tom Flesher trails off, looking at each sister in turn before finally getting out the subject on his mind... "Sorry." Flesher takes turns giving both sisters a pat on the shoulder before walking off silently. Allison watches him walk off, a smile creeping across her face. "Wow, that was... rather graceful of him, don't you think sis? ...sis?" asks Allison. Her sister, beet red with anger, seems unwilling to accept the apology. "You don't know him like I do Alli. He's got some twisted game he's starting I just know it," starts Ann, "That... fu... bas.... CHAUVINIST!" In a huff, Ichiban storms off leaving her sister left in a cloud of dust. "He didn't seem so bad..." says Allison before running off to catch up to her sister.

Card: Ann “Ichiban” Onita vs. Insane Luchadore! ~ I think that this is relatively simple. These two suffered rather disappointing losses on Lockdown, and we’re only going to let one of them recover. May the better (wo)man win, ladies and gentlemen. RULES: Standard Singles Match. I know you kids like to be H-Core, but tonight you’ll just have to deal. Edward James vs. Blanka! ~ Well, I think this is quite simple, really. James hasn’t been on the showing side as of late, and so, the logical thing to do? Book him against Blanka from Street Fighter II, of course! RULES: Standard rules apply. Of course, Blanka has the power to cover himself in electricity and curl up into a ball before hurling himself at people, so that’s completely legal. As we all know, Blanka hails from The Jungle, Brazil. He is green and has gigantic red hair. He is depicted here: For the love of God, please just show, James. ”Deathwish” Danny Williams and Dace Night vs. Toxxic and Jimmy “The Demon” Liston! ~ There’s way more history and chemistry between these guys than I want to get into, but hey, Danno’s back! Huzzah. Tonight, he’ll be joining up with his old tag partner Dace Night in order to face off against two cats that Dace isn’t too keen on – Toxxic and Jimmy Liston. There’s plenty of history here for you guys to work with, so I’m sure you’ll do fine. RULES: This match is a Bomb Shelter Match! Oh, April Fools Danny. Hardy-har-har. Standard tag rules, tag ropes and all. Yey. ”The Superior One” Tom Flesher vs. Stryke! ~ I’ll admit to being a huge Stryke mark, and I was really happy to see him win his first match back against Coy. So here, I’m giving him the chance of a lifetime – he has the chance to beat Tom Flesher. But that won’t be as easy as it sounds, as Tom has been on quite a roll as of late, and with his more recent heelish tendencies, who knows what will go down… RULES: Standard Rules because that’s the way Tom likes it. AND OUR MAIN EVENT… OMGZ MULTIMAN MAIN EVENTZ~! Todd Royal, “The Notorious” John Duran, and Landon "La Cucaracha" Maddix vs. Charlie “Grappler” Matthews, “Coyote” Coy West, and Alan Clark ~ …My God, hopefully you guys can incorporate all of the character histories here into a solid match without your heads exploding. But what will surely be explosive is Charlie Matthews and John Duran finally getting their hands on one another. Aside from that, I really can’t be bothered to explain each guy’s relationships to his team mates and opponents. This is sure to be great anyway though, so let’s just forget about everything and let the mayhem ensue! RULES: Standard six-man rules… though these things tend to get out of hand anyway.

Good promo, although I'm more influenced by the fact it means that Crowe's probably returning within a few weeks more than anything else. It builds on the dynamic relationship between Janus and Crowe, which is deeper than most people probably realize, but is also buried under months of seperation and the fact it was formed through the JL. Not without its flaws, though. The dinner scene came off flat, for what it was, the dialgoue between Jessica and Crowe seemed... forced? Flat? I'm not sure what the word I'm really looking for is. Jessica is also little more than a plot device, which makes the sentimentality really hard to buy. Also, I saw some tense changes in there, which is unusually sloppy of something Janus had a hand in. However, the point was to re-establish the connection between Janus and Crowe, and that's exactly what was done. Good work. -Z

Continued comments! What, would I lie to you? STRYKE vs WEST "A wizard did it" is a-ok in my book, as far as explaining Stryke's return goes. As far as escape-rules cage matches go, this was really your quintessential match. Some solid brawling in the cage, a few good spots involving the stipulation, and, of course, a "holy shit" bump off the top. Not spectacular, but since it did beat Coyjiro, I have to take my hat off to Stryke for making the most of his oppertunity. As with winning the ICTV title some time ago, this sort of thing proves he's a woefully underrated writer simply because he doesn't go to the effort often enough. And I thought Janus/Aecas vs W&D was the upset of the night, yeesh. ROYAL vs DURAN Todd should be from some place like "The Gates of Heaven" instead of San Diego, I say. First cameo appearance of IL and Toxxic on the night here, which honestly surprised me. I thought they might at least get a couple of sentances in one of the other matches, but ah well. I have to say that this match NOT being a Fingerpoke of Doom-like screwjob is pleasantly surprising, and making it a respectable rasslin' affair is a nice way to play it. comet ASKING for Duran and Royal to cheat is a cute touch. Good match all around, and a great way to spin it so it's not OMG STABLES WHO HATE ONE ANOTHER WTF!?11?!?1?1!?1 I think it's time to kick up the build for Grappler/Duran beyond these end of match promos, though. There's fewer shows to the PPV than you guys think, I'd bet. TOXXIC vs IL DEUX You noted in your PM to me with the match that you approached it like a Mall Brawl, but I tend to disagree. It's more lightheatred than IL's match, but it's not out-and-out SILLY like a Mall Brawl is. I'd just like to note that I love your use of the Memphis Eel. I also think the action replay bits are smart, from a logistics standpoint. Both you and IL made a point to include the weedwhacker getting revved up, which incited a cheer from me both times. Pity it didn't get USED in your match, but... maybe that's just as well. CLARK vs DACE Reintroducing Bloodshed is an interesting way to approach this match, and an interesting twist in Clark's character. Bloodshed walking through the broken glass, shoeless, made me grimace. Ultimately, though, I think the whole match had me feeling that way... if it wasn't chock-full of hardcore spots loosely connected to each other, there was wrestling that seemed VERY out of place. The match really lacked flow, which was a problem. It should've been more brawling and built around spots that DIDN'T involve the glass, building up the drama of someone actually going through the table. I don't think Dace's mastery of the genre, so to speak, was played up well enough either. As an upside, The Toxxic/IL appearance and subsequent pinfalls were nicely done, although I know they had been asked to be included already. MAIN EVENT Grappler continues to be really awesome, although I'm going to have to go on record and say that he outclassed Landon, straight up, for this one. Great brawl, great build, great atmosphere... this is why Grappler is champion, everybody. I almost gave the match away to SS on the principle of reintroducing the baguette ALONE, and including the great line "...with malicious, French intent..." Gold. A suburb match from top to bottom; I especially loved the finish, and reiterate that it's time for Grappler/Duran build to shift up into overdrive. I did edit the last line of commentary for the sake of continuity, in case you were wondering, Grap. TOXXIC vs IL PART TRIES Probably the most hardcore-style segment, and maybe my favourite of the three. Hard to tell since once agian, I enjoyed reading all of this match. Liked that both of you decided to go for the 'after the main event' aspect. Just a great way to cap off the match, with a furious dash to the finish. I do think that the moonsault off the top of the Smarktron was overkill, and that the Eel stunnering everyone after the match was... well, dumb, but it was written to almost fit into the match. A fine bit of insanity to end an entire show of it. CLOSING PROMO To be honest, the new commissioner isn't that hard to guess, but WHY he's going to be coming in... that's the hard part. I hope I managed to be dramatic enough to at least get people interested, or something. And wow, that's that. I'm sorry to admit that's the first SWF show I've read top-to-bottom in a little while... and damn, these fucking things are BIG. Now I suppose I need to go comment on some promos. Aaaaaahhh! -Z

Moving ON with the fed and everything that happened yesterday, I'm going to the effort of actually reading and commenting on this show, which I should probably be doing regardless. Or at the very least, constantly dropping comments about the matches that I mark. Anyway, this goes in two parts, because my comments are indellibly long and reflective. This means you should respond to them, because I hate handing this stuff out and not being asked any further questions, since I've almost always got more to say if you'll let me. OPENING OPENING PROMO OPENER THING: Yes, I wrote it, and the other two promos dealing with Mark. A pretty straightforward setup promo for the two later in the night is about all this is. Bonus points if you know who Steve Simon is. OPENING PROMO: I think you're less of a bad promo writer, WC, than you're someone used to writing a character who doesn't speak very much. It doesn't help that MVS is pretty vanilla. Calling out Flesher and having Mike respond was an... odd way to set it up, but I suppose it works well enough. I know what this is... well, WAS setting up, and I do hope that Mike actually intends to follow through with it. Not a bad promo, although it ends up looking kinda' silly considering the results of James/Van Siclen. PHILLY STREET FIGHT PART UNO: I loved reading every part of this match, I just want to say. Both guys wrote really great, different matches and I enjoyed them thoroughly. I went with Toxxic since I think he used the stipulation more effectively, to better ends than IL did. Starting from here, I think it all just flowed together a little better, a little more logically. I didn't like the no commentary aspect very much, though that's a minor nitpick. More or less because it looked dumb after Wildchild's promo. JAMES vs MVS: G0RO BEINGZ CURIOUSLY HUNGRY WRESTLERZ OMGWTF!!1!1!1!!11@!11!!!1 GRAND SLAM SEGMENT NUMBER TWO: Idea for removing GSMS from storyline was suggested by the man himself, actually. Once again, this sort of thing is all pretty routine for me to write (as if anything related to me writing should ever be called 'routine'), and I didn't like it a whole lot. My strength is dialogue, and when there's only one person to have interplay with, it doesn't work out so well. I only really hope I got Mark down as an accurately concerned husband. JANUS/AECAS vs WILD & DANGEROUS I didn't like how the commentary had too many exclamation marks! It was really annoying! They were also present in the match proper, which made that half read a little awkwardly. It was one of the more telling points of where Aecas and Janus had switched off, and you two may want to work on matching styles just a little better. Anyway, two things really stood out to me from this match: 1) Great power vs speed affair. The wrestling was really the high point, as it flowed well and there was no real visible change in style from the two halves, which is more important than the minor discrepancies I saw. Of course, when you've got two characters who are also identical, it's not a big stretch to understand why that's the case. However, it's also part of the other point. 2) The match, unfortunately, lacked drama. With two guys who are sooooooo huge, it's very difficult to properly do a face in peril segment, so I think you two may have to find a new, original way of building the match to a zenith. I think the entire Terrance vs Janus personality conflict can work as an internal storyline within the matches, creating the tension of 'what the fuck is Janus going to do once he gets into the ring?' whenever you face heels teams. Also as a note, I had a reaaaaaaaaaaaaaaal hard time believeing Bobby would support Wild and Dangerous instead of Janus... well, becoming Janus at the finish. TOM FLESHER vs ANNIE Tom, first thing that occured to me: You... really don't write Comet all that well, heh. REALLY don't write him well. Comet doing analysis that dryly is wrong on dozens of levels. Match was okay, but seemed kinda pedestrian at times. I liked some of the clever references to the past, but I think you could've gone a little more obvious with them, especially digging out some of your classic spots. After all, how am I supposed to accept Flesher's oscilation back to prickhead heel without the delayed sell? OR the bootscrape? Finish was a nice touch, although I'm probably the only one besides you who remembers that far back into your career. Phew. I'm going to take a breather, and then have the rest of the show reviewed a little later.

Well, irony's a bitch like that. -Z

Mnf, Coyjiro has the opening promo, huh? Very well... I would like to make a request that absolutely no-one involve Mark in this show in any capacity, as reading last show would've told you, things are goign to be happening with the comissioner, and using him would make you look rather st00pid. -Z

The Smartmark's Wrestling Federation presents... The epic struggle... the endless drama... the oozing machismo and raw, beautiful brutality... "NO HOLDS BARRED" *ON ICE!* ...wait, no... I mean, SWF LOCKDOWN, *LIVE* FROM THE *SOLD OUT* WACHOVIA CENTER IN PHILADELPHIA, PENNSYLVANIA! (5:00pm PST, 8:00pm EST; check local listings) And now, a hymn to the fallen. ... Alright, that's good enough. We do this before the show even begins, as SWF LOCKDOWN prepares to be pure, unadulterated BRUTALITY! The SWF rolls into the home of botherly love and shockingly smart crowds, and pays homage to the birthsite of true hardcore wrestling. The only way we know how. ALL matches will be contested under no-DQ, no countout, hardcore rules, unless otherwise specified, and the fans have been asked to bring enough weapons to supply everyone for ALL the matches. Heaven help us... MAIN EVENT WORLD TITLE MATCH Charlie "Grappler" Matthews© vs Landon "La Cucaracha" Maddix The only thing Charlie Matthews may have wanted more than the world title is to paste John Duran. But after THAT, it's to annihilate the rest of the Unnamed. BUT after THAT, it's to be regarded as a fighting champion. The world champeen gets to accomplish two of those tonight, as he takes on--in a rather shocking surprise--Landon Maddix, who has been heavily preoccupied with Alan Clark as of late. For the closest follower of Todd's Word, this could be an enormous break... or a spine broken in more than two places. Either way, it shold be a most interesting way to cap off a helacious night of action. Rules: Rules d'jour apply. Word Limit: 6000 Send To: realitycheck WINDOW PAIN MATCH Dace Night vs Alan Clark Katie bar the door! Just do something with the bar so Dace doesn't get his hands on it. No doubt INCREDIBLY pissed off after being upset, and in convincing fashion at that, by the surging Toxxic, Dace Night returns to what he does best to get the frustration out: Straight wrecking someone's shit with something sharp and jagged. His unfortunate opponent, Alan Clark, is not to be underestimated... however, his focus has been almost 100% on Landon Maddix recently, and it has shown in his preformance. It would definitely be advisable that Clark keep his focus at the task at hand tonight, lest he be showing his internal organs by the end. Rules: There is an array of glass tables at ringside. First person to to have an intimate run-in with one of them, though ONLY under the power of their opponent, loses the match and a few pints of blood. Word Limit: 5000 Send To: Thoth SINGLES MATCH "The Notorious" John Duran vs Todd Royal This show it just full of strange matches, huh? Not that the commissioner is BIASED or anything, but damn it, Duran's been winning just a little too much for Mark's liking, and maybe he can change that with a cureball. Lord knows he can't deny Grappler to Duran FOREVER, but in the mean time, he faces... his own stablemate? Todd Royal has been less than Toddly lately, and facing off against his en feugo stable leader may not be the easiest way to change that. But at the very least, these two man can put aside the fact Duran's Unnamed leadership has been done without much valour, and Todd's obvious... ego discrepancies to face off in a good old fashioned wrestling match, right? ...right? Rules: Rules d'jour apply. Word Limit: 4500 Send To: Suicide King USJL TITLE MATCH CAGE MATCH "Coyote" Coy West© vs Stryke Sometimes, you don't need a thousand words to set something up. Stryke returns, AGAIN, and faces off against the Coyote, who has been lacking comers for any USJL title defenses. They throw down in what might end up being the safest match of the night. Rules: Cage match, with escape rules, just for contrast. Magic Door will apply here as well. Word Limit: 4500 Send To: chirs3 SINGLES MATCH "The Superior One" Tom Flesher vs Ann "Ichiban" Onita Another match that doesn't need much explanation! Annie and Tom are classic opponents, having faced countless times in years past. We do a throwback to when Annie had only turned heel-to-face three or four times, and Tom was merely frightening opposed to ridiculously dominant. Gotta' love it. Rules: Rules d'jour apply. Word Limit: 5000 Send To: HVilleThugg TAG TEAM TITLES Wild & Dangerous© vs Aecas and Janus There's not much to debate: W&D have been erring on the side of invincibility in their defenses, conjouring up memories of their arch rivals, Justice & Rule, with the white-knuckled grip they've got on the tag team titles. They will not relent them to anyone until they're pried from their cold, dead hands... and you know what? Aecas and Janus wouldn't have it any other way. Rules: This will be the ONLY match on the card to be contested under NORMAL, REGULATION RULES. Why? Because I can. I will make exceptions for any copies of "Suma" brought by the fans to be used in the match. Word Limit: 5000 Send To: 5_moves_of_doom SINGLES MATCH Edward James vs Mike Van Siclen Edward James is still a n00b, but he's yet to pick up a victory in his first two matches. He takes on the plummeting Mike Van Siclen, in what should be an easy victory. Rules: Rules d'jour apply. Word Limit: 3500 Send To: Grand Slam HARDCORE TITLE MATCH PHILADELPHIA STREET FIGHT, THROUGH-THE-SHOW BRAWL Toxxic© vs Insane Luchadore Well, you knew this had to happen eventually. Toxxic is surging, beating all who dare to face him and charging his way up the card. His defeat of Dace Night is one of the bigger upsets in recent memory, and he's on a crash course with the rest of the Trinity, Aecas especially, without question. However... standing in his way is one of the most accomplished hardcore wrestler's in fed history, and the very may Toxxic pried loose the ICTV title from. He will not face IL in a rematch for that, but rather, on the stage he is most versed in, in a recreation of one of the most creative stipulations in SWF history... Rules: Okay, pay close attention. This match will be contested under hardcore, Ironman rules, throughout the ENTIRE SHOW. The man who reaches 10 pinfalls first will be declared the winner... even if they have no reached it by the end of the main event; the match must continue until finish. I will have you write me three segments, one at the start of the show, and two that may be placed ANYWHERE you wish, even after the main event. The match will begin outside the stadium, and falls count anywhere on stadium grounds, but not outside of it. Anyone else on the card may feel free to have a cameo appearance of Toxxic and IL in their matches, fighting, provided a pinfall doesn't take place (unless they specify you can have one). Got it? Ooookay. And yes, I know, I did a slight power play. Deal with it. Word Limit: All three segements must be at least 2000, but no more than 3000 words. I'll be lenient, due to the odd nature of the match Send To: realitycheck (Send all stuffs to 5_moves_of_doom. Yes, TNT is the new booker, and officially replaces Mark for doing Smarkdown's. Make a note.)

I begin to question the necessity of chat when it's as empty as it is right now. I see you motherfuckers on AIM. This place is an institution, so c'mon. I'll leave it up to you to decide whether I mean institution as in asylum, but the point still stands. -Z

Look, guys, I didn't mean to be a prick. But ever since that one show on Thanksgiving where fucking everyone missed the date that had been on the card the whole time, I've been rubbed the wrong way by it. 'Scuse me. Sorry. -Z

Man, I've got no sympathy for illiterate people. It says in the title of the thread. March 31st. The due date is also right there in plain sight: 8:00pm EST. We also have a thread with the entire schedule up to the PPV, which provides another reference. Yeesh. -Z

After careful consideration *cough*, yeah, chalk up another two votes for Maskarade and Le Sensation Senegalaise. -Z

Nah, it's the First Union Center, 'cept it got a name change last year. -Z

Phew... RESULTS: What, you think I'd actually give them to you? Ahhhahahahahaha, right. Read what is, without question, the best regular show we've had in a long, LONG time. Card will be up eventually. -Z