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Storm fades in to see the team of Akira Kaibatsu and Zyon in one corner preparing for their upcoming match against Nighthawk and Scotty Raina, who are seen next as the camera pans to the right. DING DING DING “Alright, let’s get this tag team action underway!” King says. Akira and The Crush start the match, and immediately lock up. Akira slides to the left of Raina and locks in a rear waistlock. Kaibatsu tries to lift up Scotty and go for an early German Suplex but Raina plants his legs firmly and doesn’t allow Akira to flip him backwards. Rains slides behind Akira and locks him in a rear waist lock. The Crush pushes Akira forward off of him, and Kaibatsu keeps his momentum going and runs into the ropes. He bounces off, and Raina prepares himself to catch Akira, but Kaibatsus is prepared as well and baseball slides beneath the Detroit native, and gets back to his feet right away. Raina turns around, only to be met with a European Uppercut to the chin! “Those European Uppercuts have become a trademark of Akira Kaibatsu. He’ll use them anywhere he can,” Mak reminds the audience. Raina falls to his ass after taking the uppercut, but he is soon dragged back to his feet when Akira picks him up, and walks him over to his turnbuckle. Akira and Zyon slaps hands and The Unique Youth makes his way into the ring. Zyon nails the rookie in the cheek with a forearm before whipping him into the ropes. The Crush comes running back and Zyon lifts him up into the air flapjack style. Akira – who is still in the ring - positions himself under Raina and nails him in the chin one more time with a European Uppercut! “As I was saying,” Mak gloats, “Akira has mastered those European Uppercuts, and Zyon and Akira have a chemistry that allow them to utilize that,” “Don’t forget, these two can also take it to the air like nobody’s business. Remember the series of matches these guys had against each other? Aw, man,” Akira then rushes over towards Nighthawk and nails him in the head with a huge running forearm sending him off the apron and into the guardrail. As he does this, Zyon lifts up the ever unlucky Scotty Raina onto his shoulders electric chair style. Akira trots behind him, and stands on the apron. He then jumps up onto the rope, and springboards forward towards his partner, grabs Raina’s head in midair, and Zyon drops The Crush with an electric drop as Akira plants him with an Ace Crusher! OHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH! “Woah! Big move right there!” ONE! TWOOOO! THREEEE! “An IMPRESSIVE official debut for, um…well, the nameless team of Akira and Zyon.” King says. “It’s one thing to tackle two rooks though. Let’s see how they do in their next tag experience.” “I agree, King. The tag division is strong now, much stronger than it was earlier in the year when Akira was with Michael Cross and Zyon was with Spike. We’ll see how they do. But first, we’ve got the rest of THIS show to worry about!” Mak says, as Storm fades out.

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=- SWF STORM Live, Friday, October 6th, from the Rose Garden in Portland, Oregon! (7pm PST, 10pm EST; check local listings) -=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=- ZyKira (Zyon and Akira Kaibatsu) vs. Rainhawk, or Nighina, or however you'd like to combine their names (Nighthawk and Scotty Raina) -> Zyon and AKira have tagged before, including in one of my favorite house rules matches, The May 31st Movement in Tienanman Square, and while they didn't quite succeed there, there's no denying these two have talent and chemistry. The wrestling kind, not the romantic kind. Looking to turn their recent luck around, tonight they pair up to take on the team of Nighthawk, fresh off a victory over Amy Stephens, and Scotty Raina! Rules: Standard tag team match. -=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=- Charlie "Grappler" Matthews vs. Disney Sponsored Alan Clark -> Anyone worrying about Clark suffering from ring rust can breathe a sigh of relief, as he has been very impressive since his return. So impressive, in fact, that we're kicking him up the card, and putting him against GRAPPLAH~!!~! Rules: Standard singles match. -=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=- Ultimo Phantasmo vs. Scion of Light -> The world's going to hell in a handbasket, what with all these plane delays and random power outages that plagued last weeks show. We have no idea who won what yet, so let's just ignore that. I think these two can put on a hell of a match, and that's all the justification I need. -=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

The anticipation inside the Rose Garden begins to build amongst the local Portland, Oregon fans while they conclude their final awkward shuffles past other fans en route to their seats. Fading in, the camera catches smidgens of fans crowding down cement isles anxiously awaiting the official kick off of tonight’s Storm – a bout contested between two SWF newcomers, the Scion of Light and Ultimo Phantasmo. The camera crew completes the fade back from the last segment while the on-air broadcasting duo of Mak “The Franchise” Francis and The Suicide King welcome viewers back to ringside. “We’re just about ready to get the action started, wrestling enthusiasts,” exclaims ‘The Franchise’ excitedly, “And what better way to shift Storm into full throttle than with two of the hottest upcoming rookie prospects!” “I’ll say,” King mutters quickly, “Mmmmhm.” Behind the broadcast booth, Suicide King ogles several scandalous pictures of what appears to be the Scion of Light in scantly clad ensembles. “Those can’t be real,” Mak questions, clearing his throat, “How many super heroines do you know willing to degrade themselves for the likes of scum bags like you?” “Oh, they’re real,” King raises an eye brow as he tracks backwards to a specific photo, “Oh, yes.” “Well,” Mak raises a brow and turns his attention back to the upcoming match, “I can assure you those are not pictures of the Scion of Light; I can also assure you that this contest will prove to be most interesting.” “Interesting,” King echoes, still enthralled in the pictures, “I can’t wait to see this gal contort that body…” Mak has nothing to say in response as an awkward on-air response follows before the silence is finally broken. “Regardless of how flexible the Scion of Light is, will her dexterity be able to withstand an accomplished striker and impressive former Lucha Libre prospect?” “Oh, I have faith,” King quickly fires back, still skipping over the photos, ignoring his on-air duties. “I see predictions have suddenly become a one man job,” Mak shrugs off his partner and fully averts his attention to the upcoming match just moments away. “It’s safe to say there’s more than one significant gap between these two. Ultimo Phantasmo is, as reported, on rigorous training regimen designed by a former boxing manager and trainer. He’s got significant experience in wrestling gained during tenure as a Luchadore in Mexico. He virtually every physical advantage…” “Nope, not every single one,” King turns a new picture around a full 360 degrees as he attempts to unravel the pose the fake Scion is in, “I’m confident that Ultimate Fantastic, or whatever his name is, CANNOT do THIS!” King shoves the photo towards his broadcast partner, The Franchise, who shoves it away, continuing with his match over-view (or at least attempting to do so). “Will the Suicide King be right,” mulls Mak Francis rhetorically, “Will the size and strength advantage of Ultimo Phantasmo prove to be enough to put away the Japanese-import, the Scion of Light? The answers are just moments away!” The concluding words of former SWF wrestler, Mak Francis, precede the fading brightness of the large, stage lights hung and placed throughout the arena as a slow, moving, demon-like sounds creep from the speakers. The introduction, performed by the Gorillaz, slowly picks up a slight pace with several odd vocals in the background overshadowing the whining sounds of an ambulance. After a minute or so of the dark sounds, a grim begins the conclusion. “Who put me at the bottom of the food chain? Who put me at the bottom of the food chain? Now entering the Harmonic Door.” A second’s pause follows the vocals as the lights hit an absolute darkness – pitch black, as a couple of cameras flash, though lacking the full attention of many fans who seemingly could care less about the rookie. The pause draws the crowd in as figurative question marks appear over their heads. For a second, there’s a feeling of power-failure, until the exploding bass lines extracted from the bass guitar of Primus’ Les Claypool replace the silence. With the newly present bass comes a light change, several of them shooting out in blinding fashion towards the entrance area. Smoke, rising from the ramp, creates a mist-like fog as the lights begin to flicker in a strobe-like manor. “There’s a time for lies, and a time for truth. I say, eye for an eye, eye for a tooth!” “IT’S NICE!” From the back steps out a tall, shadowy figure followed closely behind by smaller, more fashionably dressed man. The latter of the two, Miguel Mayorga, has his head protected from the light and vision by an average size white towel. The secrecy of the former boxing trainer and manager is matched only by his associate, Ultimo Phantasmo, who steps out into full view first – though, the term view is hardly appropriate as his body is cloaked in an odd, sleeveless hooded cloak, his hair the only visible physical characteristic of the surprisingly large Cruiserweight. “When I was young, I scavenged around. Every nook and cranny, of our little town!” “IT’S NICE!” “SO NICE!” “TO BE!” “Impressive,” remarks Francis, intrigued by the newcomer, “If his in-ring performance is as stunning as his ability to make a fantastic entrance then this up-and-comer could be someone to watch out for.” After a time consuming pause, Smartmarks Wrestling Federation ring announcer, Funyon, edges the long, overly-drawn out entrance of the rookie forward. “PUFF TIJUANA SMALLS, SHAKE HANDS WITH BEEF!” “Entering now, hailing from Boa Vista, Brazil,” his bellowing voice remarks, turning his body and holding a hand out to the rookie now approaching ringside, “Accompanied by Miguel Mayorga – weighing in at 220 pounds on the dot and standing at six feet two inches in height, HE-IS UUUL-TI-MO-PHAN-TAAAAS-MOOOO!” A light cheer follows in respect to the rookie. “Phantasmo, a rookie, looks incredibly calm and focused here tonight,” Mak remarks, impressed by the nerves of the former Luchadore, “His manager is jumping around, throwing punching motions and performing various air combinations!” “Eh,” King shrugs off the rookie’s nerves of steel, “I just want to see this Japanese broad flex that body of hers!” “We’re aware,” Mak echoes, “We’re aware.” Another pause occurs and then the lights begin to set themselves in preparation of the second participant in tonight’s opening bout. Phantasmo stares down the stage, still in his cloak, face virtually undetectable. The lights glare, and after a moment, the sounds of “Knights of Cydonia” by Muse pick up in the middle, as a far more sincere, warm reaction greets the lesser of the two newcomers. “NO ONE’S GOING’TA TAKE ME ALIVE, THE TIME HAS COME TO MAKE THINGS RIGHT, YOU AND I MUST FIGHT FOUR OUR RIGHTS, YOU AND I MUST FIGHT TO SURVIVE!” The lights stop moving and an abrupt stop in the music substantially elevates the anticipation among the fans, although the reactions are still quite small. B-B-BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOM! “Wow,” shouts The Franchise excitedly, “An explosion of bright-white pyrotechnics, and there she is!” At the top of the stage is an energetic, significantly smaller, masked, Japanese woman. Energetically, the Scion of Light hops around the stage, fans warmly welcoming her presence. After several moments of bobbing, she hops into her signature pose, one fist sticking out, the other directly above her head, clenched tightly. There’s an intense moment as the Japanese-import fixes her eyes, or what can be made out to be her eyes, on her opponent standing coldly in the ring. Following the glare, she jumps, and upon rebound back to the ramp, takes off with a full head of speed, gunning for the ring. “Intense, determined,” Mak remarks rather impressed, “She won’t let her opponent’s advantages demoralize her!” As her short and quick steps put her closer to ringside, she slows, and with as much speed as anyone else could, slides into the ring, quickly getting to her feet in front of the 6’2’’ cruiserweight who happens to be her opponent. After more bouncing around, Funyon resumes the opening. “And tonight’s second competitor in our opening bout,” exhale the bellowing vocals soothingly smooth, “Direct from Kyoto Japan, she stands five feet five inches in height and weighing in at 160 pounds – S.O.L, the SUH-EYEEEE-ON of LLL-IGHT!” Behind Funyon several front row fans cheer loudly in appreciation to the S.O.L., who is still attempting to prove her keep to the fans, despite their slight approval. Finally, after long moments of people entering an exiting the ring, the two wrestlers and tonight’s referee, Ced Ordonez, are all whom are left inside of the ever cliché squared-circle. The referee checks with both wrestlers as they both bob around, warming themselves up. DING-! DING-! DING-! “Oddly,” Mak makes note, “Ultimo Phantasmo has yet to disrobe that over-clock he’s wearing, the only physical features we can see are his arms, some hair, and a bit of mask. Under, briefly, we can see his insanely elaborate attire – a mix of purple, black, and faded white.” Ordonez gives the former martial artist a glare, tilting his head in order to get a better look under the hood. Suddenly, in response to the look, Phantasmo swipes the hood off of his head, revealing the cartoon like mask under it portraying a smile and several of the unique emblems that are already scattered up and down his shiny pants and ribbed tank top. “Woah,” King cuts his way back into existence, “That mask is incredibly creepy.” Mak, leaning forward to get a better look nods to concur. “Unique to say the least,” Mak comments slowly, “Creepy nonetheless, as you said, King.” The Bemani Cross Wizard stumbles back and then signals to the two wrestlers, whom instantly respond, tying up in the center of the ring before Ordonez could say, “Dance, Dance Revolution!” A power struggle is virtually non-existent, and thusly, the Scion is pushed back against the ropes and held there. Proceeding the early power defiance Ultimo tilts his head and stares blankly at his opponent and then lets her go, backing off. A few steps in reverse and then a spring in his step allows Phantasmo to dodge the Scion, attempting to fire back off her early failure to defend the strength of her opponent. Scion hits the ropes and then fires across the ring, but her trick doesn’t suck the former Lucha Libre prospect in. Instead, contrary to what the Scion had planned to happen, Phantasmo watches her as she speeds her way around the ring like Mighty Mouse. It takes a moment for the Scion of Light to register as her opponent glares at her gloomily, the hazy look and peculiar stance almost frightening. “Scion not able to use her speed to draw this incredibly odd character into any sort of offensive trap,” replies Mak as the odd situation finally culminates in the ring. The Scion finally slows down to a dead stop right in front of her opponent, but stumbles right into a knee well placed in the gut, doubling her over for what appears to be gasps of air. But the struggle of his opponent to gain back her breath doesn’t hold off Ultimo Phantasmo, who immediately locks his right arm over the back of her nape, grabbing a handful of chin. “What an impressive and quickly placed knee from the new-comer,” Mak exclaims in respect to the strike, “And now he’s got the Scion caught in a very, very tight looking Cravat!” Phantasmo toys with his newly captured Scion of Light, pulling her around in circles. She has no choice but to follow or stand the risk of taking a serious injury. The crowd kicks a slight chuckle as the strangely creepy, yet goofy and lovable, physical mannerisms are portrayed by Ultimo. Now he’s through playing, however, as he gradually picks up speed, forcing the Scion of Light to do so as well, eventually escalating into a near run (rather a jog). This game continues for a few more moments until Phantasmo hits the peak speed and suddenly halts, turning towards the Scion who is still moving. He quickly reverses the hold, applying it in the opposite direction, not only jarring her neck suddenly, but pulling her inward. Following up, Phantasmo quickly and swiftly lifts his leg and directs his knee cap into the forehead of her mask, sending her blonde locks flailing forward and then suddenly back. CLAAAA-UUUUUUD! “OH!” The crowd looks on, almost concerned. “What a shot,” Mak stands, scouring the mat with his eyes to check for any loose teeth that might have been forced from their gummy holders. “I can’t believe she’s not dead!” “Jesus,” King mutters aloud, shocked, “I can’t either; even I have to say, that was both creative AND devastating!” Standing tall, Ultimo looks down at the Scion. She holds her head, rolling to her stomach, the pain starting from the front and then working its way around to the back of her cranium like a spider web. She kicks her leg and then attempts to stumble up, but the former Luchadore will have none of it. He stops her, from a lazy and unmotivated attempt to get back to her feet and then hooks both of her legs in search of an early exit from the match. The referee, crowd, and ringside personnel have no trouble believing it, immediately acting is if this one was already in the bags. ONE…! TWO…! THREEEEEEEE! “Unbelievable,” shouts Mak Francis aloud, crowd practically speechless in the background, “At the last second, S.O.L. lifted her shoulder ever so slightly enough to deliver her from the jaws of defeat!” “Bwaha,” cackles the Suicide King, “That chick knows how to handle herself on the bottom!” “I thought you liked ‘em on top,” Mak cracks a slight smirk. “I do,” explains King, “But if she can’t handle herself on the bottom, she can’t finish on top!” “You’re despicable.” Ced Ordonez signals a two count to the crowd from a kneeling position whilst Phantasmo, seated next to him, looks down at his opponent. --THE SMART MARKS WRESTLING FEDERATION CONCUSION CAM— The replay screen cuts in, taking half the screen for itself. The footage begins playing from a different angle, starting from the moment of the peak speed. In slow motion, the image of Phantasmo pulling the Scion of Light across the ring moves only a handful of frames per second. A sudden halt sends her hair flying forward as Ultimo turns to her and reverses the lock, applying it in the opposite direction, and jarring her neck back suddenly. “Look at that,” Mak remarks both impressed and astonished, “Impressive set up, and – OH!” The captured footage from just moments ago depicts the knee strike and the impact as Scion’s face seemingly becomes concave. The sickly image of the knee cap’s driving force into Scion’s face is replaced with that of her hair flowing forward and over the leg of the former martial artist. Phantasmo suddenly lets her go, and she goes limp, folding awkwardly to the mat in an almost disturbing way. --THE SMART MARKS WRESTLING FEDERATION CONCUSION CAME— Meanwhile, in the ring, Phantasmo makes headway on his opponent, the Scion of Light. With such a lack of energy expanded pertaining to the match thus far, Phantasmo quickly moves his opponent around the ring, snapping kicks into her stomach, legs, and upper body before finally settling in the corner nearest the entrance ramp. The Scion, still dazed, refuses to give up still yet, unable to offer up anything more than a lazy attempt at pushing the swarming Phantasmo and his stinging, chop-like, short kicks away from her. Ultimo, though, is able to brush away her attempt, pinning her back against the corner ropes and unleashing a sadistic high kick, uncharacteristically using his left leg to snap at S.O.L. just above her collar. “Thus far a flawless game plan,” implies the Franchise, action presuming in the ring, “He’s caught the Scion of Light with two hard shots, cut her speed off, kept her tied up, and left her unable to regain any sort of breath or momentum.” “Miguel Mayorga seems pleased,” King mutters aloofly. The camera briefly pans to the side of the ring where Miguel Mayorga watches on, arms plicate. Another camera approaches as he smirks, pleased. However, in the ring, S.O.L. has managed to gain back her swagger, ducking a second shin kick, which narrowly missed beheading the smaller, Japanese woman. She throws her compact body towards the ropes parallel to the former site where she had been held less than seconds before. Her hips press into the second rope and she swings her head in the opposite direction, aiming directly at Phantasmo who looks more now like a deer in a pair of headlights. The Scion uses her momentum as means to run down her prey just steps from her. “S.O.L. ignoring any head trauma she might have suffered from the critical blow taken earlier,” remarks the Franchise on S.O.L.’s near fearlessness. However, the Scion of Light’s speed resembles of Phantasmo’s level of awareness, which is higher than presumed by the Scion of Light, who sees her opponent’s eyes and slides under his legs. Off balance and caught off guard, Phantasmo can only stagger and then drops to his stomach, immediately and instinctively flipping to his back. After a moment of embarrassment, he manages to kick free his foot, scrambling backward. “Counter tactics from the Scion of Light indicate she may have an edge over her opponent,” Mak remarks, “In spite of Phantasmo’s undeniable goofiness, the Scion of Light appears to have a slight mental edge – crowd in her corner, she’s not going to lay down for this offense machine!” Immediately following the liberation of Phantasmo’s foot from her meager grasp, the Scion of Light parades back to her feet to a warm crowd response. Almost mockingly, she gallops around incredibly proud of her efforts and certainly bubbly in spite of what’s sure to be a pounding head ache. “If Phantasmo’s face was viewable, it would be a shade of rouge,” exclaims Mak, “He’s been majorly shown up by his much smaller foe!” “Better not to wonder what’s underneath that thing,” mutters the Suicide King. Phantasmo brushes himself off and then gets back to his feet, beckoning back the less happy-go-lucky personality of the Scion of Light who immediately gets her game pose on, fist clinched high above her head. Following an awkward moment, Phantasmo steps forward but is met with a swift spinning chop that manages to simply grace his covered chest. Ultimo tilts his head forward, glaring at the back of S.O.L.’s hand, seemingly glued to his tank top. Just a moment late, the Scion realizes her hand not only failed to affect her opponent, but never even left its point of impact. Scrambling to remove her appendage out of her opponent’s grasp, the Scion of Light stumbles back. It’s too late, however, as Ultimo Phantasmo takes an iron-like grip of her hand, clenching it tightly. “Snared,” Mak exclaims aloud, “Ultimo Phantasmo has caught her, hand in the cookie jar!” “That sounds so dirty,” eagerly responds King with a grin and a head nod. “I don’t want to know whose hand was in whose cookie jar in your little fantasy there!” Proceeding a futile moment of inefficient struggle, the Scion of Light simply goes limp, attempting to contort out of the hold. Turning her body away from the former Luchadore simply ties her up in what appears to be a hold similar to the Cobra Clutch. Stuck and kicking, the Scion is held at her opponent’s mercy, left useless for Phantasmo’s bidding. He toys with her just before he himself turns away, using both hands to keep her arm trapped around her neck. “This isn’t looking good for the Japanese import!” Her body hangs loosely, shoulder pinned against her taller opponent and feet dangling. Ultimo Phantasmo finds a reasonable starting point near one of the turnbuckles and then turns to face the center of the ring. A moment passes and then he charges to the center of the ring. “CRISTA DA LUA,” shouts Mayorga from the outside of the ring. Indeed, Phantasmo throws his opponent sloppily over his back and begins to drop her on what seems like will be her head as he squats and then plops to his caboose. CLAAAAAAAAAAAACK! “OH!” “HOW IN THE HELL,” demands Mak excitedly, “SIMPLY AMAZING!” A camera adjacent to Miguel Mayorga captures his disappointment as the sloppy throw allowed the Scion room enough to roll through and deliver an absolutely crushing dropkick to the center of the mush. What appears to be a lengthy pause (in actuality just a moment before the realization of the counter) precedes the unfolding of his seated posture, crumpling backwards under the impact of the kick. Quickly the Scion scampers from her lying position on the mat over the temporarily stunned Phantasmo. Ced Ordonez slides to his side just inches from the scene and hovers his hand anticipating the count on the pinfall. ONE…! TWO…! “Quick kickout,” exclaims Mak after a short two-count. The Scion of Light scurries back to her feet and escapes the grasping distance of her opponent, who quickly manages to pull himself back to his feet, embarrassed yet again. The crowd is now fully in support of the underdog-like Scion, who plays back, hopping around and calling for more of their support, pretending to use it as fuel. The crowd now seems to concern Mayorga who barks further orders at his associate who anxiously looks to him and then gets back on the prowl, despite looking slightly off his game. “It looks like the mind games have indeed penetrated the strengths of the former native Brazilian,” exclaims Mak Francis, “The crowd is in S.O.L.’s corner, and it’s clearly flustered Ultimo Phantasmo.” S.O.L. uses her new found advantage and steps up to Ultimo who merely looks down before tying her up in a Mui Thai hold, hands clasped around the back of her cranium. Not in the least intimidated, the Scion brushes off the Brazilian’s large hands with ease, not only flustering him, but discouraging him as well. She fires forward and locks up, and despite the ever present power and size advantage of Phantasmo, pushes him back into the ropes. Seemingly all he can do in response is hold back in a confused position, clearly not keeping his head in the game. Seizing the wide open opportunity, S.O.L. attempts to whip her opponent from his position against the ropes across the ring, but is turned in the process and sent on her way across the ring. Hitting the ropes, she fires back across stopping just inches from Phantasmo’s chest. She tenses her muscles and then with both fists, she thrusts a thunderous gut punch that, in spite of impact and power, knocks the wind from her opponent. “A mounting effort to get some offense going,” declares the Franchise enthusiastically with a touch of optimism, “She’s doing her damndest to make this a match, and an exciting one at that!” Now in a kneeling position and clinching his gut for a chance to reclaim any amount of air that was so rudely forced from his lungs, Phantasmo can do nothing but watch his opponent as she once again collides with the ropes opposite of him. In what seems like slow motion the cameras and the crowd watches as the Scion of Light rebounds and drives a thrusting knee directly to the back of the head, toppling her opponent back as she lands atop him, already in position for a pinfall as the crowd explodes for her underdog-like efforts. “COVER!” ONE……! TWO………….! THREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE! OH, NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO! “What a kickout,” Mak exclaims aloud, pants on the edge of his leather-clad rolling chair, “A last second instinct produces a photo-finish kickout that could’ve spelled out the demise of this Brazilian rookie!” Ced raises his arm, two fingers peaking out of his white-knuckled fist as the crowd stands on their feet in full support of the Scion of Light. Using the crowd’s thirst for her victory, she continues on, getting back to her feet as she manages to cope with only a near-fall. For now, it’ll have to due en route to getting her arm raised. On the outside, however, Miguel Mayorga is practically sweating bullets after watching the beginning of his client’s career nearly go up into flames after a series of strikes that so very nearly put him down for a count of three. Back to the action, Phantasmo has reclaimed his balance and breath, but not the momentum. Instead, the Scion of Light hits the ropes and runs around the ring causing various blurs to appear around Phantasmo who simply can’t keep up. Stumbling forward and attempting to grab his opponent and slow her to his pace, Phantasmo finds himself in the center of the ring and in the line of fire of S.O.L.’s path. Despite Phantasmo being in her path she does not slow. Approaching, she bends her hip to an angle and lifts her right leg, thrusting out her foot in an attempt to put the finishing strokes on the Brazilian with her Cleansing Beam. “LOOK OUT,” yells Mak aloud. “CLEANSE MY BEAM, BABY!” “GROSSE!” WOAAAAAAAAH? In spite of the high-speed strike, Phantasmo manages to grab a hold of the Scion’s leg, shin stuck under the armpit of the former Luchadore. Hobbling, the Scion of Light attempts to break free, but it’s incredibly clear that Ultimo is all business. He holds her leg and then puts a finger to his lips, signaling to be quiet as the crowd watches at a stand still. She hobbles for a second, and then cries out in pain after a driving elbow is stuck directly into the top of her knee, the crowd practically cringing at the sound of bone to bone colliding. “OH!” “SICK!” S.O.L. simply falls on her other leg, the pain stinging. Ultimo drops down into her guard (or a position similar) and uses his arms to lock around her neck in a front headlock. The seated position allows Phantasmo’s legs to further constrict her body as the blood is practically squeezed from her head. Stretching, the vertebrae in her neck and back bone are stretched to the brink, the pain unavoidable as her entire body aches. There’s no where for her to go, she can’t move. “He calls this the Boa Vista Clutch,” Mak remarks, looking down a stat-type sheet. “And she’s trapped!” “What I wouldn’t give to be in that position!” The Scion of Light, however, would give anything to be out of it. And after a moment of hesitation, probably the stubbornness of loss and the taste of defeat, she gives in, smacking her hand to the mat three consecutive times. Ced Ordonez calls for the bell and demands that Phantasmo breaks the hold, though he constricts tighter, squeezing the life out of her before throwing her limp to the mat. DING! DING! DING! “HERE’S YOUR WINNER, HE IS ULLLL-TEEEEE-MOOOO…PHAN-TAZZ-MOOOOOO!” The crowd lies quiet as the fading image of Miguel Mayorga holding Phantasmo’s hand high in the air over the Scion of Light is indeed the last of this segment. The camera fades to darkness as Mak and King remark on the talent of Ultimo Phantasmo and his resilience here tonight.

“Well, we’re back from our commercial break here on Storm,” Mak Francis says, “and as you can see the ring is set up for the ‘House of Marvellous’ interview segment… I don’t have anything in my notes to show who he has as a guest this evening…” “Shut up and he’ll tell you,” Suicide King advises his commentary partner, and sure enough Sir Marvellous himself has grabbed a microphone. Leaning heavily on his stick, the former road agent has a distinct smirk on his face. “Ladies and gentlemen, I am pleased to announce a first for the House of Marvellous,” he says, looking like a cat who just got the cream, “because while I have played host to the International Champion Bruce Blank, and stars like Wildchild, Johnny Dangerous and,” he pauses to smirk a little more, “Mike Van Siclen… I am proud to present, for the first time ever, the reigning World Heavyweight Champion!” “YEEEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!” “Seriously?” Mak Francis says in surprise, and then- “COME AND HAVE A GO IF YOU THINK YER ‘ARD ENOUGH!” “COME AND HAVE A GO IF YOU THINK YER ‘ARD ENOUGH!” “…well yeah, I guess he is serious then!” the Franchise concludes as the rolling soccer chant blasts out of the speakers, followed a moment later by the crashing opening chord of ‘Rookie’ by Boy Sets Fire, “Michael Stephens is on his way to the ring, and this has to be considered a coup for the House of Marvellous!” “Really? How so?” King asks sarcastically, “it’s not like Toxxic doesn’t like the sound of his own voice - I’m surprised it’s taken him this long…” *BOOOM!!* The red pyro goes off all along the soundstage, and through the flame and smoke… “TOXXXXXXXXXXXXXX-IC…” …dressed as usual in his trenchcoat and England soccer shirt (and doubtless rueing their poor, poor showing against Macedonia on Saturday to get a 0-0 draw at home)… “TOXXXXXXXXXXXXXX-IC…” …with Cruiserweight Title in his right hand, Tag Title in his left and the World Heavyweight Title around his waist… “TOXXXXXXXXXXXXXX-IC…” …comes the man once known as Toxxic. The Triple Champion makes his way down the entrance ramp, looking serious but still exchanging a few words with fans near the guardrail, before rolling under the bottom rope into the ring where Sir Marvellous awaits. Sir Marvellous hands Stephens a microphone (which leads to momentary confusion as the Englishman juggles his belts into one hand), then raises his own to his mouth again. “Welcome Mr Stephens, welcome,” the host oozes, “may I say what a pleasure it is to have you on the show, and if I may I’d like to lead with a question… Michael Stephens, given that since your return to the SWF - your undefeated return, I might add - you have been very careful to ensure that your wrestling style has not endangered your opponents’ health, how do you explain the positively dangerous manoeuvres you employed in your title matches against Tom Flesher at Genesis, and then against Spike Jenkins on Lockdown? Could it be that you’re perhaps a fraud, prepared to risk injury to an opponent if it suits you?” “BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!” “Well, I think Sir Marvellous has set his stall out quite obviously here,” Mak Francis says with some disgust, “I guess this segment is going to be nothing more than a thinly-disguised attack on the World Champion.” “Personally, I’m going to be interested to hear this,” King says smugly. For his part Michael Stephens is still trying to arrange his title belts so that he can comfortably hold them in one hand, but his head snaps up as Marvellous’s words sink in. The grey eyes narrow, and he drops the Tag and Cruiserweight Titles on the mat. “I think the first question you should be asking is one to yourself, ‘Sir Marvellous’,” the Englishman says quietly. “Namely, if you truly believe that I’m as bloodthirsty as you claim, is it really smart to be saying something that might piss me off?” “YEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!” “Now, I know you’ve got Mr. Muscle standing over there,” Stephens continues evenly, jerking a black-nailed thumb over his shoulder at Tracey Bruner as Sir Marvellous’s smile falters a little, “and quite frankly I don’t care, because however much shit he’s pumped into his veins to achieve that physique, I’m not scared of him. However,” he says, smiling, “luckily for you I’m not the sort of man you seem to think I am.” “He’s evading the question,” King sniffs. “You see, there’s a difference in what I did in my match with Tom and what I did in my match with Spike,” Stephens informs his host. “Tom and I both went into that match with one intention; to win. We wanted to take both the World Title and the Cruiserweight Title home with us. It was all about the competition. Now I can’t stand Tom Flesher as a person, but as a wrestler he has my utmost respect. And yes, I dragged the Caffeine Bomb out of mothballs against him, because I needed it. I had to throw everything at him to stand a chance of winning, and that’s why he brought out the Logical Disconnect and the Burning Hammer as well. The Burning Hammer is a dangerous move,” the Englishman continues, “and if you don’t believe me… ask that man,” he finishes, pointing a finger at Mak Francis. The Franchise is oddly quiet at ringside. “Tom was doing everything he could to win. I understand that, and I understand why he was doing it.” Stephens’ voice suddenly changes and becomes harder. “Spike on the other hand… Spike went into the match wanting to hurt me. Spike thought that he could do to me what he’s done to other people and get away with it. It was not about the adrenaline rush of competition with Spike; he went into that match with a cold, hard plan for what he was doing. And sunshine, I’m not having that.” “So you’re saying that you were trying to, er, ‘teach him a lesson’?” Marvellous hazards. Stephens regards him for a second, then nods. “Pretty much, yeah.” “So given that, how can you still claim that you’ve changed from-” Michael Stephens casually reaches up and lifts the microphone from Sir Marvellous’s grasp. The fans, unsurprisingly, approve: “YEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!” “First of all, I don’t need someone like you who’s never stepped into a ring in anger to go questioning my decisions, my actions, or how I do things,” the Triple Champion says, fixing Marvellous with a glare. “Yeah, I’ve tried to make sure that I’m not doing anyone any permanent damage this time round, I don’t want things to get back to how they were where I felt I had blood on my hands, but the problem is people can easily mistake that for weakness. You see,” he continues, “if you step into the ring with me as an opponent, I’ll respect that. Throw everything you’ve got at me and see if it’s enough, that’s fine. But try and take the piss, and I will put you down.” “TOXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX-IC…” “TOXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX-IC…” Stephens’ mouth twists slightly, but he raises his microphone and continues. “Zyon, I want to let you know that I have no plans to drop you on your head in our Cruiserweight Title match that’s been booked for Lockdown. I don’t think I need to worry about grudges from you; sure, we’ve had our differences in the past, but that was mainly just words. I’m going to wrestle this match with the intention of beating you, nothing more. But as for the rest of the federation,” he says, turning and looking towards the back, “no matter who you are - former partner, old enemy… old friend… I have a little piece of advice for you: Do not presume on my good nature. I don’t want to get nasty with anyone, but if you give me no choice, if you back me into a corner, if it comes down to me or you… it’s gonna be you.” The Triple Champion tosses the confiscated microphone back to Sir Marvellous, who catches it and glowers at him, but doesn’t say anything. Stephens turns to leave, then seems to have a second thought. “Oh, and if you don’t believe me… Prepare To Be Proved Wrong.” “TOXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX-IC…” “TOXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX-IC…” “Strong words from Michael Stephens there,” Mak Francis says, still not quite sounding like himself, “we’ve got another commercial break coming up now, but more exciting action when we come back.” As the show cuts to commercials, Suicide King can just be heard to mutter “told you he hadn’t changed…”

“Please Stand Clear of the Ring. Por favor Soporte Claro del Anillo…. …For the Safety and Comfort of Others…No Smoking Please. Para la Seguridad Y la Comodidad de Otras... El Ningún Fumar Por favor…. “The Walt Disney Company and the Smartmarks Wrestling Federation are proud to present…” Storm comes back from it’s commercial break with the speakers rumbling to the tune of “When You Wish Upon A Star”, the song once again drawing a sad sigh of annoyed tolerance from the Suicide King… “Not this. WHY!?” “He’s getting ready to square off against Charlie Matthews, that’s why, King!” Mak Francis pipes in, and at the sound of the opponent the King of Hearts seems to lighten up. “That is perfect. I want to watch the Grappler squeeze him until his eyes pop out!” He laughs to himself as Alan Clark appears from behind the curtain, Walter Reynolds following a few footsteps behind. “Ladies and Gentlemen, the following contest is scheduled for ONE FALL…introducing first, making his way to the ring…being accompanied by Walter Reynolds…weighing in at two hundred and twenty five pounds and representing Disneyland…he is the self-proclaimed and copyrighted Happiest Guy On Earth… ALAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAN CLAAAAAARK!” “AL-AN! AL-AN! AL-AN!” “The fans showing their appreciation for the cheerful Clark here in the Rose Garden tonight!” remarks Mak as Alan slaps a few hands and— “What happened to my music??” Alan spins around, looking toward his wingman, only to find Reynolds with a shrug on his shoulders as the cheerful Disney melody is replaced by the riffs of Muddy Water’s “Mannish Boy” and the figure of Charlie Matthews standing at the top of the ramp! “And introducing his opponent…being accompanied to the ring by James Matheson and weighing in at three hundred and six pounds….from Kansas City Missouri… CHARLIE… “THE GRAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAPPLAAAAAAH!!!” …MAAAATTHEWS!!” BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!! “Boring! Booooooooring! Boooooooooooooooring!” “He hasn’t even made it to the ring yet!” The Suicide King laments, but Francis is quick to suggest other circumstances… “I think there’s a bit of a roadblock, King” and sure enough, Alan Clark is standing inches from Charlie Matthews face, the size differential showcased on the entranceway stage as Walter tries to pull Alan away. “What happened to my MUSIC!!” Clark screams, and Charlie can only laugh back in his face, spittle hitting Alan’s jaw. “We don’t have time for this, Clark. Just go get in the ring.” The cooler, more boring, mindset of Charlie Matthews is echoed by referee Sexton Hardcastle, who has found himself between the two men on the stage, trying to split them apart. The Grappler himself is trying more to get around his angry opponent, but with every step he takes Alan is standing right in front of him. “Haven’t you ever heard of something called MANNERS! You couldn’t wait thirty seconds for YOUR music to play?” “It’s better than that wishful drivel you pipe through here” James Matheson can be heard over Charlie’s shoulder, drawing two pairs of eyes from the wrestlers. “YOU STAY OUT OF THIS!” Clark screams, only to turn back and send his fist into Charlie’s chest. Charlie laughs. “I don’t think you want to do that again, Clark.” SMACK!! “Did he just…” the Suicide King starts, but if Mak Francis could walk he’d be jumping up and down… “ALAN CLARK JUST SLAPPED CHARLIE MATTHEWS!! “Over a musical cue…what the hell is wrong with that boy.” THUUUUUD!! Booooooooooooooooooooooo!! “MY GOD! Alan Clark just got leveled with a right hand!” Mak continues his fit of anxiety and excitement as Alan Clark’s body flies backwards, rolling through on the ramp to bring Alan to a stop on his knees. Charlie rubs his hand and tries to walk forward, doing what he can to actually get to the ring… SMAAAACK!! “Superkick to the chest by Clark!” Matthews recoils, but stays on his feet, rubbing his chest where the boot of Clark connected. “I don’t know what has gotten into you, boy, but if you try anything like tha--- WHIIIIFF! “OH NO!” KEERRRAAAAANG!! “Alan Clark was just slammed back-first on the steel ramp!!” “He shouldn’t have tried to kick him again!!” King screams as Alan again gets to his feet, slower this time, as Charlie shakes his head at him. “Are we going to have our match now or what?” He looks to Hardcastle, who looks to Clark… …and both turn to see Alan coming straight for them… THUUUUUUD!! “VICIOUS CLOTHESLINE BY THE GRAPPLER!! Alan Clark might be out cold!” Walter Reynolds seems horrified as Charlie’s arm nearly decapitates the Happiest Guy On Earth, leaving him down on the floor. Charlie, unwavering, simply walks through the motion and around the ring, the referee trying to talk with him as they make their way around to the announce position. “You still want the match? Sure…” Hardcastle’s voice can be picked up on a ringside camera as Matheson takes his normal place by the apron and Reynolds tries to help Clark back on his feet, only for Clark to take off toward the ring the moment he gets vertical! “He’s coming again!!” King yells out as Alan jumps up to the apron and dives off towards Matthews, the referee diving out of the way as Clark’s right arm grazes the side of the Grappler’s chest, causing the big man to step back once to regain his balance as Alan’s body falls to the mat below. “I’ve had enough of this. Seriously.” Matthews voice is low, but audible, as he turns and pushes past Sexton and a ringside timekeeper, pulling a chair up and closing it … “Charlie Matthews has got a chair!! This isn’t going to be good for Alan Clark!” “Come on ref! Let him go! That cheery fool deserves it!” King’s persuasion is unheard by Hardcastle, who is trying in vain to pull the chair from the larger arms of Matthews. “Don’t do it, Charlie! You said you’d get in the ring and we could start this match. Put the chair down!” “I’m not the one holding things up!! He is!!” Charlie rips the chair from Sexton’s hands and spins around to his fallen opponent… KLLAAAAAANG!! …and finds him NOT SO FALLEN!! “SUPERKICK INTO THE CHAIR AND INTO THE SKULL OF CHARLIE MATTHEWS!!” “He can’t use a WEAPON!! It’s against his stupid contract!!” The King and Mak Francis debate the actual intentions in the situation as Charlie drops to the floor, the chair he was just holding showing a lovely outline of his nose and chin… “I think Alan’s kick was aiming for Charlie Matthews regardless of the chair being there. I don’t think anyone can hold him at fault for that. He wasn’t swinging the chair or using it him---“ “HE IS NOW!!” Raaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah!!! The crowd lights up, regardless of whether or not the actual action of Alan Clark lifting the chair off the ground and over his head should be something the crowd cheers. Alan takes a look at the chair and towards both Sexton and James Matheson, who has made his way around the ring to try and get to his man. Behind Clark, Reynolds is running as fast as he can, yelling the whole way… “Don’t do it!! DON’T DO IT!!” “I don’t think he can hear anything right now, King” Mak, the Suicide King, and everyone in the Rose Gardens eyes are on Clark as he raises the chair above his head, looking to bring it down onto the skull of Charlie Matthews, his SWF career hanging in the balance if he chooses to do what his eyes are burning to do. “WISH…UPON…THIS!” ……. …….. Thud. Walter Reynolds almost screams as the chair begins to move down in a vicious arc towards the Grappler, only to fall out of Alan’s grip and hit the floor unceremoniously with a weak thud. Alan turns back towards Walter, his trademark smile all but wiped from his face as he heads back around the ring toward the entrance ramp, leaving a recovered Charlie Matthews sitting on his knees with James Matheson above him, the entire Rose Garden watching on as “When You Wish Upon A Star” restarts with Alan walking back to the locker room, Walter Reynolds in pursuit. Just before he passes through the curtain he turns back to the crowd and looks up to the heavens, smiling once again, as if listening to the sweet sounds coming from all throughout the building…. …pixie dust falling from the ceiling as he heads through the curtain and Storm fades to another commercial break.

Fixed to Thurzzzzday.

No, Akira. And the Lockdown card is done, sans descriptions and markers. Should be up somewhat soon. Anyone wanting to volunteer for marking, PM me please. This card is huge.

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=- SWF STORM Live, Friday, October 6th, from the Rose Garden in Portland, Oregon! (7pm PST, 10pm EST; check local listings) (Send all promos/marked matches to chirs3) -=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=- ZyKira (Zyon and Akira Kaibatsu) vs. Rainhawk, or Nighina, or however you'd like to combine their names (Nighthawk and Scotty Raina) -> Zyon and AKira have tagged before, including in one of my favorite house rules matches, The May 31st Movement in Tienanman Square, and while they didn't quite succeed there, there's no denying these two have talent and chemistry. The wrestling kind, not the romantic kind. Looking to turn their recent luck around, tonight they pair up to take on the team of Nighthawk, fresh off a victory over Amy Stephens, and Scotty Raina! Rules: Standard tag team match. Word Limit: 5000 Send to: Ace309 -=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=- Charlie "Grappler" Matthews vs. Disney Sponsored Alan Clark -> Anyone worrying about Clark suffering from ring rust can breathe a sigh of relief, as he has been very impressive since his return. So impressive, in fact, that we're kicking him up the card, and putting him against GRAPPLAH~!!~! Rules: Standard singles match. Word Limit: 5000 Send to: Longdogger_Pete -=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=- Ultimo Phantasmo vs. Scion of Light -> The world's going to hell in a handbasket, what with all these plane delays and random power outages that plagued last weeks show. We have no idea who won what yet, so let's just ignore that. I think these two can put on a hell of a match, and that's all the justification I need. Word Limit: 4500 Send to:chirs3 -=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=- NEXT WEEK: Bruce Blank vs. Johnny Dangerous, for the International Championship! Nemesis vs. Jimmy the Doom, for the Hardcore Championship! And I'm fairly certain (say, 52%) we'll have Zyon vs. Michael Stephens, for the Cruiserweight Championship! But maybe not, because I think something else might happen. I'll get back to you on that. One of these days, people. One of these days, I'm going to compile an official list of everyone who gets Storm off, and I'm going to hire private detectives to track you down, so I can go where you live and leave angry post-it notes on your doors. Harumph! And in the event I accidentally booked someone who does get Storms off, shoot me a PM and I'll get it fixed ASAP. I think our list is accurate, but you never know... well, I never know. You probably do.

... there's got to be an awesome comeback here somewhere, but I can't find it. First person to cover it for me gets the World Title I just stripped from Toxxic.

OK then. Since it originally said monday, and since most of the matches aren't here yet, might as well officially make it monday. 10:00 EST, Monday Night. No exceptions. Send to the same markers. In the meantime, Lockdown card will be going up sometime soon.

While I attempt to get this thing sorted out, I'll just let you guys know now - since Lockdown is title-match-o-riffic, you'll be getting an extra day for it. Card will be going up tomorrow afternoon (well, I guess this afternoon, whatever), and stuff'll be due on Thursday instead of Wednesday to make up for the delay. Sorry again.

It's today. I just got home, is all. EDIT: Oooh, I see what you mean. The card said Monday, cause I used the Smarkdown template and forgot to change it. D'oh. Don't have much of a show yet anyway. Surprise surprise. EDIT EDIT: Ok, so apparently I've made a nice mess of things. The good news is, we'll soon have one or two new faces poking around the CC folder to help keep things organized, so I won't do stupid crap like this again. Also, next week I start a schedule that gets me home at 11:00, barring emergencies, so shows should stop going up at 5:00 AM.

Kinda sad that such a great premise is just barely good enough to keep my interest. That said, tonight's episode was better than the last two. They finally gave us something on St. Louis Cop other than HE KNOWS STUFF~!, so that was good.

It doesn't help that he's running the same storyline every season. "How can I rebel against my parents and fuck up my life this year?" -- Fall in love with my life coach whose son is as old as me. -- Fall in love with a crazy neo-nazi bitch. -- Become a scientologist. Rather than running him through this cycle over and over again, they should've kept following up on the Eva fallout. I know some people here didn't care for it, but I thought the beginning of his spiral-out-of-control in Season 3 (going to the tranny bar, then beating the shit out of that girl for being pre-op) was actually kind of interesting (and a little scary). I was expecting him to go into a full blown sexual identity crisis, but they ended up cutting it pretty short, and just went back to the "Let's see what wacky people Matt will get involved with next!" routine. Guess we're liking the show for different reasons, then, because I thought the first season was the weakest. It picked up towards the end (the episode with Sean talking to his cadaver head sticks out), but mostly it felt to me like a vanilla, run of the mill soap opera, with slightly more likeable characters. Season 2 took on a nice bit of dark humor, and the stories started getting a little stranger, a little more demented, which is what hooked me on the series in the first place.

Technichally, he only overpowered two. Then he just outran them. Even so, I agree with you, it's a bit of a stretch.

They did make it a point to show that Matt was working out, both in the garage and at the gym, earlier this season. I agree with some of the sentiments in this thread, but overall I am enjoying this season quite a bit, and I'm surprised that some of you think the fact that it's over the top is bad. Nip/Tuck is at it's best when it's over the top. The Carver? The rival plastic surgeon whose name I forget kidnapping Christian to do a face transplant? The entire Eva saga? You can't tell me those were all normal, and that NOW they're starting to go nuts - the show has always been twisted.

We don't really have any touring going on right now, so yeah - next show we'll hit the Kingdome.

Ah, yes. Sorry about that.

Dub Cee speaks the truth. Storm has no weekend writing time, so it's the most requested off. Although I suspect most people do it to spite me. Reworking the tag match - those involved, stay tuned.

Jimmy vs. Tom is up. The rest... not so much.

It’s all over but the final match, the ultimate contest, the main event if you will. “The following match is scheduled for ONE FALL and it is for the SWF International Title!! Introducing first… “ Funyon starts off as Disturbed’s “Hell” echoes through the Key Arena. “Introducing first from Calgary… Alberta, Canada. He earned a shot at the title by beating the International champion in his return match – THIS!! Is JAAAAAAAAAAACOB HELMSLEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEY!!!” The crowd begins to boo the moment the lanky raggedy looking Helmsley steps into the spotlight and then marches towards the ring with a determined look in his eyes. He walks up the steps and enters the ring while tapping his steel pipe against the ring post. Helmsley removes his long black trenchcoat and then adjusts his facemask while waiting for his opponent. “That’s certainly an… interesting facemask Helmsley is wearing King, do you know anything about it?” Mak asks. “Yes I do. It’s a mask and it covers his face” King says. “You’re always so helpful King” “And his opponent: The current SWF International champion. This is BRUCEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE BLANK!!” Funyon announces as smoke starts to billow out from the entrance. ”I… AM… IRON MAN!!” BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!! “Bruce is a saint! He’s an example of what spirit and willpower can overcome when you have a burning desire for something” King says. “WHAT??” “He went out there and wrestled on Aftershock despite a really bad eye infection and an elbow injury that would probably have crippled a normal man” King explains as the crowd boos Bruce’s impending arrival. “Oh stop it King!” “Hey a lot of young wrestlers could learn something from Bruce’s dedication to the sport, he’s an old pro” King keeps on extolling Bruce’s imaginary virtues “Give me a break!” Mak moans as he slaps his forehead. “He’s my choice for Inspirational wrestler of the year Mak!” The front end of Bruce’s custom Dodge Charge slowly emerges from the smoke, the image of Bruce as the Reaper captured by the camera as everyone focuses on the entrance. It rolls forward out of the mist, slowly… slowly revealing a guy sitting in the backseat, International title around his waist, smoking a big cigar WAYNE BLANK?? huh.gif The moment Helmsley sees that it’s Bruce’s younger brother in the back seat and not the International himself he turns around. If he had turned a moment earlier he would have seen Bruce come through the crowd. But since the car distracted him all Helmsley can do now is clench and take it as Bruce launches himself at his opponent with a massive shoulder block that hits Helmsley square in the chest. *THUD!!* “YES!! YES!! Come on Bruce you can finish this quickly and go home!” King yells. Bruce hooks one of Jacob’s legs for a quick cover ONE!! TWO!!! But that’s all she wrote as Helmsley kicks out, denying Bruce a quick victory. Bruce quickly gets to his feet and then launches himself at Helmsley once more, this time knocking the Hardcore specialist down with a bone rattling lariat. “He got right up from that! Helmsley’s got AMAZING resiliency” Mak marvels as Helmsley almost no-sells the lariat by getting up pretty quickly after being hit. *THUD!!* A second Lariat hits its mark and this time Helmsley stays down, after all a shoulder tackle and two lariats is enough to make ANYONE stay down even someone as tough as Jacob Helmsley. With Helmsley down Bruce takes a moment to turn to the crowd and rub in the fact that he’s the International champion and there is nothing they can do about it. WHITEEEEEEEEEEE TRASH!! WHITEEEEEEEEEEE TRASH!! “He should focus on the match instead of showboating” Mak complains “He looks like he’s doing pretty well Mak, besides how can you argue with his success, after all he’s the second longest reigning International champion that’s no small feat” King counters. “He won’t make it much longer if this keeps up” Mak prophesizes And just to make Mak Francis look really good Helmsley grabs Bruce by the trunks and rolls him up for a surprise pinfall attempt of his own. ONE!! TWO!!! NO MORE!! “This isn’t going to be as short as it was on Aftershock” Mak says stating the obvious fact. “Not with the title on the line no, Bruce is a totally different kind of animal when he’s defending the title than any other night” King replies. “So no eye infection this week King? Was his pre-match hot dogs cooked right?” Mak says making fun of the lame excuses Bruce gave after losing to Helmsley. While Blank and Helmsley have been trading surprise pinfalls Wayne has pulled the four title belts out from the trunk and is now headed over to the announcers table where he deposits all FIVE title belts, presumably for Bruce to retrieve them once he’s won the match. “You’re looking at FIVE reasons why Bruce is my number one guy right now” King says as Wayne lines up the International, the ICTV, the US, the JL World and the JL European title in front of King and Mak. “It’s one title King” Mak says dismissing Bruce’s claim “That’s funny I see five titles, each of them with Bruce’s name on them” “This one has a strip of tape on it with Bruce Blank written on it” Mak says as he examines the Junior League World title. After kicking out Bruce approaches the match a bit more cautiously, not just rushing in to attack his opponent but instead holding back and taking his time. The two men lock up in the traditional collar and elbow tie up that sees Bruce force Helmsley back into the corner due to his superior power. *WHAP!!* Bruce strikes Helmsley over the back of the head with one of his trademark clubbing forearms and then fires off a series of clenched fists to the face and then when Helmsley covers up the face hits the Canadian down low with a couple of kidney shots. BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!! The big man is relentless, letting fist after fist rain down over his trapped opponent while ignoring any and all pleads from referee Slappowitch to break it up. It’s not until Izzy reaches a count of 4 that Bruce takes a step back, then when Izzy seems to relax a bit Bruce lunges forward with another series of forearm shots and closed fists to the head, to the neck and to the gut. “Man Bruce could turn pro” King says as he enjoys the beating Bruce is administering. “What do you mean turn pro? He’s already a pro wrestler” “I mean a professional Boxer Mak, he reminds me of a young Jacob Tyson” King says with a grin. “Yeah if a young Tyson ate too much greasy food and just went in there wailing away blindly” Mak mutters. “ONE!! COME OUT OF THE CORNER BRUCE!!” Izzy says while raising a finger in the air. Another shot to the back of the head hits Helmsley who’s trying to protect himself from the clubbing blows with little success “TWO!!” Just like “one” “two doesn’t really seem to register with Bruce as he strikes Helmsley in the mid-section. “THREE!! I’M WARNING YOU!!” Izzy says as he tries to push himself in between Helmsley and Blank. “Get out of my face” Bruce snarls. “If you throw ONE more punch then I’m throwing the match out” Slappowitch threatens. Something which seems to just make Bruce smile, after all he’d retain his title that way. “And I’m holding up the title too” Now THAT hit home with Bruce! The champion quickly backs off to not risk his title any further. Slappowitch makes sure Bruce stays back as Helmsley comes out from the corner. The Hardcore Specialist defiantly steps out into the middle of the ring and stares at Bruce. The determination is etched on the challenger’s face, the fire is lit in his eyes – there is no way in hell he’s going to back down from THIS fight. “Helmsley is far from beaten King” “Yeah but you’ve got to admit Bruce is doing a pretty good job of getting him there” With his arms raised, looking for another collar and elbow lock up Bruce moves forward ready to engage his opponent. All he gets for his trouble is a right quick elbow to the jaw as Jacob fakes left, then goes right, ducking under Bruce’s arms after striking the big man in the face. The elbow doesn’t so much hurt Bruce, nor is it supposed to it is more to show that Helmsley is far from done. “See he’s not out of it yet” Mak says with a smug expression. The two wrestlers keep staring at each other, Bruce with a confident but determined look on his face as he stalks his battered opponent while Jacob looks defiant and angry as he faces a man that stands for everything that he hates. They try to lock up once again and once again Jacob fakes left and then goes right – right into a knee from Bruce that is. “You can only outsmart Bruce so many times before he catches on” “Yeah I believe it’s 20 times or so King” Jacob got caught trying to go to the well again and Bruce isn’t about to let up as he grabs Helmsley by the throat and then pushes / throws Helmsley into the corner with a bone rattling thud. ONE!! One massive fist after another is driven into Jacob’s back and shoulder area as Bruce tries his best to pound Helmsley into the ground. TWO!! “He’s risking his title here!” Mak warns Blank “Naw he isn’t not if he stops at four, Slappowitch wouldn’t dare do anything before that” King states. THREE!! Bruce doesn’t even spare Izzy a moment’s notice as he pounds Helmsley down into a seated position covering up as Bruce’s lefts and rights strike him over and over. FOUR!! Bruce backs off before Slappowitch can raise his hand for the fifth time, he doesn’t want to run the risk of being stripped of the title. The moment he backs off Helmsley stands up again and takes a step forward to show Bruce that he can take whatever Bruce dishes out in a display of determination and probably anger too. “How the hell is he even standing?” Mak asks without getting an actual reply back Helmsley defiantly refuses to back down or even acknowledge that he is probably hurt pretty badly and instead just raises his right hand and invites Bruce to “come on” “Amazing, Helmsley is made of stern stuff” Mak gushes “Yeah but he’s Canadian so he’ll fold any minute now.” King replies. The big man decides that he’s not about to let Helmsley show him up and he quickly charges at his much smaller opponent, only to fall straight into a trap as Helmsley leaps forwards and knocks Bruce’s legs out from under him with a shoulder tackle. The tackle is followed up by a quick leg drop across the back of Bruce’s head with Helmsley being a bit off center due to his dazed state. Helmsley does the best he can to push the pain out of his mind, after all he has knocked the big man down and he can’t afford to let Bruce get back up again. KICK HIS ASS!! KICK HIS ASS!! KICK HIS ASS!! “Are the fans cheering FOR Jacob Helmsley?” King asks in disbelief. “I think it’s more a matter of them cheering AGAINST Bruce” Mak points out While struggling to remain on his feet Helmsley manages to cross Bruce’s legs and then hook his own leg under it to set up for the Indian Death lock also known as the Fear Factor. Helmsley throws all his weight backwards to the ground, wrenching Bruce’s legs and locking the Fear Factor on his opponent. The expression on Bruce’s face is part pain and part rage over Helmsley getting him in such a compromising and painful situation. Bruce tries to reach back and push Helmsley’s foot out of the lock but to no avail, nor can he gouge Jacob’s eyes since Helmsley is prepared for that. Bruce’s face turns red from the pain and the straight but he’s bound and determined to not lose the International title, not like this. Instead of tapping out he gets both arms up under him and then starts to do a press up raising his entire upper body. “Bruce can’t break it that way!” King says speaking from years of experience. “He’s in deep trouble, deep deep trouble King, we could see a new champion crowned tonight” But Bruce didn’t do the press-up to try and power out of the move, instead he uses it to push himself forward a little bit, just enough for him to put his hand on the ropes. ONE!! But just like Bruce Jacob has a problem when it comes to hearing the referee’s instructions as he keeps the move locked on even after Bruce has reached the ropes. TWO!! Helmsley even pretends to have a hard time hearing the referee as he twists the Fear Factor to inflict that last bit of pain on the champion. THREE!! “Payback is a bitch eh?” FOUR!! After four Helmsley untangles himself, he definitely does not want to risk a disqualification tonight since he NEEDS to win in order to take the title home. Helmsley has made good use of the rest he’s gotten and looks much more with it as he waits for Bruce to get back to his feet. Once the big man is up Helmsley rushes him from behind, pushes him into the ropes and then rolls Bruce up for a pin. ONE!! TWOO!!! KICKOUT!!! The kickout propels Helmsley forward, sending him in between the ropes right into the ringpost shoulder first *THUD!!* With his legs still hurting from the Fear Factor Bruce holds back while leaning on the ropes. Helmsley staggers backwards from the corner, clutching his left shoulder after hitting the ringpost. Smelling blood Bruce limps towards Helmsley ready to pounce. Helmsley doesn’t get a chance to orient himself before he’s struck with a vicious lariat to the throat with so much force that it even knocks Bruce down as he sends Helmsley’ ass over elbow *THUD!!* The challenger curls up in the corner, clutching his left arm and pulling hard for his breath after being struck on the throat. While Helmsley is hurting Blank looks like he’s feeling on top of the world, granted he’s limping a bit but he’s massaging his leg to get the circulation going again. After taking a moment to himself Bruce turns back to the attack as he picks his shot and then starts to stomp away on or around Helmsley’s hurt left shoulder and arm, each shot sending waves of pain through his body as Helmsley tries to shield his hurt shoulder as best he can from the kicks. “That’s how quick this can turn around, I thought Helmsley had it, I thought it was in the bag” Mak admits. “Bruce is a sly old dog Mak, he’s got more tricks than a magicians convention” King says like that explains everything. After seven or eight kicks to the shoulder Bruce decides to change tactics and grabs Jacob by the left arm instead. Bruce twists and turns the arm it as he pulls Helmsley back to his feet, making sure he’s inflicting more pain on his opponent with every tug on the arm. Jacob is in a world of hurt, his left arm looks to be weakened to the point where he can hardly use it at all without causing more pain. Despite the pain, despite the immobile arm, his fighting spirit hasn’t been doused yet as he demonstrates by taking a swing at Bruce. The swing misses and he ends up be tossed left shoulder first into the turnbuckle but he’s not out of it yet. Bruce moves in quickly to grab Helmsley by the throat and the tights to hoist the challenger high in the air with a gorilla press slam “I’m sure Helmsley imagined this going a lot better after the last match they had” Mak says once again stating the obvious. “We can’t forget that the last match was a Hardcore match, Bruce has made great strides in adapting to a non-hardcore environment while Helmsley hasn’t really been forced to do that yet” King adds Bruce pumps his arms three times, just to flaunt the fact that he can, before dropping Helmsley chest and shoulder first on the top turnbuckle. The drop causes Helmsley to bounce backwards right into Bruce’s waiting arms once more. Helmsley is spun around and then quickly hoisted off his feet into a power bomb position, once Jacob is up on Bruce’s shoulders he fires off a couple of closed fists to the top of Bruce’s head to break the power bomb attempt. But his desperation tactics are in vain as the big man drops his opponent with a power bomb that drives Jacob back first into the top turnbuckle *WHAM!!* And then flips him forward onto the canvas where he lands on his left arm. “Every move Bruce is hitting is focused on that left arm, Blank is like a shark smelling blood in the water” “You say that like that’s a bad thing Mak, you get an opening and you explore it to the fullest – that’s how it is in professional wrestling. Bruce takes a moment to flex his massive guns, after all he’s in complete control of the match and he feels like celebrating. After a momentary distraction Bruce finally covers Jacob Helmsley expecting a very easy 1-2-3 ONE!! TWOO!!! FOOT UNDER THE ROPE!! “Helmsley lucked out” Says the Suicide King Bruce reaches back and then hooks Jacob’s leg for another pinfall attempt. ONE TWO!! THR-KICKOUT!! Helmsley right shoulder shoots off the canvas before Izzy’s hand can make contact with the ground for the 3rd time. Bruce looks very frustrated and annoyed as he hasn’t been able to put down Jacob for the 3 count after all the punishment he’s administered. Instead of letting his frustrations get the best of him Bruce tries really hard to keeps his focus on the match and on his opponent as to not give Helmsley another open. Bruce pulls Helmsley up by the hair and then whips him into the corner with an arrogant smirk. “Unbelievable!!” Mak says as Helmsley’s fighting spirit flares up again. Jacob staggers out from the corner, cradling his left arm, face contorted with pain, sweat pouring off him like he has been walking the Sahara desert for 40 days but with steely determination and anger in his eyes as he once again invites Bruce to “come on”. Bruce’s face is a picture of disbelief as the much smaller, scrawnier Jacob Helmsley is daring the big man to come at him once while struggling to even stay on his feet. Instead of rushing Helmsley like he did last time and then got trapped Bruce slowly approaches Jacob, spreading his massive arms out to try and keep Helmsley trapped in the corner. “Helmsley is a tough customer, he’s shown that plenty of times but I think he’s about to hit the wall” King says. “He *IS* but you’ve got to wonder how much more punishment he can take before his body says “no mas” King?” Helmsley tries to duck under Bruce’s right arm but instead gets caught around the throat by the Redneck Superman and then thrown, nay hurled up and over the top turnbuckle as Bruce unleashes his awesome power. “One handed over the top rope! What power” King gushes “What an asshole” Mak adds “What a powerful asshole then” King says completing Mak’s sentence. ONE!! Izzy starts to count Jacob out as the challenger is on the ringside mat, holding his left arm and rattled from being tossed over the top rope to the floor. TWO!! The King of Pain just stays in his corner, watching as Slappowitch counts. THREE!! “I’m sure Bruce will be more than happy to take a count out victory” On the floor Jacob Helmsley has gotten up onto his knees although he’s still bent over in agony. FOUR!! “Hey if that means Bruce walks out of here with the gold you know he will, he’ll do ANYTHING to keep the title” King says. Ever so slowly Helmsley gets back up to his feet, staggering as he tries to make it over to the apron FIVE!! “He’s actually up? He’s tougher than a 2 dollar steak!” Mak says. “Yes thank you Jim Ross” When Jacob puts a hand on the apron to steady himself Bruce finally moves out of the corner and heads over to where his opponent is struggling to stay on his feet. Bruce forces Slappowitch to break the count as he reaches over the top rope and grabs Helmsley by the hair. Jacob is forced to climb up on the apron or lose a large handful of hair as Bruce pulls on the Hardcore specialist’s black hair. Once Helmsley is up on the apron Bruce reaches down and grabs him by the cargo pants and then lifts Jacob Helmsley up over his head once more. “Fly Helmsley Fly!!” “Oh no he wouldn’t!! Not into the crowd” Mak laments as Bruce gets ready to throw Helmsley from the ring. Helmsley lashes out before Bruce can throw him anywhere and strikes Bruce in the throat with a straight fingered jab. The jab to the throat causes the big man to drop Helmsley to the canvas behind him as he gasps for air. Helmsley lands on his feet right behind Bruce and right in front of the referee. Even while sucking for air Bruce has enough presence of mind to launch himself backwards into Jacob Helmsley driving him into Slappowitch and then driving both of them hard into the turnbuckles. *THUD!!* “Here comes Izzy’s workman’s comp payout!” King quips. “Will you be serious!!” The impact knocks Slappowitch to the canvas knocking him out from the collision. Helmsley took less of a brunt but the angle of the impact caused him to roll through the ropes and is on the apron clutching his left arm in agony. The big man takes a couple of raspy breaths with his hands resting on his knees before turning his attention back towards his challenger. Bruce is a little surprised to see referee Slappowitch on the floor but then smiles as he realizes what it means. “Oh shit, Bruce has a totally free reign now” Mak says with dread in his voice. “Alright!! Bruce has a totally free reign now” King says with the opposite of dread in his voice. Bruce steps through the ropes with a confident grin, he even takes the time to walk down the ringsteps to spare his still aching legs a bit. After walking down the steps Bruce grabs the top half of the metal steps and pushes it away, then he drags the base of the metal steps away from the ring post with something nasty in mind. “Come on now this CAN’T be right! Peters is going to be pissed” Mak laments. With the metal steps in position Bruce grabs his opponent by the back of the hair and drags him off the apron so that he’s standing chest to chest with Bruce. Blank raises a fist in the air with one finger extended already celebrating his victory, already revelling in the pain he’s looking to inflict… Which only increases the surprise of Jacob Helmsley kneeing Bruce in the guts to bend him over, then swiftly locking on a headlock for a desperation Evenflow DDT the ringsteps. *BLAM!* “HOLY SHIT!!” Mak yells out as Helmsley surprises everyone. “I can’t believe it!” King says in … well disbelief. Both men are still down, Jacob is on the ground holding his shoulder in sheer agony and Bruce is laying there because he just got his head driven into the steel steps of course. Since Slappowitch isn’t recovered enough to administer a count they are not currently in danger of being counted out. In fact there is very little activity of any kind “If that idiot Slappowitch knew how to take a blow we’d be home by now” King complains. “He’s a referee not a wrestler!” Jacob Helmsley slowly gets back to his feet then tries to pull Bruce into the ring as best he can with just his right arm. Helmsley is dragging and pulling as much as he can on Bruce, slowly, ever so slowly succeeding in getting the champion up on the apron. “Bruce is out cold!” Mak realizes. Once Bruce is all the way in the ring he reveals that he’s been over playing his state a bit to let Jacob exert a lot of energy while dragging the big man into the ring, only sightly though as he’s still dazed. Bruce lashes out backwards at Helmsley only to have his arm caught by the challenger, then quickly twisted around into a cradle roll up by Helmsley. ONE!! “This has GOT to be it” Mak states TWO!! “New champion?” THR-KICKOUT!! Blank BARELY kicks out at three and does so more on instinct than anything up really since he’s still feeling the effects of being DDT’ed on the ring steps. Helmsley rolls off Bruce (making sure to roll over his right shoulder) and then gets back to his feet ready to rumble. Helmsley grabs Bruce to pull him up to his feet, Helmsley then tries to hook on the Stalling STO but the moment he tries to use his left arm he doubles over in pain. “AAAAAAAAAAARRRHH!!” Helmsley’ scream is more from pain and frustration than anything else as he’s not physically able to apply the STO, his left shoulder is simply too hurt to execute the move. Working on sheer frustration Jacob knees Bruce in the gut, then hits his patented “Blackout” that knocks Bruce down and knocks him down hard. “I’m amazed at how Helmsley has managed to claw his way back into the match” Mak says. “I knew he could do it, I’ve said so all along in fact we may be looking at a new Champion here” After dropping a couple of knees the side of Bruce’s leg Helmsley backs off a bit and then motions for Bruce to “come on” just to stick it to his opponent once more. Helmsley demonstrates without a shadow of a doubt that he can take what Bruce dishes out and that just because his left arm is next to useless he’s not ready to quit just yet. “Oh there is a lot of fight left in this dog” Mak says drawing on clichés older than dirt. The taunting has it’s desired effect on Bruce it enrages him enough to get back on his feet. At first he staggers but soon rage shines from his eyes as he charges at Jacob like the proverbial Bull in a China shop. Helmsley ducks under the lunging Bruce, the moment the big man turns around *POW!!* DROP KICK TO THE KNEE!! “Bruce’s knee cap just got kicked into the 5th row!” Mak says as Bruce drops to one knee after the blow and then falls backwards into the corner. Helmsley senses his opening and quickly moves in, grabs Bruce by the hair and then Bulldogs the champion in the middle of the ring. The challenger wastes little time in wrapping Bruce’s legs up in the Indian Death lock position before throwing all of his 227 pounds backwards down on the canvas to apply the Fear Factor. “Helmsley has him right where he wants him, Bruce could tap out any moment!” Mak yells out as the excitement gets to him. “This is perfect for Helmsley, he doesn’t have to worry about his shoulder here its all in the legs” Helmsley uses his free foot to help push on the legs thus increasing the strain on Bruce’s legs as he twists and turns them in ways legs aren’t mean to be twisted and turned. Bruce’s face looks more like a gargoyle than a human face right now as it’s so contorted in pain and suffering from the Fear Factor. TAP OUT!! TAP OUT!! TAP OUT!! Helmsley knows that he just has to keep the pressure on and keep Bruce just out of reach of the ropes. The Champion desperately tries his best to stretch out as far as he can and grab salvation, but the rope is two frustrating inches away from his hand and Bruce is not able to crawl closer. “I thought he was supposed to stay in the car?” Mak complains as Wayne leaps out of the Dodge Charger and runs to ringside. Wayne quickly assess the situation and then pushes the bottom rope into Bruce’s hand when Izzy looks away. “He just saved his brother’s hide!” Mak yells out as Izzy makes Helmsley break the hold. Helmsley remains on the canvas after breaking the hold, the pounding he’s taken through out the match is finally catching up with him as he needs a moment before he can even contemplate moving. That turns out to be a mistake as an enraged and agonized Blank rolls over and grabs Helmsley’s left arm, lifts it up so that Helmsley’s elbow is under his own shoulder and then pulls down on it hard with both hands. “ARM BAR!!” King yells out. The angle of the elbow coupled with the damage already done to Helmsley’s left shoulder means that it doesn’t take long before *TAP*TAP*TAP!!* BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!! Bruce rolls off Helmsley the moment he hears the tapping and then rolls out under the bottom rope to the floor. “Bruce can’t even stand up!!” Mak says as Bruce collapses in a heap on the ground as his legs are too hurt to sustain his body weight. “Yes but he’s still the champion!” King gets in before we hit the end credits.

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=- SWF SMARKDOWN Live, Monday, October 2nd, from the Key Arena in Seattle, Washington! (7pm PST, 10pm EST; check local listings) (Send all promos/marked matches to chirs3) -=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=- SWF INTERNATIONAL CHAMPIONSHIP MATCH Bruce Blank vs. Jacob Helmsley -> Jacob Helmsley's return was both very successful and extremely violent - two words that adequately describe his opponent tonight! Bruce Blank's jaws-of-life hold on the International Title may be coming to an end tonight, as he faces the man that beat him pillar to post two weeks ago! Rules: Standard singles match. -=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=- Jimmy the Doom vs. Tom Flesher -> Jimmy the Doom picked up a big big win over Landon Maddix last show - he's moving up the ladder, the next rung of which is the recently disgraced Tom Flesher! Rules: Standard singles match. Word Limit: 5000 Send to: JJ Johnson -=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=- Zyon vs. Landon "La Cucaracha" Maddix -> Peters has decided his new purpose in life is to make Zyon miserable for his Genesis absence. First stop on the Zyon Misery Tour - Landon Maddix! Maddix suffered a Hardcore defeat at the hand of Jimmy the Doom, and I imagine he will not be going easy on the Unique Youth tonight! Rules: Standard singles match. -=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=- Alan Clark vs. Scotty "The Crush" Raina -> Alan Clark made short work of the Scion upon his return, so we thought we'd give our other nooblet a chance to take down the Disney machine. Rules: Standard singles match. -=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=- Nighthawk vs. Amy Stephens -> Jay Hawke's mystery friend is revealed, and Peters is giving him some pretty stiff competition right off the bat, but considering his experience, Amy may be the one in trouble! Nighthawk used to wrestle with his partner Jay way back in the day, and to hear him tell it, he was quite successful. Let's see if he can shake off the ring rust and rise once again. Rules: Standard singles match. -=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=- Ultimo Phantasmo vs. Mike Van Siclen -> A rookie who never quite got off the ground, Ultimo Phantasmo gets a second chance tonight, but there'll be no lowly Ced or Martin Hunt for him tonight! Instead, he's kicking off his SWF career against a pissed off Mike Van Siclen! Rules: Standard singles match.

SWF Smarkdown returns from a commercial for the Frost-brand engergy drink, Caux: "FILL YOUR HOLE WITH CAUX!" and it would seem that Tom Flesher isn't waiting around, as Led Zeppelin's "Kashmir" roars through the speakers, accompanied of course by brilliant blue pyro. BOOM! "Ladies and gentlemen..." Funyon begins. "Wait just a second, Fun-bag! I know you're from around here, but it's not like you'll do a better job in front of your family, so just let a professional handle this!" shouts James Matheson. "Tonight, the soul-crushing depression that comes from living in such a pathetic town as Seattle will be lifted, very briefly, because Tom Flesher is about to step foot inside a wrestling ring. However, seeing as how a freak occurance happened in Toronto, Tom is without a title, so he's looking to put on an abbreviated demonstration of his skill as he takes apart Jimmy the Doom. Sadly, this means that he's only going to toy with the so-called champion for a short amount of time before he defeats that gangly moron yet again and goes back on the hunt for bigger and better titles." Flesher walks down the ramp, slides off his warmup suit and rolls inside the ring. You know, a lot of people don't like Tom, but he's got damn fine taste in music, especially compared to the rest of the roster. Man, I really love Zep. Shame I never got a chance to see them live. "Look, Hall, you heard James, I want to make this quick, so don't dick around, okay?" Tom mutters to the ref. "I sat on my keys, and it's starting to ache a bit." "Tom, you know I always call things right down the middle. If you want this to end soon, you'll have to put in the work." "Like you know anything about that," Flesher mumbles. Damn it, he's trying to piss me off, but I'm not going to let him get to me. I mean, I was in the fucking Breakfast Club! "What do you mean, Tom?" "Well, in the Dead Zone, Walken played the same character in the movie. That means you're pretty much set, since no matter how shitty of an actor you are, and trust me, you're worse than Wes fucking Davenport, there's no way you'll be able to over act Walken," Tom says. Oh, that's it. He crossed the line there. First time he steps out of line, I'm disqualifying him. I'm sick and tired of getting pushed around by guys like him. Don't even know why I still ref since Dead Zone's going so well. "Kashmir" stops suddenly and the lights drop to black. The sound of many marching feet echoes throughout the arena, as does a single word being chanted continuously. Doom! Doom! Doom! Doom! The lights come back on to reveal ten druids flanking the ring, and Boots Randolph's "Yakety Sax" blares over the speakers. Man, why did I have to draw Flesher versus Doom? These two will be going at it all night. Jimmy the Doom walks out, Lois just behind with the Hardcore belt in tow. "And his..." "How dare you?!" Matheson screeches. "It may be Jimmy the Doom, but he's still Tom Flesher's opponent, so you have to do things properly. Well, not you, since you'll only screw it up, but I have to do things properly. Now introducing 'the Superior One' Tom Flesher's opponent! He is a man, like much of the Smarks Wrestling Federation, is winless against Tom Flesher! Additionally, he is being accompanied by a woman that would require at least two bottles of Dalmore Cigar Malt scotch before she becomes mildly attractive. Regardless, Tom's opponent is opponent is the Hardcore champion. Now, consider this fact: as much as Tom Flesher supposedly disrespected the Cruiserweight title, he still cared enough to actually win it. What does it say about the Hardcore belt that Tom's never possessed it? Anyway, the man about to be torn asunder by your Superior One in about five minutes is Jimmy the Doom." Jesus Christ, is Matheson the world's most unpleasant person? A little confused by the scathing introduction, Jimmy clambers up the ring steps and ducks under the top rope into the squared circle. Lois takes a seat next to Funyon, title belt folded in her lap, and referee Anthony Michael Hall begins the illegal weapons check. "Okay, guys, let's try to have a clean match, though I know that you're incapable of that, Tom, so should I just DQ you right now?" "Oh, come on, Mikey, let me see if I can't surprise you," Tom says. Not fucking likely. Not bothering to converse with the unintelligible Doomtopian, Hall signals for the bell. DING! DING! DING! The Straight-Bread Sensation charges Flesher, lowers his head, and nails Tom square in the chest with a Zinedine Zidane headbutt. Tom stumbles backwards, but manages to wrap his right arm around Doom's head, locking in a front headlock. Flesher slips his left arm under Jimmy's right and clasps his hands together. 'The Superior One' arches his back, then pushes Doom forward, putting the Hardcore champ on his BUTT. Flesher slowly lowers himself to one knee, and then snares Jimmy in a body scissors. Well, Tom might be lucky, he's got that Wet Cement hold on tight. I hope he's using a choke so I can disqualify him. Hall drops to the mat to check on Tom's arm placement, but finds everything legit. "Jimmy, you want to give up right now?" Doom waves the referee away, and begins looking for an escape. As Tom tightened his hold on the Straight-Bread Sensation's neck, he thought back to his childhood days growing up in Buffalo. Young Tom spent many an hour with his uncle, Honky Tonk Man Flesher, learning myriad ways to disguise illegal activities, whether it was cheating on tests, or, as the years went by and Tom became more athletic, hiding various objects in his uniforms. A popular technique his beloved uncle taught him was to discretely throw handfuls of dirt into the eyes of baserunners and fielders alike, a tactic which helped lead Tom's highschool baseball team to two straight state titles, then ten years of athletic probation. As he reminisced, Flesher bitterly recalled that it was his uncle, and not his father that taught him these things. In fact, nearly every happy childhood memory Tom had was with his uncle. He could remember precious few times he got to spend with his father, and practically all of them ended in dissapointment on either Tom or his dad's end. "Damn, it, Dad, I tried my hardest! Why couldn't you ever just accept that?!" Flesher shouts, startling not only himself, but everyone within twenty feet of the ring. Upon the outburst, Tom had loosened his grip on Doom's head, and Jimmy, knowing full well he's got little chance to escape on his own, takes the opportunity granted to him. The Straight-Breader shoves against 'the Superior One's' chest, nearly popping his head free, but Tom recovers quickly and clamps down on Jimmy's neck. Hall leaps into action as soon as he notices the choke. YES! Got you now, bitch! "One! Two! Three! Four! Better let go, Flesher! Fi..." Tom slides his forearm up Doom's neck and grinds it on Jimmy's jaw, breaking the choke. God damn it! I need to count faster... "Watch it, Tom, you wouldn't want to lose two in a row, would you?" That'll show that prick. "If I do, will you console me? I mean, you know how to handle loss, since you got beaten out on, what was it, thirty consecutive movie roles?" Tom asks. "Just do your damn job." How fucking dare he?! I was in fucking Weird Science! Trying to ignore Tom's jibe, Anthony Michael Hall checks on Doom's condition, but is waved off once more. Having been born and raised in Doomopolis, Jimmy the Doom was no stranger to wet cement. However, up until his career in the Smarks Wrestling Federation, he, along with every other Doomopolitan, knew wet cement to be a hearty meal, usually served with a potato-based side dish, typically the exotic Potatoes Fandango. Jimmy still wasn't sure if it was a misunderstanding between his country's government and the private contractors that led the building material to be used as a foodstuff, or simply the government looking for a cheap way to feed its citizens. Nevertheless, while trapped in Tom Flesher's wet cement, Jimmy is in quite a pickle, which, coincidentally, is often used to balance the flavors of wet cement and Potatoes Fandango. "Come on, Jimmy, you've got to do something or I'll call this match." "Might as well call it, Tony, it's not like string bean here's going to get out," Tom says. "Mrrpgh!" Doom grunts. Jimmy tries to shove Tom away, but 'the Superior One' isn't going anywhere. Doom quickly changes his approach and begins pulling himself toward the ring ropes. Not so cocky now, huh, Tommy? Tommy, can you hear me? The Who's good and all, but I've still got to give the crown of rock kings to Zep. Probably doesn't help that all the CSI's use The Who for theme music. Dead Zone should use Zep for theme music. The Straight-Bread Sensation continues to drag himself toward the ropes, and he finally is able to grasp the middle cable. "One! Two! Three! Four! Give it up or get disqualified, Tom! Fi-" Flesher drops back and rolls to his left, breaking Doom's grip on the ropes. Damn it! Tom sits up, checks his position in the ring, and scoots backwards, taking Jimmy the Doom to the middle of the ring. The Straight-Bread Sensation throws his hands up and presses them against Flesher's face, trying to pry Tom away, but 'the Superior One' remains solid. Desperate to escape the hold, Jimmy slams a fist into the side of Tom's jaw. However, due to the close proximity, Doom can't get much force behind it, a fact Tom isn't eager to ingore, though. "Come on, Mikey, that's illegal! Do your fucking job!" Flesher shouts. "No closed fists, Jimmy." Fuckin' prick. Like one little punch is so much worse than choking a guy for four seconds five times in a row. The Hardcore champion rears back and smacks Tom with a perfectly legal shotei instead, and then another, and a third, crossfacing him with palm strikes. Jimmy pulls his hand back and jabs it into the sheet of muscle covering Flesher's carotid artery. 'The Superior One' sputters, but keeps his hold locked on tight. "That's perfectly legal, Tommy, so don't even bother complaining." Doom reaches back for another Hand of Doom, but Tom sees it coming and tucks his chin. This results in the tip of Jimmy's middle finger catching Tom flush on the eyeball. "Son of a bitch!" Tom roars. "God damn it, Mikey, do your job and call it!" "Watch those hands." Not so great when it happens to you, is it, Tommy? Upset over the mild warning, 'the Superior One' slides his forearm down, placing it across the Straight-Bread Sensation's neck and clamps down with a choke. "One! Two! Three! Four! Let go or hit the showers, Tom! Fi-" Tom lets go of the choke as his eye continues to water, but only for a moment as he slaps it on again. "One! Two! Three! Four! Come on, Tom! Fi-" Flesher releases the illegal hold and glares at Hall. "This match should be over, Hall. He went right for my eye," Tom complains. "You do the exact same thing three or four times a match, don't give me that shit!" "Not my fault if the other guys don't properly enforce the rules, but I'm telling you to enforce this one right now!" Flesher shouts. Yeah, as if I'm going to kowtow to your every whim. "Hey, Mikey, I'm telling you to call this fucking match right now!" Tom yells. Hall rolls his eyes and drops to check on Jimmy the Doom's condition. "Don't you dare ignore me, you little shit," Flesher grumbles. Ignore you? I'll ignore whoever I want! I was in fucking National fucking Lampoon's fucking Vacation! Tom is left to stew as referee Anthony Michael Hall remains on his knees, intent on noticing any change in the Hardcore champion. Thinking back on it, Tom could only remember one other time he'd been as mad as he is right now. He was seventeen, and his father had once again found fault in his son: 'No, you're doing it wrong! Jesus, I don't know how you ever made varsity with form like that!" Tom's dad snarled as the soon-to-be 'Superior One' demonstrated his hammerlock escape in the basement. 'Oh, and I guess you use Delinger's Technique exactly the way it's shown every time?' Tom shouted back. 'Don't you fucking take that tone with me, Tommy. And, yes, as a matter of fact, I do it one hundred percent right every time, so why can't you?' 'Maybe if you spent the time teaching me instead of just having uncle Honky Tonk Man Flesher do it, I'd be as good as you!' Flesher screamed, then burst past his father and slammed the door. Jimmy the Doom pops Tom in the face with shotei, snapping him back to reality. Caught offguard, Flesher loosens his grip, and the Straight-Bread Sensation pulls his head out from the wet cement hold. The Hardcore champ scrambles to his feet and hangs on to the top rope as he plots out his next move. Flesher, on the other hand, remains seated on the canvas, staring at the Doomtopian. 'The Superior One' starts to push himself off the mat, and Doom sprints for Tom, nailing him with a knee to the head. Jimmy drops on top of Tom and makes a lateral press. "One! Tw-" Almost, Jimmy, almost. Just make sure you kick his ass. Jimmy climbs to his feet and grabs Tom by the wrists. Doom pulls Flesher's torso off the mat, then lets it hang loose just as he slams a boot into Tom's face, slamming him into the mat. Ooh! Curbstomp. I would have been great in American History X. Not that I'm a neo-Nazi, or anything. Wait, why did I have to clarify that with myself? Shit, am I going crazy? I need to focus on this match. Doom lifts Tom off the mat again, and once more stomps Flesher's head into the canvas. Jimmy tries to lift Flesher a third time, but 'the Superior One' yanks down on Doom's arms, resulting in a spectacular headbutt. It also results in Jimmy the Doom on top of a supine Tom Flesher. "One! Two! T-" Fuck it, I should just give Jimmy a fast count next time. Tom shoves Doom away and gets to his feet. Jimmy isn't far behind, though, and he nails Flesher with a shotei. Tom responds with a palm of his own, but the Straight-Bread Sensation lands two quick palm thrusts on 'the Superior One' before he whips him to the ropes. Tom bounces back, and right into a charging, leaping, twirling Doomtopian, and Flesher eats an elbow to the face. Tom drops to the mat, and Doom lands on top of him with a splash. Luckily for Tom, he was on his stomach at the time, preventing a pinfall attempt. However, it allows the Straight-Breader the chance to slam elbows into the back of Tom's head. Hall leans in to see if he can spot and stop any illegal activity. "Sorry, Tommy, nothing wrong with those." Rather than continue with elbows, Doom decides to transition the strikes into a head vice. Oh, yeah, that's going to work. This guy's a moron. "Whaddya say, Tommy, want to call it quits?" "No, I'll take a cue from you, Mikey. You never gave up even after you won Razzie after Razzie for Worst Actor, despite several year stretches of you not even being in anything," Tom replies, ignoring Jimmy trying desperately to squeeze his skull. I should just call this match right now. Of course, Tom will bitch, but it's not like he accepts every legit loss with dignity and grace. Besides, if Peters ends my contract, I can focus more on acting. Still, it wouldn't be fair. Damn my ethics! They stopped me from filing a false law suit against creepy John Hughes, and damn it, they're going to stop me from unfairly handing this match to Jimmy the Doom. "Fuck you, I was in Sixteen Candles!" "What?" Flesher asks. Shit, I said that part out loud. "What was that? You say you give up?" "No! What the hell were you yelling about?" Tom asks. "Never mind, just let me do my job, Tommy. Sure you don't want to quit?" Flesher chooses to ignore referee Anthony Michael Hall and instead grabs Jimmy the Doom's hands and pulls them apart. How dare Tom Flesher ignore me! I was in Pirates of Silicon Valley! Wait, is it silicone or silicon? One's in tits and one's in chips, but I can never remember which is which. Fuck it, I was Bill fucking Gates! Tom gets to his feet, still holding Jimmy's hands, and spins him around. Flesher locks on the straight jacket and pops his hips, slamming Doom's shoulder into the mat. Fuck! Jim better kick out... "One! Two! Th-" Yes! And Tom's still got a chance at losing. 'The Superior One' stands up, and pulls the Straight-Bread Sensation off the mat, glowering at Anthony Michael Hall the entire time. "Nice slow count, Mikey. Did you have to check your fingers to remember which one came next?" Flesher asks. "No, I was just keeping it slow so you'd be able to follow." "Well, I won't matter how slow you count in a minute. I'm getting pissed off, and a pissed off Tom Flesher is bad news for whoever's in the ring with him." Wow, that sounds scary. Tom buries a knee in Doom's gut, then launches him into the turnbuckles. Flesher charges in after the Hardcore champ and nails him with a Yakuza kick. I don't like where I think this is going...I bet the Suicide King's loving it, though. Total man-crush goin' on there. Tom hoists the Doomtopian off the canvas and plants him on the top rope. Flesher backs up a few steps then, then leaps, aiming a shotei at Jimmy's face. However, Doom manages to lean out of the way, and the spin aspect of the Venus palm strike resulting in 'the Superior One' landing with his back to Jimmy. Doom stands on the top rope, lifts his right leg and jumps, planting his boot in the back of Tom's head and smashing Flesher into the canvas. Holy shit! Tom might be right, I could take all day counting to three and he still wouldn't kick out. Doom rolls 'the Superior One' over and makes a lateral press, taking care to hook both of Tom's legs in the process. "One! Two! Three! That's it, match over!" DING! DING! DING! "James, want to take this one?" Funyon whispers to the angry manager. "Screw you, Funyon." "Ladies and gentlemen, the winner of this match, the reigning Smarks Wrestling Federation Hardcore champion, the Straight-Bread Sensation, Jimmy the Doom!" Funyon yells. Jimmy slides out of the ring, meets with Lois, and the Doomtopian couple walk up the ramp to "Yakety Sax" as Smarkdown fades to a commercial for Danny Williams' Strong Style Ribs Nemesis Platter - "Eat like the Hand of the Gods! The Nemesis Platter comes with nine whole chickens, two slabs each of pork and beef ribs, a gallon each of cole slaw and potato salad, and a small beverage."

Zyon vs. Maddix to be edited in.

”Welcome” Sir Marvelous says with a sly grin as he looks straight into the camera ”To another edition of the HOUSE OF MARVELOUS!!” Sir Marvelous is once again standing between the plush luxurious couch (V3 by now?) and the loveseat looking both splendiferous and totally heterosexual all at once. He looks over his shoulder once, then nods as he sees Mr. Bruner in position by the velvet rope. “Now in my time I’ve seen a lot of weird people in this business” Sir Marvelous says and nods for emphasis “And a lot of weird things too and a lot of those weird things have happened since my guest this week entered the SWF.” “Is it me? It’s got to be me” the Suicide King says with a grin, maybe they finally decided to give him the accolades he so richly deserves. “So without further ado I give you Professor Attenborough and the Monster, the Colossus – NEM-E-SIS!!!” Sir Marvelous bellows out while dramatically pointing at the entrance. ¤ BOOOOOOoooooommmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm ¤ The entire entrance way is filled with green pyrotechnics as the crowd begins to boo and jeer and roast wieners on the fire. Nemesis comes out only moments later breathing smoke and hellfire like always followed closely behind by the man with the book: Professor Attenborough. “Good maybe now we’ll find out what his problem with Jimmy the Doom is” “Maybe it’s the same problem we all have with him Mak? He’s a weirdo and he needs to go back to his own country” Mr. Bruner quickly opens the rope for Nemesis as the big man steps up on the apron, he even gives the only athlete in the SWF that’s bigger than him a little nod of approval as Nemesis passes under the arch. The Professor quickly joins the big man and Sir Marvelous as the music dies down. “No Professor is it true that you discovered Nemesis?” “Yes, yes that’s certainly true Sir Marvelous I was excavating a cave an..” “Marvelous, simply Marvelous” the host says, cutting the professor off before he could bore everyone with a lame tale of archeology. “And now when he showed up he looked like he was TOTALLY under your control” “He IS still under my complete and utter control” The Professor says curtly. “So--- how would you explain his odd behavior lately?” Sir Marvelous asks, not content to lob softballs at the professor. The crusty old professor stands there for a moment as he tries to figure out exactly what to say, then he grips the book tight once more and answers. “Odd? He’s doing exactly what I’m telling him to do” “So you told him to eat the pages out of your magazine?” “---“ “Professor? While we’re young?” “Yes! Yes I told him to do that alright? He’s totally under my control at all times” The good old professor is starting to sweat a bit, Nemesis is his ticket to stardom and he HAS to control him. “So tell me please, why Jimmy the Doom?” “--- That’s a good question” the sweaty professor says “--- And I’m glad you asked me that very question” “So what’s the answer?” ”I’m afraid that’s my doing” Sir Marvelous spins around as every other head in the arena turns towards the entrance where a man in a brown suit has appeared. “My, my, my International Champion Bruce Blank, what an unexpected pleasure” Sir Marvelous says as he invites Bruce to join them. “Unexpected my ass, they’re tag-team partners after all” Mak says during a quiet moment. Mr. Bruner wastes no time in opening the velvet rope for the International champion. “Now professor--- you say you have full control of him? Yet we’ve got Bruce here claiming he had something to do with it, you wouldn’t call Bruce a liar would you?” “What did you do?” the Professor asks the moment Bruce is within earshot of the old man. “I see he’s not TOTALLY under your control then?” Sir Marvelous says with a smirk. “Well I’ll tell ya Sir M, Prof… it’s simple really. I have recently been restricted from competing in the Hardcore divison, fair enough Peters has his reasons” Bruce says with a shrug of the shoulder “I’m the circus act and he tells me where to perform. But that doesn’t mean that I can’t help OTHERS succeed in the Hardcore division” “WHAT?” Mak asks “WHAT?” The professor asks. “GRRROOU??” Nemesis asks Bruce pulls out a tazer gun and brandishes it at the TV with a big grin on his country bumpkin face. “It’s called conditioned behavior, I read about it in a magazine once.” Bruce says quickly explaining how he’d know such a term. “And well sir, it’s working like a charm on Nemesis” “What’s working?” the Professor complains “What have you done?” “Aw isn’t nothing big, I’ve just conditioned him to have this deep rooted hatred and loathing for Jimmy the Disgrace” Bruce says, the moment the words “Jimmy the Disgrace” passes his lips the smile turns into a frown of contempt. “Why Jimmy?” Sir Marvelous asks “I mean not that you need a reason to kick his ass” “Why Jimmy the Doom? Because Jimmy the Doom is a blight on the Hardcore division, he’s a joke who’s pissing away the legacy and the credibility I built with the Ultraviolent Title! He doesn’t deserve the title, hell he doesn’t even deserve to be in the SWF!!” Whoa talk about someone with deep rooted issues! “Since I’m not permitted legally to challenge for the Hardcore title or even compete in a match where it’d be legal for me to tear out that fools spine out I did the next best thing.” “And what exactly is that Bruce?” Sir Marvelous asks. “I found someone to take my place in the Hardcore division, this Ultraviolent Hell Hound right here” Bruce is naturally pointing to Nemesis and not Professor Attenborough in case you were wondering. “But… but he’s under my control!!” The Professor objects “Sure he is, except if he sees Jimmy the Doom” Bruce says and grins “Then it’ll be like all the “Friday the 13th” movies slapped together and let me tell you something Jimmy can’t kill this Jason Voheers” Sir Marvelous marvels, Bruce grins and the Professor groans as he feels his precious grip on Nemesis slowly erode. “Bruce we had a deal! I order Nemesis to team with you and you help us succeed in the SWF, this is bullshit!” “Bullshit?” Bruce says and does a double take, “Did you say bullshit? Listen here Scooter, I AM helping Nemesis advance in the federation, that boy could dominate the Hardcore division like nobody’s business!” The Professor takes a moment to think about that. “You’re right, I mean who’s going to stop him?” “And with my training and guidance, the training and guidance of the greatest ever Ultraviolent champion HE… CAN’T… LOSE!” “There you have it fans, he is one baaaaaaaaaaaaaaad motha.. “Shut your mouth!” Bruce says. “I’m just talking about Nemesis” Sir Marvelous explains. “Ah, well then I can dig it” “King I’ve got a bad feeling about this” “Really? I don’t I look forward to seeing Jimmy with his head where his ass used to be, could be fun you know?” The Suicide King says giving his endorsement to Nemesis attacks on the Hardcore Champion. Fade out as Sir Marvelous, Bruce and the professor engage in a series of mutual back slapping