chirs3

I want the rickshaw used to carry all the other loot back. And the original Chinese Checkers set.

Official song should be up by tomorrow night too. My, uh... perfectly legal filesharing service... has been persnickety lately, haven't had a chance to listen to the nominees yet.

Not quite, no.

"Tell me exactly, what am I supposed to do Now that I have allowed you, to beat me! Do you think that we could play another game Maybe I could win this ti-ime." "I kinda like the misery you put me through Darling you can trust me, completely! If you even try to look the other way I think that I could kill this ti-ime!" "The Game" by Disturbed hits, as from behind the curtain steps Megan Skye, heralding the arrival of Landon who stops at the top of the ramp and thrusts his hands out to his side to boos. Landon likes to be the center of attention and he'll make a grandiose entrance, taunting and posturing as and when needed. “Weighing in at 220 pounds… from New Mexico City… Landon “La Cucaracha” Maddix.” Landon leaps to the apron, looking out at the crowd as Megan climbs the steps. Megan holds open the ropes and Landon bounds into the ring, spinning himself into the centre of the ring HBK style and posing with Megan. Once he’s done posing, he has a word with the ring announcer. “For one, New Mexico isn’t a city. Second of all, I’m not from freaking Mexico. Got it?” The ring announcer shakes his head up and down and Landon readies himself for his opponent. The arena goes black as the words “I’m Born”, “I’m Alive”, and “I Breathe” alternate on the Smarktron. “Vitamin” by Incubus kicks in as the crowd immediately goes into a frenzy. After a moment of build the young Zyon emerges through the curtain, and pauses at the top of the ramp. “Weighing in at 200 pounds… from Elkhart, Indiana… “The Unique Youth” Zyon!“ Zyon scans the excited audience before busting out an innocent grin as he sprints down the ramp. Zyon leaps on to the ring apron before flipping into the ring with a simple leap and twist of the wrist. Once in the ring, Zyon energetically runs up to the ropes and climbs to the second rope. He no longer throws the "X" up into the air, and will go right into his nifty taunt where he bends his elbows and devours the spotlight. “This match should be a good one King. Hardcore matches have always been my favorites to watch,” says Mak. “I know what else you like to watch, but there are children watching so I won’t go into that,” replies King, holding back a smile and a laugh. The two men meet in the center of the ring and stare each other down. They stand about eye to eye with only one inch separating them in height. The two are obviously the others equal in many regards. Once they’ve finished staring each other down they each make their way for a weapon. A trash can is what Zyon reaches for and a chair is what Landon reaches for. Zyon is too slow and when he turns around a chair comes crashing into the trash can which collides with his face. After this, Zyon has a major nose bleed but he gets up quickly. He takes Skye’s towel, wipes his bloodied nose with it and gives it to Landon, making sure to wipe some of the blood on him. “We match Landon. So now that we do, let’s get down to business, blood brother,” says Zyon as he readies himself for an onslaught from Landon. “We’re not even a minute into our match and Zyon’s already bleeding. I can’t imagine that that is anything but bad for him and good for Landon.” “No shit. You think that one up all by yourself? Here’s another interesting little tidbit. That blood on Landon’s shoulder is not his own. Now that we’ve educated our viewers, we can get back to watching the match Mak.” Landon, obviously enraged, begins to choke out Zyon with his towel. Zyon’s nose begins to bleed more and more the longer he’s in the hold and the towel is soon soaked with his blood. Landon gets tired of choking his opponent so he seats him in the corner and puts the towel over his face like it will add to the impact. “It’s full of razor blades I tells ya,” he yells as Zyon gets licked by Landon’s dropkick. “For Zyon’s sake, I sure as hell hope that wasn’t full of razor blades,” jokes Mak. “For my sake, I hope it was. The sooner I’m home washing myself of your putrid stench the better,” says King, pushing his chair away from Mak’s. “I hate to say this, but I want Landon to win and win fast. Just end this night so I can cleanse myself of the smells of your feminine hygiene products.” Landon seems to be enjoying this match so he takes the towel and starts to whip Zyon’s back with it until it’s covered in Zyon’s blood. Some of the blood is from wounds that Landon opened but most of it is from the bloodied towel itself. Growing tired of the beating, Landon throws the towel out to Megan and sits in the corner and uses the dented trash can as a pillow of sorts. He gets a little shut eye as Zyon licks his wounds. “I think we’re watching what happens when you lead a lamb to the slaughter King,” Mak quirks ever so loudly. “I have a splitting headache for shits sake Mak. Quiet yourself.” Once Zyon stands up Landon tries to get him to nod off once again with the Land of the Nod but Zyon fights and fights with newfound energy and vitality. Adrenaline kicks in and he escapes the hold and connects with the Big Shot. Landon’s head connects with the chair he used earlier in the match and one solitary drop of blood drops onto the chair. Landon pretends to faint at the sight of his own blood and when Zyon walks up to him to go for the pin cover Landon kicks him in the nether regions. A run of the ropes and a Shining Wizard later, Zyon is out. The referee starts to check on Zyon, but Landon threatens him and he starts to count. 1... 2... 3... “And your winner…. Landon “La Cucaracha” Maddix.” Zyon is lifeless, but Megan Skye chokes Zyon’s lifeless body with her towel until everybody comes out to keep her off of Zyon. Zyon doesn’t get up until the arena is almost empty and when he gets up he is still light headed.

FADE IN KNOCK! KNOCK! KNOCK! Dominic LeCroix opens his locker room door to see his tag team partner, Johnny Dangerous, standing on the other side. “You about ready?” asks Johnny. “I was hoping that we could have a quick strategy session before the match.” “A few more minutes,” replies LeCroix, grinning lazily. “Melissa’s… uh… helpin’ me stretch in here.” “Riiiiight,” says Johnny, with a knowing smirk on his face. “Anyway, man, I just wanted to tell you again how much I appreciate you showing up to help me out last week. And how happy I am that the Dynamic Duo is together again, man!” Suddenly, the good humor evaporates from WC’s face, as Johnny continues babbling excitedly. “And trust me, man, I’ve been taking a closer look at the tag teams that are around here right now. We can totally take these guys, dude! That fifth title reign is gonna be…” “Wait, wait, wait,” says Wildchild, interrupting the Barracuda. “Back up for a second. Before you get too worked up over this, let’s go over some ground rules, right here and now.” Johnny looks perplexed. “Ground rules?” “Dat’s right,” replies WC. “Ground rules. We might be workin’ t’gedder again, but it’s not like it was… An’ it may not ever be like it was again!” Confusion still reigns on Johnny’s face. “What are you saying, ‘Nic?” Dominic shakes his head in frustration and runs his fingers through his hair. “Look, it’s not dat I don’ like you, Johnny. An’ it’s not dat I’m worried dat we’re not gon’ t’be able t’work t’gedder in de ring… But, I’m always gon’ be waitin’ for dat odder shoe t’drop wit’ you!” “Other shoe?” Johnny’s confusion begins to transition to mild irritation. “What are you talking about, Wildchild?” WC sees Johnny’s irritation, and raises him a full-blown annoyance, as images of past betrayals start flooding his head. “Don’ try t’play dumb wit’ me, Johnny,” he growls. “It’s always somet’in’ when it comes t’you: if it’s not bad intelligence from your spy contacts, framin’ me for some bull(bleep) crime, it’s de lure of de main event callin’ you… De one t’ing dat I can count on wit’ you is dat you’re never satisfied wit’ what you have.” “Excuse me?” croaks Johnny indignantly. “You still wan’ play dumb?” barks WC. “Fine! Are you gon’ try an’ deny de fact dat you were always lookin’ for dat limelight? It was never enough for you t’be half of a great tag team… you always wanted your own day in de sun!” “Now wait a minute…” “What about de last time, Johnny?” continues LeCroix. “You cost me a chance t’be de Heavyweight Champion, an’ den y’stabbed me in de back because y’ t’ought dat I was keeping YOU from getting anodder shot!” “Come on, man,” pleads Johnny. “That was a year ago… PLUS, you kicked my ass, like, half a dozen times after that… can’t we just call it square?” “Maybe we could,” replies WC, “if dat had been de FIRST time… Or d’you not remember betraying us in a title match where we had Justice an’ Rule BEAT?” LeCroix suddenly pauses to lower his head. When he raises it, his eyes are burning with anger… WHACK! … And he suddenly slaps Johnny across the face! Rage explodes all over Johnny’s face as he begins to shout: “Now wait just a goddamn…” WC leans into his face and interrupts him. “D’you not remember pointing a loaded gun in my face, Johnny?” WC’s outburst causes the Barracuda’s anger to disspate immediately, realizing what was going through his partner’s head. “How ‘bout de fact dat you broke five of my ribs? Did you t’ink dat I FORGOT about dat?” Johnny can only hang his head in shame as WC continues. “DAT’S what I mean by de odder shoe, Johnny! You might have de talent, an’ we’ve obviously proven dat we can get it done as a team, but dat doesn’t mean dat I trust you… Not like before.” “So,” asks Johnny, “does this mean I’m on my own again?” Calming down, LeCroix takes a step back, sighs and shakes his head. “What it means, Johnny, is dat you’ve used up all your credit wit’ me… It means dat I’m not gon’ t’keep forgivin’ you over an’ over again like I used to. Dere ain’t gon’ be no second or t’ird chances dis time… DIS time, Johnny, one strike, an’ we’re T’ROO!” “Believe me,” says Johnny placatingly, “I’m not going to give you reason to doubt me again, Nic! I’m all about the team now; you have my word!” “Really?” replies WC coolly. He glares at the International Championship belt dangling over Johnny’s shoulder, and then taps it with his index finger. “Your word, huh? We’ll see…” He then turns an about face and closes the door to his locker room in Johnny’s face, leaving the Barracuda hanging in the middle of the hallway… As we: FADE OUT

The arena is alight with flashbulbs. SOL is already in the ring, and only a few seconds pass before… BOOM! An explosion of blue smoke and pyro lights up the arena, heralding the arrival of the Superior One! As Led Zeppelin’s “Kashmir” blares through the stadium, Tom Flesher walks through the velvet curtain clad in his usual blue warm-up suit. Allison Onita, wearing a denim skirt and a white t-shirt, follows behind him. The fans boo loudly as Flesher and Onita make their way to the ring, but Flesher ignores them. He focuses only on SOL. Flesher climbs the stairs and holds the ropes for Allison Onita, then enters. He sets himself in the center of the ring as the music fades, and looks at the announcer. “Her opponent is someone who is so far above her, Scion of Light has absolutely no hope of winning tonight. Why, one may ask, is this match even occurring? Why is Tom Flesher, SWF Legend, future Hall of Famer, two-time World Champion, former multi-time Cruiserweight Champion and workhorse extraordinaire, pretty boy nonpareil, even deigning to step into the ring against a rookie from Japan? Quite simply, he’s horny. So, weighing in at 229.9 pounds, he is the SUPERIOR ONE, TOM FLESHER~!” Flesher stretches out as referee Sexton Hardcastle makes his way into the ring. Finally, he calls for the bell. DING DING DING!!!! Flesher plants himself in the center of the ring, sneering at his adversary. SOL edges out of her corner. Obviously apprehensive about stepping up against an SWF legend and future Hall of Famer, the rookie is defensive and cautious as she moves toward him. SOL leans forward, trying for a collar-and-elbow tieup. Flesher, rather than stepping into the lockup, simply cracks her in the ribs with a stiff kick! SOL doubles over in pain, but Flesher hits her with a backhand that pops her back up to standing. With his opponent stunned, the Superior One whips her to the ropes. SOL rebounds, and Flesher steps forward with his arm extended. He nails her in the jaw with a palm strike, and SOL collapses to the mat! Flesher covers her, and the referee counts ONE!!!! SOL, though, gets her shoulder up. Flesher shakes his head disgustedly and grips her hair, then stands up and drags her with him. “Well, Flesher is being less than gentle with Scion this evening,” says Mak. “He seems to be relishing his position in this contest – a seasoned veteran, despite his young age, up against a relatively inexperienced opponent. He so rarely gets to face an opponent he outweighs by such a high magnitude.” Flesher yanks SOL’s hair, pulling her into a European uppercut that sends a loud “CRACK” echoing through the stadium. She staggers backwards, and Flesher shoves her back into the corner. As she leans against the turnbuckles, Flesher throws a hard backhand that snaps her head to the side. SOL, not quite sure what she’s done to warrant this kind of abuse, looks up, only to have Flesher unload with an open-handed bitchslap. Her head snaps to the side, and Flesher backs away to the center of the ring. King snickers as SOL looks out to the crowd for some sort of advice. “This poor girl doesn’t have ANY idea what to do. She’s in against a guy who’s beaten practically everyone in the SWF today, and she’s so dumbfounded.” Like a deer in the headlights, SOL steps out of the corner, toward the center of the ring where the Main Attraction impatiently waits. SOL steps in, but Flesher lowers his level and lunges forward, slamming into her to the mat with a train wreck-style double-leg takedown! SOL scoots back, trying to keep from getting folded into a pinning predicament. Flesher, though, stands up instead, hooking both legs under his arms. Immediately, the 160-pound china doll stiffens, avoiding what she thinks will be an inevitable Boston crab. Rather than twisting SOL to her back, though, Flesher takes a few steps back and rotates in the center of the ring! He leans back and proceeds to spin faster and faster, so hard that SOL’s featherweight frame is lifted off the mat by centrifugal force. “By Zeus, we haven’t seen this in ages!” says Mak. “Tom Flesher is executing an old-fashioned Mormon Spin, in the style of Utah giant Don Leo Jonathan!” “And also in the style of Lioness Asuka, who SOL apparently never sparred with,” says King, as he chucks a handful of popcorn into his mouth. “Funny that she didn’t see this coming.” Flesher continues rotating, with Allison Onita cheering him on as he continues his giant swing. The Superior One accelerates, and as the crowd cheers, he prepares to finish the spin. As he reaches to speed, he releases SOL, sending her crashing into the turnbuckles! She lands in a heap, her head careening into the bottom turnbuckle pad, while Flesher simply staggers to the side of the ring. He leans on the ropes, shaking off his self-inflicted dizziness as he chats with Allison Onita. “Well, Tom’s certainly taking Scion of Light to the woodshed,” says King. “Maybe after he finishes slaughtering her, he’ll take her out back and teach her a thing or two about Japanese phonetics.” “Are you implying,” asks Mak, “that Scion of Lights isn’t really a Power Ranger?” “Well, that too,” says King, “but I was thinking more along the lines of ‘bukkake.’” Flesher continues happily chatting with his girlfriend as SOL attempts to make it to her feet. Sexton Hardcastle, meanwhile, watches to ensure that Scion will be able to continue. “Scion of Light certainly was on the wrong end of that giant swing,” says Mak. “One wonders if she’ll be able to withstand this sort of assault long enough to make a mark in the match.” “Can I get another soda here?” asks King. “Maybe some nachos?” As SOL begins to stand, Flesher holds up a single finger to Allison, saying “Hang on a moment.” The Japanese joshi star pulls herself to her feet using the ropes and gradually steadies herself. She doesn’t, however, see the Superior One barreling at her, and when she turns toward the center, she sees Flesher’s Doc Marten slamming into her face! She collapses under the force of the Yakuza kick, and Flesher regains his footing. As SOL lays on the mat, Flesher struts back over to the sidelines and leans over, returning to Allison. “Flesher obviously isn’t taking SOL seriously,” says Mak. “I wonder if perhaps he’s taking her too lightly tonight.” “Yeah, she sure is showing him up,” says King sarcastically. “… Got any mustard for this pretzel?” Flesher spends a few more minutes talking to Allison before sighing deeply and walking back to the center of the ring. There, he waits as SOL begins to get to her feet. As she does, he hooks her by the arm and yanks her back. With the arm hooked, he bends her to the side, locking on an abdominal stretch! SOL struggles to escape, but Flesher quickly grapevines her leg and clamps down on the hooked arm to bend her spine against itself. “Tom Flesher,” says The Suicide King, “is putting on a veritable clinic of wrestling techniques tonight, using Scion of Light as his victim.” Flesher leans back, tightening the abdominal stretch. SOL grimaces, trying to withstand the pain, but the Superior One shuffles ever so slightly to the side. With his free hand, he reaches out and grabs the top rope, prompting a loud round of boos from the crowd. Sexton Hardcastle is, however, able to wallow in his own incompetence, and drops to one knee to ask SOL if she wants to submit. SOL shakes her head no, and Hardcastle stands up. Flesher releases the rope, which shakes in a telltale manner as Hardcastle looks at it. He asks Flesher whether he’d been holding the rope, but he shakes his head and denies it. Hardcastle drops down again to ask SOL if she can continue, but once again she shakes her head… even as Flesher grabs the top rope again to increase the pressure. “Flesher’s actions are shameful,” decries Mak. “Not only is he in an entirely different league than the joshi rookie, he is going out of his way to bend the rules to gain an even greater advantage. He doesn’t need to engage in this sort of unethical behavior. This is why Tom Flesher does not deserve our respect.” “Eh, get off it,” King says. “Flesher doesn’t have any responsibility to SOL. She’s a sparring partner, a warm-up for him. Why should he give a damn what she thinks?” Flesher once again releases the top rope just as Hardcastle stands up. The referee circles around him, his face showing his suspicion, but he’s simply unable to catch Flesher in the act. Maybe it’s because he’s a tool. The Superior One, getting bored with his abdominal stretch, decides to change his grip. He reaches over with his left arm, grabbing SOL’s wrist this time, rather than the top rope. He yanks the arm over, barring it out, and then clamps down with his right arm on the Scion of Light’s head. He cranks the armbar and reverse facelock, smirking to make a magazine-cover photo. “We’ve seen this before,” says King. “It isn’t often that Taamo breaks out the good old stretch plum, but it’s a lethal move in his hands. The only other athlete to make extensive use of it here in the SWF, of course, was Justin Bowers’ trainer, good old Bill Hearford.” “Judge William Hearford has indeed proven a solid trainer, although Justin Bowers doesn’t seem to be taking to the ring quite as easily as he did,” says Mak. “Sadly, not everyone can be as talented a student as Melissa Fasaki.” “Flesher wouldn’t be interested in giving it to Bowers from behind, either,” says King gravely. “Really, the differences are striking.” Tom continues cranking the stretch plum, while keeping his head turned toward Allison. The heterosexual Onita sister hops up onto the apron, and she chatters amiably at her man as he keeps the hold but ignores his opponent. “This, if anything, is proof that Tom Flesher refuses to take SOL seriously,” says Mak. “Shhh,” says King. “I’m trying to hear what they’re talking about.” “But King…” “Did she just say ‘sixty-nine?’” After a few more minutes of pleasant social hour, Allison waves goodbye to Flesher and hops back down onto the concrete floor. Flesher shoves SOL away, letting her crumble to the mat. From there, he simple waits for her to get back up. “Flesher seems to be at a loss as to how to proceed,” says Mak. “He is normally a very reactionary wrestler, but…” “Without any opposition to speak of, he’s in kind of a difficult position,” says King. “I can understand why that would be a problem for him. When you get used to a certain level of defense, you lose your ability to make a match flow.” SOL does, however, find her way to her feet after only a few awkward seconds. Dazed, but still on her feet, she looks around the arena in a vain attempt to locate her opponent and prepare some semblance of offense, defense, or ability to do anything other than play Peter McNeely to Flesher’s Mike Tyson. Without SOL’s willingness to give up, however, SOL is at the mercy of Flesher’s whims. At this point, his whim is to grab her from behind and slap on a waistlock. She struggles to get to the ropes, but to no avail. Before she even knows what hit her, Flesher has lifted her off her feet and thrown her delicate frame over his head with a high-arching German suplex! She hits the mat hard, back and shoulders first, as Flesher lands in a bridge! He rolls to the side and gets to his feet, deadlifting SOL’s tiny body off the canvas with no effort whatsoever. He holds her off the mat, carrying her a few steps while he repositions himself in the center of the mat, and then executes another picture-perfect back arch! He slams the power ranger to the mat, this time throwing her at a higher angle and forcing her to land uncomfortably on her neck. He keeps his grip, however, and is quickly back on his feet. He holds her by the waist and gets ready for another suplex. This time, he takes a deep breath and arches back, throwing SOL so hard that she spins overhead and lands hard on her stomach! She crumbles in a heap, and Flesher rolls out of the ring. “Where the heck is he headed?” asks King. “After executing a brilliant series of German suplex variations, Tom Flesher looks very slightly tired. Perhaps he is planning to take a break.” Flesher heads to the front row, where he finds a seven-year-old girl wearing a Mark Stevens t-shirt. He reaches over the guardrail, grabbing at her Big Gulp 7-Up. She pulls it away, and Flesher’s eyes narrow. “What does Flesher think he’s doing?” asks Mak. “He’s just thirsty. Cut him some slack.” Flesher grabs the youngster’s soda and pulls it away, taking a big sip from the straw. He reaches over to her father, grabbing one side off of his soft pretzel and breaking it off. As the enraged father stands up, Flesher dunks the end of the pretzel into a container of mustard and takes a bite. The girl grabs her soda back and, in a huff, throws it at Flesher! The fans cheer as Tom staggers around, temporarily blinded by the carbonated beverage! “And the sport has reached a new low,” laments Mak. “I hope they kick that snot-nosed punk right out!” King growls. As Flesher sells the soda, SOL rolls out of the ring and sneaks up behind him. Flesher doesn’t see her coming, but she leaps off her feet and nails him in the back of the head with an enzuigiri! Flesher staggers forward one step… then another… and finally falls flat on his face on the concrete! The fans burst into cheers and prove, once again, the Flesher Flop is a guaranteed pop. “That is an absolutely ridiculous attack!” fumes King. “Tom Flesher is on the outside and, through no fault whatsoever of his own, is temporarily blinded! What does this bitch do? She takes advantage of it! Ridiculous, unethical and completely wrong!” “SOL is simply making every attempt to win the match,” Mak says. “One can hardly blame her.” “It’s immoral!” shouts King. “She has no right doing anything in this match! Tom Flesher outclasses her, outweighs her, outwrestles her and outdoes her on every other level! She should be grateful for the opportunity to tap out to him like a true wrestler!” Flesher, though, is in no position to defend himself. SOL lifts him by his singlet straps and rolls him back into the ring, then follows quickly behind. Though she is still breathing heavily due to the length and constancy of the beating she’s endured throughout the match, she takes advantage of Flesher’s stunned state by taking a few seconds to breathe. She follows Flesher in and strolls over to the corner at a leisurely pace. As the Superior One gets back to his feet, she hits the top turnbuckle and leaps off with a missile dropkick! Flesher stumbles forward and collapses again. The crowd cheers her on as she gets to her feet and grabs Flesher’s wrist, yanking him to his feet. She pulls back and pivots, whipping him to the ropes. As he runs, she follows behind and hits the ropes at the same time. She dives over the ropes and grabs Flesher’s limbs, locking on the Tarantula! Flesher grimaces in pain as she holds on to the Japanese modified surfboard! “Tarantula!” shouts Mak, as SOL hangs tightly to the hold. She cranks the hold, hoping to get the submission within the five seconds allowable to keep the hold on. Sexton Hardcastle administers his count as she does. ONE! Flesher fights to escape, but can’t fight his way out of the entanglement. TWO! THREE! FOUR! Finally, disappointed in her lack of ability to end the match, SOL drops out of the hold. She stands on the apron, balancing, as Flesher staggers forward. He holds his back for half a second, and as SOL steps through the ropes, he turns around. She leaps off the mat, throwing a kick at the Superior One’s face! He blocks it, shoving her backwards and raising an eyebrow. “And Tom Flesher just ignores a gamengiri by Dragon Okimurra!” shouts King. “Incredible, or possibly not special because Flesher’s f**king amazing.” Flesher takes a step back, his eyes trained on SOL. She steps forward, aggressive, hoping to capitalize on her brief run of offense. She snags his arm, wrenching it to the side, and then pops up with a hook kick to the face! Once again, Flesher stands firm. This time, he actually laughs as he shoves SOL away! She moves toward him once more, but Flesher steps in and rocks her with a stiff palm strike to the face! She staggers backwards, and Flesher hammers her with another shotei! He flurries, hitting her with strike after strike after strike! Finally, she falls to the mat, and Flesher steps over her on his way to the side! “Well, that was fast,” says King. Flesher grabs SOL by the arm and unleashes a huge stomp to her ribs. She recoils, but Flesher drops to the mat. He wraps his legs around SOL’s ribs and lays out to the side, propping his head up on an elbow and reclining as he uses the vice grip on her torso! “Reclining body scissors,” murmurs Mak. “What clear and utter disrespect.” Flesher holds the position for a few seconds before rolling away. SOL, too, rolls to her stomach, and Taamo quickly hooks her arms. He tucks them underneath her knees and rolls her to a kneeling position, locking on THE NELBINA! “Speaking of clear and utter disrespect…” chuckles King. As SOL tries to escape, Flesher sits on the back of her neck and flexes his biceps! The crowd boos, and so he dusts his hands off as if he had some sense of accomplishment for embarrassing a rookie. Finally, he stands up and rubs the front of his crotch across SOL’s face! The crowd boos as Frisco snickers, and Allison Onita looks ever so slightly jealous. As SOL blushes, looking absolutely shamed, Flesher backs away. He measures her up, carefully ascertaining the distance… and then BAM! He nails the defenseless SOL with a Yakuza kick! The crowd boos as Flesher poses in the ring. “Tom Flesher,” says Mak, “seems to be sending a message, for some reason.” “He wants to send SOL back to Japan! Big deal!” Flesher yanks SOL to her feet and reaches through her legs, applying a pumphandle grip. From there, he arches back, dumping SOL headfirst to the mat with a Logical Disconnect! She collapses to the mat, and Flesher effortlessly floats over. ONE!!!!! TWO!!!!!!! NO! Flesher pulls SOL up off the mat, and the fans boo loudly! “And just what does Tom Flesher hope to accomplish?” spits Mak. “Just what is he going to show?” Flesher whips SOL to the ropes. As she rebounds, Flesher stands firm in the center of the ring and extends his arm! SOL runs flush into his palm and collapses under the stepping shotei! Flesher stomps on the Dragon’s chest for the arrogant cover, and Sexton Hardcastle counts ONE!!! TWO!!!! THREE!!!!! DING DING DING!!!! Funyon makes the announcement… “Your winner … TOM FLESHER!” Flesher stands up, throwing his arms into the air. “Kashmir” blares through the arena, and Flesher celebrates as the picture fades.

“We’re back in the Staples Center,” Mak Francis says as Smarkdown(oween) comes back from commercials, “and coming up next we have what should be a truly fascinating tag team encounter between the most successful tag team in SWF history and… well, the Dukes of Hazzard, basically.” “What?” King splutters, “you’re talking about the greatest Ultraviolent Champion of all time, and the second longest-reigning International Champion in SWF history!” “…and his brother,” Francis reminds the Gambling Man. “Well, the Hazzard boys were cousins,” King sniffs. “Wouldn’t surprise me if Bruce and Wayne were brothers and cousins,” Francis declares, “but that’s possibly besides the point…” ‘I… AM… IRON MAN!’ ‘Iron Man’ by Black Sabbath rings out through the Staples Center as the words ‘BRUCE BLANK’ flash up on the Smarktron. However, moments later the words ‘WAYNE BLANK’ accompany them, hinting that the big man isn’t competing on his own tonight. The famous guitar riff is accompanied, after a few seconds, by two figures at the top of the entrance ramp; one large and wavering, one considerably smaller and doing his best to prop his brother up and guide him towards the ring. “BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!” “Ladies and gentlemen, the following tag team contest is scheduled for one fall,” Funyon booms, “introducing first, from the Dirty Tornado Trailer Park in Mobile, Alabama; at a combined weight of 470lbs, Wayne and Bruce, THE BLANK BROTHERS!!” “So why isn’t Bruce teaming with Nemesis tonight?” Mak asks. “Oh come on,” King snorts, “why in the hell would you bring out a giant in a mask and a skeleton costume on Hallowe’en? Are you mad?” The Blanks are now making their way towards the ring, although Wayne is having some trouble steering his brother. However Bruce does seem to show some vague recognition of the big square shape and head towards it, managing to get through the ropes on the third attempt. Meanwhile Wayne even manages to look apologetic at referee Red Herrington, who sways noticeably as the fumes on Bruce’s breath hit him. “How can he compete in that state?” Mak asks, “he’s a danger to himself and others!” “He’s a danger to others anyway,” King replies, “think of this as evening the odds, if you must.” It's at this point that 'Fuel My Fire' by the Prodigy kicks up and the attitude of the crowd undergoes a dramatic change. The lights have dropped down and the strobes are flashing, and it's not long before Johnny Dangerous and Wildchild appear. The Bahaman Bomber is in his usual outfit of Olympic-style wrestling singlet with his braids bouncing everywhere, while Johnny is wearing his trenchcoat and sunglasses with the International Championship wrapped around his waist. "And their opponents," Funyon declares, "at a combined weight of 439lbs, the team of Wildchild and SWF International Champion Johnny 'The Barracuada' Dangerous; WIIIIIIIIIILLLLLLLLLLLD... AAAAAAAAAAANNNNNNNNNNNNNND... DAAAAAAAAAAANNNNNNNNNNN-GEROUS!!" "YEEEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!" "Yes yes, very nice, here they are yet again," King grumbles, "honestly, you'd think that Wildchild would have learned not to trust Dangerfield by now, wouldn't you?" "Dangerfield?" "Some crappy British TV cop show, I think," the Gambling Man shrugs, "no-one else will have heard of it but I threw it in for my own personal amusement to degrade Johnny a bit." "...fair enough." The words 'International Champion' seem to have pricked Bruce's ears up, and the Redneck Superman looked around hopefully to see if they were going to be followed by his name. Unfortunately they weren't, and the reminder that Johnny Dangerous has his precious title drives Bruce over the edge. Into tears. "OK, Hallowe'en or not, this is scary," Mak Francis says, nonplussed, as the huge Alabaman starts bawling in the middle of the ring. Mak needn't have worried; the moment Bruce actually lays eyes on the cause of his torment the tears disappear and are replaced by boiling rage! The big man lumbers towards the ropes and for a moment the crowd holds its collective breath in anticipation of the biggest plancha ever witnessed in the SWF... ...but it is not to be, as Bruce trips and simply tumbles headfirst over the top rope, appearing to do the Cactus Clothesline without first ensuring that there's an opponent to hit on the way. 'Fuel My Fire' fades out as the crowd launches into a suitable chant: "YOU FUCKED UP!" "YOU FUCKED UP!" Johnny and Wildchild look at each other and shrug as Bruce lands a few feet away, but then their attention is grabbed by a much smaller figure in the ring who accelerates towards them and leaps into the air, easily clearing the top rope and plummeting down towards the most decorated tag team in SWF history... ...and Johnny and Wildchild catch Wayne Blank across their chests, the 175lber lacking the weight to seriously trouble the two! Wild & Dangerous seem unsure what to do with Wayne now they've caught him, but Bruce is now getting up again (as we all know, landing on your head doesn't inconvenience you at all when drunk) so they duo toss his brother towards him! Bruce catches Wayne on instinct, hand/eye co-ordination just up to the task, and Wildchild and Johnny then dropkick Wayne in the gut to send Bruce staggering backwards into the apron, whereupon he drops Wayne on his feet, then falls over him! "YEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!" "Remember kids, alcohol is BAD, m'kay?" Mak Francis deadpans. Johnny and Wildchild have now entered the ring - Wildchild by somersaulting in between the bottom and middle ropes, Johnny simply by rolling under the bottom rope - and are acknowledging the fans as if nothing has happened. Dangerous then removes his trenchcoat and strips the International Title off to hand it to Red Herrington. The Blank Brothers are (slowly) getting up on the outside and it is Wayne who re-enters the ring first; mainly because Bruce shoves him in under the ropes, but the Drunken Dragon (ironically far more sober than his brother) is still the man who gets to officially start the match with Wildchild. *DING-DING-DING!* …and at this point a match occurs, in which Bruce falls off the apron several times because he’s too drunk, Wildchild doesn’t quite trust Johnny but they get along OK, and Wayne basically gets the shit kicked out of him and then gets pinned after the Silver Bullet. ONE! TWO! THREE! “YEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!” “Yeah, well that was fairly quick,” Mak says, “which I suppose is only to be expected when you have four-time Tag Team Champions going up against a drunken guy and his brother who’s basically just a manager.” “Yeah,” King agrees, “oddly anticlimactic.” FADE OUT

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=- SWF SMARKDOWN (oween) Live, Tuesday, October 31st, from the Staples Center in Los Angeles, Californiaaaaa! (7pm PST, 10pm EST; check local listings) (Send all promos/marked matches to chirs3) -=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=- THE MAIN EVENT Landon "La Cucaracha" Maddix vs. Zyon -> Part two in the Joseph Peters Is An Asshole Series of booking moves - while Spike and Drake are learning to work as a cohesive unit, the two men most likely to watch Stephen's back at A2A are pitted against each other in a HARDCORE match! Neither one of these men is going to go down without a fight, but every chairshot, lowblow, and indian burn will hurt them that much more in the long run, making them potentially easy pickings at Ashes 2 Ashes! -=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=- "The Superior One" Tom Flesher vs. The Scion of Light -> Looking to take out his frustrations on someone who can't beat him like W&D did on Lockdown, Tom turns to his one-time coat-rack, the Scion of Light! SOL has been out of the spotlight as of late - now's her big chance to take it right back! -=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=- Wild and Dangerous vs. The Blank Brothers (Bruce and Wayne Blank) -> WILD AND DANGEROUS ARE BACK, BAAAAAYBEH! While this technically does meet Peters' requirement that Johnny find a tag partner, Ole' Joe was still plenty sore about being made a fool of, so he's not going to let up on them now! Tonight, they face a newly... eh... "re-energized"... Bruce Blank, with his rat-fink brother Wayne by his side! -=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

Not quite 4:30, but I'm tired and/or sleepy. Still only have about 30% of the show, so... In order to make time for any matches not yet written, and to help finalize some last minute details for A2A, this show will be going up Tuesday night after all. Due time is 8:00 EST, without exceptions. If all goes smoothly (or if I've got at least half a show) by the time I get home tomorrow night, it and the A2A card will be going up immediately. Grumble grumble.

I was considering pushing to Tuesday, ultimately decided not to. HOWEVER~~, so far I've got 2 of 5 matches... if, by 4:30 (when I usually go to bed) I've still got nada, I may keep the window open. I'm just not sure yet if no one's written, or if my markers are still marking, so I don't know what's going on yet.

Find a gimmick for the match. There were lots of times when I'd sit down and try to start a match and I just could not get anything out. When that happened, I just started coming up with wierd ideas, jokes, gimmicks, whatever, to try and build the match on. Raynor/Spark parodying The Matrix, XF9 hiding behind the Carnival Cardboard Cutouts, and the regrettably idiotic final ML match against Simon Flare where I wrote from the perspective of the cameraman, were all born that way. Some of the matches I won, some of them I lost, but every time I was stuck I found it was easier to start writing when I had a solid (usually wierd) idea to build on. Maybe try that.

And of course, now that the card is finalized, I start remembering a few people I accidentally left off. Harumph. PM's going out. Let's see if we can fix this.

Bumpariffic x 2.

Card be up.

Drawing names now. Already I've got a good feeling about this show. I put the slips of paper in the small pocket of my laptop bag (no hats to use), and I found an uneaten Reese's Cup and Twix Bar. ~!

Oof. That's no good. My backup plan was to just randomly assign writers tonight, and let people trade as they wish. I wanted people to get requests in, but if it's cutting it too close, as in your case, we may not do that anymore.

ALSO - Last chance for A2A match plans and/or requests.

Francis: “Welcome back to Lockdown, and it is now time for our main event. Before we go off the air tonight, we will crown new number one contenders to the SWF World Tag Team Championships,” King: “Exactly. Within the next hour or so, The Predators are going to earn their rightful spot as number one contenders…” Francis: “Whoa, hold the phone, King. Their opponents tonight are Zyon and Akira Kaibatsu, who are among the most experienced of the current teams here in the SWF.” King: “But can they match up to the ten years of experience of The Predators, Mak? They were very impressive their last time out, and with so much on the line? I think they’re going to be in way over their heads here.” Francis: “The only way to find out who will get that title shot is to see the match, so let’s go up to Funyon for the introductions,” Funyon: “Ladies and gentlemen, the following contest is scheduled for one fall with a 45 minute time limit, and it will determine the number one contenders to the SWF World Tag Team Championship!” The lights completely go out in the arena, and after a few seconds, a lightning strike comes out from each end of the stage at the top of the ramp. With that, a spotlight shines on the stage, showing Nighthawk, Jay Hawke, and the lovely Falcon in all their resplendent glory. Funyon: "Introducing first ... accompanied to the ring by Falcon and at a total combined weight of 500 pounds ... here are Nighthawk and 'The Dean of Professional Wrestling' Jay Hawke ... THE PREDATORS!" The team makes their way to the ring, the spotlight shining on them the whole way, although the crowd boos them like hell as marks are wont to do toward heels. King: “And this crowd is showing all of us why they have little or no class. No sense of talent. How can anybody boo this team?” Francis: “Maybe it’s their attitude. Maybe it’s the way they’ll cheat at all costs to win the match.” King: “So these people here in Vegas don’t like winners? Actually, considering how many of them will drop four or five figures in the casino after the show, that might be pretty accurate.” “Protect Ya Neck” by Wu-tang Clan hits. Funyon: “And their opponents. First, from Sendai, Japan, weighing in at 195 pounds … ‘The Divine Wind’ AKIRA KAIBATSU!” Akira Kaibatsu walks to the ring and stops at the aisle, awaiting his partner. Francis: “Akira doing the smart thing here, not rushing into the ring until he’s got his backup with him.” The arena goes black as the words “I’m Born”, “I’m Alive”, and “I Breathe” alternate on the Smarktron. “Vitamin” by Incubus kicks in as the crowd immediately goes into a frenzy. Funyon: “And his tag team partner … from Elkhart, Indiana, and weighing in at 200 pounds … ‘The Unique Youth’ ZYON!” After a moment of build the young Zyon emerges through the curtain, and pauses at the top of the ramp. Zyon scans the excited audience before busting out an innocent grin as he sprints down the ramp. Zyon leaps on to the ring apron before flipping into the ring with a simple leap and twist of the wrist as Akira Kaibatsu slides in at the same time. Once in the ring, Zyon energetically runs up to the ropes and climbs to the second rope, bending his elbows and devouring the spotlight. King: “Now you talked earlier tonight about how arrogant The Predators were. What about that?” Francis: “You don’t think Zyon has been able to back it up considering how close he’s actually come to winning the International and World Titles?” King: “OK, you remember that the next time Hawke and Nighthawk do something you deem arrogant.” DING DING DING! At the sound of the bell, Zyon heads to the ring apron to allow Akira Kaibatsu to start. Falcon, inside the ring, discusses things with Nighthawk and Jay Hawke, then flips a coin. Nighthawk says “heads”, the coin comes up tails, and Nighthawk yells “Dammit!” as he goes to the ring apron. King: “You’ve got to love the way these two men determine who is going to start the matches off.” Jay Hawke and Akira Kaibatsu immediately lock up, and Jay Hawke is quick to lock Kaibatsu into a side headlock. “The Divine Wind” pushes Hawke, sending him into the ropes, and he’s quick to catch Hawke coming back in with a clothesline. Showing how important this match is, Akira is quick to go for the cover: ONE! TWO! Kickout. Both men get to their feet, and Akira catches The Dean of Wrestling with a couple of forearm smashes before unleashing a dropkick that sends his opponent tumbling through the ropes to the outside. Francis: “Maybe thirty seconds into this contest, and the Predators are already reeling at the hands of Zyon and Akira Kaibatsu.” King: “Well, give them credit for going for the quick win, but this one is far from over, Mak. Far from over.” Akira Kaibatsu tags in Zyon. Jay Hawke tries to make his way back onto the ring apron, but Zyon sends him right back to the floor with a baseball slide dropkick. Francis: “And now you have Zyon keeping Hawke at bay, and these are two men who are no strangers to one another.” King: “Indeed not. Their rivalry dates back to before Genesis VI, Mak.” Jay Hawke rolls himself back into the ring, and he points at Zyon, saying something to him that the ringside microphones can’t capture. Zyon nods, and the two longtime rivals tieup. Jay Hawke quickly takes Zyon down with a snap arm drag takedown. Zyon is quickly to his feet, and another lockup is quickly broken up with Zyon getting a snap arm drag. Another snap arm drag by Zyon, then another, and then a dropkick that knocks Hawke down and back into the corner. Jay Hawke sits up, then reaches up and behind him, allowing Nighthawk to tag himself in. Francis: “A beautiful sequence of arm drags, followed by that tremendous dropkick, and Hawke is going to get out of the ring while he’s got the chance.” King: “And that’s smart. Zyon’s got the momentum on his side, so you might as well stop it while you can and see if your partner can do damage.” Nighthawk enters the ring, only to get nailed coming in with a Zyon dropkick that knocks him off-balance. Zyon attempts to whip Nighthawk into the corner, but Nighthawk braces himself and reverses the whip, sending Zyon hard into the corner. Everybody in the crowd is expecting the blind charge, but Nighthawk walks in and lifts his boot, placing across the throat of the Unique Youth. Senior referee Matthew Kivell calls for the break: ONE! TWO! THREE! FOUR! King: “And there’s a veteran move by Nighthawk. He takes his time, does a good solid wear down move, and breaks before the referee’s count of five. Classic.” Nighthawk pulls Zyon out of the corner and locks in a front facelock. After holding it for a few seconds, he leaps into the air, dropping Zyon right onto his head. Francis: “Beautiful jumping DDT by Nighthawk, and he could going for the cover.” Indeed he does, and the referee slides into position: ONE! TWO! Kickout. Francis: “But it’s way too early in the match to win it like that, King.” King: “I’ll grant you that, Mak, but with the high impact offense of Nighthawk combined with the technical expertise of Jay Hawke, how much punishment do you really think they can take?” Nighthawk pulls Zyon to his feet. Zyon begins fighting back, catching Nighthawk with a series of forearms to the ribs. With Nighthawk backing up, Zyon leaps to the air and spins, catching Nighthawk underneath the chin with a spinwheel kick that knocks him over. He goes for the quick cover: ONE! TWO! Kickout. Zyon gets to his feet and waits for Nighthawk to start standing. As Nighthawk stands, the Unique Youth runs into the ropes, only to get caught, spun around, and dropped to the mat with a sidewalk slam. Francis: “Wow! What power!” King: “I thought he was going to make Zyon a permanent part of the canvas there.” Nighthawk goes for the cover: ONE! TWO! Kickout. Nighthawk wastes no time, dropping an elbow across the chest of his smaller opponent before he can reach his feet. Francis: “And right back in control, but he should probably tag out to Jay Hawke here.” King: “But he’s having so much fun!” Nighthawk goes for the pin again: ONE! TWO! Kickout. Nighthawk reaches out and tags in Jay Hawke. Taking advantage of the referee’s count, Nighthawk whips Zyon into the ropes. On the rebound, Nighthawk lifts Zyon into the air and starts to bring him down, right into an Ace crusher from Jay Hawke. King: “3D Drop! These guys know all the tricks of the trade, Mak!” Jay Hawke goes into the cover as Nighthawk makes his way to the ring apron: ONE! TWO! Kickout. Francis: “Only the count of two! It’s going to take a lot more than that to put these two men away!” Jay Hawke locks Zyon into a reverse chinlock. Francis: “And now this is good strategy by The Predators. Slow the pace down, keep these two men from using their quickness.” Zyon summons up the energy to pull himself to his feet, then turns his body, forcing Hawke to turn the hold into a loose side headlock. He pushes Hawke off and sends him into the ropes, then runs into the other sets of ropes, beginning a criss-cross effect. Akira Kaibatsu tags himself in and enters the ring, catching Hawke with a drop toehold to bring him to the canvas. Zyon drops a leg, then heads to the apron, The Divine Wind then grabs Hawke by the leg and pulls him toward the corner, quickly tagging Zyon back in. King: “Bringing Zyon back in that quickly could be a mistake, Mak!” Zyon grabs the other leg, and they float over into a double rolling leg snap, then quickly roll to their feet and move to the opposite corner, where they catch Nighthawk with a double forearm to the face. King: “And that’s definitely a mistake. Why would you make a man that size angry?” Francis: “But they’re back to the strategy they need to utilize. Quick tags, use your speed to keep them off-balance, and make sure the smaller Hawke is in the ring for the duration.” Zyon hooks Jay Hawke’s leg and twists the foot at the ankle. He reaches back and tags Akira back in, who leaps over the top rope and comes down with a foot to the inside of Jay Hawke’s knee. Hawke clutches at his knee and slides to the corner, but Akira and Zyon each grab a leg, once again doing a rolling leg snap and rolling toward the corner. This time Nighthawk hops off the apron, preventing the shot in the corner. Hawke struggles to his feet, and Zyon and Kaibatsu level him with the forearms instead. Nighthawk steps back onto the apron, only for Zyon and Akira to turn around and level him with a double dropkick that knocks him off the apron to the floor. Francis: “A tremendous series of double team moves here from Zyon and Akira Kaibatsu, and these fans here at the MGM Grand love it!” King: “And if the Predators were doing the same thing, you’d call it an abomination and a travesty of justice!” Kaibatsu moves into a leglock of his own, but before he can lock it in, Jay Hawke uses his free leg to kick him off. Nighthawk makes his way back to the ring apron, just in time for the Dean of Wrestling to make the tag. Nighthawk enters the ring and locks up with Akira. Nighthawk goes for an Irish whip, but Akira somehow reverses it and sends Nighthawk into the corner. He charges, but Nighthawk moves out of the way a split-second before contact is made, sending Akira Kaibatsu shoulder first into the turnbuckle. King: “And that might be the turning point of the match.” Francis: “Akira Kaibatsu went running into the corner at the most inopportune time there, King, and as a result, he’s got an injured shoulder!” King: “And that’s where Jay Hawke could do most of his damage if he’s got visions of the Wing Span dancing in his head, Mak.” Nighthawk grabs Akira Kaibatsu by the head and pulls him over to the corner. He reaches back and tags in Jay Hawke, then lifts the arm over Kaibatsu’s head. Hawke climbs the turnbuckles and drops down with a double-ax handle into the exposed shoulder of the Divine Wind. Francis: “And that seems to be exactly where they’re taking the offense, King.” Jay Hawke quickly locks Kaibatsu into a hammerlock, making sure to put added pressure on the shoulder while doing so. King: “And it’s absolutely perfect strategy, Mak. Think of all the great tag teams of the past. The Anderson Brothers. Arn Anderson and Tully Blanchard. Teams who focused on one body part to eliminate a point of balance. Take away a point of balance, and you take away most of the opponent’s offense.” Akira Kaibatsu reaches back and hooks Jay Hawke’s head, then leaps into the air in an attempt to go for a snap mare. The Dean of Wrestling plants his feet and pushes forward, throwing Akira to the mat, who lands with his left arm behind his back. Hawke reaches out and tags in Nighthawk, who steps into the ring and begins to kick away at Akira’s shoulder. Francis: “And now it’s The Predators with the quick tags, and all of the work is on the left arm and shoulder.” Nighthawk locks in a hammerlock of his own, then pushes Akira Kaibatsu forward, sending him shoulder first into the corner again. Nighthawk then hooks the arm over the top rope and pulls back on it, releasing the hold only to keep referee Kivell from making the disqualification count of five. Francis: “Still working on the shoulder, and now the tag to Jay Hawke. What else can these two men do to Akira Kaibatsu?” King: “At this rate, whatever they want to.” Jay Hawke hooks Akira’s arm underneath his arms and drops down, the full force of his weight landing on an already hurt shoulder. Hawke then hangs on, putting his weight on the shoulder as he pulls back at the hand and wrist. Francis: “Fujiwara armbar, and Jay Hawke might be able to get the submission here!” King: “If Akira’s smart, he’ll give it up here and live to fight another day!” Jay Hawke continues to pull back on the arm, and Zyon runs in, stomping on Hawke’s head to force him to break the hold. Matthew Kivell begins to send him back to the corner, and Hawke rolls to the floor and Nighthawk enters the ring to put on a Fujiwara armbar of his own. Kivell turns around, and despite not seeing the tag that was never there to begin with, he goes back in to check for the submission. Francis: “And that’s a bad call from the referee there. There was no tag there!” King: “But it was conceivable for there to be a tag. That’s close enough.” Francis: “No, that’s not close enough!” While the broadcasters argue the rules, Nighthawk releases the hold and pulls Akira Kaibatsu into the corner. He tags in Jay Hawke, then lifts Akira onto his shoulders. From the apron, the Dean springboards off of the top rope and levels his opponent with a clothesline, causing Akira to do a full flip before landing on the canvas. Francis: “My God!” King: “He nearly took his head off right there, Mak! And he might have been better looking had he lost his head!” Jay Hawke immediately goes for the cover: ONE! TWO! Zyon runs in to make the save. King: “And that’s the only thing that saved Kaibatsu there, Mak! He was as good as beat right there!” Francis: “I have to agree with you, King, but if they can double team Akira, then Zyon can help him if he needs to!” Jay Hawke is quick to lock Akira Kaibatsu into a front facelock, hooking the shoulder as well to try for a submission. Francis: “But there’s no need for the save if he taps out right here!” King: “Tapping out might save his career, Mak!” With every bit of strength he can muster, Akira Kaibatsu moves toward his corner, reaching for the tag the entire time. He gets six inches away from making the tag, and Nighthawk runs into the ring, taking Kivell’s eye off the action. Akira makes the tag to Zyon, and Zyon is quickly in to level Jay Hawke with a series of forearm smashes. Kivell turns around, see Hawke getting pummeled while still having Akira locked in the hold, and he sends Zyon out of the ring, claiming there was no tag despite the claims of the contrary from the 16,000-plus people in attendance. Francis: “Come on, referee! He made the tag!” King: “He made the tag, but the referee never saw it, Mak! And since both of them were still in the ring, Matthew Kivell assumed Zyon was in illegally!” As Zyon finally goes back to the apron, Jay Hawke locks in a waistlock. Nighthawk levels Akira with a super kick, and Hawke takes Akira over with a German suplex, just in time for Matthew Kivell to turn around and see the shoulders on the mat: ONE! TWO! Kickout. Francis: “Almost the count of three, but Akira Kaibatsu should be resting on the apron right now!” King: “Could be, should be, whatever. He’s not resting on the apron, Mak! He’s getting outclassed by a superior team!” Jay Hawke tags in Nighthawk. Both men stay in the ring to hook Akira in a front facelock and suplex him to the canvas. Jay Hawke leaves the ring as Nighthawk goes for the cover: ONE! TWO! THR -- Zyon runs in to make the save. King: “Again with the save! This one should have been over five minutes ago!” Francis: “But there’s a tag team title shot on the line to the winner, King, so Matthew Kivell’s going to let it go as long as he can.” Nighthawk tags Jay Hawke back in. Hawke immediately grabs Akira and lifts him onto his shoulders, much like a firefighter would to a damsel in distress caught in a fiery blaze. He then begins spinning him around, getting six or seven full revolutions in before dropping him onto his feet. Both men stagger around, and after a few seconds, Akira’s back is toward Hawke. Hawke grabs him by the back of the head, hooks in a rear chancery, then drops him down, catching the shoulder blades onto his knee. Francis: “Inverted backbreaker, and The Predators have things well in hand here.” King: “Experience is beating youth, which is going to happen every time.” Jay Hawke pulls Akira to his feet, then locks in a front facelock. He tags in Nighthawk, who quickly enters the ring. Hawke spins down, taking Akira down with a swinging neck breaker, and almost instantaneously, Nighthawk drops a knee across the forehead of Kaibatsu. Nighthawk goes down into a cover: ONE! TWO! Kickout. Francis: “A near fall, but Akira Kaibatsu refuses to stay down!” King: “Nobody ever accused him of not having a survival instinct, Mak, but he can’t possibly take much more of this.” Nighthawk pulls Akira to his feet, only to send him straight back down to the mat with the short lariat. Nighthawk drops into another cover: ONE! TWO! Zyon runs in and makes yet another save. Francis: “Zyon coming in, once again saving his partner, but you have to wonder if Zyon isn’t just delaying the inevitable at this point!” Nighthawk once again pulls Akira Kaibatsu to his feet. He whips Akira into the ropes, and as he rebounds back in, he takes his opponent and spins him around into a thunderous spine buster slam that sends his body into convulsions. Nighthawk walks to the corner and makes the tag to Jay Hawke. Francis: “Another tag, and you’d have to think this one is almost over.” King: “I’d say Akira needs to make a tag in the next thirty seconds or so, or else this one is all over.” Nighthawk hooks both of Akira’s legs and turns him into a Boston crab as Jay Hawke climbs to the top turnbuckle. He leaps, dropping a leg across the back of Akira Kaibatsu’s neck. Nighthawk releases the hold and returns to the apron, and Jay Hawke goes for the cover yet again: ONE! TWO! THRE -- Zyon once again makes the save, and this time Matthew Kivell actually warns him to stay on the ring apron. King: “Well, it’s about time. Zyon should have been disqualified about ten saves ago!” Francis: “It used to be you were disqualified on the second save. That’s just how the business has changed over the years, King.” Jay Hawke picks Kaibatsu up and holds him like he’s going to body slam him, but instead, he drives the shoulder of the Divine Wind onto his knee. Francis: “Shoulderbreaker, and pinpoint accuracy on that one.” With that, Jay Hawke tags in Nighthawk, who reenters the ring. Nighthawk picks up Akira and lifts him onto his shoulders as Jay Hawke climbs up to the top turnbuckle. Francis: “They’re setting Akira up here, and this could be their Crash Landing finishing move.” Hawke steadies himself, but Zyon shakes the top rope, and Hawke loses his balance and falls to the canvas below. That’s enough of a distraction for Nighthawk to allow Akira Kaibatsu to maneuver himself into a Victory roll… ONE! TWO! THR -- kickout! Francis: “What a counter, and he almost got him!” King: “With no damage done, Mak!” Nighthawk quickly gets to his feet and moves in for a lariat, but Akira levels Nighthawk with a roundhouse kick to the ribs to double him over, then another one to his face that knocks him to the canvas. However, the accumulation of punishment makes Akira unable to do much else except collapse to the canvas. With both men down, Zyon begins trying to get the crowd to rally behind Akira, and the crowd responds by chanting “A-KI-RA! A-KI-RA!” Francis: “Both men are down, and this is Akira Kaibatsu’s best chance to make the tag!” King: “But he didn’t really hurt Nighthawk there, so did he give himself enough time to make the tag?” Jay Hawke, now on the apron but groggy, reaches out and makes the tag to his partner. He slowly enters the ring, and Akira reaches for the tag, but Hawke grabs the foot and prevents him from moving forward. Akira makes his way to his feet and leaps up, kicking Jay Hawke in the side of the head with his free foot. Akira then makes a desperate lunge to the corner and makes the tag to Zyon as the crowd erupts. Francis: “There’s the tag, and a fresh Zyon is in the ring!” Zyon enters the ring and levels Jay Hawke with a series of forearms smashes, then runs into the ropes and takes Hawke down with a flying forearm smash. Hawke quickly makes his way to his feet, only for Zyon to take him down with a dropkick. Zyon goes for the pin: ONE! TWO! Kickout. Jay Hawke, stunned, tries to pull himself to his feet, but Zyon doubles him over with a knee to the midsection. Zyon locks in a front facelock, then takes Hawke to the mat quickly with a snap suplex before floating into an immediate pin: ONE! TWO! Kickout. Francis: “A couple of quick near falls, and Zyon has Jay Hawke on the ropes!” King: “Nobody has had the success against Jay Hawke that Zyon has, and he’s going to need that if he wants to be a top contender for the tag team titles!” Zyon picks up Jay Hawke and slams him down to the canvas. Quick as a cat, Zyon climbs up to the top turnbuckle, facing the crowd instead of his opponent. He leaps, backflipping onto the Dean of Wrestling with a picture-perfect moonsault press: ONE! TWO! TH -- Nighthawk makes the save by dropping an elbow across the back of Zyon’s head. “BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!” Akira Kaibatsu, now somewhat recovered, springboards off the top rope, catching Nighthawk with a judo kick to the face that knocks him backwards, tying him in the middle and top ropes. “YAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAY!” Francis: “Kamikaze Rush by Akira Kaibatsu!” King: “All hell is breaking loose out here, Mak!” Matthew Kivell, in an attempt to gain control, tries to send Akira Kaibatsu out to the ring apron. At the same time, Zyon and Jay Hawke struggle to their feet. Zyon gets to his feet a split-second sooner than Hawke, and he’s quick to hook Hawke up and take him down with a spinning neck breaker. With that, he ascends to the top rope. Francis: “Zyon is going for it all right here, King!” King: “He’d better not waste any time here, Mak! He needs to hit it or go to something else!” Zyon steadies himself on the top rope, then leaps, doing a front flip onto the chest of his prone opponent. Francis: “Final Flash! This could do it right here!” Zyon crawls into a cover, but Falcon hops up onto the ring apron, distracting the referee. The crowd is livid as an angry Zyon gets off the cover and spins the referee around, arguing the decision. Francis: “Zyon is arguing with the referee, but he’s got Jay Hawke beat here!” King: “A huge mistake here, Mak, and…” Falcon unhooks Nighthawk from the ropes and hands him a lead pipe. King: “And it’s going to cost him big time here!” Nighthawk makes his way behind Zyon and readies himself to level him with the lead pipe, but Akira Kaibatsu runs in. He charges Nighthawk, but Nighthawk sees him coming and dips his shoulder, elevating him with a backdrop that sends him over the top rope and crashing hard to the arena floor. King: “Oh my God, Akira Kaibatsu is dead! What a fall over that top rope!” Seeing this, Zyon turns and charges, catching Nighthawk with a high cross body block, but Nighthawk catches him in mid-air. From there, he presses Zyon over his head as Jay Hawke finally makes his way to his feet. Nighthawk then drops him throat first onto the top turnbuckle. Zyon somehow remains on his feet, but he turns around, and Jay Hawke quickly cradles Zyon, lifts him up while in the cradle, and drops him right onto the top of his head. Francis: “Fisherman’s buster…” Jay Hawke immediately covers Zyon: ONE! TWO! THREE! DING DING DING! Francis: “And he got the pin off of it!” King: “Like I said, Mak! Experience is going to beat youth more often than not!” Funyon: “Here are your winners, and the number one contenders to the SWF World Tag Team Championship … THE PREDATORS!” Francis: “A tremendous main event matchup here, as Zyon and Akira looked to have things well in hand, but the X factor of Falcon at ringside ended up costing the young team the victory.” King: “It was simply a matter of the more experienced team taking it to the younger team and using that experience to find a way to win, Mak. Next stop: The Tag Team Championships, and this is a team that could dominate the division much like Wild & Dangerous did all those years.” Francis: “To dominate the tag team division, they’re going to need to win the tag team championships, and with this win, they’re guaranteed that title shot. That’s all the time we have for tonight, but join us next week for a special Halloween edition of Smarkdown!” King: “Yeah, I can’t wait for that one.” Francis: “For the Suicide King, I’m Mak Francis, saying good night everybody.” [fadeout]

“Good evening, SWF fans!” BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO! Despite the fact that this introduction to Lockdown is a segment taped earlier in the afternoon, Joseph Peters had the foresight to allow a long pause for the crowd’s reaction. “I’m here to talk to you tonight about Johnny Dangerous.” YEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH! Again, a courteous pau- “A few short weeks ago, I informed Mr. Dangerous that he was worth more to me as a tag team wrestler than a singles wrestler, and that he was contractually obligated to participate in a set number of tag team matches. I gave him a deadline – tonight – to find a tag team partner. Well, Mr. Dangerous – time’s up.” BOOO! HISSS! OFF WITH HIS HEAD! “You made it pretty clear you weren’t interested in what I had to say, Johnny, but I assure you I meant every word of it. Tonight you WILL be participating in a tag team match. And I hope, for your sake, that you found a partner… … because I’d hate to see you go it alone against the likes of Tom Flesher and Charlie Matthews!” BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO! “That’s right! Tonight – in that very ring – the Barracuda will take on The Magnificent Two, and if he hasn’t found a partner, then he’ll just have to fight on his own!” Peters takes a moment to allow for more booing, but the crowd is still carrying the last round of it pretty well. “And Johnny – don’t think this is a one time deal. If tonight IS a handicap match, then the moment the medical team clears you to wrestle again after Tom and Grappler tear you apart, there will be another. And another. And another. And we’ll see just how long your indignation lasts after a month or two of handicap matches.” Man, this crowd can really boo. “This would be so much easier for everyone if you would just find a partner, Johnny… but then again… given your track record…” Rather than finish that thought, Joseph just smirks. “Everyone – enjoy the show.”

“Welcome back to the MGM Grand,” Mak Francis says as Lockdown returns from commercials, “we have what can only be described as a Cruiserweight exhibition match next, as Michael Stephens goes head-to-head with Brazilian luchadore sensation Ultimo Phantasmo. It’s non-title, but pride will most certainly be on the line!” “Oh come on,” Suicide King snorts, “what sort of pride can Toxxic take in slapping down this Spanish-speaking moron?” “They speak Portuguese in Brazil, King.” “See? They’re not even smart enough to learn Spanish!” Before the Gambling Man can insult another populous nation even further ‘Intro’ by Gorrilaz starts up, heralding the arrival of the man known as Ultimo Phantasmo. There is a healthy cheer from the Las Vegas crowd, the noise dying down slightly as ‘Intro’ comes to a close and pauses as the lights drop down… and then ‘My Name Is Mud’ by Primus starts up, causing the lights to strobe on the stage and catch the smoke that starts to rise. Moments later Ultimo Phantasmo strides out, accompanied by Miguel Mayorga! “YEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!” “Your name will be mud after tonight,” King sighs, “honestly Francis, I can understand Toxxic wanting an easy opponent after Gabriel Drake handed his ass to him, but come on! What does he get out of this except keeping that ridiculous undefeated streak going?” Mayorga and Phantasmo have now reached the ring, where the middle-aged Mexican holds the ropes open for his protégé and exhorts the crowd to make some more noise, which they seem perfectly happy to do. “Ladies and gentlemen, the following non-title contest is scheduled for one fall,” Funyon booms. “Introducing first, accompanied to the ring by Miguel Mayorga; from Boa Vista, Brazil, he weighs in tonight at 220lbs… this is ULLLLLLLLLLLLLLLL-TIMO… PHAN-TAAAAAAAASSSSSSSSSSSSSS-MO!!” The Brazilian luchadore starts stretching out as Mayorga begins giving him a pep-talk, presumably going over last-minute tactics and advice. However, the pair don’t have long to talk uninterrupted… “COME AND HAVE A GO IF YOU THINK YER ‘ARD ENOUGH!” “COME AND HAVE A GO IF YOU THINK YER ‘ARD ENOUGH!” The Smarktron whites out as every light in the MGM Grand hits full and ‘Rookie’ by Boy Sets Fire crashes out across the arena, then fades slowly down to black. As it does so jagged white letters flash up a familiar slogan, one word at a time: ‘PREPARE TO BE PROVED WRONG…’ The thumping bass drum starts to ring out and the Smarktron is filled with half-second long clips of Michael Stephens’ most famous matches, now culminating with the Sunny In England on Tom Flesher at Genesis VII. Finally the shot changes to Mike Van Siclen being taken off a balcony and through a table with the Stephens Shock Syndrome, the devastating landing timed to coincide with the- *BOOOM!!* -stagewide eruption of red pyro that signifies the arrival of the SWF’s most decorated Englishman! And through the flame and smoke… “TOXXXXXXXXXXXXXX-IC…” …trenchcoat hanging loose over his personalised England soccer shirt, with the Tag Title in his right hand, Cruiserweight in his left and World Title buckled around his waist… “TOXXXXXXXXXXXXXX-IC…” …blue-black hair hanging down over his face and steel-grey eyes peering through to stare down at the ring where his opponent awaits… “TOXXXXXXXXXXXXXX-IC…” …comes the man once known as Toxxic. “…and his opponent,” Funyon booms, “from Nottingham, England! He weighs in tonight at 218lbs and is the SWF Cruiserweight Champion! One-half of the SWF Tag Team Champions! And the SWF World Heavyweight Champion… this is MIIIIIIIIIIII-CHAEL… STEEEEEEEEEEEEEE-PHENS!!” “YEEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!” Stephens strides down the ramp with a SWF title belt dangling from each hand, then pauses at the bottom to cross his arms briefly in the straight-edge ‘X’ sign before throwing them wide to ignite another blast of red pyro from each ringpost! *bap-bap* *BOOOM!* ‘I never thought this could be me I guess you never do until it’s happening to you Like all the fun turns into shame And all the “could-have-beens” rearrange…’ “TOXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX-IC…” “TOXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX-IC…” The chants continue as Stephens rolls under the ropes into the ring, then pops upright and hands his title belts to referee Brian Warner. The Triple Champion slips off his trenchcoat before removing his England shirt and throwing it into the crowd, where two teenage girls in heavy eyeliner fight over it surreptitiously. “Ultimo Phantasmo will probably have to wrestle the match of his life to cause an upset here tonight,” Mak Francis states, “but we’re in Las Vegas where long odds are welcomed, and let’s not forget that the young man from Brazil quite conceivably holds physical advantages over the World Champion; Phantasmo is slightly taller, and from what we’ve seen he’s just as fast if not faster around the ring. However, whatever his experience south of the border, Michael Stephens has far more experience of big matches in the SWF, and being physically outmatched has never daunted him in the past.” “I think it’s safe to say that Toxxic has a lot of experience ‘south of the border’ as well,” King smirks. “…I’m not even going to try and work out what you mean by that.” *DING-DING-DING!* The opening bell goes and both men move in towards each other, circling slightly as they take each other’s measure. However, when no immediately obvious openings present themselves they go for a standard collar-and-elbow tie-up, then jockey for position for a moment before Ultimo Phantasmo suddenly snaps backwards and sideways, taking Stephens over with an armdrag! The Triple Champion is back on his feet in a moment, only to get snared with another armdrag… and then another! “YEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!” Some of the crowd seem quite pleased at Phantasmo’s early advantage, and the Brazilian raises his arms in acknowledgement of their cheers. Meanwhile Stephens has got back to a vertical base and hangs back, unwilling to be taken by surprise again, but a small smile plays around the Englishman’s lips. He steps back in with his arms raised and Phantasmo obliges him by locking up again… but this time things go a little differently. *CRUNCH!* “Headbutt!” Mak Francis calls as Michael Stephens introduces Ultimo Phantasmo to the art of using your head ‘up close and personal’. The Brazilian luchadore staggers back, and Stephens follows up with a RIGHT! LEFT! RIGHT! LEFT! Windup… DISCUS CLOTHESLINE! “YEEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!” “TOXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX-IC…” “TOXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX-IC…” “You call that wrestling?” King asks, outraged, “that thug responds to armdrags with a headbutt and closed fists?” “I call it effective King,” Mak argues, “and still better than a low blow, which I remember being your go-to when you were out-wrestled. As usual.” “At least I can still feel a low blow,” King snaps, which has to be one of the oddest comebacks ever. Stephens reaches down and picks the slightly dazed Ultimo Phantasmo off the canvas, then Irish whips him off the ropes. However as Stephens ducks his head for a back bodydrop the agile Brazilian backflips over him, landing on his feet behind the Triple Champion. Stephens turns looking for him and Phantasmo lashes out with a roundhouse kick, but Stephens blocks it with both forearms, then leaps into the air for a dropkick… and Phantasmo slaps him out of the air, sidestepping the attack! The Brazilian moves in on his grounded opponent but Stephens comes up with a single-leg pick on the left leg, then uses his own left leg to sweep Phantasmo’s right and put his opponent on his back. From there the Englishman performs a forward roll over the Brazilian with Phantasmo’s leg still in his grasp, snapping the leg backwards and stressing the tendons in the back of the limb! “LET’S GO STE-PHENS!” “There you go King,” Mak says, “wrestling. Michael Stephens isn’t just a high-flyer who throws headbutts anymore, if he needs to he can wrestle you with a reasonable degree of skill.” “Yeah, cos outwrestling luchadores is so difficult,” King snorts, “they’re so spotty I hear jaguars-” “-don’t go any further with that.” As King’s comments get even weirder, Michael Stephens has grabbed Ultimo Phantasmo by the head and dragged the Brazilian up to his feet. He places his opponent in a front facelock and ducks his own head under Phantasmo’s arm, then spins sideways and takes him down with a swinging neckbreaker. From there he continues the movement to roll over onto his front, dragging Phantasmo with him and applying a grounded front facelock to his lucha-trained opponent. “This appears to be a similar strategy to that Stephens used against Zyon in their Cruiserweight Title match recently,” Mak comments. “Or he can’t think of anything else to do except hold on and hope,” King suggests, “this is Toxxic we’re talking about.” Phantasmo does his best to fight out, kicking his legs and jerking his body to try and ‘pop’ out of Stephens’ grip, but the World Champion holds fast and the luchadore goes nowhere. With that approach failing Ultimo Phantasmo instead starts focusing on the arms that are holding him in place, doing his best to lever Stephens’ grip loose. The Englishman grits his teeth and tries to maintain his hold, but eventually Phantasmo manages to unclasp one of his opponent’s hands from the other, then before Stephens can re-establish his grasp the Brazilian rolls to the side, taking Stephens’ arm with him and coming up with an armbar. “LET’S GO PHAN-TAS-MO!” However Ultimo Phantasmo isn’t content to settle for an armbar, and he releases his grip to roll backwards and lock his legs around Michael Stephens’ right one in the beginning of an STF. Unfortunately for the Brazilian he’s unable to lock the hold in, as when he reaches forwards again Stephens fires three elbows one after another into his face, forcing him to break the hold and roll away! The World Champion doesn’t give his opponent any time to rest after this defensive manoeuvre, instead diving over Phantasmo’s shoulders and bringing the Brazilian over with an Oklahoma Roll for a pin! ONE! …but Phantasmo kicks out at one, then rolls outside the ring before Stephens can follow up! Miguel Mayorga hurries around the ring to stand next to his client and speak quickly to him in Spanish, gesturing expressively and presumably telling Phantasmo where he’s going wrong. ‘ONE!’ Brian Warner shouts, beginning the count. “LET’S GO STE-PHENS!” “LET’S GO STE-PHENS!” Michael Stephens waits in the ring, seemingly happy with how the match has gone so far and awaiting Phantasmo’s re-entry. After a few more seconds the Brazilian luchadore nods to one final instruction from Mayorga and rolls back in, then gets to his feet. Stephens is waiting for him and Phantasmo approaches cautiously, with both men warily going into another lock-up. This time Phantasmo quickly shifts into a side headlock, then before Stephens can figure out a counter the Brazilian transitions into a spinning drop toehold that takes the Triple Champion down to the mat. Phantasmo then rolls across Stephens to come out to the front and apply a front facelock, but Stephens doesn’t give him the chance to get it locked in and manages to grab an arm and twist out to the side like Phantasmo did against him earlier. However, instead of applying an armbar Stephens gets up to his knees with the arm in his grasp, then drops and spins to not only wrench the arm in its socket but also drive Phantasmo’s masked face into the mat! *BANG!* Mayorga shouts angrily from the outside as his protégé loses the advantage again, but Stephens grabs his opponent by the head and pulls him up to his feet, then twists around until both men are back-to-back before sitting out into a Hangman’s neckbreaker. “Mr. Miyagi’s going mad,” King notes. “Mayorga,” Mak corrects. “What’s the difference?” “Well, Miyagi was a character in the Karate Kid movies,” the Franchise reminds his partner, “and was Chinese not Mexican. And besides, he was entirely fictional.” “…but we’re-” “Quiet!” Michael Stephens hasn’t released his grip following the Hangman’s neckbreaker, instead rolling back to his feet with the front facelock still applied and Ultimo Phantasmo in his grasp. The World Champion then threads his left arm underneath his opponent’s right to get a Tiger neck chancery, then twists around again until they’re back-to-back once more. Stephens holds Phantasmo there for a moment to get maximum pressure on his opponent’s shoulder before sitting out once more, this time with his Tiger neckbreaker, then covering his opponent… ONE! TWO!! …but Phantasmo kicks out! The World Champion starts to pull Phantasmo up to his feet again, then applies a side headlock… however, he’s not prepared for Miguel Mayorga to jump up on the apron and start yelling at the referee! “What’s he saying?” King asks, bewildered. “I think he’s claiming that Stephens pulled Ultimo Phantasmo’s hair to get him into the headlock,” Mak Francis says, puzzled, “but I didn’t see any sign of that…” Brian Warner turns around and starts arguing with Mayorga, trying to get him back onto the floor, and even Michael Stephens looks over curiously at the animated Mexican. Unfortunately this proves to be the World Champion’s undoing, as a moment of inattention allows Ultimo Phantasmo to wrap his arms around the Englishman’s waist and shifts his feet, then bridge backwards to take Stephens over with a backdrop suplex! “…OK, so Mayorga just ran interference,” King says as a few boos are heard inside the MGM Grand, “I thought this guy Phantasmo was meant to be trying to get the fans on his side?” “Who knows?” Mak asks, “maybe Phantasmo didn’t know his manager was going to do that, but took advantage of the opportunity when it presented itself.” With Michael Stephens now down on the mat and momentarily winded Ultimo Phantasmo doesn’t want to waste any time in capitalising. He runs for the ropes and bounces off, then performs a cartwheel for a little bit of flash before delivering a double stomp to the Triple Champion’s chest! He then drops to make a cover, evidently figuring that it’s worth a try… ONE! TW- -but Michael Stephens kicks out before Brian Warner’s hand can find the mat for a second time! This doesn’t seem to discourage Ultimo Phantasmo massively, as the Brazilian hauls his opponent back to a vertical base, then latches onto Stephens’ wrist and Irish whips the World Champion into the corner before charging in after him and delivering a running high knee that snaps the Englishman’s head back! Stephens wobbles in the corner but Phantasmo doesn’t let up on him, firing away with alternating kicks and palm strikes! *CRACK!* *THWACK!* *CRACK!* *THWACK!* *CRACK!* *THWACK!* Brian Warner is yelling at Phantasmo to let his opponent out of the corner; the Brazilian backs off for a second, then jumps up and delivers another high knee strike to Stephens’ head for good measure! The World Champion staggers out and Ultimo Phantasmo grabs him in a front facelock before hooking him up as if for a suplex, then grabs the Englishman’s baggy pants and hoists him up to deposit him in a sitting position on the top turnbuckle! “That distraction from Miguel Mayorga certainly seems to have shifted the momentum in favour of Ultimo Phantasmo,” Mak notes. “Well, it’d be pretty pointless otherwise,” Suicide King agrees. With Michael Stephens perched on the top rope and potentially in a great deal of trouble, Ultimo Phantasmo starts climbing up after him. The Brazilian gets to the second rope, then cautiously gets one foot on the top rope… “Ultimo Phantasmo going for a high risk move here,” Mak Francis calls, “but will it pay off?” …Phantasmo gets his other foot onto the top rope, then jumps up and wraps both legs around Michael Stephens’ head before snapping back with a hurricanrana… but Michael Stephens holds onto the top rope at the last moment, and although he sways forward dangerously it is Ultimo Phantasmo who crash lands onto his front with nothing to show for it! *BANG!* “YEEEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!” “LET’S GO STE-PHENS!” “LET’S GO STE-PHENS!” Miguel Mayorga is pounding the canvas and yelling for his protégé to get up and get back after Michael Stephens; however, it seems the breath has been knocked from the Brazilian wrestler’s body and it takes him a few seconds to recover himself. When he does get back up and looks towards Michael Stephens it seems that the World Champion has not been idle either; before Phantasmo can react the Englishman leaps off the second buckle and wraps both his legs around Phantasmo’s head, swinging to one side and taking the Brazilian over with a hurricanrana of his own! “LET’S GO STE-PHENS!” “LET’S GO STE-PHENS!” The sudden disorientating movement of spinning and backflipping and so forth takes its toll on Michael Stephens after the variety of blows that got slammed into his head not long ago, so it takes him a few seconds to recover himself enough to follow up on his opponent. However, he is still first to his feet and grabs Ultimo Phantasmo as the Brazilian starts trying to rise, then applies a double underhook and straightens… but Phantasmo fights it, trying to break his arms free! “I think Stephens is going for the RTF II,” Mak exclaims, “but Ultimo Phantasmo is wise to it and does not want to get caught in that hold!” “Thank you, Captain Obvious,” King snorts. Michael Stephens tries to subdue his struggling opponent for long enough to roll backwards and apply the bodyscissors that completes the hold, but until he’s sure Ultimo Phantasmo can’t break his arms loose he doesn’t want to take the chance of ending up on his back with an angry striker with two free arms above him. However, Ultimo Phantasmo takes full advantage of this delay, and after a few seconds of frenzied struggling he does manage to free his arms, then instantly hooks them behind Stephens’ legs and bulls forwards to take the World Champion off his feet with a double-leg takedown! From there he leaps into the air, coming crashing down on Stephens’ solar plexus with an elbow drop that drives right into the Englishman’s ribcage! “LET’S GO STE-PHENS!” “LET’S GO STE-PHENS!” “The crowd seems firmly behind Michael Stephens here tonight now,” Mak Francis says, earning himself another mutter from King about stating the obvious, “whether this is solely based on Miguel Mayorga’s interference earlier I don’t know, but Ultimo Phantasmo is definitely second-favourite tonight!” “This is Vegas,” King says with an air of pride, “these people know better than to back an obvious loser. Well,” he amends, “they’re backing Toxxic, but you know. Everything’s relative.” Ultimo Phantasmo is back up to his feet now and the Brazilian runs for the ropes as Stephens remains prone on the mat, then rebounds to leap into the air and crush his opponent beneath a rolling senton splash! Phantasmo instantly twists around and applies a cover, ensuring that he hooks Stephens’ leg as far back as possible… ONE! TWO!! …but Michael Stephens still kicks out! “LET’S GO STE-PHENS!” “LET’S GO STE-PHENS!” Ultimo Phantasmo doesn’t waste any time in querying the count with Brian Warner, instead grabbing Stephens again and hauling the Triple Champion up before snapping off several kicks to the Englishman’s legs and ribs! *CRACK!* *CRACK!* *CRACK!* *CRACK!* *CRACK!* With Stephens staggering Phantasmo grabs him by the wrist and Irish whips him into the ropes, then as Stephens rebounds the luchadore scoops him up into a fallaway slam position before performing a standing moonsault and landing on the unfortunate Englishman! *WHAM!* “Blockbuster Slam,” Mak Francis calls as a few fans applaud the athleticism, “shades of TORU Takahara there!” Brian Warner dives to make the count as Ultimo Phantasmo hooks the leg and leans into the cover… ONE! TWO!! TH- -but Stephens kicks out one more time! “YEEEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!” Ultimo Phantasmo looks over at Miguel Mayorga, presumably for advice; regardless of his intention Mr. Mayorga certainly intends to give it, drawing a thumb across his throat and shouting loudly in Spanish. Phantasmo nods and slowly draws Michael Stephens back up to his feet, then turns back-to-back with his opponent and reaches back to hook his hands under Stephens chin in preparation for the Crista Da Lua… but Stephens has no intention of being dumped on his head, and fires back elbows into his opponent’s skull until Phantasmo is forced to release his grip! Stephens takes his opportunity to put some separation between himself and his opponent by running for the ropes- *thump* “BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!” -and Miguel Mayorga casually reaches out and trips him while referee Brian Warner’s back is turned, causing the Triple Champion to collapse onto his face! Needless to say the fans are very unhappy at this and let the Mexican manager know about it in no uncertain terms; meanwhile Ultimo Phantasmo has only just turned around and it’s again unclear whether he is aware of his manager’s interference. However, whether or not Mayorga’s intervention was planned Phantasmo isn’t going to pass up this chance and grabs the momentarily-winded Stephens and hauls him to his feet, then places him in a standing head scissors. He reaches down and wraps his arms around his opponent’s torso, then hoists the Triple Champion up into the air for the Boa Vista Bomb… but Michael Stephens has recovered his senses and begins firing right hands down onto Phantasmo’s upturned face, finally unbalancing the Brazilian and causing him to fall backwards with the World Champion landing on his chest in a sitting position as he crashes to the floor! “Michael Stephens has the opportunity to turn this match back around here,” Francis comments, “but can he pull it off?” Stephens gets up off his winded opponent and heads for the corner where he steps through the ropes to the apron and begins climbing towards the top rope. Once at the top he twirls his two index fingers above his head to signal for the Hangover… but then hears more shouting, and looks down to see Miguel Mayorga yelling up at him. The Sensation looks down at Ultimo Phantasmo… …looks back at Miguel Mayorga… …then dives off the top rope onto Ultimo Phantasmo’s manager! “YEEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!” “TOXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX-IC…” “TOXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX-IC…” The crowd erupts as the World Champion crushes the man who has distracted and tripped him in the match, and Stephens himself seems happy as he gets back to his feet, punching the air and firing the crowd up. Brian Warner is unhappy at this involvement of bystanders but Stephens pay him no attention… but he’d be wise to pay attention to events in the ring, as Ultimo Phantasmo has now got back to his feet. The Brazilian luchadore looks down at Michael Stephens on the outside, turns and runs for the far ropes before rebounding and accelerating back towards his opponent… …Stephens starts to turn around as some of the fans begin to point behind him… …and Ultimo Phantasmo comes over the top rope, twisting as he does so, before slamming an elbow into Stephens’ head with the Tope Das Doces! *CRACK!* Some of the fans boo at the fact that Phantasmo has got the upper hand again, some are cheering due to the athleticism of the move. Regardless, Brian Warner is unimpressed with both men and is yelling for Ultimo Phantasmo to bring Stephens back into the ring. It takes a few seconds for Phantasmo to get his head back in order after his high-speed trip to the outside, but then he rolls Stephens back in under the bottom rope and goes to check on Miguel Mayorga. The manager is battered but still able to wave his protégé away and direct him to continue with the match, so Phantasmo obliges and hops up to the ring apron before taking hold of the top rope and slingshotting himself in to land on Stephens with a hilo, then twisting over to make another cover! ONE! TWO!! TH- -but Stephens kicks out! “LET’S GO STE-PHENS!” “LET’S GO STE-PHENS!” The first signs of frustration are starting to appear in Ultimo Phantasmo’s movements and mannerisms, despite the mask hiding his face preventing his expression from being seen. The Brazilian brings Stephens back up to a vertical base, then boots the Triple Champion in the gut and places him in a standing head scissors. This time Stephens has no reply as the luchadore hoists him up above the mat, then drives him down with the Boa Vista Bomb, completing the move by flipping over into a jacknife pin! ONE! TWO!! THHHHHHHHHHRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR- -but Stephens kicks out again, and Phantasmo can’t believe it! “TOXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX-IC…” “TOXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX-IC…” The World Champion’s old ring name is echoing around the MGM Grand Arena now as the fans in attendance try to urge him on; Ultimo Phantasmo drags Stephens up and steps back-to-back with him again, reaching back for the Crista Da Lua and this time getting a good hold, then bending forwards to drive Stephens down facefirst into the canvas and surely put him away… *whump* …but Stephens lands on his feet instead of on his face, and before Ultimo Phantasmo can recover from the surprise the Englishman delivers a blistering European uppercut to his opponent! *WHAM!* Phantasmo staggers away, involuntarily turning his back on his opponent, and now Stephens goes back-to-back with the Brazilian and reaches up to grab Phantasmo’s head, then twists around and drops to one knee to drive Phantasmo’s face into it with a modified Pressure Drop. From there Stephens pops back up to a vertical base and grabs his disorientated opponent in a front facelock, then extends his right arm out to the side and brings it sweeping down, sitting out as his twists to deliver the Unfinished Business! *BANG!* Phantasmo’s face gets introduced to the canvas at high speed and Michael Stephens rolls him over, looking for the pin… ONE! TWO!! …but the Brazilian kicks out! Stephens wastes no time on arguing with the referee and instead brings Phantasmo back to his feet, then Irish whips his opponent into the ropes. Phantasmo rebounds and Stephens slips to one side, snaking his right arm up underneath the Brazilian’s while grabbing the back of his opponents’ tights with the left and hauling Phantasmo up, then sitting out and dropping the luchadore with a half-nelson facebuster. *WHAM!* Stephens uses the half-nelson to roll Phantasmo over onto his back, but instead of following up with a pin he gets back to his feet and heads for the ringpost again, twirling his fingers over his head as before. Miguel Mayorga makes sure he’s well out of range, but Michael Stephens has his focus set on one thing now… “Stephens is going to be looking to put Ultimo Phantasmo away here,” Mak Francis says, “but will he hit it?” The Triple Champion intends to find out, and he somersaults off the top rope for the Hangover… *BANG!* …and hits it! “YEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!” Stephens winces at the pain in his hip from the landing, but he’s able to twist around and cover Ultimo Phantasmo. Brian Warner drops to make the count… ONE! TWO!! THHHHHHHHHHHHHHRRRRRRRRRRRREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE- -NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!! “THAT WAS THREE!” “THAT WAS THREE!” Michael Stephens looks doubtfully at Brian Warner, but when the referee brandishes two fingers the Englishman just shrugs and gets wearily back to his feet, dragging Ultimo Phantasmo after him. The Triple Champion turns and grabs a ¾ headlock, then runs for the turnbuckles with Phantasmo in tow… but the Brazilian is wise to the Sunny In England and pushes Stephens off, sending his opponent chest-first into the turnbuckles! Stephens hits hard enough to knock the breath out of him and staggers back, leaving himself as easy meat to be spun around and doubled over by a kick to the midsection. Ultimo Phantasmo grabs a double underhook and prepares himself to lift… “This could be the Gota Da Sombra,” Mak Francis says, “a move that won him many matches in Mexico!” “…and which seems oddly reminiscent of something,” King comments. Sure enough, the double-underhook sit-out brainbuster seems familiar to Michael Stephens as well. He’s been on his guard against a move like this for two years, and old instincts kick in as he desperately lashes up and out with both feet to drive them into Ultimo Phantasmo’s face at the apex of his lift- *CRACK!* -and succeeding, causing the Brazilian to drop him! Stephens lands on his front rather than the top of his head, and as Phantasmo clutches his face the Englishman rises to his feet and grabs a double underhook of his up, then swings his opponent UP… …AROUND… …AND… …DOWN! *whump* …but Phantasmo frustrates Stephens’ attempt at the Stephens Shock Syndrome and lands on his feet! Stephens doesn’t hesitate - with his opponent now backed into the corner and with plenty of space behind him he hoists up again, this time bringing Ultimo Phantasmo straight over his head and landing behind him with a butterfly suplex! *BANG!* However, Stephens doesn’t relax his grip on impact; instead he rolls backwards, rolling over Phantasmo’s upper body and ending up in a sitting position astride the luchadore’s waist with the double underhook still applied. From there it’s the work of a moment to get a bodyscissors locked in… “YEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!” “RTF II!” Mak Francis shouts, “that’s the same butterfly suplex setup that Stephens used against JJ Johnson at Ground Zero!” Indeed it is. This is the move that defeated Landon Maddix to win the World Title, and defeated JJ Johnson to retain it. Ultimo Phantasmo is surely aware of that as he struggles against it, fighting the pain in his arms and neck, fighting against the reduced oxygen supply as Stephens presses down on his neck… …but in the end, it doesn’t make a damn bit of difference. *DING-DING-DING!* “Ladies and gentlemen, here is your winner,” Funyon booms, “MIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII-CHAEL… STEEEEEEEEEEEEE-PHENS!!” “It was a good effort by Ultimo Phantasmo,” Mak Francis says as ‘Rookie’ rings out around the MGM Grand Arena, “but in the end I think Michael Stephens’ experience told. However Phantasmo has nothing to be ashamed of, and I think he has a great future ahead of him.” “Have I got time to get in on the slot machines before the next match?” King asks. FADE OUT

The MGM Grand roars back to life as Lockdown returns from a commercial break. The surprise match is the one this crowd has looked forward to since its announcement, and a quick look at this joyous crowd will tell you that the excitement in the building can hardly be contained! “I don’t know,” says the Suicide King, “what chance could one man possibly have against two men, especially two former World Champions, anyway?” “Well, he may have found a partner during the commercial break,” Mak Francis weakly replies. “But more than likely he didn’t.” “I’d say the chances of that are slim to none. Look, he’s had nearly two weeks to find someone and he hasn’t,” says King. “You can’t blame the locker room for not wanting to chance tagging with Johnny Dangerous—nobody trusts him.” “There has to be someone willing to forgive and forget,” Francis preaches. He’d continue if not for the fact that Funyon has entered the ring. “Ladies and gentlemen,” booms Funyon. “The following TAG TEAM MATCH is scheduled for ONE FALL-” The ring announcer’s microphone is abruptly cut off. He raps it against the palm of his hand, thinking it may have fizzled out, but then he remembers who he’s dealing with. That realization comes almost exactly at the same time as the raspy voice of James Matheson comes blaring over the speakers. “Apparently you’ve forgotten that you don’t have the privilege to announce my clients….ever, Dorrito,” Matheson says, as he waddles out to the stage. “Las Vegas, Nevada! They say what happens in Vegas stays in Vegas, but rest assured the beating my clients lay on this so called Barracuda of yours will be heard around the world!” “BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!” “So with out further a due let me introduce you to the most dominating force Las Vegas will ever see…Charlie ‘Grappler’ Matthews and ‘The Superior One’ TOOOOOOOM FLEEEEESHEEEER!” The immortal sound of Led Zeppelin’s “Kashmir” echoes through the MGM Grand as Tom Flesher and Charlie Matthews emerge from the back, and their arrival is met with an onslaught of boos! However, it’s nothing these two haven’t grown accustomed to in each of their respective careers and tonight is no different. They confidently stroll towards the ring with Matheson in tow, sneering at the fans alongside the aisles--the only one of the trio that even acknowledges the fans existence. Flesher and Matthews climb into the ring and head to a corner, Matthews to the outside and Tom to the inside, “And these two don’t look to be even the slightest bit concerned about this match,” Mak says, shaking his head at the sight of Fleshers and Matthews seemingly discussing anything and everything except for the match. “What’s to concern themselves about? They’re already in their starting positions; all we need is to drag Dangerous’ BUTT out here.” The crowd is eager for the Barracuda’s arrival as well, having already started some chants of his name. “JOHN-NY!” “JOHN-NY!” “JOHN-NY!” Suddenly, the opening ‘fuse lighting’ scene from the Mission Impossible television series is shown as the opening to the James Taylor Quartet’s cover of ‘Mission Impossible’ comes blaring over the speakers! As expected, the crowd explodes… YEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!! The familiar, rhythm driven song continues with lights moving and pulsing in time with the music, while the Smarktron™ displays various clips of the Barracuda in ring, street and bedroom action. Finally, the curtains part and Johnny Dangerous strolls onto the stage to the deafening roar of over seventeen thousand fans! “What an ovation for the hometown hero!” shouts Mak Francis, as not one member of the capacity crowd is left seated. “Well at least he has the fans in his corner,” notes King. “Too bad there isn’t a damn thing they can do to help him in the ring.” “JOHN-NY!” “JOHN-NY!” “JOHN-NY!” He looks from side to side at the crowd through his high-tech shades, and with the crowd firmly backing the Barracuda it’s almost too easy for him to forget that his challenge for the evening is truly the impossible mission. However, the Barracuda didn’t become a champion so many times over by backing down from a fight and he isn’t about to start now. “FROM LAS VEGAS, NEVADA AND WEIGHING IN AT TWO HUNDRED-TWENTY FIVE POUNDS; HE IS YOUR CURRENT AND REIGNING SWF INTERNATIONAL CHAMPION…JOHNNY ‘THE BARRACUDA’ DAAAAAAAAAAANGEEEEROUS!!” He walks confidently towards the ring, “-and if the Barracuda is sweating this match you’d never know by looking at him,” the Franchise notes. “He’s staring Danger in the face, no pun intended, as he heads towards it!” “If that’s how you want to call it,” King says. “I call it stupidity. About the only thing Johnny can be thankful for is the fact that Tom and Charlie will still have to tag in and out – he won’t have to deal with both at once.” Johnny slides into the ring and climbs the corner post, setting off hundreds of flashbulbs when he holds the title belt up for his fans. He hops down as his music fades, and he knows that only a moment exists before he is forced to go to work. Referee Ronald ‘Red’ Herrington steps forward, asking the Barracuda where his partner is at, but all Johnny can do is meekly hold out his hands. “That confirms it!” says King, and he says it almost too happily, “Dangerous couldn’t get one single person to stand by his side.” “Give it a rest! We already knew he didn’t have one anyway.” On the far side of the ring Flesher and Matthews share in a quick laugh over the Barracuda’s predicament, and it’s the last laugh they’ll have at Johnny’s expense (if he has anything to say about it, that is) as the Barracuda bolts towards the former Tag Champions, blasting Tom in the face before turning and slamming his knuckles into Charlie’s forehead as he stands on the outside ring apron! *DING DING DING!!!* Herrington quickly signals for the bell, but this one is already started and the crowd is on their feet! Tom stumbles back as a hand instinctively reaches to shield his face, and the Barracuda gives chase, relying on Herrington to keep Charlie out of the ring…which may be nothing more than a pipe dream as Matthews is certainly coming, referee admonishing him or not! “That early attack just might not have been the best strategy for the Barracuda,” Francis admits, as Matthews closes in from behind. He reaches for Johnny only a moment after the Barracuda manages a second swing of his fist into Flesher’s noggin, hoping the secret agent is too preoccupied to react. However, if there is one thing Johnny has going for him it’s his speedy reflexes and the second he feels someone grabbing his shoulder he quickly spins around, grabbing Charlie’s arm and bringing it around behind him with an arm wrench! “Smart move by the Barracuda,” says Mak. Charlie winces at the sharp sting from having his arm contorted, but it’s nothing he can’t power out of and Dangerous knows this all to well, so Johnny quickly breaks the hold and darts for the ropes directly behind them, springs off, and dives for Grappler with a cross body block! Unfortunately, Charlie grabs onto Dangerous, and holds him for a moment at chest level. Dangerous tries to squirm free but Charlie has too good of a hold on him, and he holds him almost like a prize that he showcases to the crowd, generating some heavy volleys of boos from them… …then drops backwards to heave the Barracuda overhead and into the canvas! “BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!” “Oh!” Francis winces at the sight of Johnny landing rather awkwardly. “Well, so much for that ‘pure genius’ of the Barracuda,” snickers King. Herrington finally ushers Charlie out of the ring as the legal man is Tom Flesher, and he takes advantage of being the legal man to head towards Johnny and apply a lateral press, covering him for… ONE! …and nothing more. Johnny may have taken a good sized bump but it’s not going to put him completely out, not just yet. He pushes up to his feet and gets taken into a tie up by the Superior One, who is hoping to have the Barracuda off balance enough that he can manhandle his opponent in seconds and head to the buffet in the back. Flesher flexes his muscles - slowly powering Johnny towards the ropes, so Dangerous quickly breaks the collar-and-elbow and--in hopes of catching the Superior One off guard--locks in an over-and-under! Unfortunately, it’ll take someone a lot more knowledgeable than the Barracuda to take Flesher to the mat. Other than on his own terms, anyway. “Will you look at that?” marvels King, as Flesher quickly steps in and throws his underhook skyward. “It’s like Tom Flesher’s been wrestling every day since Genesis.” The upward thrust throws Dangerous off-balance, and Flesher takes advantage by stepping forward and just letting his opponent stagger forward. Flesher takes control, accompanying Dangerous to the mat with a classical Greco-Roman slide-by takedown. He plants a knee in his opponent’s back, then facetiously wipes his brow. He then reaches down around Dangerous’ waist and pulls back, trying already to go for one of his signature lifts from the mat! Dangerous, though, knows what’s coming and mule-kicks, finally getting Flesher to release him. As the Barracuda takes a moment on the mat to breathe, though, Flesher takes advantage of the situation and spins to Johnny’s head, then clamps down with a front headlock! “Flesher gets that front headlock,” notes Mak, “which he’s often been known to use to wear down opponents, or as a set-up for his vast array of suplexes and pinning combinations.” “Or just generally to slap his opponents around,” King adds. “It’s quite the versatile hold. If there’s one thing Tom can do, its beat people down with simplicity.” Flesher uses the headlock to yank Dangerous to his feet, then leans forward, lazily reaching out for one of his opponent’s ankles. “Flesher’s going for a standing inside cradle,” Francis says, “but Johnny avoids it.” As Dangerous deftly slides his ankle out of Flesher’s reach, he repositions himself to attack the opening Flesher left by overextending himself. Johnny lunges forward, grabbing Tom’s right foot for a low single-leg takedown… only to have the Superior One lunge backwards and grasp Johnny around the waist! He shakes his foot loose and lifts Johnny up into a gutwrench position, and the crowd gasps! “Could Flesher be ready to hit his Ego Buster already?!” asks Francis. “This match could be over!” “It’s Dangerous’ fault,” King says smugly. “He should know better than to try to beat Flesher at his own game.” Dangerous flails wildly, trying to avoid being dumped unceremoniously on his head in with Flesher’s patented sheer-drop gutwrench. He shoots one leg between Flesher’s knees and grapevines it, then sweeps it out from under him! The Superior One spills to the mat on his ass, with Dangerous blanketing him! Instinctively, Flesher scoots backwards, trying to keep from getting taken to his back, and the crowd goes wild to see the SWF’s best ever put on the defensive! “YEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAH!!” “And Johnny Dangerous takes control!” shouts MacDougall, as Flesher scrambles away. The Secret Agent grabs him by the ankle, though, and holds tightly as he slides his body up around the leg and locks on a crucifix kneebar! Flesher cries out in pain as he immediately reaches out, grabbing the bottom rope. Red Herrington begins his count, and Dangerous keeps on the hold as long as possible. ONE! TWO! THREE! FOUR! Finally, he releases it, and Flesher, being very careful to keep one hand on the ropes, stands up slowly. He glares at Dangerous, his eyes dark. Then takes a step back, brings his hand out, and tags Matthews in. “This could get ugly fast,” reports Mak, as Charlie slowly steps over the top rope, into the ring like a slow, lumbering giant. “Flesher and Matthews can stay relatively fresh by making smart tags while there are no breaks for the Barracuda.” “Well…this is a tag match,” replies King. “If Johnny could have found a partner he wouldn’t have to worry about a small detail like that.” Johnny lets out a sigh as Matthews heads in with a shit-eating grin across his face. Already it’s starting to look like the Barracuda is getting worn down by these two. Even still, Johnny presses on – he tries to keep some distance, moving in a circle around Matthews, and then he darts in for a quick strike. Unfortunately, for Johnny, Charlie was more than ready…no expecting this exact type of move, and when Dangerous comes in he’s met with a quick forearm smash to the side of the head that sends him spinning off course! Charlie quickly spins around and, as expected from the Grappler, locks in a side headlock. “Oh, come on!” Mak shouts, obviously not wanting to see this match slow to a crawl. The crowd doesn’t even give Charlie two seconds to turn this move into something exciting and launches into a chant of: “BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOORING~!” “You’ve got that right,” Francis chimes in, which gets him a rather ‘dirty’ look from the Suicide King. BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOORING~!” Charlie tightens his vise-like grip on the Barracuda’s cranium… “BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOORING~!” ….squeezing it as hard as he can… “BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOORING~!” Johnny starts to drop to one knee… “BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOORING~!” …then the other… “Good Lord, we could be here all night!” shouts Mak, and that’s when Charlie eases off the headlock and shoves Dangerous back. Johnny stumbles a few steps back as the blood starts to rush back into his head, leaving himself open for Matthews to jog in and floor Johnny with a boot to the face! *SMACK!* Grappler covers Johnny for… ONE! TW-NO! Johnny kicks out! Charlie stands up and starts to bring the Barracuda up with him, but then decides to just drag Johnny to the corner, and he tags Flesher back in. Herrington signals the legal tag and Flesher steps in, taking Johnny off of Charlie’s hands. Johnny’s still a bit woozy so Flesher carefully stands him up, steadies him, and then takes a step back… *WHAM!* …and Flesher quickly drops down and shoots into him, hitting a picture-perfect blast double that sends him spilling to the mat! “BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!” Flesher stays on top, and as Dangerous tries to regain his senses, Flesher lets loose with a perfectly-placed palm strike to the chin! With a smirk, he stands up, backs away and dusts off his hands. “Even though it is technically out for people of this age inside the ring, Tom Flesher is just completely taking the Barracuda to school,” the former Smartmark’s Commissioner says. “The Superior One can still hold his own…and quite easily against his current competition I might add.” Dangerous, still somewhat stunned, climbs to his feet… only to be nailed by another blast double! He collapses to the mat, and once again Flesher backs away with a look of smug satisfaction on his face. This time, though, he leans back in his corner, cocking his head over the top rope and chatting with Charlie as Dangerous tries to get back to his feet. This total disrespect is frowned upon by Johnny’s hometown fans and the crowd starts to really rally behind Dangerous again. “LET’S GO JOHN-NY! LET’S GO!” *CLAP! CLAP! CLAP-CLAP-CLAP!!!* “LET’S GO JOHN-NY! LET’S GO!” *CLAP! CLAP! CLAP-CLAP-CLAP!!!* “LET’S GO JOHN-NY! LET’S GO!” *CLAP! CLAP! CLAP-CLAP-CLAP!!!* “Could these two possibly be taking Johnny Dangerous less seriously?” asks Mak, an air of incredulity about him. “Is the Commissioner truly unaware that Dangerous is one of the SWF’s top competitors?” “It doesn’t matter what the ratings say,” King admonishes him. “If he’s untalented, he’s untalented.” “LET’S GO JOHN-NY! LET’S GO!” *CLAP! CLAP! CLAP-CLAP-CLAP!!!* “LET’S GO JOHN-NY! LET’S GO!” *CLAP! CLAP! CLAP-CLAP-CLAP!!!* Johnny starts to get up. He’s definitely hurting now but he’ll never throw in the towel, and that’s one of the reasons the city of Las Vegas stands so firmly behind him. He stands, takes one wobbly step forward and then another. “Come on Flesher!” Johnny shouts like a rabid madman. “And it seems like the Barracuda is suffering from an impaired judgment now,” suggests King, shaking his head in pity. Johnny beckons Tom closer, which might not be the smartest thing to do in his condition. Smiling, Flesher struts towards the Barracuda as Johnny moves back towards Tom, ostensibly reaching for another lock up. Flesher graciously reaches to accept the offer- *CRACK!* -when Dangerous suddenly ducks down, wrapping one arm around the Superior One’s waist while swinging his back leg up and over and nails Flesher square in the face with a Scorpion Kick! “YEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!!” “Finally!” exclaims Francis as Tom comes flying back into a corner post, knocked senseless! Johnny knows that he finally has a moment to breath and he drops to the mat to try and gather his bearings. Flesher, on the other hand, is already crawling his way towards his corner to tag in Matthews, which gets the crowd going for another chant to get the Barracuda moving before it’s too late. “LET’S GO JOHN-NY! LET’S GO!” *CLAP! CLAP! CLAP-CLAP-CLAP!!!* Flesher inches closer to the corner, lifts his head up, and smiles when he sees how close Grappler is. “LET’S GO JOHN-NY! LET’S GO!” *CLAP! CLAP! CLAP-CLAP-CLAP!!!* Tom pushes up from the mat with both hands, and makes another move to his corner. He reaches up for Charlie’s hand but he needs to get just a tad closer. “LET’S GO JOHN-NY! LET’S GO!” *CLAP! CLAP! CLAP-CLAP-CLAP!!!* Dangerous still hasn’t moved, which will make Matthews job all the easier when he tags in and nails a wake up call to end this debacle. “LET’S GO JOHN-NY! LET’S GO!” *CLAP! CLAP! CLAP-CLAP-CLAP!!!* Charlie reaches out as Flesher scoots across the mat to get a little closer… “LET’S GO JOHN-NY! LET’S GO!” *CLAP! CLAP! CLAP-CLAP-CLAP!!!* …but Flesher can’t seem to get his hand up high enough, forcing Grappler to have to lean into the ring… “LET’S GO JOHN-NY! LET’S GO!” *CLAP! CLAP! CLAP-CLAP-CLAP!!!* …and when he is a hair away from Flesher’s hand is when he suddenly feels his legs being pulled out from underneath him! Charlie quickly bolts upright, which may have been a bad decision as his leg is pulled off the outside apron, pulling him off his perch and his jaw smacks into the outside of the ring on his way down! *CRACK!* “OOOOOOOOOOOOOH!!” The crowd winces, as they can’t quite tell who just pulled Grappler off the apron, until the man steps out and throws off his hooded sweatshirt to reveal… “WILDCHILD! WILDCHILD IS HERE!” shouts Mak. “Wildchild has returned to the SWF to lend a hand to his former tag team partner and friend, and he couldn’t have picked a better time to come back!” “YEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHH!!” “DUB-CEE!” “DUB-CEE!” “DUB-CEE!” “DUB-CEE!” “What in the hell is Wildchild doing here!?” the Gambling Man roars, “he’s not supposed to help Johnny he’s supposed to hate him for everything Johnny’s done!” “I don’t think he does, King! We might be witnessing the rebirth of one of the greatest tag team’s in SWF history!” Not one fan is sitting right now, everyone is on their feet, watching with baited breath to see exactly what the Bahama Bomber is planning as he jogs round the ring and stops at the corner post diagonal to Flesher and Matthews. He hops up to the outside apron, next to the turnbuckle, the same post that Johnny’s partner would be waiting for a tag at, and reaches his hand out! “YEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!!” “Come on, Johnny!” he shouts, trying to get the Barracuda moving. “He can’t be serious,” King says, but apparently he is. Imagine the surprise for Johnny when he finally pushes up from the mat with both hands, only to see his former tag partner waiting for him in the corner with his hand stretched out for a tag! He quickly darts his head back to where Flesher is and sees that he’s pulling himself up by the ropes and Grappler is dazedly standing to his feet on the outside floor. Time is of the essence and he decides to take the offer that’s presented to him. With a look of determination, Johnny scrambles to get to his feet and stumbles towards the corner… *Smack!* Johnny tags Wildchild’s hand and the arena goes silent. All heads turn towards Herrington, waiting and watching to see if he’s going to make the call. Finally, the referee looks towards raises his arms up and claps his hands together over his head! “YEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!!” “THE TAG IS MADE! WILDCHILD IS THE LEGAL MAN!” “Bull(beep!)” King lividly shouts, but he’s barely heard over the din of the crowd! Wildchild leaps over the top rope, into the ring, and bolts towards Flesher! Tom has to take a double look when he sees the Wildchild coming at him and that second look winds up leaving him open as the Bahama Bomber peppers the Superior One in the face with a series of right hands! *Bap!* *Bap!* *Bap!* *Bap!* Flesher, reeling from the shots, nearly falls into the ropes and he certainly would have fallen if not for Wildchild grabbing him by the arm and whipping him across the ring, to the far ropes! Tom hits the ropes and rebounds- *CRACK!* -and Wildchild jumps up, sticking both feet into the Superior One’s chest to send him to his back on the canvas! The crowd goes wild but Wildchild knows there is no time to acknowledge the public just yet – Grappler, back in the ring, is storming towards the Caribbean Cruiserweight! His head is still spinning after having his jaw dropped on the apron, but all Charlie has to do is get a hold of Wildchild and he knows he can pound the little man to pieces. However, that’s easier said than done, especially when trying to catch the fastest man in the SWF, and he realizes this when the Bahaman easily ducks out of his reach before bolting across the ring- “Oof!” -and Charlie receives a kick to the gut from the Barracuda! The kick takes the wind right out of Grappler’s lungs and it forces him to double over, clenching his midsection, and he can’t muster the fight to stop Johnny from grabbing him in a side headlock. Nor does he seem to be able to stop the Barracuda as he takes off across the ring, dragging Matthews along for the ride before leaping over the top rope, out of the ring, and guillotining Charlie on the top rope! “This is getting out of control!” shouts King, as it appears that Herrington isn’t able to keep anyone out of the ring now! Charlie drops to his knees, clenching his neck with both hands. He doesn’t even see Wildchild coming for him until the Bahaman is already in mid-air, and that’s only a second before Wildchild plants a drop kick directly into Charlie’s face! Charlie falls backwards, in sheer agony, and rolls out of the ring to safety. “What a remarkable stand by the Wildchild! He’s come into this match and completely taken control,” Francis says, smiling from ear-to-ear with the fans. As Johnny makes his way back into the ring, Wildchild turns around and sets his sights on the only man left in the ring, Tom Flesher, who is desperately trying to get back to a vertical base by way of the ropes. The two men don’t even have to give any signals. Already the crowd is cheering in anticipation of a Silver Bullet, and when Johnny raises his arm out to give that signal the roar of the crowd is nearly deafening! Johnny heads towards Flesher as Wildchild heads for the nearby turnbuckle, and climbs up. Tom sees the Barracuda coming and when Johnny reaches him he tries to fend him off, even though he’s yet to gathering his bearings after the last shot Johnny dealt. Flesher quickly grabs for a body part, any body part – he’ll take what ever falls in his lap and the results will be deadly! He grabs Johnny’s arm but he’s too slow and a quick Shotei palmstrike nearly knocks him back down! Johnny pulls Flesher to his feet after slapping on a quick arm wrench, then steps forward to send the Superior One for another Irish Whip! Johnny lowers his head as Tom bounces back off the ropes towards him and lifts the Superior One high into the air with a big back body-drop while the Human Hurricane leaps onto the top rope and explodes off of it… WHAAAM! … Blasting Flesher in the face with a flying forearm! “YEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHH!!!” “SILVER BULLET!” the Franchise exclaims, and Wildchild lands right on top of Tom. Grappler struggles back to his feet, but Johnny lunges through the ropes, crashing into him with a suicide dive to keep him from re-entering the ring, as Herrington makes the count, with the crowd loudly counting along… ONE!! TWO!!! THHHHHHHHHHHHHHRRRRRRRRRRRREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!!!!!! *DING DING DING!!!* “YYYYYYYYYYEEEEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHH!!!” “Ladies and gentlemen,” shouts Funyon, trying to push his voice over the level of the crowd. “The winners of this match by pinfall…” He stops, looking over towards Wildchild and Johnny Dangerous. The two men are standing side by side, and though neither man has made any official announcement on the status of the teaming again, for at least one night it was truly, “WIIIIIIIILD! AAAAAAAAAND DANGEROUS!” Herrington raises the arm of both men in victory, and when he lets go they part ways, heading for opposite turnbuckles… As we: FADE OUT.

“Earlier tonight we had some… erm “choice words” from Bruce and well to be frank he should not be involved in this match King, he’s a hazard to himself and everyone around him” Mak says the moment Lockdown is back on the air. “He’s been a hazard to himself and everyone around him for a long time Mak, especially in Ultraviolent matches such as this next match.” King scoffs. “Yeah but he’s never wrestled drunk before!” The Suicide King ignores Mak’s protests and instead goes on with his introductions “This match takes place in the Casino of the MGM grand and not the arena that we are in now and well to REALLY give you a sense of the fast paced action of a casino we’ve got two poker legends sitting by in the casino to give you the play by play” “So please welcome poker legends Doyle Brunson and Phil Hellmuth” The shot switches from the interior of the arena to the flashy, glitzy casino floor with Doyle Brunson and Phil Hellmuth shown in the top right hand corner. “Welcome to the MGM Grand Casino, you know I’ve won many big pots here Doyle” Phil says trying to start off with a little light banter. “Pfff MGM Grand, I gambled where there were just two mules and a whore house in Las Vegas” Doyle says “I’m not sure what this is supposed to be about Phil” “Well I understand it’s Wrestling old man” Phil explains. “Oh dear god I’m firing my agent” We leave Phil and Doyle for a while and venture onto the floor of the casino as we try to find one or both of the competitors for this Casino Brawl. We pass by high rollers and mid-westerners there to see what they can get with their green betting disks, we pass by hookers and cocktail waitresses and those who are both Wait that last one was Megan Skye right? Oh no wait she’s some rich guy’s arm candy not Landon’s “Perfect 10” After a bit of searching the camera crew finally finds Landon Maddix as he steps out of the elevator and into the casino. Landon draws quite a few stares from the crowd, something that makes him grin with confidence and walk with a swagger as EVERYBODY LOVES LANDON tonight!! No one could be looking at him because he’s shown up in full wrestling gear with the latest Landon Maddix “SWF Calvinball Jersey” and a Singapore cane tugged under his arm ready for action. “Helloooooooooooooooooooooooo Las Vegas” he says, mostly to himself but the camera crew is close enough to pick it up. “Who’s this guy?” Doyle asks “I believe that’s one of the competitors… could be Mad-dix or could be Blank I dunno.” Phil says admitting that he’s not really a wrestling fan. Landon looks around but there is no foul smelling liquored up rednecks around, well that’s not technically true there are PLENTY of those around but it’s just that none of them are Bruce Blank. La Cucaracha decides that he needs a better vantage point to see over the crowd and hopefully spot his opponent so he climbs up on the blackjack table and looks around “Excuse me” someone says but Landon promptly ignores it, doesn’t he know Landon has a match to win? “EXCUSE ME!” the voice says once more Landon looks down and sees a burly pittboss tapping him on the leg, after rolling his eyes he reluctantly jumps off the table. “Can’t you see I’m busy here?” Landon asks as he keeps looking around so that Bruce doesn’t have a chance to blindside him. “You can’t have that weapon here sir and well we also have a dress code” the pitboss informs Landon “You saying I don’t dress fly? That’s rich coming from a guy who’s idea of a dressing nicely is a Walmart suit and a mismatched tie” Landon says with a grin. “We have rules sir, if you can’t follow them I’ll have you escorted out of here” “Yeah I don’t think so, you see all of this” Landon points to himself from head to toe “all of this is cleared with your bosses so run along flunkie man I got a match to win” “A match?” “Yes a match, what else would you expect Landon Maddix to do?” Maddix says confident that his name will get him off the hook. “Follow the rules” is the dry response from the pitboss *sigh* “I am surrounded by idiots” Landon mumbles and then says “Look I’m with the SWF, this has been cleared with the hotel owner and everything, check with him if you don’t believe me” “Alright I will” the pitboss says and then pulls out a cellphone to call his boss. Landon keeps looking around, shifting his weight from foot to foot as he stays alert. “Hey how are you doing” Landon says to a couple of girls that pass by. “I’ll sign it later” is Landon’s clueless reply to someone giving him the finger. The pitboss hands up the phone, he does not look pleased at all. He draws a deep breath, puts the phone away and then approaches Landon Maddix once more. “So what’s the dealie-o?” Landon asks as he taps the Singapore Cane against the ground. “Well you’re right, I was wrong and I’ve been informed to apologize to you on behalf of the entire staff at the MGM Grand. And to give you these complimentary chips” the pitboss says and hands Landon a handful of chips that probably adds up to a couple of thousand dollars worth. “Alright just don’t let it happen again” Landon says “Yes sir” The pitboss quickly leaves before the bloodvessel in his forehead bursts. Landon on the other hand is feeling lucky, he’s already a couple of grand up on the night and all. As he walks around the casino some more he finally hears a familiar voice “AWRIGHT!!” That can only be Bruce’s voice, Landon is sure of it. Maddix quickly makes his way across the casino floor to the roulette tables where Bruce is sitting. “Hey give me my winnings you b*tch!” Bruce curses at the dealer. “Hey language!” Doyle warns Bruce as they remember to commentate now and again. “I can sympathise Bruce, I wish I could just let my temper run wild too sometimes” Phil says with a straight face. “I WON! My numbers came up” Bruce says and points to his chips on the numbers “2” and “3” “Sir the winning number was 23” The dealer explains “Come on close enough” Bruce mutters. When he sees Landon Bruce jumps to his feet causing Landon to strike an elaborate Karate Kid like pose with the Singapore cane raised and ready for action. “Landon buddy! I’m surprised to see you here tonight man” Bruce says with a wide grin. Landon stays in his pose but loosens up a little bit as he realizes that Bruce doesn’t seem to remember about the match. “You’re here to talk about War Games rejht? Don’t worry *burp* we’ll kick those Oaters good!!” Bruce says as he puts a hand on the chair to keep himself from falling down. “War Games? Oaters? Man these people have weird lingo” Phil complains. “Oh yeah unlike poker” Doyle rumbles and wishes he hadn’t agreed to sit next to the obnoxious Phil Hellmuth for so long. “Sjou want a beer?” Bruce asks as he motions for a waitress “HEY TOOTS!! THREE BEERS!!” “Bruce…” Landon says trying to gauge just how drunk Bruce is “Whu?” “Pretty damn” seems to be the answer. “What’s that over there?” Landon asks and then points to something behind Bruce’s back. Bruce turns around to look but it’s all a ruse, the moment Bruce has his back turned to Landon he gets rolled up from behind by La Cucaracha. ONE!!! TWO!!! THR-KICKOUT!!! A very surprised Bruce barely manages to kick out a split second before the referee’s hand hits the carpet. Landon curses inwardly he was THIS CLOSE to getting a quick and easy win tonight. Bruce on the other hand isn’t cursing inwardly but outwardly as he realizes what’s going on “You f**king ba**ard! You back stabbing son of a b*tch!!” Bruce bellows as he gets back to his feet. “You know I think that’s the exact same expression I used last year when you knocked me out of a tournament with that 7-Jack bluff Doyle” “Yup, word for word” Doyle confirms and then goes back to leaning back and just watching what’s going on. “YOU WANT A FIGHT A**HOLE!! I’LL GIVE YOU A DAMN FIGHT!!” Bruce bellows as he tears his t-shirt off. “Now I know that’s against the Casino rules” Hellmuth says “I tried to do that 3 years ago and got kicked out of the tournament” “Well maybe if you weren’t pasty white and flappy it wouldn’t have happened” Doyle says with a grin, always enjoying a good zing on the annoying Phil Hellmuth. Landon lunges at Bruce trying to crack him over the head with the Singapore cane but Bruce ducks under the attack, quickly turns around and then *BLAMMO!!* Plants his size 16 boot upside Landon's head with such force that many of the nearest spectators wince in sympathy. Blank then drops down and quickly covers Landon ONE!!! TWO!!! THREE!!! "And that's the ballgame!! The drunk guy wins!!" Phil says. "Not enough cards for my taste" Doyle adds. We fade to commercial with the image of Bruce nodding off as he lies on top of Landon Maddix.

SWF Lockdown returns live from its previous commercial break inside the MGM Grand Arena in Las Vegas, Nevada! The gambling crowd wave their chips and martini’s in the air as the camera cuts down to the announcing team at the broadcast booth! “Welcome back to SWF Lockdown!” shouts Mak Francis. “We are here LIVE in Las Vegas! We’ve had an action pack show so far, kicked off by the FORMER SWF International Champion and one of the participants inside the Elimination Chamber, Bruce Blank!” “How exciting that was…” “But up next, to open up the show, a cruiserweight extravaganza! SWF Hardcore Champion, Jimmy the Doom goes one-on-one with another participant in the Elimination Chamber at Ashes 2 Ashes, “Hollywood” Spike Jenkins!” “The SWF Hardcore Champion is in a match held under cruiserweight rules? Who is booking this crap?” ”The same guy that put Spike Jenkins in the main event for Ashes 2 Ashes two years in a row…” “That guy STILL works here?” The camera cuts to the middle of the ring, where Funyon stands. Microphone in hand, he begins to make his announcements. “The following contest is scheduled for one fall with a twenty minute time limit! First, making his way to the ring!” booms the well-dressed announcer. Every light in the arena goes to full power as the Smarktron whites out. For a moment the only sound is that of a needle scratching over vinyl... And then *BAM* The heavy drumming of Norma Jean’s “Creating Something Out of Nothing, Only to Destroy It” blasts through the arena as the lyrics pierce the ears of everyone listening. “Like bringing a knife to a gun fight… Like Bringing A Knife To A Gun Fight… LIKE BRINGING A KNIFE TO A GUN FIGHT!” Bright white lights begin flashing at the entranceway. As the growls hit the crowd, Spike walks out wearing a black “POSH” hoodie, the hood covering most of his face. Spike drops down to one knee, leaving one arm to hang to the ground, while the other is firmly placed on his knee. After a few moments, Spike raises both arms into an “X”, symbolizing his Straight Edge life style. Spike rises to his feet and begins to make his way down the isle towards the ring. “First, making his way to the ring,” begins Funyon. “Weighing in at a total of Two Hundred and Twenty-five pounds…hailing from Hollywood, California and representing the Kingdom of Cambodia…he is “HOLLYWOOD” SPIIIIIIIIIIIKE JEEEEEEEEEEENKINSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS!!!!” Spike makes his way completely around the ring and rolls underneath the bottom rope. He continues rolling until he hits dead center in the middle of the ring. Spike rises to one knee and resumes the position he was in at the top of the entranceway. One arm hanging to the ground, the other placed on his knee. Finally, Spike rises to his feet. He quickly peels off the hood, releasing his blonde, dyed hair free. He puts his arms together, forming an “X” across his chest, again promoting his Straight Edge life style. “This man, for the second year in a row, goes into Ashes 2 Ashes for the biggest match of his life! Last year, he suffered the worst losing streak of his career after successfully defeating Tom Flesher at Genesis; as he went into his match with El Luchadore Magnifico and was inches away from winning the SWF World Heavyweight Championship!” “And this year, he goes up against five other men inside of a giant steel-structure…way to upgrade there, Spike.” “AND HIS OPPONENT” booms Funyon! The arena lights go out suddenly and two columns of hooded acolytes march down the ramp and to the ring, chanting “Doom” the entire time. They place themselves against the crowd barriers, facing the ring, but leaving a gap from the entrance ramp open. The lights come back on, the chanting stops immediately, and Boots Randolph’s “Yakety Sax” plays over the speakers. “Making his way to the ring,” begins Funyon. “Accompanied to the ring by Lois the Unethical…weighing in at a total of Two Hundred and Thirty pounds…hailing from Doomopolis, Doomtopia…he is the current reigning and defending SWF Hardcore Champion…he is JIMMY THEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE DOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOMMMMMMMMMMMMM!!!!!!” Jimmy the Doom and Lois the Unethical walk down the ramp. Jimmy unstraps the title from around his waist and hands it over to Lois. He climbs up onto the ring apron and steps into the ring. Jimmy stands in the corner opposite of Jenkins, prepping himself. “Jimmy the Doom is so…so weird.” “He may be weird, but he is the SWF Hardcore Champion and one of the best brawlers in this company!” “Yeah, he may be able to throw a punch, but he is in that ring with a WRESTLER. Spike will easily take Jimmy to the ground and pound his way into victory!” “I am sure that is the game plan Spike will attempt to use,” says the former mentor to the young Hollywood Superstar. Both men stand across from each other as the referee signals for the bell. *Ding Ding Ding* “And our opening contest for SWF Lockdown is underway!” Both men come out of their corners, ready for a fight. They circle around before meeting in the center of the ring. Jimmy looks to start the match off strong with some brawling, but Jenkins quickly jumps straight into the chain wrestling with a collar-and-elbow tie up. Before Jimmy is capable of doing anything, Spike quickly slips behind and locks in a rear waistlock. He floats over to the front of his opponent, releasing the rear waistlock and grabbing a side headlock. Jenkins drops down to one knee and flips Doom over onto his back with a side headlock takedown! He follows down on top of the SWF Hardcore champion, keeping him on the ground with a side headlock! Lois the Unethical stands bored outside of the ring as she watches Jimmy become confused and frustrated. “Spike Jenkins is working his magic, as he keeps Jimmy the Doom stuck on the mat.” “It looks like his game plan of out-wrestling Jimmy is working.” Spike wrenches at the neck of Jimmy, trying to pop the Doomtopian’s head off. Jimmy lifts his strong (he was a martial artists or something) legs into the air and wraps them around Spike’s own head! He pulls the King of Cambodia back, forcing him to break the side headlock. The tables have turned it seems as Jimmy tries to pop Jenkins’ head off with a head scissors! Spike rolls over to his feet as he stands on his feet while still trapped in the head scissors. Placing his hands on the mat, he lifts himself up into the air on his head with a headstand! “Spike Jenkins has been in this predicament before and knows exactly how to counter it,” says Mak Francis. “And here it is!” cries an excited Suicide King. Spike bends his knees and shoots them back up, “dolphining” in a sense, out of the head scissors and onto his feet! Jimmy sits on the mat, dumbfounded, as Jenkins quickly leaps off the mat once again, this time, connecting with a huge dropkick to the face of Doom! “NICE dropkick!” shouts King. “You would think by now someone would have scouted that move! He does it in almost all of his matches!” “It’s called a “high spot” for a reason, Mak.” “That isn’t a high spot!” “It would be for you,” sneers the Suicide King. Jimmy grabs his face as he rolls away, leaving Jenkins in all his glory back up to his feet. Looking around at the Las Vegas crowd, he uses his hands to signal a championship belt around his waist as he shouts, “Next World Champion!” “BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!” Jimmy clutches his face as he climbs up to his feet. He leans up against the turnbuckles, trying to catch his breath as Spike turns his attention back to him. Spike cockily stomps into the middle of the ring, as Jimmy slowly meets him. Spike shoots behind Doom, grabbing a rear waist lock. Jimmy struggles to break free, but Jenkins quickly turns over into a side headlock. Keeping his arms wrapped around the neck of his opponent, Spike floats underneath, locking in the world famous, cravat! “Cravat-city, here we come!” “Fans, as someone who has seen plenty of Spike Jenkins matches…you can now take a bathroom break, return and not miss a thing.” Spike wrenches at his opponent’s neck, twisting it in a direction that it’s not suppose to go in. Keeping a cocky grin on his face, he flips Jimmy over with a snapmare. Jimmy sits on the ground… *BAM* …Spike kicks Jimmy in the back of the head. He drops down and covers the SWF Hardcore Champion. ONE! TWO! THREE! *Ding Ding Ding* “Spike wins!” “Yay!”

As soon as the fireworks die down and the crowd chills out a bit ”Iron Man” starts playing. “Ladies and gentlemen please welcome the former Hardcore and International champion BRUCE BLANK!!” Funyon bellows to try and overpower the boos and jeers of the crowd. WHITEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE TRASH!! WHITEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE TRASH!! “We haven’t seen Bruce since he lost the International title to Johnny Dangerous” Mak reminds everyone “Yeah I’d be embarrassed too if I lost to Johnny” King replies. “What the hell is this?” Instead of Bruce walking out or the Dodge Charger driving to the ring like you’d expect we see a beat up, rusty, dirty old Ford pickup truck from the mid 80ties drive down the aisle. Wayne is driving but Bruce is nowhere to be seen. “That truck is older than some of the competitors” King quips as he sees the rusty piece of shit. “I repeat “What the hell is this?” Mak repeats. Wayne parks the pick-up truck at ringside and then steps out of the car. He looks at the camera for a moment with a mixture of annoyance and embarrassment before going round to the back of the pick-up truck and opening the tailgate. *KRESH* Empty beer bottles and crumpled up beer cans spill out from the back of the truck as Wayne grabs Bruce by the boot and tries to shake him awake. After a few good tugs on the boot Bruce finally wakes up from his slumber and sits up so that everyone can see him. To say that Bruce is a mess is like saying that a atomic bomb leaves a bit of a dent in the ground, he looks like he hasn’t showered or shaved or even changed his shirt in forever, probably not since the night he lost the title. There is something in his beard that looks like food, that we hope is food and not something even grosser. “Ehhh” King utters as Wayne helps Bruce climb out of the back of the truck. “He’s drunk!” Mak says stating the obvious. Everything St. John Smith has been working on seems to be gone, Bruce is wearing cowboy boots, beer stained jeans (we HOPE it’s beer) and a filthy shirt that says “If it ain’t Ultraviolent it ain’t s#%t!”. Bruce is so unsteady that Wayne has to support his older brother as they stagger towards the ring. Bruce stops Wayne, reaches into the back of the truck and pulls out a six pack of beers and then continues staggering towards the ring. “Are his eyes even open?” Mak asks as Wayne does most of the guiding and walking while Bruce just focuses on staying on his feet. “I guess he IS embarrassed about losing to Johnny, but this is a bit extreme isn’t it?” At first Wayne tries to get Bruce to walk up the steps but has to give up as Bruce just slumps forward against the side of the ring. Annoyed Wayne grabs the six pack of beers and sides them in the ring before entering himself. When Bruce realizes that his beer is in the ring he climbs up on the apron and then crawls across the canvas to get to the beer. “A-hem” Wayne says as he takes the microphone “Please excuse my brother he has a touch of the flu” “The Flu? Give me a break” Mak says obviously not buying Wayne’s excuse. Wayne guides Bruce over to the corner and then helps drag him to his feet, leaving him leaning on the ropes as he goes back to pick up the microphone. “Alright then. We’re here tonight to address a few questions that people have been asking themselves.” Wayne says as he tries to keep a straight face “Like “where have you been” and stuff, so Bruce?” … “Bruce?” The big man is leaned over on the ropes, sleeping. The look on Wayne’s face clearly indicates that he’d much rather be anywhere than here right now. Wayne walks over to Bruce and shakes him awake and then hands him the microphone. “Whu?? Whuzza?” Bruce mumbles as he wakes up and looks around at the people in the crowd. Once he’s steeled himself he opens a beer and drowns it in one long gulp. With microphone in one hand and the rest of the beers in the other hand Bruce staggers out from the corner. “I tell you sjhomething! The house of Marvelsssh shhure looks crappy tonight” Bruce says with a drunken slur as he looks around trying to spot the columns and the loveseat that’s usually on the House of Marvelous set. “Bruce it’s not the House of Marvelous” Wayne whispers to his brother. “Whu?” Bruce looks up and realizes that Wayne is right “Ah well fuck him anyway! Who needs him? I don’t need him, I don’t need anyone!!” “This is sad King, this is tragic” Mak says “I mean I don’t like the guy but he’s a total mess, he shouldn’t be out here much less scheduled to wrestle later tonight.” “You’re right Mak, you hate to see someone get dragged down like this” The Redneck Superman just stands there, swaying gently as he tries to remember what he was going to say, then in a sudden flash of drunken inspiration it apparently comes to him as he grins like a jackal or maybe a jackass “I’m the International tj-*burp*-tjampion of the world and I don’t need anyone!!” “Erm Bruce” Wayne says not sure how to break it to Bruce “You lost the belt bro” “What are you tj-tjalking about? It’s right here” Bruce says and pads his waist. Once he realizes that there is no belt around his waist he looks down as he keeps tapping all the way around his waist as if it could be hiding somewhere. He stands there, head down, trying his best to keep his balance as he goes on. “What happen to it Wayne? I had it right h-*hick-up*-ere! Did I leave it in the truck?” *Sigh* “You lost it to Johnny Dangerous” Wayne reminds him. “Oh don’t be ridiculous” Bruce says and then laughs the laugh of a very, very drunk man “Only a complete idiot loses a title to John--" That’s all he gets out before he topples over backwards and slams to the canvas without even attempting to break his fall. Bruce just lies there while the entire arena grows silent, this is just too embarrassing to watch – they feel so sorry for Bruce that they don’t even chant at him. Then after a moment or two of silence Bruce goes “I’m okay” “No I don’t think he is” King comments as Wayne helps Bruce get back to his feet and then decides to help keep him steady for the rest of the interview. “Ash I’ve said be-*burp*-before its all about how you bounce back! Look at me!!” Bruce bellows as he points to his dirty, smelly tragic self. “I’m bouncing back like nobody’s business!!” Bruce yells getting spittle all over the camera lens. “I mean I’m ready to go, COME ON RIGHT NOW!!” Bruce is apparently challenging the camera man to a match right then and there as he throws both the microphone and the beers down with motioning for the camera guy to come on. When the camera guy doesn’t do anything Bruce grabs his t-shirt and tries to pull it off to really get in fighting shape. Drunken guy + T-shirt = problems. Bruce only gets the t-shirt about half way over his head before he gets stuck with one arm tangled up good. “Son of a bitch!” Bruce curses as he tries to find a way out of the t-shirt handcuffs he’s created for himself. “He’s going to be in the Elimination Chamber? He can’t even get out of a t-shirt much less something like the Elimination Chamber” Mak asks in disbelief. “Coffee, loads and loads of coffee between now and Ashes 2 Ashes and he may sober up” King says. “That’ll require a LOT of coffee!” Bruce finally manages to rip the shirt off (and up) and then throws it down in anger. “COM’ON!!” Bruce bellows as he raises both his clenched fists “I don’t care you who you are! On Zyon, on Drake on Toxxic and Blixen, on Cupid and Da… wait” Bruce stands there for a moment with his eyes closed like he’s thinking about something really, really hard “That’s not right is it?” Bruce says and then laughs “Toxxic and Prancer is redundant” “Bruce” Wayne says as he tries to get Bruce to focus on the subject at hand “Landon, Spike remember?” “Ah yes, yessssssss Spike Jenkins” Bruce says with glassy eyes “Man I love that little shit!” “Dear god I didn’t know he was THAT drunk” King blurts out in surprise. “No, no, no listen, listen” Bruce says when the fans begin to boo “You’ve got to love a man with a bigger ego than me, you’ve got to love a man with a bigger mouth that me” Bruce explains and then sniggers “Too bad his mouth is bigger than his talent Bwa, ha, ha, ha” Bruce literally slaps himself on the thigh while laughing like a donkey. “This is getting ridiculous, he needs to be stopped” Mak says feeling extremely uncomfortable watching the human trainwreck in the ring. Bruce stops laughing and then clamps a hand over his mouth as he gets a real desperate look in his eyes, scanning around the ring for something. “Oh shit” “He’s gonna… he’s gonna… “ Mak says as he realizes what Bruce is about to do. “Cut to commercial, CUT TO COMMERCIAL!!!” King yells before the cameras capture Bruce’s glorious “Technicolor expression” ** Cut to commercial **

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=- SWF LOCKDOWN Live, Thursday, October 26th, from the MGM Grand Arena in Las Vegas, Nevada! (7pm PST, 10pm EST; check local listings) (Send all promos/marked matches to chirs3) -=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=- THE MAIN EVENT - TAG TEAM CHAMPIONSHIP CONTENDERSHIP MATCH The Predators (Jay Hawke and Nighthawk) vs. Wasted Youth (Zyon and "The Divine Wind" Akira Kaibatsu) -> Mak Francis mentioned that the Predators impressive victory over Clarmsley might put them in line for a title shot - not just yet! Because while it's true Peters has had his eye on The Predators as potential Tag Team Contenders, his OTHER eye has been on the team of Zyon and Akira Kaibatsu, no strangers themselves to the tag team world! Tonight, we decide who will be challenging for TSWG's Tag Team Titles on Smarkdownoween! *** Rules: Standard tag team match. -=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=- CRUISERWEIGHT MATCH (non title) Michael Stephens vs. Ultimo Phantasmo -> With the revelation that the Elimination Chamber will now be for BOTH of Michael Stephens’ singles titles, we decided it was time to give the Cruiser champ a tune-up! Tonight he faces a most impressive cruiserweight in the Ultimo Phantasmo! Rules: Standard with Cruiser Addenda. -=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=- HOUSE RULES – CASINO BRAWL Bruce Blank vs. Landon “La Cucaracha” Maddix -> To survive a match like the Elimination Chamber, you either need to have Spiderman’s powers, or you need to be tough as hell. I think Wildchild has Spiderman powers, but the rest of our roster is out of luck on that front, which means they’ll need to rely on their endurance to see them through. Tonight, two of the contestants who are facing off in the EC will go one on one, an early meeting designed to gauge just how tough these guys really are. Bruce is an established hardcore aficionado, but if memory serves me right, Landon's got some experience in Casino Brawls... Rules: NONE WHATSOEVAAAH~~! Match starts on the Casino Floor - first pinfall (where ever it may occur) wins. -=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=- CRUISERWEIGHT MATCH “Hollywood” Spike Jenkins vs. Jimmy the Doom -> When it was announced that both the World Title AND the Cruiserweight Title would be up for grabs at Ashes 2 Ashes, I’m sure visions of sugar plums danced in Spike Jenkins’ head. That or dollar signs. It’s a toss up. In any event, we’re giving Spike a chance to tune up against the reigning Hardcore Champion, Jimmy the Doom! Rules: Standard, with Cruiser addenda. -=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-