Edwin MacPhisto

The scene fades in on the locker room of Crow and Dante Crane, Crow tightening his boots idly, Crane nowhere to be found. Three swift knocks at the door draw Crow's attention, and he barks out an "It's unlocked!" The door opens, to reveal a short, skinny man in a large blue hat with a large nose and a shit-eating grin. "Telegram for CnC Gothic Factory." Crow mumbles a "Fuck Double Jeopardy" under his breath, before turning to the man. "Let's hear it." The man clears his throat, before breaking into song. "Buh-buh-ba-ba, come on down. Buh-buh-ba-ba, come on down!" "Bloody hell," mutters the Crow, as he grabs the piece of paper in the man's head, slamming the door on him. "Those game show assholes are going to give me migraines." He opens the piece of paper, reading it idly. Something seems to click in his mind as he reads, and he drops the paper, muttering to himself "I've got to find Crane" as he exits the room. The camera picks up a shot of the paper... Come on down to Studio 3B You'll find out what our Genesis match will be. - DJ Fade out...

As SWF Smarkdown continues on, a very tired Boston Strangler comes barging through the locker room door and takes a seat on a bench in front of his locker. Strangler looks up, and sees a nearly-naked Xero come walking through the locker room from the showers, causing Strangler to look away in disgust. “That’s what I miss the most about being champion around here…getting your own damn locker room” growls Strangler to himself as he contorts his head as far away from Xero as possible. Strangler roots around in his locker, looking for a bottle of water, when he comes across a small package, tightly sealed in an envelope. Strangler pulls out the tape and looks at the envelope, which has no markings on it. Strangler flips it over, revealing the word “STRANGLER” written on the side in extremely non-descript handwriting. “Hey, Strangler, your dealer stop by a little earlier today?” cracks a thankfully-clothed Xero from across the room, with a grin on his face. Strangler’s face wrinkles up in disgust as he looks over at Xero with contempt on his face. “Shove it, jobber boy. Win something, then talk” retorts Strangler, which wipes Xero’s grin from his face. Xero walks out of the room, obviously miffed with Strangler, as Strangler starts to tear at the package. “Goddamn tape…” murmurs Strangler as he momentarily struggles with the packaging before he rips it open. Strangler pulls out the contents of the package, which turns out to be……something, wrapped in a hell of a lot of taped-together bubble wrap. “Fuck it all…” grumbles Strangler as he starts pulling away at the tape, which is much less forgiving than the first round. Strangler struggles with it for a good 10 seconds, and only manages to twist the tape and bubble wrap into a huge mess. Strangler smashes his fist into the package, triggering a couple of loud popping noises, then reaches into his locker and quickly emerges with a pair of scissors from his medical kit. “Tape’s gonna die now!” exclaims Strangler in a somewhat muted tone before he quickly clips the tape, and slides the bubble wrap off. Strangler finally finishes pulling the bubble wrap off the tape, and reveals a shiny black videocassette, with no labels whatsoever on it. Strangler looks around the room and spies a television with a VCR attached. He reaches down to pick up the tape, only to find that the tape is still wrapped in a tight plastic package. “Goddamn son of a bitch!” cries Strangler before ripping the plastic off the tape in one fell swoop. Strangler tosses the plastic to the ground, then walks across the room and pops the tape into the VCR. The VCR whirs into motion, and a dark image pops onto the screen. The tape displays a room, with very little light. The only person visible in the room is a dark, shadowy figure sitting in the middle in a barely-visible chair. No noise comes from the television, and Strangler quickly checks to make sure the TV isn’t on mute. As he looks down, a voice eminates from the TV, which quickly gets Strangler’s attention. “Well, well, well. The Boston Strangler.” The voice is obviously masked, with the dull robotic tone giving no indication who the speaker is. “It’s been a long time since I saw you, Strangler. I guess the last time we were together was back when you were in the Magnificent Seven…those were the good ol’ days, huh? Although I suppose you didn’t leave on the best of circumstances…” Strangler breathes sharply, tensing up slightly at the mention of his less-than-glorious departure one year earlier. “But regardless, Strangler, you annoyed me back then. And when I took my leave of the SWF, I still had some unfinished business with you…too bad you had to go and get yourself hauled off to rehab before I could put you in a hospital bed. But guess what, Strangler? I’m on my way back. And this time, I won’t leave anything unfinished.” The shadowy figure goes silent, and suddenly the picture disappears from the television screen. Strangler remains sitting on the bench, staring at the screen as the last bits of light slowly fade from the dark black template. A solid ten or fifteen seconds pass in total silence, with Strangler’s eyes registering the only movement in the room as they look from side to side, thinking madly. Strangler finally reaches up and withdraws the video tape, and remains sitting in front of the television. Finally, he starts to stand up, but not before he’s mouthed one word, silent to the world around him, but ringing loudly in his mind: “Wilson”.

“T! B! S! T! B! S! T! B! S! T! B! S!” The first thing that greets the ear is the fans of the Fleet Center rabidly chanting the name of their hometown boy as the camera fades back in to the final SmarkDown before Genesis IV! The Bostonians keep up the chant as the Lockdown Graphic quickly switches to the pair of Tom Flesher and William Hearford standing next to the towering twosome of the Boston Strangler and Va’aiga. In the ring, the Magnificent pairing of Flesher and Hearford stand about, looking all business as they mentally prepare for the match-up. “What a tag team match we have tonight,” voices the Cyclone Comet as the camera cuts down to the table, “We have two Psion’s of evil prepared to explode on one another in one corner and in the other we have two of the biggest fan favorites this side of MacPhistomania.” “Two big hosses, that’s all,” says Riley dismissively, “These guys are just lumbering freaks in the ring. I’d be supremely surprised if they could lay a hand on Superior Justice.” “Then again, these aren’t the same stablemates from a month ago. Now this devilish duo is facing off in the Main Event of GENESIS IV and I would not put it past them to hang one another out to dry against two powerhouses like Citizen Strangler and Visitor Va’aiga.” “Tom would never do such a thing!” “But would the Judge?” “That bastard better not. Otherwise I’ll…” “You’ll what, Bobbie?” “… I’ll send him a very pointed letter.” “That’s what I thought.” *DING DING DING* The crowd stops chanting for a moment to give a small pop at the appearance of Funyon as he climbs into the ring with his deep red tuxedo. He briefly looks through his announcing cards before raising the mic to his lips. “Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to tonight’s MAIN EVENT TAG TEAM MATCHUP! Introducing our first team, already in the ring, weighing in at a combined weight of 455 pounds and representing the Magnificent 7, they are the World Champion and the winner of the Genesis Title Tournament… TOM “SUPERIOR ONE” FLESHER AND THE JUDGE, WILLIAM HEAAAAAAAAAARFOOOOOOORD!” Boos heap down onto the ring for the pair, but they don’t seem to be paying attention to the crowd heat tonight as they wait with tense faces for their opponents. They occasionally look at one another, but not even a confident smirk escapes their lips. “Look at that, Comet, that’s the 2/3rds of one hell of a stable,” says Riley with a tinge of nostalgia, “They may have dwindled over the summer, but damned if they aren’t still the best around.” “I’ll be just as glad to see them gone as I was when Prime Evil was destroyed,” says Comet, “With people-“ “Wait a sec… weren’t you gone when they broke up?” “I’ve always been around, Bobbie. Hiding in the rafters, watching in the shadows, wa-“ “Ah, shut up with the ripoff of Vanguard… or was he a rip off of you?” asks Bobbie, but he stops Comet from answering the question, “Never mind. Just forget I even asked…” “And the second team…” The arena goes dim as the opening chords to Blue Oyster Cult’s “Godzilla” begin to play, and the crowd literally EXPLODES into frenzy as “THE BOSTON STRANGLER” appears on the SmarkTron. *BOOOOOOOOOOOOOM* A massive white pyro shoots up from the middle stage, slowly dying down to reveal the Boston Strangler and Va’aiga behind it. The Maori is absolutely pumped up for the match, moving his arms up in the air to try and get the crowd even more into them. Strangler, though, just keeps an open hand in the air, ready to put his iron grip around anything that comes his way. “Now entering the ring, weighing in at a combined weight of 608 pounds, they are two biggest men in the SWF today…THE BOSTON STRANGLER AND VA’AAAAAAAAAIGA!” “Two mountainous men indeed! I’m always one for a great high-flying battle, but these two men would put Rane to shame in with their power!” “The thing is they don’t stand a chance at catching the guys across the ring from him,” remarks Riley as the two get up onto the apron and step through the ropes, “These pumped up over-muscled freaks can barely flex, let alone try and grab these two with their paws.” The pair of heels quietly discusses who is going in first, and Flesher is the first to step on his side. On the other side, though, there isn’t much discussion, as Strangler immediately steps into the ring, Va’aiga even trying to stop him. Referee CED Ordonez looks over at both men and after getting the nod from both of him he points to the time keeper’s table for the bell! *DING DING DING* The bell rings, getting a small pop from the excited Fleet Center crowd, and the two enemies slowly step out towards each other. Strangler, though, doesn’t stay slow for long, moving quickly into contact with Flesher for a lockup. The much smaller man can’t stop the momentum of the larger man as he pushes him backwards, but he does manage to slip out of his grip, swinging around for a front headlock. He wrenches it hard, trying to pull Strangler to the ground, but the former World Champ doesn’t fall, instead powering Flesher off of him and into the ropes. The crowd cheers as Strangler raises up his boot… but he puts it back down as the current World Champion quickly wraps his elbows ‘round the top rope, saving him from a less-than-stellar start. “A few early moves here, but where do you think they are going to go, Bobbie?” “Well, Strangler is just gonna go for his normal ‘short-bus strategy’ of pounding away until Flesher goes down. Tom, though, has gone after the neck of that dinosaur in their last few meetings, and it’s worked well enough that I think he’ll be going right back there.” Tom lets go of the ropes and slowly comes back out, and Strangler doesn’t press him as much this time. Moving forwards, Tom goes and tries to get a front facelock, but Strangler gets his arms up to block, swinging a hard right hand into Flesher’s temple! The champ stumbles back as Strangler moves in, throwing another punch into his face. Tom stumbles back as TBS goes for a third haymaker, but Flesher gets enough sense back in him to duck it and move back towards his tag partner. His face has a small frown as he tags out, saying something to Hearford before he steps out. Strangler backs out to the middle of the ring, and the crowd cheers for TBS running off the current World Champion. “Hmph. I suppose even the dumbest people pick up on things eventually…” whines Bobbie as the Judge slowly approaches Strangler and locks up with him. The old man is quickly overpowered as the Superstation pushes him backwards into one of the neutral corners, butting him right up against the turnbuckle before CED taps on his shoulders for a break. The crowd favorite lets go, getting another pop for dominating the challenger, and Hearford goes back at it, moving in close and grabbing a front headlock on the man. Strangler tries to push him off, but the Judge quickly spins around, grabbing a hammerlock before quickly moving in for a sleeper… but Strangler feels it coming, swinging around and nailing the Judge with an elbow to his temple. The old man stumbles back, allowing Strangler to get some distance and get a tag out. A few of the diehard TBS fans boo, but they are blocked out by the overwhelming pop for the fiery Trinity Member! He immediately comes in and nails the Judge with a HUGE LARIAT OF INFINITE PAIN X2, knocking the Judge head over heels! “And the Maori has landed!” says Comet with a smile as the big man immediately gives a huge “BOO-YAH!” to the riled up crowd in front of him, “Well, Bobbie, things are certainly looking bad for your conniving pair of eVil©-doers, eh?” “Shut up! They just start off a little slow, but they’ll get moving…” The Judge begins to get back up from the massive lariat that nailed him across the face, but Va’aiga quickly turns back around from his crowd taunting ways and pulls him back up to his feet and blasting him with a punch! The Judge stumbles, but comes back with a chop. *CHOP* WHOO! BOO-YAH! The hard strike barely fazes the Maori as he strikes back with a hard left cross! “BOOM!” Another left cross! “BOOM!” He winds up his arm… “Aaaaaaaaa….” And swings! “YEAAAA-BOOOOOOOO!” But he misses big as the Judge ducks under, stumbling towards his corner to tag in Tom. The old man also shows some minor dissatisfaction, and on the other side of the ring Va’aiga gives Strangler another chance at his foe, tagging out to a massive pop! Tom goes down into an amateur stance. Moving in with a fist cocked back, but as he fires it off Tom ducks it, using the chance to lock on a front facelock. Strangler pulls his arm back for a punch, but Flesher works like a madman, using the chance to underhook the single arm before delivering a knee right to Strangler’s chest, allowing him to take the giant off his feet into a grounded Chin wrench! “Flying Cement Drop, and Strangler is dropped like a brick!” says Bobbie with a smile as Flesher begins to shift around to try and get a Camel Clutch on, “And going right back to that neck!” Strangler struggles as Tom tries to flip him over, kicking his feet and reaching out for the nearby ring ropes. He keeps moving closer and closer, but Tom manages to flip him onto his belly and begins pulling his chin backwards. Luckily Strangler’s kicking wasn’t in vain, putting him practically in reach of the ropes. It doesn’t take much reaching as the Superstation quickly grabs hold of the rope and CED comes in and calls for a break. “A great break for JUSTICE~! as Strangler manages to avoid a spine-snapping Camel Clutch!” “But he can’t avoid them for long, and you know it’s leading to one thing,” says Bobbie, “Held Without Bail. Both of the guys know it and have used it before, and damned if you can ever escape that one.” Flesher breaks the hold and immediately moves over towards the Judge, tagging him in. With Strangler down, Hearford immediately begins to give him kicks to the head, getting tons of heat from the crowd for it. But Strangler manages to grab his foot and push him away. The Judge takes a few steps back on one foot before regaining his balance, allowing Strangler to stand back up. Hearford moves in slowly in again, and Strangler braces himself for a lockup… but instead Justice attacks the legs, going for a two-legged takedown! He nearly gets Strangler, who just barely recovers in time to stop himself from going down. Seeing it won’t work, Hearford tries to wheel around into a waistlock, getting behind TBS and locking in a Full Nelson! Pressing his hands against the neck of Strangler, Justice looks to tender up the neck of the Superstation. But TBS flexes and uses his muscles to break free, spinning around belly to belly. He grabs Hearford and plants him into the mat with a huge spinebuster to big pop from the Boston crowd! “Leaping El Luchadore Magnificos! A great counter to the Full Nelson there!” “But he’s still in the legal man!” says Bobbie as Tom reaches out and tags the downed Judge as Strangler stumbles to the side holding his neck, “And thanks to Tom he’s gonna stay the legal man.” Tom immediately comes in from behind, chop blocking the bigger man before he can get towards Va’aiga, and the crowd boos almost immediately as Tom moves in and tries to lock in the Superior Stretch V2! The crow boos, but they quickly turn to cheers as Strangler guards his head with desperation, pushing off Tom’s arm each time. Flesher, though, doesn’t seem to be putting too much effort into the hold, and Tom moves more a bit more towards TBS’s side while still trying to put on the hold.… *THWACK* Sends a big knee right into TBS’s side! *THWACK* BOOO! *THWACK* BOOOOOOOOOOOOO! *THWACK* The crowd heaps more boos upon Flesher as he literally plants knees into the side of TBS, and the man grimaces a bit as his side is pulverized. Flesher backs off for a bit, getting back up himself and pulling the big man up to his feet. But the fans go wild as he fights back, grabbing Flesher by the wrist and swinging him at the ropes! The World Champ flies back towards his corner, but as he does he gets a pat on the back from the now recovered William Hearford! Flesher comes back and meets with a big lariat to the pleasure of the crowd, but Hearford quickly comes in with a big lariat… And it misses! The Judge goes into the ropes as TBS ducks it and raises his boot, only to be caught by Hearford! Justice stops himself with his arms around the boot, quickly moving his foot behind Strangler’s and tripping him off his feet with a single leg takedown. He quickly flips Strangler onto his belly, grabbing his other leg for a Boston Crab as Flesher shakes his head and rolls to the outside, taking a few staggering steps before reaching the apron. “And the Judge gets a Boston Crab on Strangler!” says Bobbie as the Superstation moves closer towards the ropes near the heel corner, “That’s the Judge’s specialty hold. He knows how to keep that thing on and torque it for maximum effect.” “That sadistic-HEY!” says Comet as Flesher kicks Strangler’s hand away from the ropes as he gets too close, “The dirty cheats! The Judge is illegally incarcerating Strangler right now!” “What? I didn’t see a thing, man,” says Bobbie, looking away from his monitor innocently. Hearford leans back, tightening the Boston crab. From the outside, Flesher leans into the ring and grabs Hearford by the shoulders. Hearford sees the thinking and leans back further, putting Strangler at an even more unnatural angle as Flesher helps him balance. Strangler grimaces, trying to hold out despite the pain as CED Ordonez admonishes Flesher to stop interfering. Flesher responds by shrugging and slapping Hearford on the shoulder, tagging himself in. The fans boo as CED slaps his hands over his head to signal a legal tag, and Hearford looks slightly confused. Flesher, however, comes in and motions him out of the way, locking on a half-crab of his own. “Smart move by the Magnificent Seven,” says Bobby Riley. “They’re keeping the pressure on the Boston Strangler’s back by working together, since he’s not allowing them to attack his neck.” “Of course he’s not, Bobbie,” replies Comet. “That would just be foolish.” “It’s not always that simple, Comet.” “It worked for me, and it’s working for Strangler.” Flesher leans back, nearly standing on the gargantuan Strangler’s head. He reaches back, blatantly grabbing the ropes for balance. As CED sees it, William Hearford grabs Flesher’s hand and offers him the same assistance Flesher gave him a minute ago. Flesher tightens the hold, smirking, as CED administers the standard five-count. ONE! TWO! THREE! FOUR! *slap!* “William Hearford tags himself in!” says Bobby Riley. “Damn, these guys are smooth!” “Sure, they’re able to bend the rules to their very limit,” says Comet sarcastically. “That takes both skill and knowledge.” Flesher looks at Hearford, slightly annoyed. The Judge, however, simply enters the ring in a businesslike manner and goes to work. Flesher, with no other option, simply exits the ring to sulk. Hearford continues the assault on the Boston Strangler’s back, dropping an elbow. He stands back up and follows it up with one more of the same. With Strangler face-down on the mat, the Judge slides his left leg under Strangler’s hip, hooking it under the left thigh. He grabs his adversary by the left arm as well, pulling him onto his side. In a flash, he locks his arm around Strangler’s neck, slapping on a classic sleeper! As Strangler struggles to counter, Hearford snakes his right leg under Strangler’s body and crosses his ankles, locking on a bodyscissors grip! “Hearford locks on the doushime sleeper,” says Riley. “Even while attacking the back, Flesher and Hearford are still going back to the Boston Strangler’s neck. It’s a smart move, really, since Flesher’s worked Strangler’s neck for the past week. Tonight, getting the submission should be even easier.” “Of course, you’re discounting Citizen Katowski’s drive, his fire, his heart and, most importantly, his tag team partner! Visitor Va’aiga may prove to be the difference in this match after all.” The Judge tightens the sleeper and the scissors grip, trying to squeeze every last breath out of the former World Champion. Strangler fights, using up valuable energy as he tries his best to power out of the confounding submission. Finally, with nothing else to do, he reaches out… and finds the bottom rope! Before CED sees it, Flesher slides over and kicks the hand off the cable, but as soon as he moves, Strangler reaches out and grabs it again. Flesher moves in to kick it off again, but this time Ordonez sees him and orders him back to the corner! He orders Hearford to break the hold, but like his partner, the Judge forces him to give the full five-count. ONE! TWO! THREE! FOUR! And finally, Hearford breaks the hold. Strangler starts to roll away, but the Judge stays close to him and locks his hands around his waist. Even though Strangler tries to resist, Hearford is able to easily lift him into the air for a German suplex. As Hearford lifts him, however, Flesher slaps him on the shoulder, once again tagging himself in. “The two Magnificents are getting into a game of anything-you-can-do,” says Comet stoically. “Nothing could be more counterproductive for the team, as this only builds dissention between the two who need to cooperate. Fortunately, in this case the utter breakdown of the team will allow the forces of Justice to prevail!” “Yeah, yeah, yeah. Listen, you really need a new catchphrase.” Hearford looks up when he realizes that Flesher is the legal man, and Strangler simply rolls through onto his stomach. Flesher, for his part, has already scaled the top rope. Smirking, he leaps off, coming down hard on Strangler’s back with a double stomp! He bounces off, jumping onto the canvas and sprinting a few feet to regain his balance, and then begins golf-clapping for himself. The fans, of course, react badly. “Now that is simply shameless playing to the crowd,” says Comet. “Flesher will never find the true path to victory by forcing himself on the fans like that. He’ll simply succeed in making them back up further and further, until one day when he needs to leap off the stage and into the arms of his fans, he’ll simply land on the cold concrete of…” Riley sighs. “Let me guess. Justice?” Comet looks at Riley quizzically. “No, you fool. He’d land on the floor beneath the stage.” Riley murmurs a curse, as Comet snickers, “ ‘The cold concrete of Justice.’ HA! That’s the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard!” Flesher turns back to Strangler and, with a look of simple sadistic joy on his face, plops down on the giant New Englander’s back. As Strangler winces in pain, Flesher reaches down and hooks his arms over his knees, locking on a camel clutch! He sits back a little further than usual, making sure to keep Strangler’s arms tight over his knees. “Watch Flesher’s positioning very closely,” says Riley. “He’s seated very, very far back on Strangler’s body. That’s a way of increasing the pressure on the lower back of the victim while still keeping pressure on the neck.” Flesher slides his hands up to Strangler’s face and slides a finger from each hand into his mouth. He bends the index fingers and starts simultaneously fish hooking each corner of Strangler’s mouth! The fans boo as the SmarkTron carries a closeup of the action, and CED Ordonez drops in to force Flesher to break! ONE! TWO! THREE! FOUR! *slap!* “Jesus, these two have balls!” says Riley. “I’m sure you know all about that,” replies Comet, as Hearford enters the ring after tagging himself back in. Flesher once again glares at Hearford, but grudgingly steps out of the ring. Hearford backs up a yard or two, waiting for Strangler to pull himself to his feet. When the former World Champion gets up, Hearford grabs him around the torso and fluidly throws him to the side with a Shamrock-style belly-to-belly suplex! Away from the M7 corner, he covers for ONE!!!! TWO!!!!!!!! NO! Strangler kicks out, and Hearford backs away again. Strangler gets up a shade more slowly this time, having had the wind knocked out of him. As he does, though, he forces his way toward the Judge and starts throwing stiff strikes more on instinct and routine than anything else. He connects with a right hand, but when he throws a second one the SWF’s own finder of fact slides his head to the side and slips the blow off. He follows up with a hard left hook, then attacks with a lariat! Strangler goes down to the stiff-armed attack, but quickly bounces back up. Hearford is waiting for him, stepping in chest-to-chest and threading his right arm under Strangler’s shoulder. He palms the former champion’s face and points him toward the M7 corner, then kicks his leg out and slams him to the mat with a vicious inverted half-nelson STO! “Closing Arguments!” bellows Riley! “I don’t think there’s any rebuttal from Strangler!” “He’s being denied his due process and you know it.” Hearford covers him for ONE!!!!!!! TWO!!!!!!!!!! “This could be it!” THREE – NO!!!!! Strangler gets a shoulder up, and Hearford sighs. He lifts Strangler up out of mild frustration and throws him forcefully into the Magnificent Seven corner. Strangler tries to fight back, but before he knows what’s happening, Flesher wraps the tag rope around his neck! Strangler fights, struggling and only making things worse. Hearford, meanwhile, steps to the side to distract Ordonez. After a few moments, though, the man in the purple-striped shirt sees what’s happening and forces his way through to force Flesher to break the choke. When he comes over… *slap!* Flesher tags himself in! Hearford glares at Flesher and shrugs as if to say, “What the hell are you doing?! Flesher and Hearford start arguing back and forth. Strangler, meanwhile, decides to be helpful. He solves the debate by interjecting with an argumentum ad elbow, smashing Hearford over the head with it! Flesher, shocked, drops down to the mat to check on his tag partner, giving Strangler just enough time to tag in Va’aiga!!!!!! Judge gets up, and to the roars of the fans, gets put back on the mat with a giant shoulderblock! Flesher steps up, but Va’aiga tackles him as well, slamming him to the mat! As the Judge rolls out of the ring, Va’aiga throws Flesher into the corner and follows him in with a sickeningly stiff lariat! Flesher staggers out of the corner and falls on his face, and the fans explode with cheers! Va’aiga, however, isn’t done yet. He grabs Flesher, lifts him into the air, and SLAMS him to the mat with a released power bomb! With the fans adequately whipped into a frenzy, the Maori Badass looks down at the battered body of the World Champion, looks at the fans, and bellows… BOO YAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH! “BYOB!” shouts Comet. “Bring your own BOOYAH~!” He covers Flesher for ONE!!!!! TWO!!!!!!!!!!! THREE – NO! KICKOUT! Flesher, desperate to escape, starts crawling toward his corner. Hearford, very slowly, gets back to his feet, and Flesher continues trying to escape the big, angry New Zealander. He makes it almost to the ropes, but Va’aiga grabs him from behind! Flesher grasps desperately at the top rope as the Maori Badass jerks him backward for a German suplex, and Hearford tries to reach out to hold him at the edge of the ring. Va’aiga is just way too strong, though, and lifts Flesher up like a ragdoll! As Flesher gets thrown, Hearford loses his grip on Flesher’s hand, but reaches out reflexively to grab for it again… succeeding in tagging himself in! Flesher doesn’t even realize it, since Va’aiga dumps him to the mat like a sack of potatoes. Va’aiga gets back up, but before he can shout “BOOYAH~!,” Hearford charges in and catches him with a lariat to the side of the head! Flesher tries to shake off the cobwebs as Hearford throws stiff punches, but Va’aiga fights back! He forces Hearford into a neutral corner and bends over, forcing his shoulder into the Judge’s midsection! As the Boston Strangler recovers and cheers his partner on, the Maori continues the corner shoulder thrusts, finally backing up a few yards. He charges in, and WHAM! Judge moves out of the way! Va’aiga manages to get himself caught up in the corner, his shoulder slamming into the cold steel! Hearford walks over to the corner and tags Flesher in. The Superior One happily charges into the ring, waiting for Va’aiga to straighten back up, and then runs at him for a running shotei to the back of the head! “Flesher’s back in full force!” says Riley. “I think this one’s as good as settled.” Va’aiga staggers briefly from the palm strike, but quickly turns around and nails Flesher with a lariat! He lifts Flesher into the air for a bodyslam, but turns him and sits out, slamming him to the mat with the Southern Lights Bomb! The fans cheer as Va’aiga moves in for the cover… but he looks up and sees the Boston Strangler screaming for his chance at Flesher. “Strangler’s getting cocky,” says Riley. “He wants to avenge his losses, plural, to Flesher, and how’s he going to do it? By getting the pin when Va’aiga did all the work. What a guy.” Strangler grabs Flesher and lifts him into the air, gorilla-pressing him high above the canvas. The fans begin to cheer as he holds Flesher up for the Boston Massacre… but the Superior One slides out! Strangler turns around to see where Flesher went, but Flesher simply grabs CED Ordonez by the pantleg to distract him. Va’aiga stands on the apron, screaming for CED to watch the action, but Flesher continues monopolizing his attention. Hearford, meanwhile, sprints in and catches Strangler with the Surprise Witness! Strangler falls to the mat, nailed with the diamond cutter. Hearford looks him up and down, then calls an audible. He pulls his chain out of his tights, stuffs it into his elbow pad, and drops an elbow across Strangler’s neck! He slides back out of the ring, stuffing the chain into the turnbuckle as Flesher looks up and sees the coast is clear. “Despicable!” says Comet. “Simple, pointless chicanery!” “Yeah, but they’re damn good at it.” Flesher gets up and sees the motionless Strangler. Rather than cover him, though, he sits the giant Strangler up, then steps between his legs… bars the left arm… and locks on a reverse facelock. “I can hardly believe the gall!” says Comet, as Hearford glares from the apron. He takes a moment, and then nods angrily, as if to say “Little bastard’s still stealing my moves.” CED drops in and raises Strangler’s arm once. It falls. Twice. It falls. Three times. It falls. DING DING DING!!!!!! Flesher releases the hold with a grin, and raises his arm. “Your winners,” declares Funyon, “the Magnificent Seven!!!!!!” Flesher walks to the corner, offering Hearford a high-five. The Judge accepts it like a dead fish, then quickly turns away. He walks up the aisle alone, his back to Flesher, as Flesher stands there looking confused. “What will we see next week at Genesis?” shills Riley. “What will it bring us? Flesher! Hearford! SWF World Title! Call your cable company now!” “And buy Pepsi-MAX!” FADE

The Suicide King sits contentedly at his desk. If nothing else goes right tonight, at least he’s got the office back in order. The mirror was expensive as hell to replace, but a few properly placed salary cuts allows for the refurbishing of anything, really. Despite all the tumult that comes with Genesis, at least he’s managed to get his office back together – CRUNCH! CRASH! Oh, God DAMN it. A steel chair clatters to the floor, and Edwin MacPhisto stumbles backwards through the door of the office, knocking the door itself off the hinges as he reels from a hard roundhouse kick! Catching himself with both hands on the commissioner’s desk (and knocking a VERY expensive lamp to the floor in the process) he only just has time to steady himself before being floored by a Yakuza kick from an enraged Kibagami! “What the hell are you doing?!?” screams the Suicide King. “WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU IDIOTS DOING TO MY OFFICE? Do you have any idea what that lamp cost? That lamp is a damn…goddamn it!” The commissioner’s protests go unheeded, however, as the former Clansman picks MacPhisto up from the floor… CR-CR-CR-CRAAAAAAAAAAAAAACKSHSHSHSHSHSH! …and heaves him into the mirror hanging on the wall, sending thousands of slivers of broken glass cascading down onto the Crown Prince of Flash and Panache! “That’s coming out of your fucking paycheck, Nathan! Jesus Christ! I just had that thing replaced! Are you trying to –“ ”MAKE MY FUCKING MATCH!” shouts Kibagami as he whirls around to face the commissioner, and Applewhite is stunned into silence. “What is it going to take, goddamn it?!? Make the damn match, King!” ”I CAN’T, alright? He’s not under contract!” King gestures harshly at MacPhisto…who is beginning to stir. “I’d LOVE to see you beat the tar out of Edwin, especially now that I can’t make him buy me another goddamned mirror, but he’s not an employee and I can’t make him stay here! YOU get him to agree to the match, because I can’t do anything about it! Now get the hell out of my office, and take him with you!” “Afraid that won’t be necessary, old friend!” CRAAAAA-RACK! MacPhisto swings the discarded steel chair like an axe, connecting with the side of Silent’s neck, and the Slaughterer falls like timber – hard, and fast! A winded Edwin wipes a thin trail of blood from his lip and grins impishly at his former friend. “Been a bit of a rough day, hasn’t it, Brian? I know, I know, you’re just as glad to see me as my companion here. Don’t worry, I’m on my way out the door right now, but tell him when he wakes up that he’s got his match. I’m sure he’ll be glad to hear it when he finishes his lil’ nap…” Edwin MacPhisto looks down. And on the floor, Nathaniel Kibagami looks up. “Christ Jesus, you don’t know when to say when, do you?” exclaims the Crown Prince…and with that, he scampers back out the door, leaving a trail of broken glass behind him. Slowly – very slowly – Silent rises to his feet, one hand on his aching neck. But there’s a smile on his face – a smile that hasn’t been there in a very long time. It’s eerily familiar to those who have followed his career. The eyes behind that smile burn with a hatred that’s never really been tapped to the fullest, never really been given the chance to run rampant through the man he used to be. Not until tonight, at least. “You’re not going after him?” inquires the commissioner, a little tentatively. “I don’t have to.” The Silent One chuckles – he actually chuckles. “I don’t have to run him down again. He said he’d be there…and that means he will be.” And he laughs. Bad neck, bloody nose and all, he laughs. Kibagami – Silent – one of the two – turns his back on the Suicide King and his shattered office and makes his way towards the door. “It looks like I’ll be seeing you on Sunday after all, then. Make the match however you want. I trust you to make it…sufficient.” He laughs again; it’s a terribly, terribly cold sound. “And King? One more thing.” "Yes?” "Just make sure he’s got nowhere to run.”

The cameraman shifts uncomfortably, not knowing what Blackwell has in store as he hides his face from the camera, waiting for the right time… But as the red light flickers on, he turns his head; again, a smile is seen on his face… “Narcosynthesis…” “Do you understand what that means, Mak?” “It’s not just another flashy name like the Jumping Mew Driver… It means oh so much more than that, Mr. Francis.” “At Genesis, Mak, you will fall under my spell. As I take hold of you in the centre of the ring, locking on the Narcosynthesis, you’ll not only fall victim to the pain and torture that the move brings, but the repressed memories, and emotional traumas of your past…” “I take little pleasure from this, Francis, but I will do what is necessary to see myself stand victorious.” “I must admit, however, that I do take enjoyment, from seeing others relive their troubled pasts, as I do at night, as I rest my weary body. Come Genesis, Mak, you too will join the experiment, as you see the errors of your ways, and the light at the end of the tunnel…” … Suddenly, another walks into the picture, though Blackwell does not hear his entry into the frame. His voice, however, breaks his concentration and causes his head to jerk suddenly to the right… “Just as I have…” Andrew looks up at the shadowy figure with an emotionless expression, until he whispers… “Christian…”

The Fleet Center goes quiet as we return from a commercial for the Genesis IV video game, featuring the new Window Pain stipulation. The ring is prepared with the special red carpet apron, a long table and chairs on either side. The arena is dark, and the silence seems to hang for several seconds before... "ALL ABOARD! AHAHAHAHAHAA...." The opening riffs of "Crazy Train" by Ozzy Osbourne ring out through the Fleet Center, and the fans begin booing before the commissioner even steps through the curtain. As soon as he does the hisses and catcalls increase, and the Suicide King simply smirks as he walks to the ring.. "Welcome back to SWF Storm," says Bobby Riley over the theme music. "Right now we're about to get to the main event of the evening, but first we have some hoops to jump through. Now that we know who Tom Flesher will face at Genesis IV, we've invited the media to the contract signing. I'm sorry, though... I just don't know if this is such a good idea." "And why not, Citizen?" asks Cyclone Comet, at Riley's side as always. "These two are among the best athletes in the federation today, despite the fact that they often choose not to rely upon it." "Surely you're not implying that Tom Flesher would cheat," gasps Riley with faux urgency. "I've never seen Flesher do anything even mildly unethical in the ring." "That's only because you always seem to get the faulty monitor." "I keep telling them to fix it, but..." The venerable commissioner climbs into the ring, dressed dapperly in a brown suit and loafers with his hair pulled back into a ponytail. His theme music fades out, and he picks up a microphone. "Ladies and -" The Suicide King begins his speech, but is quickly drowned out by chants of "ASSHOLE! ASSHOLE!" He nods, rolling his eyes as if to say "get it out of your system, you cretins," then brings the mic back up to his mouth. "Ladies, gentlemen, members of the media, cretins who now have it out of your system," he begins, "we're here tonight to make official the main event for the greatest wrestling pay-per-view since my retirement. Yes, I'm talking about Genesis IV, the Voyage Home. Not only will we see Danny Williams taking on TNT for some reason, not only will we have the pleasure of not having to see the Unholy Trinity even try to regain the SWF World Tag Team Titles, not only will I step into the ring for one more go..." "ASSHOLE! ASSHOLE!" "Thank you, thank you..." says King with a smirk. "At Genesis IV, we'll see a display of technical mastery unmatched by any other combination of athletes in the Smarks Wrestling Federation... not to mention that they're two of my favorite wrestlers. Now, even though these contract signings have a tendency to, shall we say, go south, I think that these two wonderful ambassadors of our sport will be able to conduct themselves well. So, without further ado, let's get these gentlemen out here. First of all, the challenger..." The crowd quiets down as the lights dim to a harsh red, and the drumbeats from beginning of Rage Against the Machine's "Testify" softly, slowly crescendoing up. The drumbeat gets louder and louder, and as the drum hits the cymbal there is a split second of silence before.... "NOW TESTIFY!" The song skips to midway through and continues on as three sets of red pyros shoot up all across the stage, and Judge Mental appears on the entrance ramp. He walks down to the ring in a very precise and deliberate step, occasionally stopping to give a small taunt to the crowd. "It's a pleasure, William," says the King. "Out of all the athletes in the SWF, I can't think of a better challenger for the World Title at the biggest show of the year." Hearford, his face a mask of focus, murmus a "Thank you" as he shakes the commissioner's hand and poses for a moment while the ringside media photograph the pair. Then, politely, he steps aside, sits down at the table and stays out of the way. "And now, without a doubt the BEST athlete in the SWF, the man who wears the big gold belt.... ladies and gentlemen, 'The Superior One' Tom Flesher!" The arena goes dark as the SmarkTron lights up in pure white. In thin blue lettering, the words "SUPERIORITY COMPLEX," "MAGNIFICENT SEVEN" and "WORLD CHAMPION" fade onto the screen, and the SmarkTron holds the image for a few moments before... BOOM! With an explosion of blue and white pyro, Led Zeppelin's "Kashmir" fills the Fleet Center. The heavy symphonic background seems to vibrate throughout the arena as the World Heavyweight Champion steps through the thick cloud of smoke. Flesher's face is firm and focused as he strides to the ring, his mind clearly on the match later tonight. He wears his usual warmup suit with the belt fastened around his waist, the gold plates standing in sharp contrast to the light blue fabric of the jacket and pants. Rather than monopolize the ring, Flesher stops in the aisle as the song approaches the symphonic breakdown. He poses, folding his left arm across his chest and grabbing his chin, turning his head slightly to the left. The song breaks down, and blue and white pyro once again explode from the stage, silhouetting Flesher in his pose. As the smoke clears once more, the music fades, and Flesher enters the ring. "Welcome, Tom," says the Suicide King, greeting Flesher with a handshake and a pat on the back. "It's a pleasure to be here with both of you tonight," he says as he guides Flesher over for a similar handshake and photo. "I know you and Mr. Hearford have a match tonight, so let's make this fast." With that, he lays the contract in front of Flesher. Tom looks the sheet over, nods, and signs his name. He hands the contract across the table to Hearford, who does the same. The two members of the Magnificent Seven stand up and shake hands, recognizing the formality as just that. The Suicide King offers Flesher the microphone, and Flesher accepts it to say a few words. "It's an honor," he says, "to headline the premier wrestling event of the year, especially against someone as talented as my colleague." His pace is slow and measured. "Bill, words can't express how exciting it's going to be to get on the mat and fight it out over the biggest belt in the business today. They say there's no honor among thieves, but you and I aren't thieves. We've each fought our way to the top of the wrestling world. There'll be nothing stolen next Sunday night." Flesher raises his gaze and looks his stablemate in the eye. "One of us," he says pointedly, "is going down fair and square." He offers Hearford the microphone, and the jurist accepts. "It's been a long trip to the top," says Hearford quietly. "I was punished for going out of the Clusterf*ck early. I lost the SJL Title to a child who retired a month later. I reformed the Hardcore division. I ran the Tag division with my good friend Ejiro. I won the Genesis IV tournament. I've been on the bottom of the ladder, and now I'm almost at the top. Next Sunday, one of us is going to have his hand raised to be recognized as the best in the world. Whether it stays on the mat or whether I - whether one of us has to take it to the next level, it's going to be a hell of a match with a... just result." Flesher raises an eyebrow. "Well," adds Hearford, "you can't deny that it's going to be a hell of a match. I mean, one of us is a great technician who’s innovated techniques. One of us has gotten to the top of the business using techniques other people innovated. It takes a true student of the sport to take someone else’s hard work and find a way to use it to win a World Title, wouldn’t you say, Tom?” “It takes a true athlete to excel on his own, yes,” says Flesher sharply, “although you did a great job with the tag team titles. I was really impressed with your ability to distract the referee while your partner cheated, or to cheat while Ejiro distracted the ref. Versatility, Bill. I salute you.” The Suicide King sees where the discussion is headed and steps in. “Gentlemen, gentlemen, remember, you’re tagging in just a few minutes. Keep it together and take out Va’aiga and Strangler… again.” King nods and grins at Flesher. Flesher curtly returns the nod. “Now let’s get this table out of here,” he says, “and get the match underway.” “You heard him,” says Bobby Riley. “We’re going to take a commercial break, get that furniture and carpet out of the ring, and when we come back we’ll have Flesher and Hearford taking on the Boston Strangler and Va’aiga!”

"They all laugh at you, you know." The camera fades in on King's office. King himself we see sitting at his desk, his hands steepled in front of him as he regards someone just out of frame. "Yep. Even now, after everything you've done, they all laugh at you. All the guys in the back. All the boys in the lockerroom, all the produciton guys. All of them. They think you're a joke." A low growl emanates form off-screen, which King seems to regard with some humor. "I know. No matter what you do, you can't seem to escape it. 91 days as U.S Champ, and they think you're a fluke. 57 days as Hardcore Gamers Champion, and they think you're a joke! They look past you. They walk over you. Men you have beaten have walked on a red carpet all the way to the top, and you have had to claw, scrabble, and maim for the few accolades you've been given." "I mean, look at the list of people you've beaten. Flesher. Frost. Francis. Show. Annie. Stryke. Raynor. You've beaten the best and brightest this fed has had to offer you, and your reward? Disdain. Well, THAT is about to change." King stands up, walking around his desk and sitting on it as he continues to regard the mystery man. "Why? I could feed you some line about recognizing your talent, but we both know better than that. I could say that I admire your ethic. But since we are dealing with high stakes here, I find that honesty is the best policy. Your situation is about to change because I need you. And as Flesher, Judge, and Ejiro can tell you, I am a very good person to do favors for. Work for me, and you will get what you deserve. Every time. Title shots. Cars. Money. Cigar?" King gestures towards a humidor, but judging from his face the mystery man shook his head. "I know, horrible habit. But I see that while those things interest you, they don't tempt you. No. You know those things are the currency of fools. They are good to have, but to need them? Weakness." King seems to contemplate something for a moment. "No, you are going to do this for me because you know you want to. You NEED to. You want to face Dace and Bastion. You want to show them what pain is. What true determination is. They want to inflict pain on the body. You want to infect their souls. You will do this because you can. You will do this because you are better than they are, and you would like to enlighten them regarding that fact. " "You will do it because your time has come. Hasn't it... Michael?" The camera turns to regard a somber faced Michael Craven. His right hand clutches a glass mug tightly, seemingly shaking from the exertion before shattering it into a thousand pieces! As his hand bleeds Craven dispassionately eyes it, before meeting the Suicide King's gaze again with an icy cold stare. "Yes. Yes it has." Cravens stands as King reaches his hand out. The two men shake, sealing this unholy bond with Craven's blood. "Time to silence the laughter forever, Craven. And with me in your corner, rest assured that you will not lose." And fade out.

As SWF Smarkdown comes back on the air, the camera is already focused in the ring on Funyon. Suddenly, "Sinner" by Drowning Pool kicks in, and the crowd explodes with boos. Riley: "We're back on SWF Smarkdown here in Boston, Bobby Riley alongside Cyclone Comet, and we're ready for the final one-on-one match of the night!" Comet: "You seem cheery, Citizen Riley!" Riley: "Of course! Your hero and mine Tom Flesher is coming up after this match! How could I not be pleased? I just hope this match gets over with quickly." Comet: "Damn that Tom Flesher, back to his old ways as SWF champion again." With that said, John Duran steps through the curtain, opting not to interact with the crowd this time around and blocking them out as he briskly walks down to the ring, ready to get this fight started with his opponent, Mak Francis. Funyon: "Ladies and gentleman, this next match is a non-title match scheduled for one fall! Introducing first, from Champaign, Illinois weighing in at two hundred and sixty-five pounds, he is THE SINNER...JOHN DURAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAN!" Duran steps up on the apron and then enters through the ropes, moving to the opposite side of the ring as he awaits the entrance of the ICTV Champion. Then the lights go out. "So you wanna be a Franchise...and live large...a big house...five cars..." Multiple bursts of green pyrotechnics shoot out from either side of Mak Francis as he steps through the curtain, taking his time unlike Duran and sporting the shades proud as he strolls down the walkway to the ring. Funyon: "And his opponent, from Philadelphia, Pennsylvania, weighing in at two hundred and thirty-six pounds, he is the INTERCONTINENTAL TELEVISION CHAMPION...THE FRANCHISE...MAK...FRAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAANCIS!" Francis moves up the ring steps and then cockily wipes his feet on the apron before saluting the crowd mockingly and then moving through the middle ropes. As he enters, Mak glares at Duran for a moment before turning to the near turnbuckle and stepping up onto it, raising his fists into the air. "The Sinner" doesn't seem very appreciative of the glare that Mak shot at him, however, and charges over to the turnbuckle, slamming into "The Franchise" and knocking him off the turnbuckle as the ref realizes the action has just begun and turns to the timekeeper to call for the bell. *DING DING DING* Comet: "What is John Duran doing? Look at him being cheap around the upstanding citizen Mak Francis!" Riley: "Mak made a big mistake by looking at Duran the wrong way. That'll teach him to watch it next time around!" Duran works Francis over in the corner with repeated right hands, keeping "The Franchise" in a state of surprise after being sneak attacked before grabbing Francis by his arm and whipping him towards the opposite corner. Duran is quick to follow Mak over to the turnbuckle, and as Francis hits the corner, "The Sinner" connects with a big clothesline. Duran backs away from the corner slightly, bringing Francis with him as they both move towards the center of the ring. Duran connects with a couple more meaty right hands, staggering Francis back towards the ropes. Riley: "Look at the ICTV champion getting worked over by this relative newcomer! It seems Francis has underestimated Duran!" Comet: "Not so fast, Riley. Evil can never win. The Franchise shall prevail!" "The Franchise" is up against the ropes as Duran once again grabs his arm and chucks Mak towards the opposite ropes. Duran lumbers to the middle of the ring, bending down and likely looking to toss the young Francis up and over with a back body drop. As Francis rebounds off the ropes and comes hurdling towards Duran, he catches "The Sinner" unaware, moving down to Duran's level and capturing John's head in his hands before spinning around, hitting a quick swinging neckbreaker that sends Duran down to the mat in a flash. Comet: "See? Mak Francis always has a way of proving me right, Mr. Riley." Riley: "Now it's my turn to be proven right, because there's no way that John Duran is losing this match! Look at the talent of this man!" Duran gets up to his feet fairly quickly, but Francis is there to meet him, Mak's hand cutting through the air. *SLAP!* The knife-edge chop connects and sends Duran back a step or two, holding his chest in pain as Francis winds up for another one. *SLAP!* And another. *SLAP!* Duran is backed up against the ropes from the strikes of Mak Francis, and Francis decides to turn the tables as he grabs Duran by the arm and whips him towards the opposite side of the ring. As Duran rebounds off the ropes, Francis meets Duran in the middle of the ring, leaping up and extending his legs out, catching Duran in the face with a picture-perfect dropkick as Duran hits the mat to the cheers of the crowd. Duran rolls over onto his stomach, tending to his face and his still sore chest. Francis backs up to the opposite side of the ring as Duran recovers on the ground. Riley: "Oh great, what could Mak have up his sleeve NOW?" Comet: "It looks good to me, Citizen Riley." As Duran rises to his feet, Mak runs as fast as his legs will take him, lifting his leg up and slamming his boot into Duran's face with a loud SMACK. "OHHHHHHHHH!" The Yakuza kick sends Duran right back down to the mat, and Mak plants his body over the shoulders of Duran, sitting down facing the SmarkTron as the ref swings around to count the pinfall. ONE... Suddenly, a man in a tight white dress shirt appears at the top of the ramp and begins walking down to the ring. TWO... The red-tinted sunglasses reveal the man who is halfway down the ramp. Riley: "It's Sacred!" The fans boo, as Mak gets up off Duran, unable to keep his focus on the match as Andrew Blackwell, makes his presence known. Comet: "Focus on the match, Mak! Beat that Sinner to the ground!" Francis has his mind taken off the match for a moment as he says some words to Blackwell, but "The Sacred One" has nothing to say to "The Franchise," playing a fair amount of mind games with Francis as Mak turns around to return his focus to the match...only to catch a brutal spear from Duran. Francis is driven into the mat as the crowd's boos peak, some of the fans having a few words with Blackwell as Andrew holds a microphone behind his back. Comet: "This does not look good for 'The Franchise,' he has two very dangerous men that he might not be able to escape." Riley: "Isn't life beautiful?" Duran picks Mak up off the ground after making a pancake out of Francis with the spear, hitting a couple of right hands. Duran goes to throw a third right hand towards the noggin of Mak, but Francis blocks this blow and returns it with a right hand of his own. The right hand connects and sends Duran reeling, Francis gaining an advantage in the match once again. Mak holds his side from the spear as he nears Duran, and then takes a glance at Blackwell once again. This does not fare well for Francis, however, as he doesn't see the big black boot of Duran connect with his midsection. "The Franchise" doubles over from the blow to his already sore abdomen, and is put in a front facelock before being dropped on his head with a DDT. The fans continue to boo as Duran goes for the cover. ONE... TWO... KICKOUT! Though Francis kicks out at the count of two, Blackwell seems pleased with the way the match is going, but still remains in the entryway, and doesn't seem to be making his move towards the ring. Comet: "I'm telling you, Bobby, I do not trust Blackwell being around Francis, Andrew hasn't done anything yet, but I don't trust him in the slightest! He is pure evil!" Riley: "Blasphemy, Comet! Blackwell is practically God! Don't you keep track of these things?" Duran calls for the Ultimate Sin as he bends down to pick Francis up off the ground, and as Mak is put in a standing headscissors, Duran goes to lift "The Franchise" off the ground, and does so. As Duran tries to put Mak in the crucifix position, however, Francis slips out and goes behind Duran, locking him in a waistlock, getting serious and using all the power he seems to have within him to lift Duran off the ground and hit a release German suplex. Duran goes into the mat hard, and "The Sinner" looks in a bad way as Francis gets up off the mat. This time it's Mak who calls for the end with the Franchise Tag, and as he lifts Duran up off the ground to put him in a front facelock, he turns to face Blackwell and notices that Andrew is beginning to walk towards the ICTV Champion. Riley: "Wait a minute, Blackwell is coming towards the ring...we might be getting down to business here." Comet: "Defeat the evil, Mak!" Mak notices that Blackwell is moving and releases the front facelock, going over to the ropes and yelling at Blackwell. Blackwell comes to a stop again, and Francis seems frustrated with "The Sacred One." As Francis turns around again to face Duran... He catches a boot in the stomach. "NOOO!" The crowd seems about to riot as Francis is put in a standing headscissors. Duran lifts the franchise player off the ground, and this time locks in the crucifix position before tossing the young man up into the air and coming down, letting gravity take over. *BOOM* "OOOOOOOOH!" The force of the Ultimate Sin finds its mark and then some, as Francis is out on the mat. Duran extends his legs and covers Francis in the process, the ref swinging around to make the pinfall. ONE... TWO... THREEEEEEEEEE! Comet: "NO! THIS IS BULLSPIT!" Riley: "...Bullspit?" Funyon: "Here is your winner, John Duran!" Riley: "I must say, that was a short match." Comet: "Of course! Francis couldn't keep his focus!" The ref raises the hand of Duran as he lays the ICTV belt next to Francis, who is holding his head in pain. Blackwell remains on the outside as Duran celebrates his unexpected victory. Riley: "I can't wait for a rematch between Mak and Duran. It needs to happen, I want to see 'The Sinner' take down 'The Franchise' once and for good!" Comet: "So why did Blackwell come down to the ring...? I think we might be finding out soon enough..." The Franchise continues to lie on the mat, as John Duran finishes soaking up the capacity crowds jeers. Andrew Blackwell slowly makes his way down to the ring, walking up the steel steps to the ring apron… and that gives John his cue to leave. He rolls out of the ring, both hands raised in the air, in triumph, as he goes up the ramp, happy with the fact that he proved himself a winner against the current ICTV champion. Meanwhile, Blackwell has made his way through the ropes and brings the microphone from behind his back, standing with a regal posture as always. “I wonder wants going to happen here?” questions Comet, as Sacred speaks. “Stand up Mr. Francis. Explain yourself.” “What?” says Mak still trying to recover from Duran’s attack. “Explain yourself. Why would you dare to steal my spotlight? I knew that people were trying to suppress my message.” “I’m not trying to steal your damn spotlight.” “Then will you join the experiment?” asks Sacred placing the microphone in Francis’ face. “What does that mean?” “That is a question for a different time. Just know that it continues as I planned. I believe Brian was right in saying that you wanted to steal my spotlight… even while you deny, you attempt to do it.” Finally Mak explodes… “It’s not about me and it’s definitely not about stopping your message—whatever the hell it may be! I just want to live up to my older brother, damnit! I just want to be—I want to be what he didn’t get the chance to be! Part of the crowd gasp, as some make the connection between, this and his earlier promo. “Bobby, do you know what happened to Francis’ brother?” “I… I honestly have no idea, Comet. I never even knew he had one…” Sacred pauses for a second, but responds quickly. “I understand this… sentiment, as I have an older brother of my own. But that does not excuse you—I know that you have some emotional trauma, and I will solve that at Genesis, through your pain. But know this—your so called fate, that you spoke of today, is nothing but lies! Now, will you accept this as a truth? Will you denounce this preposterous ‘fate’, of yours?” “I can’t… I won’t…” mutters Mak, still on the ground, as Sacred shoves the mic in his face. Blackwell takes a deep calming breath, after nearly exploding. “At Genesis 4, we will have a two out of three falls submission match. For the unforgivable act of suppressing my message, because of this supposed ‘fate’ I will take your last shred of foolish pride and crush it… I will prove this fate wrong by forcing you to submit to my will, not once, but twice in the same match… know your fate is false, and that nobody expects Sacred’s inquisition!” Sacred drops the mic with a look of contempt on his face, leaving Francis in the center of the ring. “At Genesis 4, The Franchise vs The Sacred One in a 2/3 falls submission match… unbelievable.” Fade out

The image fades in to the interior of King's office. He sits back in his plush leather chair, his feet propped on his desk. That's where the illusion of comforts ends however, as his face has a very real expression of concern on it. This may be due to the large manila fodler he holds in his hands with the words DACE NIGHT written on the front in bold, angry letters... "Christ." King whispers hoarsely. "This Dace guy is a nutjob! I mean, you read these things when you bump a guy, but who expects you to remember every detail? I never thought I was going to be in the RING with him!" King clears his bleary eyes before going back to examining the file. "I mean, a weedwhacker? No way in HELL I am letting my face get anywhere near a guy who has a lawn appliance fetish! Look at this trail of injuries he's left behind him! I'm surprised they didn't run him out of KSW and CZW! He's a lunatic. A menace." "Between him and Bastion, I don't have to lose the match! They'd just beat me until my face fell off, and I'd get to be the Commish in the Iron Mask!" King swallows nervously. "Unh unh. No way. No FREAKING way. I am NOT wrestling those two. Bastion is a dumb animal, and Dace is a savage!" His eyes dart around desperately as he searches his mind for an answer. "I've got to find a proxy. Mark and Thugg did it. I can do it too! But who can I use? Who can I trust to get the job done? Flesher and Judge are in the main event! Ejiro has a title defense. Silent is too unpredicatable until he gets Edwin..." King's head falls foward into his hands, as he for a moment seems very near tears... before he lifts his head once more with a light of sudden diabolical genius in his eyes. "He'll do it." King's serious features begin to dissolve into their more accustomed settings, namely a manic grin. "Yes.. he'll do it." "He's dealt with people like this before. Hell, he IS a person like this." King's demeanor finishes its hard reboot, as he thumbs through the stack of files on his desk. Licking his fingers, he pulls on out before regarding it with his ever-scheming eyes... "Ha. Think you've raised the stakes, Mark? Well, I'm calling your bluff. I'll see your High Priest of Horrorcore and raise you one better." And fade out, as King presses the intercom button on his desk and prepares to make some... calls.

Funyon walks into the middle of the ring and begins to call through his microphone; “This contest is scheduled for one fall and is a non-title contest.” “We are moments away from Citizen Dace Night taking on the vile Ejiro Fasaki,” calls out The Cyclone Comet. “And although Dace has not had the greatest amount of luck against Fasaki in singles competition, he and Va’aiga were able to stop the monstrous tag team title reign of Justice and Rule a few months ago.” Bobby Riley chuckles, “Like every whale, Dace has had his flukes. But prior performance is no indicator of future results according to my stockbroker so I predict...” “Wait if prior performance doesn’t count, why are stockbrokers always telling you how much money they can make you? Doesn’t that statement sort of mean that they can not really divine anything?” “Why are we talking about this?” “What else should we be talking about Citizen Riley?” OHHHHHHHHHH SAYYYYYYYYYY CAN YOU SEEEEEEEEEEE! Stepping through the curtain to a chorus of boos comes the patriotic United States champion known as Ejiro Fasaki. With the title belt around his waist and the Stars and Stripes draped over his shoulders like a cape, Fasaki smiles broadly at the crowd as he makes his way down to the ring. Entering the ring by heading up the steps, Ejiro raises his flag high over his head as the sounds of the Star Spangled Banner fade into the night. Wandering over to the ring announcer, Ejiro takes the stick away from the referee and walks into the center of the ring. Speaking into the microphone Ejiro calls out to the audience, “You know I have had to field a whole lot of questions lately regarding the recent issues between my protégé Wildchild and Johnny Dangerous. First of all, Johnny actually being a spy explains a great deal. It explains why he was always talking to his watch. It explains why his car could turn invisible and fire missiles out of the headlights. And it really explains why no one has seen Jack the Ripper for a very long time. But beyond that, the fact that he would accuse Wildchild of being some kind of drug peddler is beyond ridiculous. After all, I never ordered The Human Hurricane to do that and we all know that without me giving him pain-staking instructions, Wildchild can’t even tie his shoelaces.” “FU FASAKI! FU FASAKI! FU FASAKI! FU FASAKI! FU FASAKI!” chants the crowd in response to such slander. Ejiro replies, “Well then why did he never wear sneakers? Why? Face it fans, Wildchild does not have the mental ability to be a drug lord. Do you honestly think that he would be able to actually measure stuff in kilos? I have no such faith. So Johnny Dangerous, if the IQ does not fit you must acquit! Of course while this whole investigation thing is going on, I need a little distance from the coke fiend. The Magnificent Seven have a good reputation you see and we can’t have this hanging over our heads. So I’ll see you after Genesis buddy! Have a good time proving your innocence!” Waving to the camera with a smile and a wink, Ejiro passes the microphone back to Funyon. “Introducing first, he weighs in tonight at 188 pounds and hails from Sarasota, Florida. He is a member of the Magnificent Seven and the current SWF United States Heavyweight Champion… EEEEEEEEJIROOOOOOOO FASAKI!” Leaping up to the middle rope, Fasaki lifts the flag high into the air much to the disgust of the capacity crowd. Hopping back down to the mat, Ejiro hands the flag and his United States title to the ringside attendant as Funyon calls into his microphone once again. “And his opponent!” And with the voice of Funyon hanging in the air, the lights immediately turn down to the point of pitch darkness as a billowing cloud of dark smoke emanates from the stage and fills the air with its noxious smell. With the sounds of “Justifiable Homicide” pounding through the speaker system of the arena, purple and red lights dance about the arena. These lights provide a beacon of hate that allows the most hardcore of them all to make his way down to the aisle. Stepping though the ropes, Night lets loose an angry howl as he places the horns high in the air much to the delight of a number of fans that happily return this salute. Turning his attention to Rule, Dace stretches against the ropes as Funyon continues with his announcing duties. Funyon calls out, “And his opponent… he weighs in tonight at 250 pounds and hails from Birmingham, England. Representing The Unholy Trinity, this is ‘The High Priest of Horrorcore’ DACEEEEE NIGHT!” Centering his icy focus on Dace, Ejiro stands up strait and tosses a little salute the way of the impassive Dace Night. Unflinching Dace barely registers the taunting maneuver from the United States Champion as he continues to stare down his site right at the face of Ejiro Fasaki. Dace needs hear just one sound before he can get to the demolition that he has planned for Ejiro tonight. DING! DING! That’s the one. Moving forward cautiously knowing that Ejiro probably has some sort of plan for this contest, Dace takes root in the center of the ring where Fasaki can neither use the ring to his advantage nor use his quickness to avoid contact. But evidently this suits Fasaki just fine as he wanders into Dace Night’s path of rage. Meeting Night in the middle of the ring with a collar and elbow, Ejiro quickly tosses Night’s arms high and off him before darting behind Night with a go behind. Immediately dropping low, Fasaki grabs an ankle and brings Dace flat to the mat on his face. Diving up and onto Night’s shoulders, Ejiro looks to scissor the arm and immediately lock on the cobra crossface! But Dace is not about to get caught in the move that quickly and he immediately straitens his other arm in order to keep Ejiro from drawing it into the cobra clutch. Then using his legs and free arm, Night scuttles ahead and into the ropes in order to force referee Eddy Long to make a break. Immediately rolling off Night, Ejiro moves to the center of the ring with an even bigger smile on his face than normal. “It looks as though Ejiro was trying to end this thing early,” remarks The Comet. “But Dace had that move well-scouted and was able to counter the move early on in this contest.” “Shows what you know Comet,” answers Bobby Riley. “Look at Ejiro and how happy he is. He knew that Dace was going to counter out of the crossface this early. But he wanted to remind Night of the move that took him out of the winner’s bracket of the G4 tournament. Fasaki is just playing some mind games.” Looking back at Ejiro with a scowl, Dace uses the ropes to bring himself to his feet. This time though, Night no longer feels the cold detachment he felt as the match started. Rather he rushes strait at Fasaki as fast as he can only to be taken down to the canvas with a drop toehold from the United States champion. Floating over the fallen High Priest of Horrorcore, Fasaki snags Dace’s neck in a headlock and uses at a fulcrum to lock Night to the mat. But still Ejiro does not have the strength to keep Dace down on the canvas and Night slowly manages to power Fasaki off the canvas and to a vertical position even as Ejiro keeps the headlock on. Leaning a shoulder into Ejiro, Night uses his strength to shrug Ejiro off only to find that Fasaki has a handful of hair, which he uses to keep Dace corralled as he slaps the headlock right back on. Immediately dropping down to a knee, Ejiro takes Night right back over and to the canvas as Long warns him about the hair pull. “This may not be doing a great deal of damage with this headlock,” calls out Bobby Riley with a smirk. “But what he is doing is peppering Dace with the wrestling equivalent of jabs. By coming out here and taking Dace to the mat immediately, he is taking away Dace’s sense of timing.” Breaking the hold just for a second to assuage the condemnation of the official before immediately clasping his wrists right back together to keep the headlock on. But still Dace is not about to simply lie down in a headlock and he uses a body lock to turn Ejiro onto his shoulders for a pin fall attempt. ONE… No kick out! Rolling off his shoulders with a kick of the legs, Ejiro pushes off at the count of one and reclaims his control of the situation. But not for long before Dace once again forces his way up to a vertical base in an attempt to free him from the annoying vice around his neck. This time however instead of rolling Ejiro over or trying to shrug him off, Dace instead grabs Fasaki around the waist and jerks him high for a backdrop suplex! But as Dace lifts Ejiro up, he lifts a pound too much as Fasaki over rotates and lands behind the member of The Unholy Trinity on his feet. Quickly shoving Night forward and into the ropes Ejiro turns as Dace rebounds back to him and sends an elbow into Night’s face. Falling down to the canvas, Night runs a hand across his face to wipe away the pain of the elbow. “Fasaki is doing one heck of a job keeping Dace off balance thus far,” notes The Cyclone Comet. “You have to wonder though just how effective he is going to be in the long run as he continues to pick away at Night when he can absorb so much punishment.” Looking out the crowd with a smile once again, Ejiro shoots off another salute to the people out there frustrated that they have yet to see Dace really get in a good lick. So you can imagine just how much that fact weighs on Night himself as Fasaki leans over the seated Hardcore warrior and gives him a smack across the face much to the shock and awe of the crowd. Quickly pulling Dace all the way up to his feet and to a corner Fasaki once again lays five across the eyes as Night’s vision begins to cloud over with rage. Taking a wild swing at the face of his opponent, Dace’s fist passes right over Ejiro’s scalp as the wily United States champion darts out of harms way. And with Dace unbalanced from his swing, Fasaki moves in tightly and slams an elbow into the side of Dace’s head. Riley comments, “Oh you can see it now. Fasaki has got Dace so peeved right now that the big guy is making foolish mistakes in there. First the blind charge and now the wild swing are telling us all just what Ejiro has been doing.” “Dace really needs to call himself down,” murmurs The Comet. “If he wants to really get his hands on that little punk he is going to have to center himself and concentrate on getting a good hold rather than taking one big swing at the fences.” But Dace is not up at bat at the moment as Ejiro once again rocks Dace’s head back with another elbow across the face. Turning Night’s wrist in a twist, Ejiro uses his grip to send Dace across the ring with an Irish whip. But the moment that Night hits the turnbuckle he explodes out of the box with a stunning lariat aimed right at Fasaki’s gourd. But once again, anger telegraphs the move before it happens and Rule is able to duck underneath the out stretched lariat. Turning immediately after the miss, Ejiro leaps into the air and collides with the turning Night with a leaping spin kick to the chest. Laughing again as he rises, Ejiro takes the opportunity to once again smack Dace across the back of the head with an open palm. But this time Dace makes no outward sign of having the insult bother him as Fasaki soon follows with a punting kick to the ribs. With laughter in his eyes, the United States champion once more stomps down on Night who is attempting to roll out of harms way and to the relative safety of the ropes. Pulling Dace up to his feet, Fasaki once again turns his arm over in a wristlock before sending Night across the ring and into the ropes once again. This time tossing in a low knee, Fasaki catches Dace right in the short ribs and causes the member of The Unholy Trinity to flip to his back. “Dace F’N Night! Dace F’N Night! Dace F’N Night!” chants the restless crowd as Night once again fights right up to his feet and stumbles to a corner. Resting there for a moment, Dace lifts his face to the smiling face of the United States champion. Once again Fasaki slaps Night across the face only this time to have Dace return the gesture with a sick little smile of his own. Standing as still as a beam, Dace absorbs another slap to the face as a suddenly worried Fasaki takes a step back into the center of the ring. Urging Fasaki to strike him again, Dace feels the sting of another open hand against the face but he seems well beyond insults as he virtually screams for Fasaki to take another shot. And Ejiro is only too happy to oblige as he swings a fist right at Night. But this time Dace does not bother to stand there and rather ducks calmly underneath the blow and grabs Ejiro with a tight waist before leaning backward and sending Ejiro flying overhead with a German release suplex! WHAM! “DACE F’N NIGHT! DACE F’N NIGHT! DACE F’N NIGHT!” roars the crowd with twice the force of moments ago. And as Dace rises to his feet, he returns the gesture of faith to the crowd by raising the horns as Ejiro stumbles up and down to the canvas in rapid succession. But still Ejiro rises again in a corner as Dace takes a clear view of his adversary. Charging ahead into the corner, Dace looks to kill Ejiro legally with an avalanche only to have Fasaki dive right out of the corner and out of harm’s way leaving Night to collide with the turnbuckle… Or does he? “Night stopped short,” reports The Comet with a great deal of enthusiasm. “He broke of his charge before he hit the turnbuckles and now he’s going to hit Fasaki!” “Ejiro’s strategy has gone the way of disco,” whines Bobby Riley. “Dace has got his emotions in check and that means big trouble!” Looking at Fasaki with a raised eyebrow and a half of a smirk, Dace waits patiently for the United States champion to turn back his way. And when Ejiro does he is met with a lariat that sends him twisting to the canvas as though he was stuck in a twister! Immediately turning Fasaki onto his back, Dace mounts Rule from behind and pulls him up by the head. Placing one of his opponent’s arms on his knee, Dace wrenches strait back with a camel clutch. Pulling back on the jaw of his opponent, Night rears back as Fasaki screams out in pain as his neck and spine bend in an unnatural position. But still Ejiro has enough of a presence of mind to reach out for the ropes while at the same time struggling to get his knees underneath him and move the pile. But before Ejiro can even get that far, Dace breaks the hold himself in order to pry Fasaki off the canvas before burying him on the mat with a hard body slam. “Dace is heading up! Just like Superman he is heading up, up, and away!” Sitting up on the middle turnbuckle, Night takes careful aim at his opponent. Sharing a glimpse with the staggered and begging Rule, Night takes flight! But just as Night leaves the safety of the turnbuckle, Fasaki rolls hard to one side to allow his opponent to hit the mat instead of him. However that is also not in the cards as Night lands right on his feet instead! Shrugging to the crowd as Fasaki tries to scramble up to his feet, Night watches carefully once again as Fasaki looks about the ring trying to draw a bead on the High Priest of Horrorcore. But as the United States Champion turns to where he thinks Night will be lying on the mat he instead sees the spinning and turning form of an elbow as it collides right with his face! “ROLLING ELBOAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA~! He makes the cover!” ONE! TWO! THREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE! NO HE KICKED OUT! Slapping the canvas in a bit of leaking frustration shows the world that Dace has not exactly reached a Zen state of being but still he remains focused on the matters at hand as he eyes Fasaki up for a bit more punishment. And once again as a stammering Fasaki rises to his feet Dace tosses out another rolling elbow right at Ejiro’s jaw only to have Fasaki duck just underneath the elbow and plow Night to the canvas with a rocketing STO slam! Rebounding off the canvas with the force of his own blow, Ejiro rolls to the side as Night chokes underneath the impact of the heavy slam. With both men on the canvas, Eddy Long checks in to see if they can continue before laying in a ten for the count out. Seeing that both men are already moving, Eddy decides to forget about the count on this occasion as Ejiro manages to pull himself up to his feet with Dace right on his heels. The Comet says, “Both men appear to be winded at this late state in the match with Ejiro delivering more punishment by quantity but not quality as Dace has hit the heavier blows. One has to wonder just how this match will play out from this point on.” With both men up to their feet at the same time, Fasaki rushes forward and grabs Night by the hair and jams him backward to the turnbuckle. Immediately trying to take advantage Ejiro begins to pepper Dace right in the face with standing elbows. Again and again the elbow finds its home right in Night’s eye socket as it begins to swell bit by bit. Standing back at the referee’s command, Ejiro breaks cleanly while at the same time obviously breathing hard from the effort. Looking at Dace though, it is not the swelling eye that Ejiro notices but rather the twisted smile that the now adorns the face of The Unholy Trinity member. Darting in again, Ejiro goes right back to work on the eye with a number of closed fists that all come in right across the bow. Drawing a trickle of blood, Ejiro smiles right back at Dace now until that is he sees something else entirely as Dace straitens right up and pops a salute right at the United States Champion! Enraged beyond all words Fasaki charges ahead with another right hook only to have Night duck right underneath and strike Ejiro right back with a hard elbow of his own that knocks the member of The Magnificent Seven back into the corner. “Oh no,” whispers Bobby Riley as he feels what has just happened. Once again Fasaki takes a swing at The High Priest of Horrorcore only to have Dace neatly duck underneath and hammer back with a well placed elbow that knocks Fasaki right down to his seat in the corner. Motioning to Ejiro, Dace smiles as he calls the United States champion out to come get him some more. And like a bull seeing a red cape waved in front of his eyes Fasaki pulls himself up and charges right at Dace. But he does it in such a haphazard manner that it becomes an easy task for Night to pluck Rule off the canvas and send him flying overhead with an overhead release belly-to-belly suplex! “The tide has turned and now it is Ejiro who is making the angry mistakes,” calls out The Cyclone Comet. “With Dace now…” SMACK! “What a BITCH SLAP of JUSTICE!” calls out Comet after the interruption as Dace smacks Ejiro right across the face as he rises to his feet. Stumbling down to his knee for a second, Fasaki virtually leaps back up into the smiling Dace’s grill and chucks an elbow right into the Hardcore Warrior’s face. BAM! Dace barely moves an inch before he sends one of his own right back at Fasaki! BAM! Ejiro strikes back! BAM! Dace! BAM! Ejiro! BAM! Dace! BAM! Back and forth both men go throwing elbow after elbow into each other’s faces. Time and again elbow pads collide with jaws as this time the fury in Ejiro’s mind refuses to let his body fall regardless of the superior striking power of his opponent. But Dace’s elbows still do a lot more damage than Fasaki’s as the United States Champion falters under the punishment. With a last grasp at winning this slugfest Fasaki steps inside and tosses a screaming elbow right at Night’s jaw. But as weak as he is, Ejiro telegraphs the move and Dace is able to step into Fasaki before he completes the spin and latches on tightly to a sleeper hold! “Citizen Night had the elbow well scouted,” remarks The Cyclone Comet. “And now that he has Ejiro knocked for a loop the sleeper is the perfect move to go to!” “And Dace has it in perfectly,” chokes Bobby Riley in concern. “With Fasaki’s neck crimped the way it is, Night is restricting the flow of blood from the carotid artery. Ejiro is only moments away from being knocked unconscious!” Pulling down and to the side with his hold, Dace rips The United States Champion back and forth as the crowd urges Fasaki to tap out and hand this match to the High Priest of Horrorcore. But surrender is simply not an option as Fasaki uses the torque of Dace’s own hold to turn into Night a bit more than anticipated in order to change the sleeper into more of a headlock. Then surging forward as best he can, Ejiro pushes Night right off of him and into the face of the referee at thirty miles per hour! “That was an accident,” Riley explains as quickly as he can, “Ejiro was just trying to get out of the hold and had no idea that referee Eddy Long would be in the path. Incidental contact that should not and will not result in a disqualification!” With Long nearly out of it from Dace running into him and Night being jarred from the impact himself, a staggered Ejiro Fasaki still finds the energy needed to reach down into his boot and pull out a length of chain perfectly fitted to his greasy hand. Wrapping the chain around his fist, Ejiro waits patiently as Night staggers up to his feet and turns right into … CRACK! The Cyclone yammers, “THAT was NO accident! That foul evildoer took a chain right to Night’s forehead and knocked the British right out of him! He might be Welsh now!” “Yup. That was intentional,” replies Riley matter-of-factly. “But since the referee is still down I am not sure it matters all that much. Too bad Dace didn’t help the poor man up. Karma… what a bitch.” “Or in this case it looks like karma is a three-hundred pound Maori bad ass!” As Ejiro tosses the chain out of the ring, he turns his back on both Dace and the referee in order to share another one of his patented salutes to the crowd. But this time the crowd is oddly more receptive to the gesture as a cheer rises throughout the populace. Confused by the sound, Fasaki knows that something is dreadfully wrong and when he turns he finds out just what that is. “It’s Va’aiga!” Running from backstage the moment he saw the chain come into play on the monitor, The Maori Monster reaches the ring and rises to full height just as Fasaki turns and gets and eye full of one very big and very angry man. Desperately taking a swing at his opponent, Ejiro tries to solve his problem with violence, which suits Va’aiga just fine as he puts up an arm to easily block the blow. But Va’aiga does not stop there… JAB! “BOO!” chants the crowd. JAB! “BOO!” JAB! “BOO!” WINDUP! “BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!” SMASHING RIGHT HAND! “YAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!” Knocking Fasaki strait down to the mat with a hard right hand, Va’aiga waits on Fasaki to get to his feet once again before jerking him into the air with a military press. Holding Ejiro up on high, Va’aiga looks out to the people with a grimace for just a second before dropping Ejiro down into his chest and driving him into the canvas with the Maori Drop! “This is a travesty! A farce! A joke! Where is that damn referee?” questions Bobby Riley as the crowd explodes in ecstasy at the sight of the United States Champion getting smashed into the canvas. “Fasaki knocked out the referee,” chastises The Cyclone Comet. “And if he was not such a vile villain he would not be in this situation.” Going over to his partner in The Unholy Trinity, Va’aiga only has to point Dace in the right direction for the High Priest of Horrorcore to scramble over the top of his opponent and make a cover. Then sliding out of the ring, Va’aiga uses his long arms to reach into the ring and give the referee a slight paint brushing in order to get Long up and around. Looking about in confusion Long finally sees Night hooking Fasaki up in a lateral press and slides across the ring in order to make the count of… ONE! TWO! THEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE NO I DON’T BELIEVE IT! “He kicked out! He kicked out! He kicked out!” screams Riley so hard his voice starts to break. “Two men and they still can’t keep Ejiro Fasaki down!” Shocked and amazed at Ejiro’s own resilience, Dace Night none the less goes back to work immediately trying to take advantage of the situation by pulling Fasaki up to his feet before jerking his head down in a standing head scissors. Looking to smash Ejiro into the canvas with his power bomb, Dace jerks his adversary high into the air and onto his shoulders but only for a second. Fighting wildly, Fasaki manages to break free from Nights grip and fall down behind the hardcore grappler. Landing on his feet, Fasaki tries to get some momentum as he runs strait ahead and into the ropes. The problem is that he is running right back into a very pissed off Britain. Lowering a shoulder as Fasaki runs into him, Dace plucks Ejiro off the mat and holds him on his shoulders with a fireman’s carry. Holding the struggling United States Champion, Dace lets loose a guttural scream before sending Ejiro back the way wince he came! WHAMMMMMMMMMMM! “Reverse Death Valley Slam!” ONE! TWO! THREEEEEEEEEEEEEEE! “He got him!” reports The Cyclone Comet as the crowd explodes with delight. “Dace Night finally got one over on Ejiro!” Riley says, “But it took him a big ass Maori to do it! Two big slams to the spine were enough to keep Fasaki down but only one of those came from Night! Thank god this was non-title. Thank god.” Funyon shouts into his microphone, “The winner of this match is DAAAAAAAAACE NIGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGHT!” Leaping into the ring as Fasaki manages to roll his way out, Va’aiga seems more interested in celebrating with his partner than pursuing the United States Champion. Slapping the back of his partner, Va’aiga lets loose with his trademark ‘Boo yah’ as Dace leans on his partner for a little bit of support. While on the outside of the ring, Fasaki snatches his United States Title and heads away from the ring and the well defended Unholy Trinity. There will be other days, but this one belongs to… “DACE F’N NIGHT! DACE F’N NIGHT! DACE F’N NIGHT!”

*BEEEEEEEEEEP!* “What is it now…” mumbles King, rubbing his brow as he goes over a stack of papers. “Mr. Applewhite? Mak Francis is here to see you, sir.” “Send him in… I need a good laugh to break the monotony of all this paper work.” The Franchise enters the office of his commissioner, being sure to get straight to the point. “King, do you know what the stipulation is going to be for my title defense at Genesis? I have no idea what type of match to expect against him…” “Sacred and I already discussed what type of match you’d have at the grandest pay-per-view of them all, Genesis 4! Just think of the buyrates!” “So you do know.” questions Francis. “Of course I know. I had to book the match. You’re not too bright are you kid?” “Are you going to tell me…?” King slowly shakes his head ‘no’. “You’re not going to tell me… how the hell do you think you can get away with this! I need to know what kind of match I’m booked in… this is beyond—how can you do this?” “Because I’m the boss.” says a smarmy King, like there’s no way it couldn’t make sense. “And Andrew decided that he’d tell you when the time was right. And knowing him, I’m sure it’ll draw some excitement.” “I’ll go to Mark,” threatens Francis, clearly getting upset. “He’ll—” King scoffs. “He’ll what? I tell you what he’s going to say. King’s in charge, he owns you, he owns me and if he wanted to he could own our first born children—actually I wonder how young Christopher Edwin is…” Mak gapes at the King of Hearts as he continues to ponder on his last thought, before giving Francis a dismissive wave. “Don’t slam the damn door this time, or I’ll have you curtain jerking faster than you can say, Mark’s a cripple!” Francis storms out of the office and past King’s secretary, walking down the hall towards an unknown location. King smirks. “I finally figured out how to get them to stop slamming my door…” *** Mak takes a right. A left and another right, past the food table, which he’s just itching to stop at… but he can’t because he needs to stay focused. Weaving his way through the corridors of the Fleet Center, and he finally finds his target. “Mak.” “Mark.” Mark Stevens stands in the hall and as they talk, Francis tell his story to Grand Slam. “Can he actually do this?” “I’m afraid so.” mutters Mark. “Like it or not, King is in control at least until Genesis. There’s nothing Thugg or I can do about it...” Mak stares at Mark, obviously not expecting that what King just told him was practically correct, in a manner of speaking. “Sorry,” says Mark, unsure what else he can say. Mak just shakes his head in disbelief. Looking at a monitor Stevens sees the graphic for Ejiro versus Dace Night pop up onto the screen. “You’re up next, right?” Francis nods yes. “Don’t let him get to you. Just go out there and wrestle. I think you have a shot to do what you said out there earlier, if you really do believe it.” Stevens pats Francis on the shoulder, causing Mak to smile slightly, as the camera fades out…

Alone in the dark, sits Danny Williams. In a rarely seen sight, Williams is not in wrestling gear, bur rather street clothes, a pair of jeans and a comfortable looking black hoodie to be more precise. Despite all the noise in the stadium, this particular locker room is eerily quiet. The only illumination found in the room is the blue glow of a small television set, which Williams is conveniently sitting in front of. Whatever Williams is watching, he doesn’t appear very happy about it, in fact, he looks very melancholy. Suddenly, a door to the outside world opens up, letting a large amount of light beam into the room. “Hey, did you see.....”, Dace cuts himself off when he realizes what’s on the televison. Not interested in responding, Williams keeps his eyes glued to the television. Instead of playing tonight’s show, the small monitor is showing Williams vs. TNT from Ground Zero. Not thinking, Dace flips on the light switch, which irritates Williams to the point that he snaps out of his trance like state. “So, did you find anything?”, questions Dace as he closes the door and enters the room. In a quiet, almost whisper, Williams sadly mumbles, “I don’t think I can beat him, Dace.” “What are you talking about?” asks Dace, who than pulls up a chair, and takes a seat. With his trusty remote control, Williams pauses the tape., and with a sigh he answers Dace’s question,”I wrestled the match of my life at Ground Zero. My execution was flawless, my mistakes were few and far between, and yet, I still couldn’t beat him. What the hell have I gotten myself into?” Not knowing what to say, Dace remains quiet, expecting Williams to continue, but he doesn’t. “It.....was a pretty close match, Danny.”, Dace awkwardly continues,”After all, he did get the worse of it. You weren’t the one that got put on the injured list for a month. He just got lucky.” Williams ponders Dace’s words for a few moments, before replying,”No! No........he didn’t lucky, he got up first.” “Well, I guess now you know what you have to do to beat him.” exclaims Dace. Confused, Williams questions,”What?” “Get up first.” Breaking the serious mood, Williams chuckles,”That’s easier said than done.” “Ah, don’t worry about it. You’re a great leader, a great wrestler, and an even better teacher. And no matter what happens at Genesis, that won’t change.” Williams optimistically retorts, “I hope your right.” Dace shoots back,”Of course I’m right, if it weren’t true, I wouldn’t follow you.” “Yeah, well you better get ready for Ejiro, that little bastard is tricky.” Dace nods, and hurries out of the room. Alone again, Williams glances back up at the t.v., and hits the play button. (TNT rolls of Williams’ dead body, but remains on his back, unable to stand even as Soapdish raises his head to make the win official. Funyon: The winner of the match by pinfall, at 33 minutes and 58 seconds............TNT! After the official word, total pandemonium breaks out in the arena!) In his mind, Williams relives that terrible moment of disappointment, making sure that he doesn’t forget it, using it as motivation. Williams knows in his heart that he was the better man that night, but because of his own lack of desire, he let TNT steal the match. Williams quietly promises to himself, “TNT isn’t gonna steal the win this time, if he beats me it will only be because he is better, not because he has more heart.”

The camera cuts to a backstage corridor to reveal Ben Hardy, who looks a little nervous tonight– nervous even for Ben Hardy. “Comet, Bobby, the situation backstage is totally out of control right now. Nathaniel Kibagami and Edwin MacPhisto have been brawling backstage since the beginning of the show, and they show no signs of slowing down! The arena’s security staff has actually given up trying to stop them, and it’s been left to SWF staff to bring the two men under control, but after Kibagami’s rash actions last week, none of them are particularly eager to join the fray. I think there’s…let’s head down the hall a little to where the fight is actually going on.” Hardy hurries down the corridor, the camera bobbing behind him, past hordes of unused equipment and unmarked doors. CRACK! In the background, the sounds of steel meeting bone ring out, and the shouts of angry men grow nearer… CRACK! Hardy makes a hard left – CRAAAAAAAAAAA-RACK! -- just as a hard chair shot from Edwin MacPhisto puts the Silent One down on the concrete! Yellow-shirted security staff rush the Crown Prince and push him back from his opponent, doing their best to ignore the string of colorful phrases and odd obscenities tumbling from MacPhisto’s mouth. One of the braver staff members bends down to check on Kibagami… BAM! …and is rewarded with an elbow to the jaw as Nathaniel blasts to his feet and nearly levels MacPhisto with a lariat! The Crown Prince stumbles back, weighed down by a half-dozen security staff, but Silent is relentless, raining blow after blow down on the head and shoulders of anyone foolish enough to stand still while Edwin struggles to extract himself from the mess of yellow and black that surrounds him! ”As you can see, we’re having a difficult time with the lack of security staff, and I am REALLY uncomfortable just standing here. I’m going to go back to the concession stand and get some popcorn. Back to you, gentlemen.”

The camera fades in from commercial, back in another sterile hallway of the Fleet Center, panning up slowing on on a moving pair of feet to reveal... Crow! For the second time this evening, the Antichrist Superstar is seen in the back, making his way through the winding hallways of the Boston arena. He rounds one final corner, and comes to a halt in front of a door. There, Dante Crane awaits him, leaning next to a placard emblazioned with "TEAM DRESSING ROOM C." Crow takes a moment to light one of his Dunhill Reds, exhaling a puff and looking at his tag team partner. "So," he starts, "Any idea what the hell Quiz and Show meant with that letter?" Crane gives him a lazy look, "Well, Markus... would you care to see what's behind door number one?" Dante wristrolls to the plain looking steel door next to him, getting a chuckle from Crow. The Gothic Avian shrugs, reaches out, and opens the door with a light 'ka-chack.' There's a moment of silent as both men step into a blackened room, the only light coming from the cherry of Crow's cigarette as the door closes behind them. Suddenly... The lights click on, revealing a shoddy makeshift set resembling... Wheel of Fortune? "What the fuck--" is all Crow is able to utter, before he's interrupted by a pre-recorded jingle sounding off! "WRESTLING WITH FORTUNES!" ...and with that, the cheesy christmas lights hung over the letter board and the contestants posts flash in sequence, as cheaply recorded fanfare plays in the background! A voice easily recognizable as Show's echoes over the room, "Ladies and goths, may I introduce YOUR host for this evening... CHUCK... 'QUIZ' WOOOOOOOOOOOOLERRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRY!" Right on cue, Quiz slides out from behind the letter board, smile sparkling in the lights and tacky sequined jacket glittering in his reflection on the polished locker room floor. He shuffles his deck of cue-cards and turns to regard Dante and Crow after calming the non-existant crowd. "Contestants, please, let me be the first to welcome you to the wrestling community's favourite game show... WRESTLING WITH FORTUNES! Where the grand prize of today's game is a shot at the tag team belts that Show and I current hold, but what you're going to be wrestling with--or in, specifically--to get them is the question at hand!" Dante and Crow turn to look at each other, throughly unamused. Datne speaks up first, "Quiz, I really don't think this is necessar--" Quiz hushes Dante, "Ah, ah, ah, ah! Our titles, our rules, contestant Dante. Besides... what could be the harm in having a little game to reveal our choice stipulation?" Quiz grins in less-than-trustworthy fashion, before getting back to the 'game' at hand, "Anyway, if you'd like to take your posts, we can get on with the game!" Dante and Crow look at each other, sigh, shrug, and walk behind two of the three stands, activating the scoreboards on them. Quiz continues, "Today's game will be helped along by my lovely assistant Show," Quiz gestures to the other half of the tag champions, who curtsies in truly disturbing fashion. "And our first and only puzzle of the game is eighteen letters, and is a television show!" Show takes a few steps back, revealing eighteen spaces on the board. Quiz looks at Crow, "Contestant Crow, if you'd like to start the spinning..." The Antichrisian Phenomenon sighs, in disbelief that he's actually about to do this, and leans over, spinning the big wheel before the contestant's posts. It it whips around with an annoying "tack-tack-tack" sound, finally coming to rest on $400. He looks at Quiz, "Uh. I'll take two "R's," I guess." "There are two R's!" Show reveals the letters on the board, as Crow reluctantly goes to spin the wheel again. With the same "tack-tack-tack," it lands on $200. "Um... M?" "There is one M in the puzzle!" Show again reveals the letter, as Dante starts a golf-clap for Crow. He shoots Crane a look, before spinning the wheel again. Tack-tack-tack.... $700 "Any "B's" in the puzzle, Quiz?" "Ooh, I'm sorry, Crow," says the host, smirking, "there's no "B" in this puzzle." "Yeah, it figures," Crow mutters. "You can't spell "Quiz's a Douche Bag" without a 'B.'" Quiz glares at Crow, before looking at Dante, "Contestant Crane, your spin..." Dante spins... Tack-tack-tack... $650. "Is there a "C," Quiz?" "There is one C!" Dante, "I'd like to buy a vowel. 'A.'" "Ooh," Quiz and Show both murmur. "There's a whopping FOUR A's!" Show goes to reveal each of them, as Crow gives Dante a pat on the shoulder. (The puzzel currently looks like AM__R_CA_N __A__A__R_) Dante 'hmms' for a moment, "Quiz... I'd like to buy another vowel. 'I.'" "There are two I's!" Crow applauds, as Dante shrugs, "I guess I'll spin, then..." ...tack-tack-tack... $350 "I'll take an "L," Quiz." "One 'L'!" Dante spins again, that same annoying sound effect accompanying the wheel, as he even starts a deadpan "big money, big money," chant. The wheel inches slowly... slowly... towards $1000... ...and promptly goes one too far, landing right on "Bankrupt." Quiz and Show can't help but laugh. "Oooh... ba-haha... bad luck there, Dante." Crane gives Quiz a supremely sour look, "It's not like I was going to see a cent of this anyway." "Yes, well... Crow, your turn." Tack-tack-tack... $400, again. "Any G's, Quiz?" "There is one G in the puzzel!" (It now looks like: AM_RICA_ GLA_IA__R_") Crow gets a listless clap from the bored and deflated looking Dante, as he leans over to spin again... but he looks at the board, and then at Quiz. And then back at the board... and grins. "Y'know, Quiz, mate... I think I'm just going to try and solve the puzzel." "Give it a go." "Okay, okay, is it..." Crow pauses. "A Skin to Win match?" Quiz looks baffeled, "No, Crow, it is OBVIOUSLY not a Skin to Win mat--" "Okay, okay, that didn't count," yells the Bird! "Let me try again! Is it a... blindfold match?" "...it's not a goddamn blindfold match." "Wait, wait, let me try," Dante interrupts. "Hey, that's against the rule--" "It's a Coal Miner's Glove match, right?" Quiz, "What!? No, it's not--" Crow, "No? How about a best of three falls mud wrestling match?" Dante, "Ooh, tag-team Thundercage match." Quiz, "Stop it! You're ruining the--" Crow, "Brothel Brawl match!" Dante, "King of the Road match!" Quiz, "Shut up! SHUT UP! It's not any of these STUPID GIMMIC--" "Wait," Crow interrupts. "Wait, wait, wait, WAIT! Okay, Quiz, I'm real sorry. I know exactly what match this is..." Quiz snorts, and sighs... "Fine, Crow. Solve the puzzel." Cirillo grins, "Double Jeopardy eat shit match." ...Quiz seethes, running a hand through his now un-gelling hair. With an absolutely furious look on his face, he screams, "GODDAMN IT! CAN'T EITHER OF YOU TWO READ!? IT'S NOT ANY OF THOSE ABSOLUTELY RIDICULOUS MATCHES! AMERICAN GLADIATORS! ELIMINATOR! THE GENESIS MATCH IS GOING TO BE ON THE SET OF THE ELIMINATOR! OUR BELTS, OUR RULES, OUR FRIKKIN' CLASSROOM!" Quiz breathes heavily for a few moments, before looking Crow dead in the eyes, "And YOU two bitches are going to school!" ... Crow blinks, and tugs lightly on Dante's shirt, "Yeah, sure... Hey, yo... Dante? What the fuck is American Gladiators?" Quiz looks on, agape, as Dante himself strains to remember the show. "Right, you're Australian. I don't quite remember, myself," says Crane, "but it was some really lame gameshow where you fought on this course with spinning cylinders and rope-walls and such." "Ah... right. I don't think I've seen tha--" "Arrrrrrrgh," yells Quiz! "Forget this!" The tag champ tosses down his cue cards, and discards his sequined jacket. "I think it's time we showed both of you what you've really won... SHOW!" At his partner's beck and call, the monsterous Show charges in at the uprepared Dante and Crow, knocking over teh contestant stands and commencing a wild brawl between the four! After bowling over Dante, Show quickly locks his sights on Crow, as the Antichrist Superstar tries to defend himself with a series of roundhouse rights! Just behind him, Quiz scoops up the fallen Dante, tossing him onto the wheel--and being completely unprepared as he rolls to his feet, pivots, and dizzys Quiz with a sharp superkick! Quiz can't get any retaliation in edgewise as Dante unleashes a flury of kicks into Quiz's back and spine! Unfortunately, Dante's partner is faring far worse than he is. A continual rush of right-hands fails to faze Show... who is able to knock Crow for a loop with one massive elwbow smash to the temple! In a haze, Crow attempts to counter with one last, weak punch, which Show easily pushes away! With a stiff thigh rush to the stomach, Show doubles Crow over, and grips him by the legs and arm, hauling him onto his shoulders... ...just as Dante Crane knocks Quiz flat with a SICK Roundhouse Kick! He turns his attention to show, but can only manage a wide-mouthed gape at Crow, settled on Show's shoulders, as the tag team champ takes a run at the puzzle board, grips Crow's neck... and DRILLS HIM STRAIGHT THROUGH IT WITH THE $64,000 QUESTION!!! There's a tremendous **CRASH** as both men topple through the broken board!!! Dante attempts to rush in, trying to check on Crow--or at least get show away from him--but at that moment, a slew of road agents and officials pour into the room, grabbing Quiz, Show and Dante and keeping them as far away from each other as possible! Being held back by Billy Chioda, Dante grumbles something inaudible about 'these guys always being late' and tries to get a bead on Crow... which he finally does, catching the disturbing site of the disorientated Bird behind helped to his feet by two road agents, blood streaming from a sick gash in his forhead! Dante looks about the chaos in the locker room, the broke board, the bleeding Crow, the officials keeping everyone away from each other... Dante & Crow vs Double Jeopardy. Genesis IV. ...American Gladiators Match. "This is absolutely insane," Dante mutters, before we fade out...

“Welcome back SWF aficionados, to SWF SMARKDOWN!!! I’m your co-host, CYCLOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOONE COMET, and commentating with me tonight, as is the usual, is everyone’s favorite homoerotic fiend…” “BOBBYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYY RILEY!” Bobby shouts, trying to emulate Comet’s patented zestiness. “…Admirable attempt Citizen Riley, but it needs work,” Cyclone comments, before continuing. “Citizens of… the World, we’re just one week away from the most astounding SWF Pay-Per-View of the year, SWF Genesis, and so far, we’ve had a splendid night! But there’s still lots more fun and folly that’s yet to ensue, and we don’t want to waste one available microsecond of it, so let’s go down to Citizen Funyon, who appears to be ready to introduce the foes in this next bout down to the ring!” “You know we could just skip right ahead to Tom’s match. This is all just filler anyway.” Bobby’s token “wanting Tom Flesher’s cock” comment warrants no reply from Comet however, as the camera has already cut over to the ring, where Funyon stands, microphone in hand, wearing his usual rented tux. He brings the mic up to his lips, and the inevitable happens: he speaks. “Ladies, gentlemen, and Suicide King…… the following bout is scheduled for ONE FALL and is to ensue under standard singles match rules, with a thirty minute time limit! Introducing first…” Cue riff of Angus Young’s Gibson SG guitar. Cue crescendo of Phil Rudd’s ear-splitting drums. Cue Bon Scott’s shrill voice shouting “Oi!” as only he can. And again. And again. And so on, and so forth, until the first verse comes in, and then the chorus… and then… “WATCH ME EXPLOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOODE!!!!!!!!!!!” Cue not one member of this jam-packed arena knowing how to be fucking quiet, because they blow the damn roof off of the place, as a towering mushroom cloud forms from an explosion on the stage, and the bulky mass of Taylor Nicholas Thompson steps right through it, striding confidently down the entrance ramp and towards the ring! A week ago the fans might have questioned this man’s integrity due to his earlier actions against Danny Williams, but now, after a showdown with two of the federation’s biggest heels last Lockdown, they’re rooting for him more than ever! “Weighing in at 275 pounds and wrestling out of Anaheim, California… Taylor Nicholas Thompson, or as you may know him… TEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE-ENNNNNNNNNNNNNNNN-TEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!” Funyon’s voice booms at it’s loudest, but it can’t escape an unavoidable smothering from the crowd’s deafening cheers, which make his announcer voice seem like a hushed whisper! Thompson reaches the ring and hops all the way up onto the apron in one crisply executed leap, showing just what an athlete he is. Then, in an act that no TNT entrance would be complete without, Taylor raises his arms into the air… and then brings them down in a DDP-Diamond-Cutter-esque movement, letting out a mighty “KABOOM!!” He steps through the ring ropes, and – finally in the ring – begins to lightly stretch and test out the ropes, his eyes fixated on the backstage curtains all throughout. “TNT has been feuding with Citizen Danny Williams as of late, and the two rivals have recently signed a match for Genesis… with Williams finally being recovered from his concussion and backstage tonight, who knows what could go wrong!?” “If we’re lucky, the lighting rig might ‘happen’ to fall and crush them both. Besides, it’d be the best for them, as they’re competing indirectly for a shot at your majesty, Tom Flesher’s World Title, and that will lead them into a nice crushing anyway,” Bobby says with a grin. AC/DC’s “TNT” fades out, as do the fans’ cheers, but “TNT” is soon replaced by “Stupid Girl,” and the cheers are soon replaced by boos, as a wall of glorious golden pyro sprays down from the ceiling, foreshadowing the arrival of Xcalibur! “And his opponent, weighing in at 236 and two-fifths pounds, and hailing from Houston, Texas… XCALIBURRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR!!!” The crowd boos and hisses and jeers and does a lot of other things synonymous with “showing Xcalibur that they protest his existence,” but the Vietnamese warrior pays no attention, pacing down the entrance ramp and sliding underneath the bottom rope of the ring, completely ignoring TNT’s presence. He cockily raises his arms into the air and then takes off his generic Houston sports jersey, throwing it into the sea of rabid fans. He smirks as the members of the audience legitimately try to fight eachother to the death in an attempt to get their hands on his jersey, taking it as a proof to his undying popularity, despite the still very existent booing. “And here we have Citizen Xcalibur, who I must say is quite the villain. I do not approve of his arrogance or lack of sportsmanship one bit,” Comet says with a look of disgust surely underneath his mask. “Well I certainly approve of those short black tights! Raaar!” “…” “…Oh, and uh, his athletic and agile prowess.” Xcalibur sneers at the crowd, and at referee Ced Ordonez as well, slowly scanning his surroundings… before suddenly snapping out of his smirk-a-thon and diving towards his opponent, trying to catch TNT by surprise with a running forearm! Taylor is somehow sees this early attack coming however, and ducks just in time!! Both men twirl around to face one another, but Taylor gets the first blow, nailing an off-guard Xcalibur right in the jaw with a stiff, STIFF closed-fist punch! ***CRACK*** *** DING DING DING *** That punch symbolizes the official start of this match, as Xcalibur topples backwards onto the mat, clutching his soar chin! “And TNT immediately becomes jealous of Xcalibur’s beautiful and handsome face in the opening seconds of this bout, trying to bruise the man’s picture-perfect mug!” Bobby screams in horror. “The power behind a large man’s simple punch has always been greatly underestimated, and that shows here, as Citizen Thompson took Xcalibur down with just one of them!” “But not for long!” Indeed, Xcalibur kips right back up to his feet, but he’s still quite stunned, and his boggled state of mind leaves him open to – ***CRACK*** – a bone-breaking elbow smash right to the face! Xcalibur doesn’t recover as quickly this time, and – taking that as a sign of his opponent being dead – TNT drops down to the mat, hooking the leg and making an early cover! Ordonez drops down to make the count… “ONE!!” “No! Citizen Xcalibur narrowly escapes the sealing of his fate!” “…What in the World are you talking about? Ced barely got ‘one’ out!” Taylor immediately springs up, not fazed in the least bit, and pries Xcalibur up off the mat, only to withdraw a bit as the cocky grappler pounces up to his feet by his own consent, and blasts TNT right in the chest with a knife-edge chop! ***SMACK*** Taylor’s pecks turn a bright red and he grimaces in pain… ***SMACK*** …but Xcalibur takes no prisoners, nailing yet another chop! ***CRACKCRACKCRACK*** This time though, Taylor is more than ready to fight back, rattling off a nice little elbow trilogy of his own that sends Xcalibur tumbling back into the ropes! “The fiend’s heart was still beating after Citizen Thompson’s assault on him earlier, but he made the mistake of competing in a game of strikes with a man much superior to him in size and strength, and was shot down once again! It shall be only in the air or on the mat where Xcalibur will have the advantage in this battle, as those are Citizen Thompson’s two kryptonites!” “Whereas his power and striking abilities are what, his Green Lantern rings of power?” Bobby asks with all the seriousness of Bullwinkle the moose. “…Sarcasm and evil go hand-in-hand, Citizen Riley,” deadpans a response. Taylor closes in on Xcalibur in the ropes, turning his brain into mush with a few more elbows to the temple and chin, but the referee is soon there to make the break, backing TNT away and pointing out his opponent’s position on the ropes. Taylor tries to get a few more elbows in, but with the referees plowing him backwards, he eventually has to let up. Xcalibur shakes off the cobwebs and looks up at Thompson and a very persistent Ced Ordonez pushing him back, and with the referee’s attention completely off of him, he takes a step forward and delivers a field-goal kick right between TNT’s legs! The crowd “ooh’s” with sympathy but they can only imagine the pain that Taylor and his unborn children are feeling right now as he doubles over in agony! Ordonez backs away from Taylor and looks from TNT to Xcalibur to TNT to X—but before he can even get an idea of what just happened, Xcalibur lunges straight over Taylor’s back, grabs a hold of his legs, and rolls him up with a picture-perfect sunset flip!! “What an underhanded tactic of treachery and malevolence!” Comet shouts with the utmost amount of disapproval in his voice. “How will Taylor be able to urinate after such a blow??” “More importantly, how will he be able to have sex with Strangler!?” “…CITIZEN RILEY! I’M APPALLED, THIS IS A FAMILY SH—CITIZEN ORDONEZ MAKES THE COUNT!” Comet wails, and indeed he does. “ONE!!” “TWO!!” “Not quite!” Cyclone lets out a “whew” as the crowd’s booing at Xcalibur’s low blow transforms into massive popping at Taylor’s shoulder whipping up from the mat. “Damn! Taylor’s shoulder had some sort of nerve spasm, and he accidentally kicked out as a result!” Xcalibur collects himself rather hurriedly, but TNT is still in testicular agony, and all he can do is roll up to his knees, his hands still clasping his crotch. He’s thinking so much with his dick instead of his brain, in fact, that he doesn’t see Xcalibur blatantly back up a few steps, and then come running forward to punt him right in the side of the head with the bridge of his foot! ***CRACK*** Taylor’s eyes roll into the back of his head and he slides over onto his back, legally dead. Xcalibur wants to make sure though, and he instantly sprints to the opposite ropes, bounces off, and comes back, letting loose with a big leg drop across TNT’s throat! Taylor’s arms and legs seizure slightly in reaction to 236 pounds coming down on his neck, but he goes limp right after, just as Xcalibur gets onto his belly and grinds a forearm across Taylor’s throat, making sure that his shoulders are pinned to the mat. “ONE!!” “TWO!!” “NO!!” Once again, TNT barely manages to escape a loss, kicking out at two! The crowd lets out a brief ovation, but it’s clear that Xcalibur is still very much in control of this match, so they shut up pretty quick. “You know, it strikes me as odd that no one has ever thought of actually NAILING someone down to the mat with stakes or something. That way we wouldn’t have so many of these annoying near-fall things.” Bobby brings up an excellent point, but Comet retorts at once: “Try telling that to Citizen Wilson. Rumor has it that they STILL have to bring out a tranquilizer gun to calm him down every time someone accidentally lets the words ‘Mexican flag’ slip in the SWF retirement home.” “Oh, right, forgot about that,” Bobby says with a sadistic giggle, reflecting on some good times. Xcalibur’s composure doesn’t change up one bit after TNT’s somewhat surprising kick-out, and he tries to make up for the slight disappointment as best he can, lifting the big man back up to his feet and leading him over to the nearest turnbuckle! Xcalibur wastes no time, stepping up to the second rope of the turnbuckle and latching on a front facelock… “What could Xcalibur possibly be attempting here!?” Comet wonders. “…How many matches until Tom’s, again?” Bobby wonders. …before spinning all the way around his antagonist and planting his head into the mat with a BRUTAL AND VICIOUS AND BRUTALICIOUS SECOND-ROPE TORNADO DDT!!! “Holy headache, Batman! Because you just know that Citizen Thompson will have one after THAT!” The crowd lets out a collective “ooh!” at the fairly agile yet more-than-fairly deadly maneuver, and Xcalibur is up on his feet again in the blink of an eye, speedily leaping up onto the top of the very same turnbuckle, and turning to face his opponent! The crowd’s sweltering buzz reaches a boiling point as Xcalibur stands up straight on the turnbuckle and raises his arms into the air Macho Man-style… before, you guessed it, dropping an elbow on his opponent below, Macho Man-style! There’s a small pop at the match’s first aerial maneuver, but most of the fans are just booing their heads off while Xcalibur reaches over and hooks the leg! “ONE!!” “TWO!!” “NO!!” “Bloody hell! If Taylor refuses to stay down, the least he could do would be to forfeit – he’s sucking up all of Tommy’s TV time!” Bobby seethes. “Indeed Citizen Riley, Taylor is proving to be quite the resilient opponent tonight!” Comet comments with a tinge of admiration in his tone of voice. Xcalibur is a little ticked off by now, after three near-falls, but he tows TNT up to his feet (once again) anyway, and hastily launches him into the ropes, looking to do even more damage to his opponent! Thompson hits the ropes, but by now has some idea of what’s going on, and latches onto them with both of his arms, refusing to bounce back at his adversary! Xcalibur thinks that everything’s still going peachy and leaps up into the air for what was supposed to be a hurricanrana, but is shocked when his legs wrap around nothing but… uhm, nothing, and by the time he lands back on his feet he’s desperately wanting an explanation!!… …His explanation, if that’s what we’re calling it, comes in the form of a prompt lariat. ***BAM*** And the crowd goes wild! “OUCH! That hurt ME to watch!” “Your damn movie is what hurt ME to watch you sad attempt at a wrestler gone Hollywood.” Xcalibur drops like a sack of wet mice… or, that’s what would happen, at least, but Taylor doesn’t hesitate long enough for that to ensue, as he quickly wraps his arms around Xcalibur’s body, keeping him on his feet! The Fleet Center’s population is just a wee bit confused as to why TNT didn’t go for the cover as soon as Xcalibur showed signs of slipping into a coma, but they soon realize what’s going on and launch back into a frenzy of cheers as Taylor tightens his grip around Xcalibur’s waste, squeezing the life out of him with a relentlessly rib-crushing bear hug!! “Oh great – TNT finally gets control and he decides to hug the damn guy. I feel like I’m watching an episode of the f*ckin’ Telletubbies.” “I’ll ignore your slandering of such an ingenious television program, Citizen Riley, and instead point out to you that that’s not just any hug! That’s a BEAR HUG!!” “…So it’s an episode of the Bear in the Big Blue House instead?” “Quite the opposite Bobby, for this hug is ANYTHING but friendly. Citizen Thompson took notice to most of Xcalibur’s offense requiring a hefty amount of gusto and oomph to perform, so he’s decided to put an end to any outbursts of energy that Xcalibur may have from now on by methodically draining the life right out of his body! What a display of disciplined intellect and scrupulous brilliance!” “Jesus, enough with the three-syllable words already.” Xcalibur is very, very out of it, but he still manages to realize that remaining in Taylor’s deadly grasps means the end of him, so he does the only thing that he can think of – kicking and screaming and clawing and flailing that is – as soon as he can! Taylor doesn’t give his grip on his opponent one inch of slack though, and succeeds in keeping Xcalibur under control with very little difficulty! Xcalibur’s arms slowly grow limper and limper, and his eyes heavier and heavier, and TNT’s only reaction is to keep his hold locked on as tightly as he can in his physically drained state, still feeling the aftershocks of Xcalibur’s offensive flurry earlier on. “You know Citizen Riley, another reason that the explosive one may have gone for a bear hug instead of say, a power move, could be that he himself is still feeling very winded after taking so much punishment from Xcalibur just a moment ago. Wow, TNT’s tactics’ roots’ continue to grow deeper and deeper the more that I think about them! He truly has this match scouted!” “You know, giving a guy a hug because you’re still tired isn’t a stroke of genius or anything, you incompetent nincompoop stuck in a three-year-old’s Halloween costume.” “Guffaw! I bought this in a size twelve Bobby! A size twelve ADULT I might add!” After a full minute and a half of various acts of flailing and desperately reaching for the ropes on Xcalibur’s part, he finally seems to be completely unconscious, and the crowd is more than glad to chime in and count along with Ced Ordonez as he lifts Xcalibur’s arm into the air and lets it fall limp once again. “ONE!!” Taylor closes his eyes and hopes to God that this bear hug marks a strong victory for him leading into Genesis, and whatever Xcalibur is hoping to God for – he’s doing it unconsciously, it seems. “Will this be the end of that evil-doer Xcalibur!?” “TWO!!” “Pbbth. As if anyone in this fed has ever lost to a bear hug,” Bobby says with a rolling of his eyes, not seeming worried one bit. “What do you take Xcalibur for anyway – Hulk Hogan?” Bobby isn’t known for always being right though, and as Ced raises Xcalibur’s arm up into the air one last time, every member of the audience is on the edge of their collective seat… “THREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE—“ Not quite. “BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!!!!!” The crowd is furious enough to make one wonder “gee, what could possibly make the crowd MORE furious?” The answer comes before the question even has time to be asked, however, as Xcalibur desperately reaches up, and rakes his fingers across Taylor Thompson’s eyes! “BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!!!!” “What a dastardly, dastardly man, resorting to cheating like that! To cheat is to cheat YOURSELF, Citizen Riley!” “Tell that to Bill Clinton,” Bobby replies. Taylor covers his eyes in pain with both of his hands, having no choice but to release his hold on Xcalibur and back away from his swindling little bastard of an opponent. Xcalibur backs up a few steps himself, terribly fatigued from that physically draining hold, but knows that this is his one and only chance to seize the day, and makes sure that he uses that chance to rush the dynamite warrior as fast as his weary legs can carry him and to plant a firm dropkick right into the behemoth’s left knee! TNT face plants in the very center of the ring, but soon pushes himself right back up to his feet, not wanting to let his foe get the advantage again! Little does he know however, that Xcalibur has already positioned himself behind his rising opponent, and is there as soon as Taylor reaches his feet to cinch on a firm dragon sleeper hold from behind! The crowd pops a pop of boos, as TNT desperately thrashes about, trying as hard as he can to resist the potential match-ender that is the dragon sleeper! “UNTIMELY XECUTION!” Cyclone shrieks at the top of his super-lungs. “This could mean the end of Citizen Thompson, if Xcalibur can only hook his leg around his opponent’s and fully lock on the maneuver!” “YES! YES! YES!” Each one of Bobby’s “YES’s” symbolizes a different mental orgasm that he’s having as Xcalibur keeps the dragon sleeper locked on as tightly as possible. “Down with TNT! DOWN!! And to think that none of this could happen without that GENIUS eye rake courtesy of Xcalibur earlier on!” “That was a blatant act of trickery!” “That was the work of a mastermind, and perfectly OK in my book! MWAHAHAHA!” It is quickly becoming apparent that there is no escape for Taylor, and the crowd isn’t too happy about that. Xcalibur doesn’t allow an inch of breathing room, mercilessly choking the very soul out of TNT with the Untimely Xecution, and all that’s left is for him to hook his leg around Taylor’s and seal the big man’s fate… when without warning… “EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEOOOOOOOOWWWWWWW!!!!!!!” Xcalibur lets out a shriek, as – with no other options left – Taylor reaches up with one of his hands and claws his fingernails right across his opponent’s eyes! The crowd goes nuclear and not a single member of the audience is quiet as Xcalibur shuts his eyes tight, but his eyelids can only protect his eyeballs for so long, and as Taylor desperately gouges away in an attempt to escape the dragon sleeper, Xcalibur eventually has no option but to relent, and release the dynamite warrior! “That CHEATER!” Bobby yells, as if eye raking were suddenly the dirtiest and lowest thing on the planet. “Come on referee! Disqualify the man you brainless zebra!” Comet’s reasoning for TNT’s actions are simple: “An eye for an eye Bobby! LITERALLY!” Taylor is free but also terribly sleepy at this point (because, you know, it was a dragon SLEEPer hold, and stuff), and he falls back onto the mat, only starting to recover after a good five seconds of rest. Xcalibur meanwhile, is outraged at his opponent and at himself for letting his opponent go, and as they say – if you can’t smother ‘em into unconsciousness, drive their head into the mat with your finisher and pin ‘em. Even if they don’t say that, it’s a pretty basic rundown of Xcalibur’s way of thinking, and sure enough, just as TNT reaches his feet and turns around to face the Vietnemese trickster, he’s treated with a stiff boot to the gut! The explosive one doubles over in pain, having not expected the blow at all, and before he knows it, he’s trapped in a standing headscissors! “Xcalibur is going for the spinning sit-out pedigree that is the RATED X!! It should be noted, though, that my new movie, ‘Cyclone Comet Fights the Wolf Zombies of Neptune,’ which comes out in theaters everywhere on October 10th, is not rated X, and is in fact quite suitable for all ages!” “This is no time for self-shilling, Comet!” Bobby shouts excitedly. “Xcalibur is about to put the final nail in the coffin of Taylor Thompson! Now get off your ass and cheer!” The crowd in fact is doing quite the opposite as just about every TNT fan in the Fleet Center is on their feet, booing their little hearts out! This has been a relatively short match, but grueling nonetheless, and they’re not so sure that TNT has the energy that it takes to reverse Xcalibur’s finishing move! Xcalibur hooks the 6’6” man’s left arm… Xcalibur hooks the 275lb. man’s right arm… Xcalibur prepares to finish this giant of a man off once and for all… …and then… “BACK BODYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYY DROOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOP!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!” Cyclone cries loud enough for anyone within six miles of him to hear. “NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!” Bobby Riley cries as well, slamming his head over and over into the announcer’s table in defeat. Indeed, just as Comet implied, TNT finds the strength at the last possible second to grind his feet into the ground, strain just about every muscle in his entire body, and in a magnificent visual, lift his head up, and Xcalibur with it, flipping the smaller man all the way over him with a back body drop! The crowd – how can we put this… -- EXPLODES!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Xcalibur lands on the canvas with a thud, more shocked than anything else, and spins back up to his feet immediately, but TNT is ready, meeting him with a vicious elbow to the cranium! ***CRACK*** …and another! ***CRACK*** …and another! ***CRACK*** …and another! …and another! …and another! ***CRACKCRACKCRACK*** “ELBOW! ELBOW! ELBOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOW!!!!!!!” Cyclone obviously learned a lot about announcing while making films in Japan. “Citizen Thompson unleashes every ounce of energy in his body on Xcalibur with those elbows – the elbows of his former mentor Danny Williams – and Xcalibur could have a concussion!” Blood oozes from Xcalibur’s now busted nose and a little bit from his mouth as well, and – feeling that his opponent is stunned enough by now – TNT spins Xcalibur around, hooks on the full nelson, aaaaaaaaand… LURCHES BACKWARDS, ARCHES HIS BACK, AND HURLS XCALIBUR RIGHT OVER HIS HEAD WITH AN ABSOLUTELY MALICIOUS HALF-NELSON SUPLEX!!!!!! Xcalibur lands right on his skull with a thud, and the crowd goes wild!!! “And there’s the half nelson suplex!!” Comet raves. “The very same move that Citizen Thompson used to take his rival Danny Williams out of the Genesis Title tournament with just a few weeks ago, and almost killed Tom Flesher with last Lockdown!” “Almost KILL Tom Flesher!? The way I remember it, Tommy got up and did quite a zesty little jig right after receiving the move!” Riley says, obviously in denial of the thought of Tom NOT being absolutely invincible. “That move could be enough to put Xcalibur away for good, but I’m not sure if the explosive one wants to take his chances…” Cyclone Comet – Professional Mind Reader. Just as he stated, TNT doesn’t go for the pin right away, instead standing over his downed opponent and soaking up the crowd’s roars of approval, all while catching his breath after exerting himself oh-so much during that flurry of elbows. He looks down at his opponent, looks around at his fans… and everything seems to move in slow motion, as he smiles, and points upwards! “What’s this!?” Comet wonders aloud as the crowd’s humming of anticipation increases steadily and Taylor walks over to the nearest turnbuckle, slowly starting to scale it. “…What a tool! He’s got his opponent down, and he’s decided to kill himself instead of making the pin! We’ll see if he can jump more than two feet from the turnbuckles!” Bobby scoffs. ”Nonsense Bobby… Taylor’s just pulling out an old maneuver of his… he could go for the Mushroom Cloud, or the Power Nitro Driver, or anything of that sort, but instead, he’s decided to dust off his old moonsault! I haven’t seen him perform that in MONTHS!” “…I haven’t seen him perform it SUCCESSFULLY once.” “Nonetheless, Taylor has decided to not only defeat his opponent tonight, but to do it by taking to the sky and beating Xcalibur in his own element! He really wants to prove that he’s the most superior athlete in this entire federation!” Cyclone barely finishes his sentence before TNT reaches the peak of his ring post, looking out at the very fervent Bostonian crowd with a certain gleam in his eye. An almost DANGEROUS gleam. And then, perched atop the turnbuckle like a bird of prey, without even glancing backwards, Taylor lets out a “KABOOM!!!!!,” propelling himself off of the turnbuckle… …flipping all the way over… …and CRASHING right down across his opponent’s chest, warranting arguably the biggest pop of the night so far! “MOOOOOOOONSAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAULT!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!” “…Dammit all to hell.” And there’s the count, every single person in the arena counting along… “ONE!!” “TWO!!” … … … “THREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!” *** DING DING DING *** AC/DC’s “TNT” kicks in and the crowd goes absolutely banana as Taylor pops up to his feet, raising his arms in victory! “And your winner via PINFALLLLLL, TAAAAYLOR NICHOLASSSSS THOMPSOOOOOOONNNNN!” Funyon bellows, cuing an even bigger ovation from the crowd. “What did I tell you!?” Cyclone asks a very enraged Bobby Riley. “Good ALWAYS triumphs over evil!” “…Shut UP,” is all a proven-wrong Riley can get out. The referee holds a very fatigued Thompson’s arm up in the air, and slowly… very slowly… a distinct chant can be heard forming. “T-N-T!!” “T-N-T!!” “T-N-T!!” To the still only half-conscious Xcalibur, this is a sign of crushing defeat, but to Taylor Nicholas Thompson, it’s the sweetest sound in the World, as his eyes light up and he trudges right over to the same turnbuckle that he just lept off of a moment ago, climbing up to the second rope and letting out a victory “KABOOM!!” …but then his face goes dead serious. “…Who the hell is that??” Bobby asks, pointing up at now-parted backstage curtains, where a dark figure has just emerged and stalked out onto the pinnacle of the entrance ramp. At the exact same time, an entirely new outburst of cheers as happened, as the crowd takes notice of the man as well. “Why, it’s Citizen Williams!” “…Really? Hoo-hah, maybe the lighting rig plan will work out after all!” “Not so fast Bobby. It doesn’t look like Deathwish is down here to fight. In fact… it looks like he’s… he’s…” Danny Williams, standing atop the entrance ramp maybe a hundred or two-hundred yards away from his arch nemesis with a broad smile on his face, is… clapping. His eyes are filled with the excitement of knowing that his challenger at SWF Genesis appears to be in top form, and that he’s got quite a challenge ahead of him. Danny Williams loves challenges. Meanwhile, Taylor Thompson looks down at his opponent from his perch on the second rope of the ring post with a grim look on his face, his eyes piercing a hole right through his adversary. The two look at eachother, eye-to-eye; not as student and mentor; not as stablemates; not as friends… but as enemies. And they’re fighting for the biggest prize of them all. Pride. Through all of the cheering and chanting, a new chant forms… and the audience seems to be split in half… exactly fifty-fifty. Soon enough, there’s not even more random hollering or whistling – the entire arena has organized itself into two thunderous chants. “T-N-T!!” “DAN-E!!” “T-N-T!!” “DAN-E!!” “T-N-T!!” “DAN-E!!” “T-N-T!!” “DAN-E!!” “T-N-T!!” “DAN-E!!” TNT and Danny. Genesis IV. Fade to commercial.

Smarkdown continues at a furious pace as backstage crewmembers scuffle along crowded corridors to make sure the show runs like clockwork. Ben Hardy remains on the prowl for anyone who needs him. His attempts fail however, and the interviewer sits down on a chair in the hallway to take a break. On the opposite wall hanging from the ceiling, a television set shows a quick snippet of the last match. Suddenly, the picture is replaced by the face of Andrew Blackwell, a satisfied smile written across his face. Ben Hardy is surprised, and immediately stands to attention, not sure whether or not to bring a microphone up to the TV or not. “It’s ok Ben, you can put that thing down…” A short distance away, Ben can hear the capacity crowd begin to boo, seeing Blackwell’s confident, almost pompous expression in front of them. Ben Hardy wastes no time in asking a question. “Sacred! I’m glad I ran into you. I, along with the crowd and the fans at home want to know is… why Francis? The last few weeks you’ve fought in a battle of minds, but why exactly?” “Ben, my friend, the experiment continues just as I planned, albeit with a few minor bumps along the way, but the important tasks are yet to be completed…” “And, what are those exactly…?” A chuckle escapes from Blackwell as the fans boo, taunting the screen in vain as the Sacred One addresses them still. “Hippo promoted to detective, Ben, hippo promoted to detective…” “Uhm, What…?” “I love the power glove… It’s so bad.” “…” “Exactly Ben, you will just have to wait and see the events unfold before your eyes, but I promise not to disappoint. I can also promise this, Ben, that the ICTV championship will once again reside in the house of Blackwell, and victory, oh, sweet victory… will be mine, once again…” “Genesis 4, Hardy, will be my shining moment. That day, all the mistakes of the past will be reversed, that flicker of flame you’ve seen, it will ignite. Mr. Francis should step away, lest he be burnt…” With a final laugh, Blackwell’s face disappears from the screen, leaving Ben confused, but the fans know exactly how to react, showing their disgust with a torrent of boos! “On with the show, I guess…” Ben remarks as he hurries back down the hallway.

The camera immediately returns to King, who seems to have lost about 12 different shades of color. His mouth opens and shuts sequentially, as if he feels there's something he should say. He finally shakes his head, clearing it of whatever mental cobwebs had him tangled. "SARAH! GET ME OUR ROSTER FILES RIGHT GODDAMN NOW! I'LL BE IN MY OFFICE!" Reaching under his coat, King pulls out the Ace of Clubs and swings for the fences, smashing in the monitor and releasing a shower of sparks into the air!! All around techs and assistants dive for cover, as King spins in place. His coat flares dramatically as he storms down the hallway to his office, parting the smoke and the sparks momentarily before they envelop him again, eerily not unlike Hell welcoming its Master back home...

As Smarkdown comes back from commercial, the house lights dim and finally give out, plunging the capacity crowd into darkness for a moment or two. “Welcome back folks,” mumbles Bobby Riley. “As usual, we wish we knew what is happening…” “Indeed, Bobby!” chimes his caped co-host. “Even my super-powerful eyes cannot pierce this infernal darkness. Children… do not be frightened! Significantly, at least!” “Well, in lieu of any upcoming developments, I think we’re going to cut to comm-” ::CRACK!:: All is revealed, and the crowd, simply put, explodes! The crack of a bat and the roar of the crowd announces the arrival of “Grand Slam” Mark Stevens! It quickly fades into the opening drumline of “Go Home” by Blessid Union of Souls. The SmarkTron lights up with a montage of baseball highlights mixed with big spots from Grand Slam's matches while flashing the words “Grand Slam,” “Mark Stevens” and “The Heavy Hitter.” The various multicolored lights flash in time with the rhythmic drumbeats until the drums roll fast and the lead singer yells out "Go Home,” and then the arena is flooded with bright white light!! Red and white pyro explodes at the top of the entrance ramp!! When the smoke clears and everyone can see again, "Grand Slam" Mark Stevens is standing underneath the SmarkTron!!! The crowd erupts in even more cheers for the Heavy Hitter!!! “Well, that explains that,” mutters Riley. “I was really feeling that commercial break, too…” As he starts to walk down the ramp, Funyon pulls up his mike and starts to talk, but stops suddenly when the music, lights and video on the SmarkTron all fizzle out into darkness. Grand Slam looks around, wondering what happened. “Oo, looks like some sort of technical glitch!” snickers Riley. “Commercial be true!” ”I doubt it! This is probably some maniacal plot by the Suicide King to keep Grand Slam off camera!” Grand Slam starts to shrug and walk to the ring, but a familiar charm-tinged voice suddenly booms over the sound system. ”Whoa whoa whoa…whoa whoa…whoa…wait for iiiit…WHOA! I’ve got a better idea, Slammer, something everyone wants to see! Something you and I need to show the people! Something borrowed, something blue, something old, and something…well, something old!” A smirk rolls across Grand Slam’s profile, and he pulls a mike out of his back pocket, turning to the backstage area… ”Fine,” booms the Heavy Hitter, “…but I get to drive.” “Whatever you say, my man! Now get your arse back here before I get overeager and vamonos!” As Grand Slam moves back through the curtain, the lights again fade all the way to black, and Bobby Riley’s had enough. “This is ridiculous! What in the hell is going on around here lately!?! Edwin comes back to town and suddenly nothing makes sense!” Silence… Darkness… Nothingness… Then a voice, soft and female, whispers two words not heard in the SWF for a long, long time… “Midnight Carnival…” “Yes! Yeeees! Ladies, gentlemen, and all citizens, prepare yourselves for the best entrance in the business that doesn’t involving a metamorphing soda machine!” ”God…I thought I was through with this…sigh…” The SmarkTron flashes blazing white in time with the opening beats of the Red Hot Chili Peppers’ “Love Rollercoaster” as the once-mighty stable’s anthem pumps through the arena, revealing with each flash thin black lettering that reads “Step Right Up.” “You give me that funny feeling in my tummy…” As the guitar part drops in, three blue laser lights trace the arena, all stemming from the same point in the middle of the entrance ramp… “Awwwwww sh*t yeah… that’s right… step right up!!!!” As the words “Rollercoaster of Love” echo through the arena for the first time, the laser lights flare out into a blue haze across the entrance ramp as an engine revs and the “Rollercoaster of Love”, the tricked out and customized golf cart brought up from the depths of Carnival history rolls out from behind the curtain one more time! Grand Slam is behind the wheel and Edwin MacPhisto, the Clown Prince of Flash and Panache, is standing in the backseat, classic red vinyl trenchcoat flaring! His head and upper body poke through the sunroof as he waves like an unusually masculine homecoming queen to the legion of nostalgic fans.” “Step right up and get your tickets!” As the refrain arrives for the first time, the arena plunges back into darkness just as purple strobe lights tear through the house and the blue laser lights spiral wildly, illuminating the two core members of the Carnival’s heyday and their ride in funky, staccato bursts. “This is great, Bobby! I feel like I’m 10 years old and running around in tights again!” “As opposed to being 29 and running around in tights?” “I don’t run so much these days, I mostly sit. Hush now!” ”Ladies and Gentlemen,” bellows Funyon, a smile across his face, “please welcome to the ring Smartmarks Wrestling Federation Hall of Famers “Grand Slam” Mark Stevens and Edwin MacPhisto…or as you may have known them…THE MIDNIGHT CAAAAAAAAAARNIVAL!” The Smarktron video leaps to life, flashing half-second clips of classic maneuvers from all of the Carnival’s members from the past three years—from Spark to CIA, everyone gets a go. The Rollercoaster rolls down the ramp at a quick pace, but it’s slow enough for Edwin to pull out an air-cannon and begin blasting classic “Midnight Carnival” t-shirts into the crowd who scramble to get them like piranhas in dire need of…well, t-shirts. The golf cart makes a full circuit of the ring and pulls back up to the ramp, pointing back at the stage. The pounding beats of the music are nearly drowned out by the roar of the crowd as “Grand Slam” Mark Stevens and Edwin MacPhisto climb out of the golf cart and climb into the ring, Grand Slam a little slower because of his supporting cane and heavy knee brace. As the lights go back to normal and the music fades, Grand Slam and Edwin are both handed mics and wait for the crowd to quiet down a little bit. “Damn Edwin… that felt good! And let me tell you how nice it is to see you back here! We were a bit short on words last week, but make no mistake my good man: you have been missed!” The crowd roars it’s approval as Grand Slam puts out his right hand to shake Edwin’s… and the Clown Prince grabs it, and pulls him into a manly hug! “Aww, hugs! I’m getting misty, Bobby.” “Where the hell is Silent? Can’t he beat these two into paste or something? Maybe at least, like, scowl a bit? Anything to get them out of the ring…” In that very ring, Edwin takes a turn on the mic and addresses his longtime friend and former tag a partner. “You’re right, Mark. It has been too long! But I thought that as long as both the Clown Prince of those ephemeralities known worldwide as ‘Flash’ and ‘Panache’ and the Heavy Hitter himself were in the same place at the same time… well we could give the fans here in Bean-Town”—biiiiig pop!—“a little bit of the olde time Carnie Magic!” The fans give out a good cheer then settle into a boisterous “CAR-NI-VAL!!! CAR-NI-VAL!!!” chant. After a few seconds, Edwin motions for quiet and raises the mike again. “But, of course, as with all things, there’s a bit of rhyme and reason behind this one-time Hall of Fame all-time exhibition. As I understand, Mark, you are out here to say something crucial, as am I. Consider our little ride on the Love Rollercoaster a paean to times past, while what comes next is…let’s say an 88 mile an hour Delorean streaking on till morning! As the part owner of this fine Federation, Mark, I thought it would be appropriate for you to go first…” “Thanks, Edwin…” ”Besides: age before beauty, old man.” Grand Slam looks over his shoulder at Edwin and both friends share a good laugh. For just a second, it is obvious to everyone in attendance and watching on television that these two men aren’t just colleagues and former tag partners, they are good friends and they love their job, even if it does only seem to be part-time these days... “Again… thanks Edwin… I wish my announcement were better news. But I think it is pretty obvious to everyone who saw me limp into the ring that there is no way I am going to be physically able to wrestle in my match at Genesis on Sunday.” The crowd is obviously disappointed and the arena fills with a murmur… “I know… I hate this. I promised I would be there but there is nothing I can do about that. But… there are some things I can do about Sunday.” The crowd cheers a little as Grand Slam starts to smile. “Edwin’s little pep talk last week made a lot of sense to me. And I refuse to back out of this just because one of Thugg’s relatives has a bulls-eye on my knee. So, I have two things to say about the match for the SWF Commissionership on Sunday.” “Number one! It is now officially a triple threat match. I am adding Thugg’s ‘representative’ Bastion to the match as of this second.” There is a mild pop for the announcement mixed with a few boos as people remember what Bastion did to their Heavy Hitting Hero. “Number two: As it is fairly obvious that I would be so much meat for the grinder in my current condition, I am forced to name a replacement for the match. A replacement that I intend to name right this minute!” “Some big news here!” chirps Bobby Riley. “The oft-rumored triple threat match is official now! It will be Suicide King versus Bastion versus … who?” “Whoever it is must be someone Grand Slam has total faith in if he is willing to put him in a match this big!” Comet gasps. “I bet it’s me!” “The man I am about to introduce,” says Mark, pacing slowly around the ring, “is one of the toughest SOB’s in the business today. I have seen him take punishment that makes my head hurt in sympathy, then come roaring back. He’s held title belts and he is a true student of the business as well as a real innovator. Ladies and Gentlemen, I give you my replacement in the Genesis match, the man who I think can get this job done…” The lights fade out and a burst of black smoke goes up, covering the entranceway… …and “Justifiable Homicide” by Dying Fetus kicks in! “Now THERE’S a surprise—and one I feel pretty good about, Citizen Riley!” shouts Cyclone Comet. An entrance video starts up as a black screen shatters like glass to show red filtered clips of dynamic head-dropping and brutal beatdowns. Red and purple lights flood the arena, and they follow the man of the hour, the high priest of horrorcore Dace Night as he walks out to the ring to a surprised but enthusiastic reception! “Ladies and Gentlemen, please welcome from his hometown of Birmingham, England, the High Priest of Horrorcore… DACE NIGHT!!!” The crowd pops rock-solid huge as the Hardcore Brummie climbs into the ring. He stops a second to shake hands with both Grand Slam and Edwin, then throws the horns to the crowd, as they reply in kind with a roar. Grand Slam hands him a microphone. “Well, well, well,” growls Dace, looking surly and strong as ever, “I can't say anyone saw this one coming. I'm a man of few words on a big stage like this. But I will say this. I'm not going to let you down Mark. I just hope that King really is mad enough to get in the ring with me around.” The crowd roars again as Dace flashes an evil smile from under his scars. “Bastion may be all big and bad, but they don't call me Horrorcore for nothing. I'm going to bringing everything I've got to this match. The storm is almost here. I'm going to be ready for this war. What's riding on my shoulders now... it's only going to make me stronger. War is here and I'm going to be leading the charge.” Handing the mike back over, Dace raises his arm into the air, gripping it at the elbow before drawing a finger slowly across his throat and smacking his elbow, showing that it's ready to break some heads. “ELBOWS! ELBOWS! ELBOWS! ELBOWS!” “It’s official then, folks!” says Comet. “Mark Stevens can’t compete at Genesis IV, but Dace Night is ready to step up and meet his destiny in Grand Slam’s place! I bet King wasn’t planning on this!” In the ring, Dace takes another handshake from Edwin, giving his countryman a nod. The Crown Prince raises his microphone once again. “It’s a good choice, Mark—we Brits bleed sparingly, and pack a punch to boot! I fully expect that Dace here will be a Night of the round table for the cause, and I can’t think of a better person to take your place. Well, maybe Godzilla or Colonel John Matrix, but I have a sensation that they might not be available…” Mark gives Dace a confident clap on the shoulder as Edwin trails off, but the Brit soon returns to his train of thought. “And there’s Mark’s announcement for you, ladies, gentlemen, flora and fauna. But like the Lucy you love, I too have a fair bit of ‘splainin to do.” “This should be good,” says Riley, finally getting interested. “I wouldn’t be surprised if…” BAM. No fog, no glitz. Only business tonight. One moderate detonation of bright white light later and… Today, the warning came in the flood… …a wall of Nevermore and gloom erupts as the crowd gives a roar for the glaring presence now resting at the top of the ramp. “I called that one! I so called it!” says Riley. “My powers of prescience called it 20 minutes ago while you were getting a taco. Don’t be so excited, Bobby. The fans here have got that more than covered—it’s quite a reaction for the Silent One Nathaniel Kibagami. I’m hearing a lot of boos, obviously recognizing his deplorable actions against SWF staff and Charlie “Show” Williams last week, but I’m also picking up a certain buzz, a heat…you feel it, Bobby?” “For once you’re not really talking out of your ass, Spandexter. This tension is still fresh after Edwin’s surprise return on Lockdown and a year of undoubted boiling in Kibagami’s mind. Most of our viewers still recall what happened just over a year ago between these two men.” In the ring, Mark and Dace look to Edwin and then start to go under the ropes to a big pop—but the Mac Daddy calls them back. He waves them off, shakes his head, and… “Get. Out.” Mark and Dace snap their heads around as “The River Dragon Has Come” fades out and the wrath-soaked words of Nathaniel Kibagami hang in the air. “This is between me…and him.” Mark and Dace look to Edwin again, and the Crown Prince nods, and motions them away. The crowd deflates a bit after the expectation of a monstrous brawl, and Dace and Mark starts to make their way up the ramp. “Edwin has sent his allies away on this one…he’s standing up to Kibagami himself, I say!” “Or clearing the path so he can run again…” “Citizen Riley!” “Oh, come on, Comet!” says Riley, rolling his eyes as Mark and Dace stride up-ramp under the watchful eye of Kibagami. “One year ago Edwin MacPhisto, old friend as he may be, turned his back on the SWF and fled. He ran away from Silent because he didn’t think he could take him—he knew he couldn’t! You saw that tape Silent played—Edwin breaking Kibagami’s neck back in Phoenix, 6—no, it’s 7 now! Seven years ago! Over a girl, over whatever—overboard is more like it. And Edwin still hasn’t answered for it! You don’t do something like that and just walk away, Comet. I’d think that you, the supposed purveyor of ‘justice,’ would be clear-headed enough to see that.” “But with fashion sense like that…he really ought to get a free pass, Bobby. Add a cape and Edwin MacPhisto is the spitting image of a Golden Age superhero.” Mark and Dace slowly pass Kibagami, who doesn’t bother to turn his head. He’s too busy staring burning embers at the ring. Mark looks back to Edwin and gives his friend a nod. “Heroes like that aren’t heroes anymore, Comet.” The path is clear and now there’s nothing but maybe 50, 60 feet of open space and 15, 20,000 voices frothing over at what looks inevitable. Kibagami stares straight ahead, and Edwin paces, playing games with the microphone and twirling it like a bandleader’s baton. The voices take form… “SIIIIILENNNNNNNT” “SIIIIILENNNNNNNT” “MAC-PHIST-OOOOO!” “MAC-PHIST-OOOOO!” “Good evening, Nathan.” “I’ll make this quick. You’re out of time. You came back. You got away a second time and you still came back again.” “You know,” says Edwin, parading about the ringing, twirling the mic to the delight of the crowd, “we’ve known each other so long, can I just call you Nate-Dogg?” “…You’re going to suffer--” “Good! Nate-Dogg, you don’t seem to get it. I was out here to explain why I came back to help out Charlie Matthews last week—why I reneged on my promise to myself and leapt back into the fray. And you’ve just gone and spoiled it, Nate-Dogg. Have a seat and listen, why don’t you—I’m going to give you the rundown.” Kibagami stares ahead, dead-eyed and defiant. “I don’t want your ‘rundown,’ Edwin. I want your blood. I want it in a steel cage. Have you heard me? I want you tied up and locked up so you can’t run away this time—so I can settle this and put you wear you belong. In a home, back in my old hospital bed. Just like Chris, Edwin.” Edwin snaps his head around. “You haven’t earn the right to say his name, Silent. Don’t think you can manipulate me into this. I’m here for Mark. I’m here to say goodbye and lay down a plan that’ll keep you out of action. I’m here to get back out and let the sheriffs run this old west town.” The crowd murmurs, a bit undecided as to if they’d rather keep Edwin around or see him leave Kibagami a laughing-stock. “What about the coat, Edwin? You surely don’t need that to say goodbye. Or your glorious little entrance just minutes ago. What was that about? One last run? You gave that up when you ran away, you coward. You gave that up when you ran away from your past. From betrayal. From breaking my goddamned neck over a girl you treated like shit. From a bingo hall in Phoenix where a part of you is still stuck. You gave that up when you ran away from me.” “Nathan, Nathan, Nathan!” says Edwin, mock burying his hands in his face before returning to a stand with confidence. “I didn’t leave the SWF one year ago because of anything you did. Don’t take yourself so seriously, please—I left because of something I did. Several things I did. Several things I didn’t. I let people around me get hurt; I let you and your twisted vendetta brutalize Z. You threw the poor boy off a cage and he came back torn up and tempered in a way I never wanted to see him end up. Where is he now? I don’t know. I might never know. It kills me. You drove Chris Raynor mad – you took the past out of context, entirely ignored what I’d done with my life, and sent Chris into a state. You showed him what I once was—years ago! What did you do years ago, Nathan? Prance around Japan with Spider Nekura and friends, sever an arm or two, what? You pretend to have learned from your past but all you’ve learned is how to target people like Chris. And I let it happen – I let it happen and I nearly killed one of my closest friends in this business to shut you up. To show you that I’m better – a better person. Maybe not better in a wrestling ring – I don’t give a John Wayne Cash Ritter hootin’ hellfire hello nurse about your nasty kicks, your big powerbombs, or your god-damned Demonstar Driver. You’re probably better in the ring than a man who hasn’t wrerstled in a year, but whether you know it or not, I always have been—and always WILL be—better out of it.” One step, two steps…a moment at a time, Nathaniel Kibagami stalks down the entrance ramp. “Arizona wouldn’t agree. You still don’t understand, Edwin. Jimmy. James. What do you want to be called? It’s all about blood. It beats inside of us and it doesn’t matter what you say; there’s a beast in your blood that’s been rotting and patting itself on the back for over half a decade and it’s my intention—my fucking DUTY—to kill it. To shut it out. To send you walking away from here wallowing in the truth of your own ichor, tail tucked in shame.” “SIIIIILENNNNNNNT” “SIIIIILENNNNNNNT” “Is this actually a house divided?” gapes Comet. “I don’t believe it!” “Haven’t you been listening? Kibagami’s insane, no doubt, but he’s got a point. The people love his rhetoric and I’ll tell you what: anyone who’s been screwed over by a friend can find something salient in his words.” “You’re going too far, Bobby.” “No, I’m not. Think for once.” The Crown Prince of Flash and Panache laughs and gives in. He casually leans up against the rampside ropes, leaning over lackadaisically. “I don’t understand? You still don’t understand. You think this is about me. It’s not about me anymore. I don’t care what you do to me, Nathaniel. You can spout on and on like a furious little teapot about my blood, my bones, whatever anatomical aspect you’re after today, and I don’t care. You nearly killed a valet last week and I’m surprised Charlie Matthews can bloody walk. What’s that bring your count to? 4? 5? 10? 20? What have you been doing when I haven’t been watching? It stops here, Silent. I’ve made arrangements for you to be taken care of. I’ve done what I will and you’re going to toe the line or get taken down.” Three steps, four steps. A gleam in Kibagami’s eye. “Is that a fight you’re promising?” The crowd roars… “Anything but.” …and deflates. Five, six, seven. “Stop coming closer, Nathan. I can be out of here in half a second and into the loving arms of this sold-out house--” “Stow that goddamn bullshit, Edwin.” Eight, nine, ten, eleven. “Lest you forget who’ll be running this place soon, Nathan. Mark, Thugg—they’re cleaning this place up. They’re going to make the SWF a place that doesn’t drown in its past – they’re going to make it into a place that dreams of the future. You don’t have a place there and if you want to keep up the money to keep yourself all juiced up on painkillers”—a slight murmur of distaste from the crowd—“you’re going to have to walk the bloody line.” “You’re scared, Edwin. That’s it. You don’t want turnabout; you don’t want me to pay back the deposit you took out on my fucking spinal cord seven years ago. And you know I will.” “Cry me a river, you petulant little brooder!” rails Edwin, drawing a bit of the crowd’s interest back to himself. “I’m not going to give you the satisfaction, Nathan! Do you not understand that? I said before and I’m saying it again: you haven’t earned it!” The crowd murmurs and Comet surveys the scene. “I don’t understand it myself…why won’t Edwin MacPhisto give the fans what they want to see? It’s always been his M.O…” “What have you done since I’ve been gone?” continues Edwin. “You came back and pumped yourself full of cortisone, and you refused to change. Janus and Thoth annihilated you—at least Thoth had the good sense in his madness to win the world title before he disappeared into the annals of oblivion. Your brother wins the biggest prize in the business, and you? You get knocked out by Dante Crane, by Frost, by Judge! You drift away from the chance handed to you on a platter—the Genesis tournament—and you throw a tantrum when you don’t get your way afterwards. You haven’t distinguished yourself in the ring, and you certainly haven’t distinguished yourself as a human being—where’s Angel? Where are all the people you claimed to care about? Twelve. Thirteen. Fourteen solid strides. Seven years and sixty feet, slowly falling away. Kibagami smirks. “What about the fans, Edwin? The people you came to care about?” “They don’t need me to fight you to know who I am…” Fifteen. “Do they?” “SIIIIIIILENT” “MAC-PHIST-OOO” “SIIIIIIILENT” “MAC-PHIST-OOO” “You’re a coward, Edwin. Venom’s dripping out my mouth and I hope it’s getting into that thick self-absorbed skull of yours. You left here a coward—a career-ender, the person responsible for the ultimate retirement of two of his best friends—admit it, Edwin.” Sixteen. “You left here Jimmy Britain.” “Nathan, this is over, and you know it. Good luck fighting for the US title contendership at Genesis; hope it turns out nicely for you this time.” Edwin turns away but Kibagami calls him back. “You left here Jimmy Britain from APW, Phoenix, 1996! You didn’t even leave here James—didn’t even leave with your real name! You left here with Jimmy. An abbreviation. A bastardization.” Seventeen. 10 feet away. “An asshole kid!” Eighteen. 5 feet away. “No champion! Edwin MacPhisto’s left the building!” “Shut your mouth, Nathan--” “James Canterbury’s left the building! Run away, run away—the little boy is out of time. All that’s left is Jimmy, ‘Edwin,’ and the payment in his veins: the currency of--” WHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAARRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR! “AND THERE THEY GO!” In a flash, Edwin MacPhisto leaps from the ring and BLASTS Nathaniel Kibagami across the jaw with the microphone! The crowd EXPLODES and the guardrails are swamped with fans looking to get a glimpse, up close and personal as Edwin whirls, his trenchcoat gliding behind him in a sparkling red wingspan, one fist into Silent’s face, another into Silent’s face, a third deep into a Silent’s face, a fourth that’s caught and sent right back! Back! Back! “Edwin MacPhisto and Nathaniel Kibagami are tearing into other like wolverines!” shouts Cyclone Comet! “I can’t keep track of the fists—I can’t keep track of who’s who!” A bare arm one away, another the other—crack, fist on jaw, bone on bone, someone throws a headbutt and there’s the sound of flesh sinking under the cries of the crowd, chants merged into an indiscernible blur as they go back, retrace the path of hate, 16 steps, 13 steps, 10, 9, 8, up the ramp, 5 steps, 4 steps, out of sight as security floods the stage, limbs askew, referees dropping… “We’ve got to get to commercial, folks! This is chaos!” …and above it all, two heads, standing eye to eye. Who looked first—who started it—is irrelevant now. When you stare into the void, it stares back into you. Nietzsche was a prick, but I’ll tell you what: he got a few things right.

As we fade in from commercial, we immediately see the Suicide King walking down a hallway with a cellphone to his ear. He walks past several busy workers (all desperate to avoid eye contact with the boss), nearly knocking down some poor girl fetching coffee. As the camera closes on his position, we begin to catch snippets of his conversation... "I know, I know. Can you believe it? A federal agent in MY federation. And then he has the gall to ask why I would be so upset about that! Gee, I don't know. Certainly couldn't be my long-standing association with several large swarthy men named Guido from Vegas." King takes a moment to sip from a bottle of water tucked into his pocket. He listens for a few moments before continuing on. "Oh, that? Don't worry about it. As usual, I have everything under control. And I even have a contingency plan, just in case. Stevens is a step away from crippled, and Bastion shows all the signs of having none of his brother's intelligence." King snorts. "I know. Who would've thought Thugg would be the brains in that family? Sad, really." King's eyes dart around as he talks. Clearly he is on top alert. His eyes settle on a monitor for a moment before suddenly widening substantially. "Gotta go. Call you later. Bye." King hangs up his phone with an audible click, devoting his full attention to whatever events on the monitor have so captured his attention...

...and we're back on Smarkdown! The camera fades in on one of the many hallways of the arena, where we find... your (second) favourite goth and mine, Dante Crane, making his way through the hallway, making his way towards the ring for his match with Show! Crane has an obvious look of intensity on his face, obviously intending to make his last impression with one-half of the tag team champions a memorable one before he faces off against them at Genesis. He rounds a corner and continues his brisk march, but stops short at a voice... "Yo! Yo, Dante!" The Antichrist Superstar and Datne's partner, Crow, appears from one of the opposite hallways, cigarette loosely hanging from his lips and a small, folded piece of paper in hand. "Markus," Dante replies. "What's wrong? I'm scheduled to face Show right now, so..." Cirillo takes a drag off his Dunhill Red, "Yo, man, don't bother. I just got a letter," Crow holds up the piece of paper, "from Double Jeopardy. Apparently, Show's still hurting from his match with Kibagami... so both of those screwheads have decided to 'invite' us to a... a... well..." "A what, Markus?" Crow gives Dante a lopsided look, "Just read this." Dante takes the letter, and unfolds it, reading the glitter-ink handwriting... Crow! Dante Crane! C'moooooooooooooooooooooon down! You're the next contestants on... guess the stipulation for Genesis! Thanks to the most unfortunate antics of Nathaniel Kibagami on Lockdown, Show is medically unfit to wrestle for at least another five days. I felt that, if my partner was getting the time off, I might as well rest up too... In light of wanting, heh, 'no whammy' on Show, I'd like to cordially invite both of you to meet us in Team Dressing Room C for the official revelation of the stipulation you'll be fighting us in for the titles. Our belts, our game, kids. Meet us ASAP... and good luck, gumshoes. - Quiz Dante blinks, as he hands the letter back to the Gothic Avian... "...Mark, that's the strangest thing I've ever read." "Ain't it? But I guess if Quiz and Show aren't gonna' have matches tonight, we might as well oblige," says Crow. "Or crash the party, as I'm sure you're intending," says Dante, smirking. Crow grins himself. "Well, yeah. Whichever way you want to look at it. "But anyway, I need to grab another pack. I'll meet you down at dressing room C or whatever after the next match..." "Alright, Crow," Dante nods, as Crow and he both head off in opposite directions. And on that note, we cut into...

“I’M TOO SEXY FOR MY SHIRT!” “TOO SEXY FOR MY LOVE, LOVE, LOVE, LOVE, LOVE’S GONE AWAY!” The lights in the Fleet Center dim as “I’m Too Sexy” by Right Said Fred blares over the speakers. Johnny Dangerous strolls from behind the curtain onto the stage, wearing a vertically striped referee’s shirt. He walks down towards the ring, a cigarette dangling loosely from his lips, as he looks out to the crowd with a sneer on his face. BOOOOO! “Can you believe the nerve of this scoundrel,” shouts Cyclone Comet. “He assaults Wildchild backstage and then has the gall to come down to ringside, as though this match can possibly still continue!” Johnny reaches the ring and walks up the steel steps, stepping between the ropes and into the ring, where Xero is already standing, awaiting his match with the Wildchild. Walking past Xero, Johnny crosses the ring and leans over the top rope to bark at Funyon, demanding that the announcer surrender his microphone. “I cannot believe this,” roars Comet. “On top of everything else, he’s going to bore us to death?” “Why don’t you wait to hear what he has to say,” replies Riley. “Maybe he’s uncovered some more evidence in his case against Wildchild!” Comet rolls his eyes. “There is no case against Wildchild; it’s made up! I think that poor young man is being framed!” Johnny waves a hand across his throat, indicating to the technicians to cut his music. “As you probably just saw,” he says with a grin, “Wildchild isn’t going to be able to compete in this match tonight. He decided to forfeit, rather than come face to face with the cold hand of justice!” BOOOOO! “Holy revisionist history,” cries Comet. “Did you somehow forget that you assaulted that poor young man backstage?” “But this Sunday at Genesis,” he continues, “you’re not going to get off so lucky! And after I take the Hardcore Title away from you, after I leave you with nothing to tie you to this federation, I’m going to send you up the river, Dominic. I don’t take kindly to drug dealers in my country, especially foreign ones! I’m not going to stand idly by while you flood the USA with your poison! I’m going to take you down, and I’m going to take you down hard!” Turning towards the camera, Johnny gets his face right into the lens. “At Genesis, the party… is OVER!” With that, he drops the microphone on the floor and heads back out of the ring, as “I’m Too Sexy” starts to play once again. “Does this mean that Xero wins by forfeit,” wonders Riley. “Don’t be ridiculous, Citizen Riley,” replies Comet. “Xero never wins… and, since I never heard the bell ring, I think that this match can be declared a no contest.” With a shrug, Comet turns to face the camera. “Well, ladies and gentlemen, this was a most unexpected beginning to Smarkdown tonight, but stay tuned! We promise to be back with some exciting SWF action!” As we: FADE OUT

*BANG! BANG!* *POPOPOPOPOPOPOP!* *BOOOOOOM!* The camera pans the arena, flashing past a many signs praising the return of Edwin MacPhisto last week, along with the normal sprinkling of posters, for other SWF wrestlers, before coming back to the announce booth. “We are LIVE from the SOLD-OUT Fleet Center in Boston, Massachusetts—” shouts the superhero half of the broadcast team, but Bobby Riley cuts him off quickly. “Home of The Boston Strangler, who will undoubtedly become just another speed bump on the King’s Road, once again, here tonight in the Main Event!” Riley chuckles at his own witty repartee for a second. “I’m Bobby Riley alongside CYCLOOOOOOONE COMET, bringing you all the action for another exciting SWF Smarkdown!” “My super hearing has just picked up something and word on the street is SWF Intercontinental Television champeen, Mak Francis will be on his way to ringside, shortly.” “Oh, and I thought it was the 40 foot monitor at the top of the stage that gave that little tidbit away…” So do you wanna’ be a Franchise… And live large… A big house… five cars…” “Please welcome the SWF ICTV Champion… MAK FRANCIS!” shouts Funyon, as the wispy sounds of a digital xylophone echo throughout the arena; a deep background beat, cleverly created by violins, and slightly overshadowing the original background rhythm. As the opening lyrics from Mak Francis’ Rock Superstar remix continue to blare over the PA system, the crowd bursts out of their seats, in recognition of the all too familiar music! The rent charge… Comin’ up in the world, don’t trust nobody… Gotta’ look over your shoulder constantly!” The SmarkTron flares up with a blue and white photonegative image of Mak Francis, which is followed by ‘The Franchise’ in large green lettering, flashing on the screen in time with the beat, interspersed with signature spots and clips of Francis’ trademark smirking pose. ”True to his word, ‘The Franchise’ is on his way out here to address the fans.” Mak, head down, championship across his shoulder, slowly makes his way down the ramp. The crowds’ reaction is huge, in support of the champ, who has promised them speech, about what exactly they don’t know. Francis walks the ring steps, cleaning his feet on the apron and saluting the crowd before stepping into the ring. He walks towards the announce table side of the ring and receives a microphone from a ringside attendant, before looking up, attempting to quite the crowd… “I said just a few minutes ago I had something to say to you people, the SWF fans—now I’ll get to the point. When I first came back, at 13th Hour, I told you guys that I’d do everything in my power to become you’re champion. A fighting champion. A people’s champion.” The Franchise hefts the ICTV belt on his shoulder, by shrugging and then brings the mic back up to his lips. “I asked you all to back the Mak, as contrived as that might seem…” This elicits the crowds immediate chanting of the catchy phrase—” Back the Mak! Back the Mak! Back the Mak! Back the Mak! Back the Mak! Back the Mak! Mak lets the chant dissipate and starts to speak again. “But it’s not some catchphrase just for the sake of it—I felt like, I had, a responsibility to come back. Not just to myself, but to you fans. I wanted to become the man I could be—am supposed to be, for the people that have affected me and changed me—made me into the man I’m going to be. You see, while everything else changes, your ideals should stay the same.” “That’s why breaking Flesher’s reign as ICTV champion, means so much. Not the glory—cause that can only take you so far. Not the praise, or the money, or livin’ the damn high life, cause some things—some things are more important.” “I still have promises to keep… and somehow, someway, I damn sure intend on doing just that… keeping them.” The crowd roars in approval of ‘the Franchise’s’ statement, causing him to quickly talk over them. “I’m no hero… I’m a guy that has issues that would be best swept under the rug. I’ve seen a hero. I saw a guy come out here last show and step up to the plate—he knows what he has to do. He’s a hero. I can’t relate, because I don’t know what to do. Someone always made the choices for me—led me down the right path, but that’s a story for a different time.” Mak pauses rubbing the cross around his neck for a moment. “I believe that soon, I won’t be so lost. I believe that I can live up to the ideals set before me—I believe that I can be that hero! I know it in every inch of my body—my mind—my soul! While everything else is confusion, and uncertainty, this to me is clear.” “It’s my fate.” The crowd cheers, as Mak nods his head. “I don’t know what to expect at Genesis, hell, I have no idea, but I do know that I’ll give it all I’ve got against Sacred, when I defend this title for the highest ideal.” Dropping the mic, Mak rolls out of the ring and starts up the ramp, as the crowd showers him with chants. “Super citizen Franchise leaves after saying his peace and honestly he looks a little distracted. Could all of the pressure by commissioner King and the mind games Sacred has been playing have affected him?” “Is water wet…” asks Riley and as the superhero ponders on this, SWF Smarkdown goes to commercial break.

SWF Smarkdown 9-22-2003 LIVE from the SOLD-OUT Fleet Center in Boston, Massachusetts Non-Title, Special Guest Referee Match WildChild v. Xero Special referee - Johnny "The Barracuda" Dangerous After the brutal contect with Crane on Lockdown, WC asked for the night off to heal his wounds and prepare for Genesis IV. But what did King do? He scheduled him against one of the legends of the SWF (although recently he has been down on his luck) and stacked the deck against him bay adding his arch-nemesis The Barracuda into the mix. Rules: Johnny is the ref, so it is up to him how strict the rules are. It is scheduled as a standard singles match. As per usual, Johnny may write a match if he wishes, but it is not required. Singles Match Dante Crane v. Show One half of the Tag Champions takes on one of the challengers at G4. Tensions are high... Rules: Standard singles match Singles Match "TNT" Taylor Nicholas Thompson v. Xcalibur Just a little tune-up for DaBomb going into G4. But Xcalibur is looking to make an impact and find his way into the G4 lineup, so TNT had better watch out. Add in the fact that Danny Williams will be backstage and this is a potential powder keg! Rules: Standard singles match Singles Match Crow v. Quiz The other half of the Tag Team equation. Both of these guys are looking to wear down their opponent so they will not be at their best in less than a week when the title is on the line. Rules: Standard singles match Non-Title Singles Match Ejiro Fasaki v. Dace Night Word has leaked onto the Internet that Ejiro just might be defending his U.S. Title against the Maori Badass, Va'aiga. So it makes sense that his tag partner, the master of horrorcore, Dace Night, would want to soften up the Champ. But Ejiro has been one of the hottest guys around and this won;t exactly be a walk in the park for either man... Rules: Standard Singles Match Non-Title Singles Match "The Franchise" Mak Francis v. John "The Sinner" Duran Might Mak be looking past the formidable Duran towards his ICTV Title match at Genesis with the ever-able Mr. Blackwell? If that is the case, he might want to focus, because Duran isn't happy about being considered a "warm-up match". Here is his chance to prove he can run in the eliet ICTV Division. Rules: Standard singles match Contract Signing Tom Flesher and Judge "Mental" sign the contract for the main event at Genesis IV. The red carpet will be in use... what could possibly go wrong? Tag Team Match The Magnificent Seven ("The Superior One" Tom Flesher & Judge "Mental" William Hearford III) v. The Boston Strangler and Va'aiga Tensions will be high in this match. How will TBS react to being back in the ring with the man whole stole his Title away last week? Will Judge & Tom be able to co-exist less than a week from the biggest match in their careers? And will va'aiga be looking to make a statement concerning his ability to run with the big boys in the SWF Main Event? Only time will tell boys and girls... Rules: Standard tag rules

Wildchild careens around the corner as he makes his way towards the ring, and nearly runs into SWF legend “Grand Slam” Mark Stevens. “Mark,” says Wildchild, “I just wanted to thank you for standing up for me last week! It means a lot to me that you…” SMACK! Rearing his arm back, Stevens clocks Wildchild with a slap that sends him falling to the floor! “Save it, Wildchild,” he growls at the utterly shocked Bahama Bomber. “What Thugg and I did last week wasn’t about you. We settle problems in house around here. But make no mistake, kid: I’ve poured my blood and my sweat into this business, and into this company, and just the thought that you’re pushing drugs around here sickens me!” “B-b-b-but,” stammers Wildchild, “but I’m not—” “I DON’T WANT TO HEAR IT,” roars Stevens. Wrapping his arm around Wildchild’s throat, he snatches him off the ground and holds him up against the wall. “You’re going to get your shot to settle with Johnny at Dangerous; and then, you’ll have the chance to clear your name…” He tightens his grip on Wildchild’s throat. “But Wildchild, let me tell you something right now, and you better believe me when I say this: if Johnny’s telling the truth about you, if you’re pushing that sh*t around here, I’m going to handle you personally! Understand?” Unable to respond verbally, a terrified Wildchild merely nods his head in compliance. To angry to say another word, Stevens releases his iron grip on the Bahaman’s throat, dropping him to the floor, and storms off down the corridor. Wildchild looks at the retreating Mark Stevens, rubbing his throat, his eyes barely holding in tears. Getting back to his feet, he continues on towards the ring entrance… WHACK! … When he is assaulted from behind by Johnny Dangerous, who cold cocks him in the back of the head with the BUTT of his 9mm pistol! “So, you think you’re so clever, don’t you Dominic,” growls Johnny. “Getting Thugg and Stevens to bail you out? Well, they’re not here to save you this time!” SMACK! Lifting Wildchild up by the hair, Johnny shoves him face-first into the wall! The Secret Agent straightens out his shirt before bending over at the waist to speak to Wildchild. “This is just a taste of what’s going to happen to you at Genesis,” he hisses. “There won’t be anywhere to hide after this Sunday. I’m going to beat you within an inch of your life, and then I’m going to bring you to justice!” Standing up, he delivers a sharp kick into the kidneys of the motionless Wildchild. “Enjoy your last days of freedom, criminal!” With that, Johnny walks towards the ring entrance, leaving a battered, unconscious Wildchild lying on the floor. As we: FADE OUT

Gus and Ben Hardy sit in the back, wasting away, hoping for an interview, as nobody feels like talking about the hot topic of last show, on air. The Crown Prince of Flash and Panache making a return to the house he tore down, to win his first World Championship. Suddenly the door to the parking lot opens and Hardy intercepts the six foot two frame of Mak Francis, obviously still in street clothes and not in his wrestling gear. Hardy cues Gus and steps in front of ‘The Franchise’. “I’m here with the ICTV champ Mak Francis, who it seems will be defending his ICTV title at Genesis against ‘The Sacred One’ Andrew Blackwell, in a yet to be named stipulation.” Hardy pauses for a moment to catch his breath, as Mak tilts his shades down, making eye contact. “But with all that’s happened lately, what are you’re thoughts on the return that shocked the world—” “Sorry Ben,” mumbles Francis, touching the cross around his neck. “I’ve got no comment on that right now… but I do have something to say to the crowd and I might as well do it in the middle of the ring.” Francis continues on his way, down the hall, with a slight wave. “Peace.” “Well,” says Hardy, “I guess that’s all from ‘The Franchise’, for the moment anyway…” And with that the camera fades…