chirs3

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=- SWF LOCKDOWN Live, Wednesday, September 27th, from underneath the Peace Arch in Blaine, Washington! (7pm PST, 10pm EST; check local listings) (Send all promos/marked matches to chirs3) -=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=- SWF CRUISERWEIGHT CHAMPIONSHIP MATCH Michael Stephens ©©© vs. “Hollywood” Spike Jenkins -> One week after headlining one of the biggest shows in SWF history... one week after winning one of the biggest matches of his career... You would think Michael Stephens would be a pretty happy guy. Then again, you probably wouldn't be very happy if your victory speech involved you getting beaten and bloodied by the man first in line for a shot at his Cruiserweight Championship, Spike Jenkins! There's plenty of history between these two, and you can rest assured this match will be for a good deal more than the gold! Rules: Standard, with Cruiser addenda. Word Limit: 5000 Send to: chirs3 -=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=- SWF HARDCORE CHAMPIONSHIP MATCH - HOUSE RULES Jimmy the Doom vs. Landon Maddix -> I imagine Landon's gotten used to the hardcore scene recently, what with Gabriel Drake beating him up down and sideways, but let's give The Cockroach some credit - he did come out on top at Genesis, besting The Beast in a cage match. He's earned our respect, and a shot at the Hardcore Championship! And what better place to defend this Championship then at the Peace Arch Park! Rules: HARDCORE, and the match will begin (and take place in) The Peace Arch Park's Ninth Annual Sculpture Exhibition! Word Limit: 5000 Send to: Longdogger_Pete -=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=- Johnny Dangerous vs. “The Divine Wind” Akira Kaibatsu -> Considering Bruce's comments on AftershoxxxXXxXX, I think the odds of he and Johnny throwing down sometime in the near future are pretty good. Not tonight, though - Bruce is taking the show off to recover from being, you know, MURDERED by Jacob Helmsley. So tonight, Johnny tunes up against a man whose had his fair share of Close Encounters of the Blank Kind - perhaps Akira would like to share strategies and tips with Johnny D... or maybe he'd like to take down the Secret Agent for a huge boost in the rankings! Rules: Standard singles match. Word Limit: 4500 Send to: Evolution -=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=- Jacob Helmsley vs. “The Beast” Gabriel Drake -> Ok... so, uh... wow. Jacob Helmsley's back for one show, and he absolutely dismantles our International Champion in a Hardcore Bout! P'raps Bruce's fixation on the International Championship has softened him a bit, but we can cover that later. What's important here is that Jacob Helmsley made his return count, in a way few people have. His actions did remind me of someone else's recent actions, though... Helmsley's attack bore a decent resemblence to that of Gabriel Drake's beatdown of Landon Maddix. These two definitely deserve each other. Rules: HARDCORE~! Word Limit: 4500 Send to: Ace309 -=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=- Scion of Light vs. Alan Clark -> What's the only thing better than debuting at Genesis? WINNING AT GENESIS! The Scion of Light came out on top in an impressive showing at G7 - this girl could be going places. To get to those places, though, she'll first have to play welcoming committee to a man that really doesn't need one - Disney Sponsored Alan Clark has returned to the SWF! Rules: Standard singles match. Word Limit: 4500 Send to: Longdogger_Pete -=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=- Scotty “The Crush” Raina vs. Mike Van Siclen -> Two men who suffered defeat at Genesis get their first chance to turn it around! Will Van Siclen school the rookie, or will Raina "Crush" MVS? Haha! See what I did there? That was a joke. Rules: Standard singles match. Word Limit: 4500 Send to: chirs3 -=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=- Nemesis vs. Matt "Cosplay Master" Myers -> I guess we're all pretty used to Nemesis acting a little strange. So when I say Nemesis has been acting REALLY STRANGE, that should mean something. Perhaps an exhibition against the SWF's resident punching bag can shed some light on just what's happening in the madman's head... Rules: Standard singles match. Word Limit: 4500 Send to: chirs3 -=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=- Notes: As usual, if you're unbooked and you want a match, arrange away.

I want to like this show, so badly. It's a great idea for a show, but it's all been pretty dull so far. Except for two moments, one in each episode: when the kid tells everyone his mom wasn't in Denver, she was in Atlanta... and tonight, when St. Louis Cop began marking the map. Those were good moments.

Markers are in. Mike, consider yourself autojobbed.

I was searching for notable locations on the Canadian/American border, and the only two that came up were Niagara and the Peace Arch. Plus, come on. It's the Peace Arch. How could we not do a show there?

There is a very delicate process we follow for assigning markers, involving pieces of paper and a hat. Right now, I have no paper. They shall be up soon.

Thanks for catching that, Spike. And Jake - CC has stubbornly refused to organize another tour (and by that I mean we're too lazy to come up with one), so while we figure out where we're going next, we're pretty much staying on the American/Canadian border. That's why we hit Niagara Falls, and now the Peace Arch. Hopefully we'll have a game plan for the next show.

Apologies for the uber-lateness. Training at Der PostOffis is now running to midnight, and will likely continue to run til midnight for the next week or two. Once it's over, I should be switching to a slightly more SWF-friendly schedule.

SWF AftershoxxXXXxXxXXxxx ~ Jacob Helmsley –vs- Bruce Blank, Hardcore Match “Welcome back to the show folks!” the exuberant voice of “The Franchise” himself can be heard as the scene opens back up to the beautiful Niagara Falls, with several thousand fans cheering and hollering in the background in bleachers set up around a ring in the middle of the parking lot. “We are back here on Aftershox for our final match of the night!” Mak continues. “Peh! The only match of the night!” King chimes in. “True, but what a match it will be!” Mak starts. “Bruce Blank, who had an amazing match at Genesis to retain his International Championship against Jay Hawke.” Mak reports. “One for the ages! Match of the night!” King praises. “Well, that man will go one on one with the returning psycho Jacob Helmsley, who hasn’t been seen on SWF Television in quite some time.” Mak completes his rundown of the match. “Yeah, and wouldn’t you know it, the last man that he faces was none other than our World Champion Michael Stephens, when he was still under the name of Toxxic.” King informs. “But that’s not all ladies and gentleman…” Mak tries to continue, but is cut off by King. “Yes! This match will be fought under hardcore rules, which pretty much means that Jacob stands no chance against Bruce whatsoever!” King happily states.” “Hold on though… “I’m getting word that these two competitors are already going at it in the back!” Mak informs as the big video screen set up next to the entrance area lights up showing the locker room area of the complex where indeed, Bruce and Jacob are already exchanging blows. Brice seems to be getting the upper hand against his smaller opponent, sending him reeling back with hard shots to the face, until Bruce tries a huge finishing swing, only to have Jacob duck under the attempt sending Bruce careening into a wall, sending small 2x4’s that had been leaned up against the wall flying in every direction. Bruce quickly regains his composure though, immediately coming back at Jacob for a second go, only to receive a quick kick to the gut followed by a thunderous Evenflow DDT right onto the cold concrete floor of the locker room area. Jacob quickly rolls over to cover Bruce, but before senior ref Kivell can drop down to make a count, Bruce powers out. “Way too early to be making pin fall attempts on Bruce!” King happily states. “That is true, but that move would have been the end of it if Jacob was facing anyone else.” Mak replies. Jacob doesn’t waste a single second hauling Bruce back up to his feet, but unknown to him, Bruce had grabbed a hold of a 2x4 that had landed close to their position. Once up on his feet, Bruce quickly jabs the wooden piece into Jacob’s soft midsection doubling him over and then swiftly brings the wooden piece down upon Jacob’s back, cracking the 2x4 in half and sending Helmsley straight down to the ground. “Bruce just destroyed Jacob with that 2x4!” Mak exclaims. “Nothing better than a trusty 2x4 to beat your opponent senseless with!” King chimes in. Bruce follows up with a pin fall attempt, but just as Bruce kicked out of his, Jacob immediately rolls over to his side, stopping the count before it even began. “Kivell didn’t even get a hand down before Jacob kicked out of the pin!” Mak reports. Bruce, now knowing that he’s got to do a lot more than just beat his opponent with a 2x4 if he wants to win this match, lifts Jacob up to his feet and literally throws him across the small room into a wall. Jacob bounces off of the wall quite well and then turns around to face Bruce, stumbling over to the Redneck King who promptly lifts Jacob up into the air and slams him down with a Power Slam right onto the concrete. “There goes Bruce with an excellent power slam! That is really going to leave a mark on Jacob!” King says. “There’s nothing better than to just power your opponent to the ground.” Mak adds in. “I do concur.” King agrees. Bruce hooks the leg of Jacob for the pin, but barely gets a one count before the psycho kicks his free leg into the air breaking the fall attempt. Calm and collected, Bruce lifts Jacob up to his feet and begins to drag him towards somewhere by his long black hair, but after a few steps, Jacob begins to fight back, throwing stiff jabs into the midsection of Bruce, causing him to break the hold on his hair. In retaliation, Bruce blocks an attempted punch thrown by Jacob and jabs him in the eyes with two fingers stopping any attempt to fight back and promptly resumes dragging Jacob by his hair. “Aww come on now… was that eye poke really necessary?” Mak wonders. “Well, obviously it was or else Bruce wouldn’t have wasted the effort of doing it!” King replies with heavy sarcasm. “Thanks King…” Mak replies coldly. “I think Bruce is trying to bring this fight back to the ring area where he could feel more comfortable” he adds on. “Come on Mak… Bruce spent 219 days as Hardcore champion… he would feel comfortable anywhere!” King replies. “Yes, but at least now there aren’t weapons strewn about everywhere… Bruce can at least keep that sort of under control.” Mak shoots back. “Well, I’ll give that point to you.” King agrees. Bruce continues to drag Helmsley down hallway after hallway, seemingly lost, until finally Bruce and Jacob arrive in a large staging room where several dozen SWF workers are diligently putting things away from the day’s work and still taking things out of boxes for things yet to do in the night. Still with a death grip on his hair, Bruce flings Jacob forward towards the ground, but surprisingly the psycho keeps his balance, staying on his feet. Bruce suddenly rushes towards Jacob, extending his right arm to hit Jacob with his Texas Lariat, but Jacob ducks under the outstretched arm of Bruce, causing the big man to just fly past the smaller more agile wrestler. Before Bruce can get out of the reach of Helmsley, Jacob grabs a hunk of Bruce’s shirt and drags him down to the ground while Jacob bends down to his knee, causing the big man to come crashing down right on Jacobs knee, making Bruce wince at the pain of the kneeling backbreaker. “What a backbreaker from Jacob! That certainly caught Blank off guard!” Mak reports. “Momentarily.” King simply adds in. True to Kings word, Bruce immediately regains his composure and attempts to get back to his feet, while Jacob wanders off in search of a weapon to use on his opponent, but suddenly Jacob begins to clutch his midsection and collapses down upon one knee, right next to a chair that’s lying on the ground. “What the…” Mak begins “HA! I guess those shots he took is affecting him more than we thought!” King exclaims. Bruce finally clears the cobwebs out of his head and climbs back up to his feet to see his opponent in prime condition for a beating. With hungry eyes and evil intentions, Mr. Blank walks over to his downed opponent, only to be met by the Psycho quickly rising to his feet with the chair clutched in his hands. “It was a trick!” King suddenly realizes. CLANK!!!!!!!! The chair shot that ensued echoes through the hall as Bruce staggers back as the crowd’s reaction can be slightly heard in the background. CLANK!!!!!!! The next chair shot is as vicious as the first one, bringing Bruce crashing down to the ground. Jacob viciously follows up with three or four more harsh shots with the chair to the chest and the legs, almost destroying the steel chair in the process. “Good lord! Jacob just destroyed Bruce with that series of chair shots!” Mak exclaims. With the chair nearly useless, Jacob tosses it away and simply collapses upon the fallen body of Bruce Blank as the referee falls down next to them for the pin count. ONE! TWO!! “No! Bruce is far from down!” King calls out as Bruce powers out of the pin attempt easily. “Once again, any lesser man would be down and out from that series of shots!” Mak reiterates his point. Not letting the inability to but the monster down get to him, Jacob goes back to work, moving to Bruce’s legs and entangling them in a farmiliar fashion. “Wait a minute… I think I know what this is…” Mak cautiously states. With the submission move set up, Jacob drops down on his back, pulling one of Bruce’s legs down with him, causing the big man extreme pain as he locks in the “Fear Factor” (Finisher: Modified Indian Death Lock) “He’s got it in! Jacob Helmsley has the Fear Factor locked in! There’s nowhere for Bruce Blank to go!” Mak cries out. “Doesn’t matter! Bruce will find someway to get out of it!” King calls back confidently. Bruce arches his back high, screaming out in pain as Jacob continues to increase the pressure on the big man’s legs, cranking down further on the hold. The referee is in perfect position to get a submission from Blank, but there is no question in the fact that Bruce is refusing to submit this early in the match. Desperately, Blank attempts to grab a hold of anything that he can get his hands on to try to break the excruciating hold on his legs and finally manages to get a hold of the chair that Jacob used against him. Bruce then wildly throws the chair back at Jacob’s body and hits him just hard enough to cause the man to let go of the hold on Bruce’s legs, but not hard enough to cause any real damage. “He’s out! Bruce got out of Helmsley’s Fear Factor!” Mak enthusiastically reports. “See? I told you this match was far from over!” King reiterates his point. Jacob quickly gets to his feet while Blank is still clutching his legs in pain from the move. Jacob then lifts his opponent up to his feet as fast as he can and immediately locks Blank in for his “Black Stallion” (Modified Vertebreaker) but before Jacob can get the move off, he is viciously blasted in the chest by a steel chair shot while a familiar shrilly voice cries out in the background. The picture pans back to show the massive form of Nemesis holding the chair over Jacob while Professor Attenborough screams encouragements in the background while Nemesis continues to maliciously slam the chair down repeatedly on all parts of Helmsley’s body with little regard for the consequences. “NO!! That bastard Nemesis stopped what would have been the finishing touches on Bruce Blank!” Mak protests. “What are friends for!” King gladly adds in. Still in great pain, Bruce somehow finds the strength to get up to his feet to see Nemesis standing over Jacob’s fallen body with a chair in hand. Bruce breaks out a big smile on his face as he begins to bark orders to the big man. Calmly, Nemesis tosses the chair over to Bruce and lifts the battered Helmsley to his feet. Nemesis grabs Helmsley under his armpits and lifts the smaller man high in the air for Bruce, who cocks back on the chair, preparing for a massive chair shot. “Say goodnight to Jacob Helmsley’s return!” King enthusiastically states, preparing for the massive chair shot to ensue. With an evil smile on his face, Bruce rushes forward, preparing to destroy Helmsley’s face with the chair, when suddenly Helmsley fires one of his legs up between Nemesis’ legs, hitting the big man squarely in the crotch. Howling in pain, Nemesis immediately drops Helmsley and grabs his family jewels, but right at that moment, Bruce comes down with the huge chair shot that was meant for Helmsley, absolutely blasting Nemesis right in the face with the monster shot, bringing the biggest man in the federation down to one knee after staggering back several dozen steps. “Jacob got out of it!” Mak yells out. “Yeah… by blatantly cheating!” King protests. “Well what do you call having Nemesis come out and save Bruce from losing the match?” Mak asks back. “Great use of your assets!” King replies. Bruce drops the chair down to the ground and stares shockingly at Nemesis while the Professor checks on his large client. Blank places both his hands on his head and apologizes to the Professor, while unknowingly, Jacob rises to his feet in front of a table and prepares to put the finishing touches on his opponent. While Bruce is still trying to make sure his partner is alright, Jacob wraps his arms around Blank’s shoulders and immediately bends forward, bringing Bruce along with him with the table in front of them squarely in his sights and connects with the “Black Stallion” (Finisher: Modified Standing Vertebreaker) absolutely shattering the table into a hundred pieces and then slamming the big man down on his neck on the cold concrete floor of the backstage area. Through all of this, Jacob manages to hold on to blank and keep him wrapped up in a bridge pin. Kivell then drops down next to the fall attempt as the Professor suddenly realizes what just happened. ONE! TWO!!! “THREEEEEE!!!! JACOB HELMSELY HAS BEATEN THE SWF INTERNATIONAL CHAMPION IN HIS RETURN TO THE RING!!” Mak excitedly screams. “NOO!! HELMSLEY BLATANTLY CHEATED TO WIN THIS MATCH!!! IT SHOULD NOT STAND AT ALL!!!” King protests. Moments after the referee counts the three, the Professor lunges over to break the fall, but he is too late. Victoriously, Jacob rises to his feet and thrusts his arms up in the air as the cheers from the crowds outside can be heard echoing into the backstage area of the Niagara Falls Facility. Suddenly, Jacob bolts away down the hall in a dead run as Nemesis rises to his feet and attempts to give chase. He quickly stops though, realizing that he has no chance of catching the faster, more elusive man and turns around to check on Bruce, who is clutching his head in agony while rolling around amongst the shards of the broken table. “Well, Bruce is still the International Champion, but one could make a case that Helmsley could be getting a shot at the title soon enough after this impressive win over the King of Ultraviolence.” Mak confidently states. “Not a chance! Jacob wouldn’t last five minutes in an actual wrestling match against Bruce Blank! Not in his life!” King angrily fires back. “At any rate, I hope you have enjoyed this exiting edition of SWF AftershoXXXXXXX… We hope to see you all next time!!!” Mak completes. The logo of the SWF can be seen in the corner of the screen as the scene of Bruce Blank finally realizing that he lost fades to black. © 2006 Smartmarks Wrestling Federation ‘Raising Workrate by Typing Faster!’

(The following segment was taped shortly after Genesis VII went off the air) We see Senior Referee Matthew Kivell sitting in a dimly lit room, he’s got a blanket wrapped around him and a cup of coffee in his hand as he sits there mumbling to himself while rocking back and forth like he is in a state of shock “He wouldn’t stop attacking” Kivell repeats over and over as he sits there with his eyes closed, a blood stained hand holding the blanket tight around him. “Matthew…” a voice says off camera hoping to bring the referee out of it. Kivell takes a drink from the cup of coffee but ends up spilling some as his hand shakes, then he looks up at whomever spoke to him. There is a cold, distant look in his eyes as he starts from the beginning “Bruce wouldn’t stop attacking” he starts out “He kept hitting that ear over and over again, he wouldn’t stop.” Kivell closes his eyes for a second as his body shudders “Hawke wasn’t going to quit I knew it, he couldn’t not with the International title on the line. He wasn’t going to give up but he couldn’t defend himself, he couldn’t defend himself and Bruce just kept attacking and attacking” Kivell says, rambling. “Kivell look at me” the voice says. Kivell’s eyes focus on the person talking to him “You did the right thing, no one is questioning that” the guy reassures the Senior Referee. “I had to, Hawke wasn’t going to give up and Bruce wouldn’t stop attacking. He was bleeding so badly… so badly” Kivell stops talking for a moment looking down at the floor as he tries to gather his thoughts. “If I hadn’t stopped it Hawke could have suffered permanently” he whispers “it’s one thing to break a leg or tear a quad, Hawke was all over the place, he couldn’t stand up, he couldn’t keep his balance.” Silence “I knew Bruce was never going to stop attacking Hawke. I could see it in his eyes, it was like he was more animal than human in there and Hawke wasn’t going to quit… I had to do something, I had to end it” Kivell explains (again) “Like I said, it was the right thing to do – Hawke could have lost his hearing on that ear and his balance, as it is he’ll be okay with some rest” “Really? He’s okay?” Kivell says and smiles, then the smile falters and turns into a frown “Hawke will kill me for stopping the match” “Listen Matthew why don’t you take some time off, a week or two just to get over this alright?” “Yeah… yeah I think that’s a good idea, I need…” but his voice trails off before he can say what he really needs. Although from the looks of it he needs a shrink and some pharmaceuticals. After a moment of silence Kivell gets up and then leaves the office. Once the door is closed a table lamp is turned on as the camera swings around to reveal Joseph Peters as the man Kivell was talking to. A man who should be happy right now, after all Genesis VII was both a commercial and critical success. But Peters still looks worried, he had hoped to curb Bruce’s bloodlust by keeping him away from the Hardcore division That obviously hadn’t worked out quite as well as he had liked. Peters was worried that one day Blank would go too far, that he’d cross a line that should never be crossed and he was worried that if that happened it could spell the end of his time in the SWF as well. “How can I control such a man?” he says to no one in particular as he leans back in his leather chair. *Starwipe*

The abominable… abdominabel… ah sod it, the useless Ben Hardy enters the ring ready to do the only thing he really knows how to do: Interview someone. “Ladies and gentlemen please welcome my guest at this point, the SWF International champion Bruce Blank!!” Hardy says the moment he realizes he’s on camera. ”I… AM… IRON MAN” WHITEEEEEEEEEEEEEE TRASH!! WHITEEEEEEEEEEEEEE TRASH!! The Suicide King sighs loudly over the fans clinging on to the “White Trash“ chant even after Bruce has done so much to change his image. *DAH-DAH-DAH-DAH-DAAAH-DANANANANA-NA-NADAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!!* Bruce steps through the curtains, grinning from ear to ear despite the deafening, derogatory chants that greets him. The big man stops for a second at the top of the ramp to unbutton his brown suit jacket, giving everyone a glimpse of the International title that’s STILL in his possession. “Here comes the champion, dressed to kill if I might add” King says as Bruce heads to the ring “Yeah if he was JR Ewing” Mak quips while trying to contain a snigger over Bruce’s slightly outdated suit selection. “It’s vintage Mak, classic” King explains. “HOLY SHIT!!” Mak exclaims “What? What??” “Bruce cut the mullet!” Mak notices, realizing that Bruce’s trailerpark haircut has been trimmed and styled after Genesis. Gone is the “Business in front, party in the back” look, replaced with a more classic middle parted, jaw length haircut. WHITEEEEEEEEEEEEEE TRASH!! WHITEEEEEEEEEEEEEE TRASH!! “Then that chant is even more retarded, look at him – is there anything that says “white trash” about Bruce now?” King asks. “Just the guy himself King” Mak replies, after all being white trash isn’t just about how you dress. Bruce seems to be riding on a cloud of arrogance and ego as he heads to the ring, no fan chants, no signs, no comments from anyone seems to affect him. The only time a slight frown creeps onto his face is when he sees Ben Hardy picking his nose when he thinks the spotlight is on Bruce. Once the big man is in the ring Hardy quickly quits his gold digging and greets the International champion. “Bruce Blank, still the International champion” Hardy says “Yep” Bruce says and then pulls his jacket to the side to show off the 20 pounds of gold around his waist. “It seems that a lot of people were proven wrong at Genesis, a lot of people lost a lot of money at G7 when they bet on Jay Hawke!” “You’ve got to admit it Hawke was the favourite going in” Hardy says. “Oh I’m sure that’s what you thought Benny, I’m sure that’s what the boys backstage thought and what the fans thought – No one gave ol’ Bruce a chance” Bruce says with a grin “WELL LOOK AT ME NOW!!” BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!! “I love proving people wrong! Hawke may have held the title longer but at Genesis I PROVED WHO’S BETTER!!” Bruce states in no uncertain terms. “Yeah but come on, that wasn’t exactly a clear cut win” Hardy says which draws a very angry look from Bruce. “What are you implying little man?” “Erm… well you didn’t pin Hawke” Hardy explains as he starts to develop a nervous tick. “I went one better than that Benny, I beat him so badly that he couldn’t go on. Anyone can put someone’s shoulders to the mat for a win, what I did was give him a MAN’S beating.” Bruce says with a sadistic grin. YOU SUCK!! YOU SUCK!! YOU SUCK!! “Yeah, yeah” Bruce says dismissing the crowd “I’ve taken out EVERY obstacle put in front of me in the International division, frankly I don’t think there is anyone else worthy of a title shot left” “Are you kidding me Bruce?” “Do I look like I’m kidding?” Bruce asks with a deadpan expression. “So there is no one you’re willing to defend against?” Hardy asks. “I didn’t say that jackass! I’ve made a reputation of taking on anyone put in front of me without complaining, I ain’t about to change that, set them up and I’ll keep knocking them down.” “Let’s change the subject a little then” Hardy says “Defending the International Title wasn’t your only appearance at Genesis was it now?” Bruce can’t help but smirk when Hardy refers to his interference in the Dangerous / Matthews match. “Hey Johnny, Johnny how are you son? How’s your head Johnny? Does it hurt Johnny?” Bruce says while staring right at the camera. “Remember me Johnny? Yeah you do don’t you? Even if you may not want to admit it” “What are you talking about?” Hardy asks only to be promptly ignored by Bruce Blank. “Heeeeeeeeeey Johnny it’s your guilty conscience talking to you. It’s the man you contracted to do something that you’d rather forget now isn’t it Johnny?? Come on you can’t have forgotten, it hasn’t even been a year Johnny” Bruce says with a very creepy smile on his face. “You’re referring to the Dangerous – Wildchild feud?” Hardy asks just to be sure “How innocent you make that sound, but we know differently don’t we Johnny? We know just how far you were willing to go for the World title, don’t we Johnny? We both know that you were fine with pushing Wildchild out of the way to get a title shot, isn’t that right Johnny??” Hardy is about to say something but Bruce stops him by putting a finger up, now is not the time for Hardy’s inane questions. “You paid me good money to help you didn’t you Johnny? You paid me and said that I would get a shot at the world title when you won it didn’t you? Well thank god the cheque cleared because you came up a little short in the World title department didn’t you Johnny?” Bruce says, the grin is still on his face but his eyes have turned stone cold serious. “You’d probably rather gloss over that whole time period wouldn’t you? You’ve kissed and made up with Wildchild and everything, it’s like it never happened isn’t it Johnny?” … “You two faced rat” “Hold up Bruce you’ve done stuff just as bad or maybe even worse since then” Hardy interjects. “Unlike that sewer rat Johnny Dangerous I do not pretend to be something I’m not, what you see is what you get. I make no apologizes for trying to go through you instead of around you! So I get creative with the rules, a few people get hurt – I’m an asshole and I know it. I freely admit it” “Well at least we’ve gotten that settled” Hardy quips with a smile. A smile that’s quickly wiped off his face as Bruce raises his massive fist in his direction. “I’m an asshole and even assholes don’t like you Johnny! Even assholes can’t stand two faced rat bastards like your! You turned your back on your friend for ambition… Well done, I normally applaud that. But then you fail to make something out of it? And worst of all you fail to deliver on your promise to ME!” “Bruce…” Hardy starts out “One second and then you can ask whatever idiotic question you want.” Bruce says and then turns back towards the camera “Johnny Dangerous… you’re a marked man, you better hope and pray you can trust that little buddy of yours to watch your back” Bruce turns his attention back towards Ben Hardy with a sort of “alright let’s move on” vibe going. “Alright one last thing” Hardy says “HALLELUJA! Get that inept backstage dork off my TV” the Suicide King rejoices. “In the days leading up to Genesis we’ve seen you hang out with Michael Cross and Nemesis, they even aided you against Jay Hawke” Hardy begins. “You don’t miss a thing do you? You’re right, Cross, Nemesis and myself have banded together” Bruce openly admits. “So you’re a stable now?” Hardy asks. “What do you want to hear Hardy? You want me to proclaim us the New Midnight Carnival? Have us come out to “Love Rollercoaster” in a little golf cart? You want me to say that we’re the next Clan and we’ve all turned into rejects from a monster movie?” Bruce asks “Well I…” “We’re not interested in being the next anything! I’ve heard that label before – I’m the “Next Jay Dawg” or whatever these clowns called me when I started to run with the Hardcore title, I’m not the next anything, I’m the first Bruce Blank! We’re not the next Magnificent Seven we’re the new threat to the SWF!” And with that the interview is apparently over, Hardy may have had more questions but it doesn’t look like Bruce has any more answers as he pushes the interview out of the way and then heads to the corner. WHITEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE TRASH!! WHITEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE TRASH!! Bruce climbs up on the second turnbuckle and then holds the International title up high in the air as we fade out.

Location: A generic locker room backstage People present: Professor Attenborough & Nemesis_ Professor Attenborough is flipping through the latest SWF magazine, the one with “the Road to Genesis” in it (Professor) “Who is Danny Williams mystery opponent?” the professor reads as he sees the name of an article “Rumors has it that the devastating Danny Williams will face off against the biggest man in the history of the SWF” The Professor looks up at Nemesis for a moment. The big man just stands there not moving an inch while doing a very good impression of a robot who’s battery has run out (Professor) “Williams is lucky he faced that punk Kay-OT, Nemesis would have torn him apart” The Professor keeps flipping through the magazine looking for something interesting, he flips past match previews for the 4 way elimination match, the Wildchild / Mike Van Siclen match and then flips past a photo essay of how much work went into setting up the set for Genesis in the past. (Professor) “Come on enough with this fluff, where is the story about Bruce being the best International champion ever? Where is the article about Nemesis and Cross both being off the card for no reason?” The Professor sounds a little annoyed over missing Genesis, Nemesis still looks like a statue. Then the Professor turns to a one page preview for the Hardcore title match and then Landon Maddix/Gabriel Drake cage match. After doing a fair impression of the immovable object for a while Nemesis suddenly springs to life as he reaches down and tears the two pages out of the magazine (Professor) “What the hell?” Nemesis takes the two crumpled up and torn pages and then sticks them in his mouth before tearing them apart as he begins to EAT THE PAGES! (Professor) Nemesis growls and grunts as he feeds every last shred of paper through the thin slit in his mask as he chews on the pulpy matter. (Professor) “Nemesis stop that!” The professor’s command goes unnoticed as the Colossus keeps chewing away until he’s eaten every last shred of the two pages. Once he swallows the last bit of paper he returns to his inanimate state (Professor) “What the hell is your problem!” (Nemesis) “…” The Professor looks at Nemesis for a moment or two, trying to figure out what exactly that was about. But Nemesis seems to be a mystery even to his handler and his actions do not always make sense, but that doesn’t mean that Professor Attenborough likes it. (Professor) (Mumbles) “You’re crazy, eating my magazine” The Professor looks at the tattered remains of the magazine for a moment before throwing it away. As he sits down the professor begins to wonder if it had anything to do with who was on those pages and if so, which one of them? The Crimson Skull? Jimmy the Doom? Gabriel Drake? Landon Maddix? The professor didn’t know and Nemesis wasn’t telling him. Fade out

FIVE… FOUR… THREE… TWO… ONE… … *BANG! BANG! BOOM! BANG! BUH-BUH-BUH-BOOOM!!* “Good evening SWF fans and welcome to AftershoxxXXxx!” Mak Francis yells over the roar of the open-air crowd and the noise of the opening pyro, “we’re still feeling the tremors from the conclusion of yet another staggering year in SWF history! The year that started at Genesis VI, where El Luchadore Magnifico defeated Danny Williams for the World Title in what many described as a dream match ended when Michael Stephens defeated Tom Flesher for the World Title in a match that was just as historic, just as dramatic and just as exciting!” “How can you say that?” the Suicide King demands, “Mags’ victory over the roid-monkey was a true triumph for ceaseless endeavour in the face of overwhelming odds; Toxxic squeaked one out against Flesher by the skin of his teeth, then ran from the ring like the scared bitch he is!” Mak Francis seems to be debating arguing this point with the Suicide King, but then stops. It seems like someone else might be here to do it for him. “COME AND HAVE A GO IF YOU THINK YER ‘ARD ENOUGH!” “COME AND HAVE A GO IF YOU THINK YER ‘ARD ENOUGH!” “YEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!” Without further warning the crashing opening chord of ‘Rookie’ by Boy Sets Fire rings out through the evening air, prompting the large portable Smarktron to white out and then fade quickly towards black. As it does so jagged white letters flash up a familiar phrase: ‘PREPARE TO BE PROVED WRONG…’ The jagged guitars start up and the Smarktron starts playing clips of famous matches, finally cutting to where Mike Van Siclen gets taken off a balcony and through a table, the devastating landing timed to coincide with the- *BOOOM!* -blast of red pyro that announces the arrival of the SWF’s most decorated Englishman! And through the flame and the smoke… “TOXXXXXXXXXXX-IC…” …head down, black hair covering his eyes… “TOXXXXXXXXXXX-IC…” …with a title belt in each hand and another strapped around his waist… “TOXXXXXXXXXXX-IC…” …comes the man once known as Toxxic. “Ladies and gentlemen,” Funyon booms, “on his way to the ring at this time, please welcome one-half of the SWF World Tag Team Champions! The NEW SWF Cruiserweight Champion! And STILL the SWF Heavyweight Champion of the WOOOOOOORRRRRRLLLLLLLLLD… MIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII-CHAEL… STEEEEEEEEEEEEE-PHENS!!” “YEEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!” “TOXXXXXXXXXXX-IC…” “TOXXXXXXXXXXX-IC…” Stephens makes his way down the entrance way to the ring, then rolls under the bottom rope and into the ring. He doesn’t ignite the corner post pyros as normal, instead beckoning for a microphone. Funyon goes to hand one over, at which point Mike realises that he doesn’t have a free hand and juggles the Cruiserweight and Tag Titles into one, then takes the stick with the World Title affixed around his waist. “TOXXXXXXXXXXX-IC…” “TOXXXXXXXXXXX-IC…” “Alright, alright, let’s get things moving here,” the Sensation declares, turning away from the ring announcer on the outside and addressing the crowd, “as you can see, I’ve got more gold than the mouths of any three rappers you care to name, so let’s get something straight before we go any further. First of all,” he says, laying the Tag Title belt on the canvas, “this title means that I am one-half of the team recognised as the best in the SWF today. Whatever differences Landon and I have had in the past, and still have now for that matter, we’ve proved that we deserve these titles. We took them from Charlie Matthews and Tom Flesher-” “YEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!” “-from Charlie Matthews and Tom Flesher,” Mike continues, figuring the crowd are cheering his win rather than for the Magnificent Two, “and believe me, you don’t get much tougher opposition than that. Now,” he carries on, “from what I’ve been seeing it appears that Wild & Dangerous are back on the scene, and I’d be willing to bet that if Dub-Cee and Johnny D are really on the same page again they’ll be wanting a sniff at these belts - well as far as I’m concerned they can come get them, because Landon and I will be ready!” “YEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!” “King, can you imagine that match?” Mak Francis says eagerly, “Wild & Dangerous vs. The Galacticos? Sure, Maddix and Stephens aren’t a proven tag team like Wildchild and Johnny Dangerous, but they’ve been impressive so far!” “Can I imagine it?” King groans, “all too easily.” “Secondly,” Michael Stephens continues, unstrapping the World Title and laying it behind the Tag Title on the mat, “this belt theoretically means that I am the best wrestler this company has to offer. The King of the Mountain, the Big Fish in the Pond, the Franchise Player, whatever you wanna call it,” he taps his chest with two black-nailed fingers, “I’m it. If anyone has a problem with that then I suggest they ask themselves a simple question; did you beat Tom Flesher clean, in the middle of the ring, in the main event of Genesis?” “YEEEEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!” “But that’s not it,” the Englishman continue, “not all the story. I’m not the best this company has to offer because I beat Tom Flesher, although that helps. No, I’m the best this company has to offer because I’m Michael Bloody Stephens!” “TOXXXXXXXXXXX-IC…” “TOXXXXXXXXXXX-IC…” “Now, see, when I beat Tom last Monday night,” Stephens continues, “I didn’t just retain my own title. No, I took his as well.” He lays the Cruiserweight Title down on the mat. “I took this belt, the one that says I’m the best wrestler under 230lbs in the company. The belt that Flesher disrespected,” the Englishman spits, “degraded and treated like it was garbage. Now, for me the idea of a Cruiserweight Title has always been synonymous with the notion that the little guys can’t hang with the big boys, that they need their own title to play with because they wouldn’t be able to beat the ‘real’ wrestlers, and maybe that’s why I’ve never paid much attention to it before,” he admits. “I’ve never felt I ‘needed’ it, but there’s a difference between a personal opinion and what Tom Flesher did. Flesher won this belt and then treated it, and everyone wrestling for it, like jokes. The trouble is Tom Flesher is a good enough wrestler to get away with treating a lot of people like jokes, but in the end this particular joke backfired on him.” Michael Stephens turns to face directly into the camera, then points down at the mat where the titles lay. “See that, Tom? That’s the belt you laughed at. That’s the belt you offered to anyone and everyone. That’s the belt you left on your car dash in the hope someone would steal it. That’s the belt you used as a bloody salsa platter. And that’s the belt I made you fight for on Monday night, and that‘s the belt I made you LOSE on Monday night!” “YEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!” “Which brings me to my next subject,” Stephens says, lowering his voice a little, “…what comes next. Of course, there’s a man called Gabriel Drake who’s been making waves in the SWF recently and whom Landon beat on Monday at Genesis.” [“Send donations of Glora Estefan memorabilia to the Get Well Landon Fund accessible through SWF.com,” Mak notes quietly.] “Gabe, I know you’ve still got your eyes set on me,” Mike says, “and I know that you’re going to be even madder than usual after Landon ended your unbeaten run. However, old friend, you’re not next on the agenda. No, next on the agenda is-” It’s at this moment that the Smarktron whites out, the floods hit full and the faint scratching of a needle on vinyl is the only sound heard. Then- *BAM!* The heavy drumming of Norma Jean’s ‘Creating Something Out Of Nothing, Only To Destroy It’ blasts out before the vocals start: ‘Like bringing a knife to a gunfight… Like Bringing A Knife To A Gunfight… LIKE BRINGING A KNIFE TO A GUNFIGHT!’ “BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!” The growl hits the crowd and the crowd aren’t happy, letting their displeasure be known as the man called ‘Hollywood’ Spike Jenkins makes his way out in his street clothes, a Lamb of God hoodie done up tight against the September evening chill. “Talk about timing,” Mak Francis comments, “Spike Jenkins defeated Akira Kaibatsu in a thrilling match at Genesis VII, a match that has granted him a shot at Michael Stephens’ Cruiserweight Title on Lockdown. And in which,” the Franchise adds, “I personally would like to see him get his ass handed to him.” “Dream on,” King says, “Flesher took enough out of Toxxic’s tank that he won’t be the same for months. Spike’s no Tom, but I wouldn’t be surprised to see him succeed where the Superior One failed.” Jenkins stalks down to the ring, ignoring the booing fans on all sides. The Hollywood Superstar reaches up and throws back his hood, then grabs a microphone from a nearby tech and raises it to his mouth. “Toxxic, you’re making the same mistake as always,” he growls, “you’re putting other people in front of me. You don’t need to be thinking about Flesher anymore, and you certainly don’t need to be thinking about that Drake clown. You and me,” he continues, starting to climb the ring steps, “we’ve got unfinished business. After I beat you all over the Vatican Square in our Last Man Standing match, I never meant for it to end after the Ratings Grabber through the announce table. No, I was going to pick you up and kick your ass all over again, but I miscalculated. I couldn’t get to you in time to pick you up and stop the count, so you got off lightly.” He stops, just short of the line of three title belts on the mat. Michael Stephens just looks at him, steel-grey eyes fixed on the face of his former ally. “Don’t think you’re gonna get off so easy this time,” Spike tells his former leader. “This time the match isn’t ending until I’m ready, and when I am ready, I’ll break you, pin you and take the Cruiserweight Title that I made respectable. And once I’ve done that,” Jenkins continues, “there’s really no reason why I shouldn’t come back for seconds and take the World Title as well!” “BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!” Spike bends down to pick up the Cruiserweight Title… and has it snatched from underneath his fingers. “Don’t touch what you can’t afford,” Stephens tells him levelly, belt dangling from his hand. “YEEEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!” “You see Spike, I was going to give you the benefit of the doubt,” Stephens tells him, “because if you wanted to step into the ring with me as an athlete, if you wanted to come for one of the titles I hold as a challenger, then I would respect that. For all the fact that personally, I think you’re a whiny egomaniacal little shit,” the World Champion adds, drawing another cheer from the fans. “But if you want to bring all our history into this, if you want to come out here making promises that you cannot back up, then we won’t be stepping into the ring as opponents, but as enemies.” Slowly, Stephens cracks his neck from side to side, gaze never wavering from the man in front of him. “I’ve got one enemy out there already, Spike. I don’t need another. But if you insist on taking this course then sunshine, you’ll stop being a challenger. You’ll stop being an opponent. All you’re gonna be is a warm-up.” Spike Jenkins glowers at Michael Stephens for a couple of seconds, then slowly raises the mic to his lips once more. “Toxx… I’m already warmed up.” And with that Jenkins drops the microphone and jumps at his former leader, laying in right hands on the World and Cruiserweight Champion! “BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!” Mike has to drop his title belt and microphone before he can get both hands up to protect himself, and by that time Jenkins is on top of him and hammering punches in on him, driving the Englishman back into the corner of the ring. Spike lands a few more blows and backs off, then charges back in with a leaping Yakuza Kick aimed directly at Stephens’ head… but the World Champion ducks! “YEEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!” “Spike Jenkins just hung himself out to dry on the top rope!” Mak Francis shouts as the Hollywood Superstar starts trying to free himself, “but Stephens is ready for him now!” Indeed, Michael Stephens grabs Jenkins and hauls his former protégé away from the corner, then twists Spike around and places him in a front facelock. He holds his right arm out to the side in preparation for the appropriately-named Unfinished Business… but Spike drops to one knee and slams his arm up between Mike’s legs! *CHING!* “LOW BLOW! LOW BLOW!” Francis roars as King politely applauds, “what the hell is he doing now?” “I think that’s really self-evident,” the Gambling Man remarks calmly as Spike frees himself from Stephens’ clutches and drags his enemy backwards until they’re standing over the Cruiserweight Title. Then he places Stephens in a standing headscissors and applies a double-underhook… …and drops down to his knees, driving Mike’s head into the metal of the title belt! *BANG!* “ENDWELL!” Mak yells, “Endwell onto the Cruiserweight Title! Spike Jenkins just assault Michael Stephens with a lowblow and the Endwell onto the Cruiserweight Title!” Jenkins isn’t done. The challenger starts firing boots into his prone enemy, but now it seems Joseph Peters has realised the potential damage being done to his prize cash cow and has sent SWF Security out to stop Spike in his tracks. Jenkins punches the first one out, then turns and lariats the second nearly out of his motherfucking boots, but then four guys grab him at once and start hauling the rabid straight-edger away from his Lockdown opponent. “Jenkins vs. Stephens coming up on Lockdown this Wednesday,” Mak shills, “but with the damage Spike’s just done to his opponent, what sort of condition will the champion be in? Stay tuned for more action after the break!” As the cameras start to fade out for commercials the last image seen is of Michael Stephens bring rolled over by SWF staff, blood dripping down his face and onto the Cruiserweight Title. FADE OUT

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=- The Smartmarks Wrestling Federation presents... SWF AftershoxxXXXxXxXXxxx! Live, Friday, September 22nd, from Niagara Falls! (6pm PST, 10pm EST; check local listings) (Send all promos/marked matches to chirs3) -=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=- Genesis VII is in the books, and given the Herculean effort our competitors put forth, Joseph Peters decided to give (almost) everyone the week off! But while there may not be much wrestling tonight, we still expect to see and hear from our superstars, many of whom have already booked promo-time for this show! -=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=- THE MAIN EVENT - Hardcore Match Jacob Helmsley vs. Bruce Blank © -> A stupid oversight by one of the bookers (who shall remain nameless - it totally wasn't me) caused the returning Jacob Helmsley to be left off the Genesis card! Vowing to set things straight, JP made this match top priority for AftershoxxxXXXxXxX! Helmsley requested a Hardcore match, and we couldn't think of a better match for him than the King of Ultraviolence himself, Bruce Blank! Rules: NONE~! -=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=- Opening Promo: Michael Stephens -=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=- NEXT WEEK: Michael Stephens vs. "Hollywood" Spike Jenkins, Cruiserweight Championship Match!

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=- The Smartmarks Wrestling Federation presents... SWF AftershoxxXXXxXxXXxxx! Live, Friday, September 22nd, from Niagara Falls! (6pm PST, 10pm EST; check local listings) (Send all promos/marked matches to chirs3) -=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=- Genesis VII is in the books, and given the Herculean effort our competitors put forth, Joseph Peters decided to give (almost) everyone the week off! But while there may not be much wrestling tonight, we still expect to see and hear from our superstars, many of whom have already booked promo-time for this show! -=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=- THE MAIN EVENT - Hardcore Match Jacob Helmsley vs. Bruce Blank © -> A stupid oversight by one of the bookers (who shall remain nameless - it totally wasn't me) caused the returning Jacob Helmsley to be left off the Genesis card! Vowing to set things straight, JP made this match top priority for AftershoxxxXXXxXxX! Helmsley requested a Hardcore match, and we couldn't think of a better match for him than the King of Ultraviolence himself, Bruce Blank! Rules: NONE~! Word Limit: 4500 Send to: chirs3 -=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=- Opening Promo: Michael Stephens -=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=- NEXT WEEK: Michael Stephens vs. "Hollywood" Spike Jenkins, Cruiserweight Championship Match! Given the quality of the PPV matches (and one day's less writing time), I think a promo show is in order. However, if you'd like a match for this show, request away.

Stephens hops off Flesher and leaves the Superior One to curl into a foetal position around his battered ribs, then roars a ’COME ON!’ at the crowd that prompts them to roar in approval again! “YEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!” “LET’S GO STE-PHENS!” “LET’S GO STE-PHENS!” And Stephens is indeed going; the World Champion turns back to his opponent and grabs Tom by the head to pull him up to his feet, then applies a ¾ facelock and turns towards the nearest set of turnbuckles… “Sunny In England!” Mak yells… …but not to be, as Tom brings his arms up and breaks Stephens’ grip on his head, then twists the Englishman’s arms into a double chickenwing before hoisting the World Champion off his feet! “Now that’s wrestling,” Suicide King says with approval, “and do you notice the theme, Mak? Every time Toxxic tries something that doesn’t involve landing on Tom, the Superior One cuts him off at the pass and turns it to his advantage.” “Well, Tom’s lost surrendered his advantage on several occasions due to carelessness and overconfidence,” the Franchise returns. “Maybe,” the Heartbreaker concedes, “but it’s going to be easier for Tom to stop being careless than it will be for Toxxic to actually get some talent!” Matty Kivell is insistent in his questioning of Michael Stephens, asking the World Champion if he wants to give it up. Stephens shakes his head grimly as the pain in his shoulders grows, hanging on and hoping that he can outlast Flesher… and his wish is fulfilled, as Tom’s recently-battered ribs prevent him from milking the hold to its full potential. The Superior One grimaces and lowers his opponent, then simply spins Stephens around and Railguns him overhead before he can react! *BANG!* “Another strength of Tom’s,” King remarks, “the amount of relatively simple yet still effective moves he can use, even chaining one into another.” “Like a thumb to the eye?” Mak bitches. Michael Stephens is on his back, face twisted in pain; Tom Flesher has never been the most sympathetic person in the world and the theme continues now as he gets back to his feet and makes his way around to the World Champion’s legs. From there he takes hold of Stephens’ left foot and tucks it into the crook of the Brit’s right knee, then clamps it in place with his arms and starts to turn his opponent over… “Tom’s going for the Superior Stretch!” Mak yells, “it doesn’t just attack the legs but the back as well, and that’s an area that Tom’s been focusing on!” Stephens fights against it but to little avail, and Flesher manages to get the World Champion turned over… but before he can sit back on the hold and cinch it in properly Stephens is already scrabbling for the ropes, tugging Flesher back a step! The Superior One tries to readjust but his opponent is still clawing at the mat, and with Amy Stephens hammering her fist on the apron and yelling support - or possibly abuse - Mike manages to get to the cables, reaching out to clamp his hand around the bottom rope! ‘ONE!’ TW-’ Flesher releases his hold almost instantly, but not in the interests of good sportsmanship; no, instead he whirls around and grabs Stephens, bodily hauling the World Champion back to his feet before pasting him in the jaw with a palm strike! *SMACK!* “BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!” Stephens staggers against the ropes but Flesher doesn’t draw back, instead grabbing Mike’s right arm and twisting around in a Judo throw that hauls the Englishman off his feet and dumps him on his backside in a sitting position right in front of Tom. Flesher leans down, seeking to secure the Cobra Clutch that is the first part of the King Cobra… but Stephens reaches up with his free arm before Flesher can begin and grabs hold of Tom’s head to trap it above his own, then bridges up to a standing position before dropping back down and nailing the Cruiserweight Champion with an inverted sitout jawbreaker! “YEEEEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!” Flesher staggers back a step and Stephens turns around, grabbing Flesher’s right leg and coming up to his feet with it still in his grasp. Flesher is great on two feet and great on the mat, but is never at his best with one foot off the ground and his centre of balance in jeopardy; however, Stephens can see his opponent’s eyes narrowing as the Superior One figures out the logistics and likelihood of an enzuigiri and acts first, throwing Tom’s leg away to his left and continuing to spin himself, the end result being Flesher coming back to face Stephens just in time for the World Champion to deliver an almighty discus clothesline! *WHAM!* “YEEEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!” Lying on the mat next to his opponent Stephens figures that this would probably be a good time to try a cover… ONE! TWO!! …but Flesher kicks out, still not willing to give up his dream of a third World Title! Stephens grimaces and starts to bring his opponent back up to his feet, but the match is starting to take its toll on him and it seems to take more effort to haul Tom upright. Once there Mike performs another Irish whip to send Flesher into the turnbuckles, catches his breath for a second and then charges in after him… but that second proves vital, as Flesher gets his boot up and catches the onrushing World Champion in the face! “Come on Tom, now’s your chance!” King yells… and Tom Flesher doesn’t disappoint. He grabs the dazed Michael Stephens in a front waistlock and delivers another Railgun Suplex. Over the motherfucking top rope. *WHUMP!* “BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!” “HO-LY SHIT!” “HO-LY SHIT!” Disapproval wars with disbelief around the Toronto Skydome as Michael Stephens tumbles through the air to land hard on the protective mats on the outside, prompting his sister to let out a scream of shock! “JESUS CHRIST!” Mak Francis bawls, “did you see the elevation on that? Tom threw him clean over the ropes to the floor, just like he did against Stephens’ tag team partner Landon Maddix a few shows ago; on that occasion Tom automatically lost the match by disqualification as it was under Cruiserweight Rules, but no such rules are in force tonight!” ‘ONE!’ Matty Kivell yells, then turns around to complain at Flesher for his complete lack of respect for human life. Flesher’s response (‘it’s not cruiserweight rules, what’s the problem?’) doesn’t do much to appease the referee. ‘TWO!’ ‘THREE!’ Michael Stephens isn’t really moving on the outside, despite Amy’s attentions. Flesher has paused to catch his breath and recompose himself, but although his natural instinct would be to watch and smirk for a while he knows there is still a job that needs to be completed. ‘FOUR!’ After all, while it would amuse him to beat one of his greatest rivals by count-out on the biggest show of all time, it won’t win him the title. And that’s what he’s here for. ‘FI-’ Kivell is cut off in mid-declaration as Flesher rolls under the bottom rope and heads for his opponent. Amy Stephens moves to cut him off but Flesher makes the first move with the gentlemanly courtesy that he is known for… namely, thumbing her in the eye. “BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!” Tom rounds it off with a casual bitchslap to the face- *SMACK!* -and then, as Amy staggers in a half-circle, he slaps her on the ass for good measure. “Is that necessary!?” Francis demands. “What are you talking about?” the Suicide King replies, “Tom spotted something in Amy’s eye and attempted to remove it like a true gentlemen. It’s not his fault the clumsy wench walked into his thumb.” “Oh, and I suppose her face and ass walked into his hand as well?” Mak demands. “Well I don’t know about her face, but with an ass that size…” “FLESH-ER SUCKS!” “FLESH-ER SUCKS!” Tom shakes his head in denial and points firmly at Amy, clearly indicating the person in the vicinity whom he views employs powers of suction to greatest effect. Then, with the Punk-Rock Princess blinded and temporarily unable to interfere he takes hold of Michael Stephens and drags the World Champion towards the ring. It takes a lot of effort for Tom to haul what seems like utter deadweight up over the apron and into the squared circle, but once he has he rolls Mike away from the ropes and follows him in to make the cover… ONE! TWO!! THR- -but Stephens kicks out! “YEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!” “Slow count,” King says, “fire this moron and let me pick the referee!” “Yeah, cos Alex Zenon at Genesis V worked out sooo well for you and Tom,” Mak reminds the Gambling Man. “Goddamn Carnies…” is King’s only response. Meanwhile Tom Flesher, having suitably informed Matthew Kivell of his opinion of his counting abilities, has brought Michael Stephens upright and stepped behind the reigning World Champion to apply an abdominal stretch. “Tom’s quite close to the ropes,” Francis notes, seeing the cables only inches from Flesher’s back, “I don’t think Stephens will be able to reach them easily to for the break, but it’s not what you’d normally expect from the Superior One…” Outside the ring James Matheson puts down his briefcase and, as Matty Kivell checks on Michael Stephens, the lawyer reaches up to grab onto Tom’s free hand that’s trailing over the ropes. Matheson isn’t a bodybuilder but he’s also not a 90lb weakling, and the extra weight causes Stephens even more pain! “…OK, scratch that,” the Franchise remarks, “this is exactly what you’d normally expect from the Superior One.” “FLESH-ER SUCKS!” “FLESH-ER SUCKS!” James Matheson knows his stuff, and he keeps a careful eye on Matthew Kivell to make sure he knows when to release Flesher’s hand in order to avoid a potential disqualification. However, this means that he is not paying close attention to the rest of his surroundings, which can be unwise. When the stadium floor is also occupied by the semi-psychotic sister of your client’s opponent, especially after she’s just been thumbed in the eye and slapped by your client, this can be very unwise. ‘OI!’ Matheson looks around and gets a momentary image of black hair, blue eyes and an impressive cleavage in motion before- *WHAM!* -he gets taken out with a Polish Hammer. “YEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!” Matheson’s grip is suddenly broken and Flesher jerks forwards, momentarily slightly off-balance… and that’s enough for Michael Stephens, who grits his teeth and heaves Flesher over with a hiptoss! “YEEEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!” “LET’S GO STE-PHENS!” “LET’S GO STE-PHENS!” Mike doesn’t waste any time and turns for the buckles; he steps out through the ropes to the apron and scales the ringpost from the outside, then climbs to the top… but it’ll take more than a hiptoss to keep Flesher down, and the Superior One is up! He runs for the corner before Stephens can react and leaps up to the second rope; normally Tom might deliver a palm strike to set up the Boilermaker from this position, but the last time he tried his avalanche brainbuster Stephens reversed it into a top-rope Caffeine Bomb and pinned him. Flesher isn’t going to make the same mistake twice, so he grabs Mike around the waist… “Look out!” Mak yells, although who to isn’t clear… …and Flesher heaves Stephens overhead with a top-rope Railgun suplex! *whump* “YEEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!” Stephens lands at more or less the same time as Tom does, but while the Cruiserweight Champion falls to his back, Michael Stephens succeeds in flipping through the move and landing on his feet! “Good God, what agility!” Mak yells, as Mike turns around and focuses on Tom, who’s getting back to a vertical base. The World Champion breaks into a run, then leaves his feet at the last moment to slide in with a nasty soccer tackle on Flesher’s shins, sending the Buffalo native tumbling head-over-heels to the mat! *CRUNCH!* The crowd roars in enthusiasm as Mike gets back to his feet; Tom is also getting up, but the Superior One is limping heavily and can do nothing to avoid the boot buried in his gut. Stephens grabs a front facelock, throws Tom’s arm over his shoulders and reaches down to hook Flesher’s left leg with his left arm, then hoists his opponent off the ground… …twists him, and dumps him on his skull with the Caffeine Bomb! *BANG!* …but Tom pops straight back up, and as Mike scrambles to his feet in astonishment Flesher nearly decapitates him with a Yakuza Kick- *KER-RACK!* …then collapses! “RRRRRRAAAAAAAAAAARRRRRRRRRRRGGGGGGGGGGGHHHHHHHHH!!! “HAVE YOU EVER SEEN ANYTHING LIKE THAT!?” Mak Francis bellows as the Toronto Skydome erupts in noise, “The World Champion just broke out the Caffeine Bomb, a move we haven’t even seen since From The Fire ‘05, but Tom Flesher shakes it off for long enough to hit another Yakuza Kick! Both men are down, and this place is going wild!” “That just shows you how tough Tom Flesher is Mak,” the Suicide King declares, “he doesn’t need to be able to think, he doesn’t need to be able to plan, he doesn’t need higher brain function; you can keep hitting him with whatever you’ve got and he’ll take it, then dish it right back at you!” ‘ONE!’ Kivell bawls, trying to make himself heard of the sea of noise that the Skydome has become as the SWF fans in attendance simply can’t believe what they’re seeing. However, as the initial ‘what the fuck?’ reaction to the last few seconds starts to die down a new sound starts to cut through the hubbub. “TOXXXXXXXXXXXXX-IC…” “TOXXXXXXXXXXXXX-IC…” ‘TWO!’ “TOXXXXXXXXXXXXX-IC…” “TOXXXXXXXXXXXXX-IC…” ‘THREE!’ James Matheson has only just picked himself up on the outside and missed the last exchange; his jaw drops as he sees his man facedown on the mat within a few feet of the prone Michael Stephens, but totally unable to make any sort of cover. “TOXXXXXXXXXXXXX-IC…” ‘FOUR!’ On the other side of the ring Amy Stephens starts hammering on the apron, trying to get some sort of life back into her brother; sure, they don’t get along at times, but she’d rather have her brother as World Champion than the dick who just slapped her arse, and her face, and stuck his thumb in her eye and, hey, helped give her a spike piledriver a couple of months ago. “TOXXXXXXXXXXXXX-IC…” ‘FIVE!’ “Why are these morons chanting?” Suicide King asks in disdain, “do they really think them shouting his name is going to help him?” “TOXXXXXXXXXXXXX-IC…” “It’s just support King,” Mak says, “something you’d know very little about.” ‘SIX!’ Finally, there is some show of life. Michael Stephens rolls onto his side, one black-nailed hand weakly rubbing his face where Tom Flesher did his best to provide reconstructive surgery for free. The World Champion reaches out and grabs the ropes, then starts to haul himself to his feet… “TOXXXXXXXXXXXXX-IC…” ‘SEVEN!’ …but he is not alone. Tom Flesher is shaky and not moving with anything like his usual confidence and poise, but the Cruiserweight Champion is also starting to push himself up to a vertical base. “TOXXXXXXXXXXXXX-IC…” ‘EIIIIIIIGHT…’ “They’re up! They’re up,” Mak Francis calls, “but who can get the advantage?” Tom Flesher turns and sees Stephens staggering away from the ropes; the Superior One lashes out with a Shotei… *SMACK!* …but it doesn’t pack as much of a punch as usual, and although Mike rocks the World Champion stays on his feet. In fact he does more than that, as after shaking his head to try and clear the cobwebs he steps in and delivers a European uppercut to the wobbly Flesher! *WHAM!* “TOXXXXXXXXXXXXX-IC…” Tom tries again… *SMACK!* …and Mike fires back! *WHAM!* “TOXXXXXXXXXXXXX-IC…” And again! *WHAM!* “TOXXXXXXXXXXXXX-IC…” …and Flesher thumbs him in the eye. “BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!” “Damn it, I swear Tom would be lost these days if his opponents wore goggles or something,” Mak fumes, “how come the most talented mat wrestler active in the SWF has to resort to a freakin’ thumb to the eye all the time!?” As Mak’s righteous fury dissipates over the international media Tom grabs the wrist of the blinded Stephens and hauls, Irish whipping his opponent into the ropes. He draws his palm back, then lashes out with a Shotei that should surely take Mike off his feet… but no luck, as the Sensation ducks at the last minute so the blow whooshes over his head, and kills his momentum to come to a halt behind the off-balance Flesher before reaching up to grab Tom’s head as if for a Hangman’s neckbreaker. However, instead of sitting out Stephens twists around and drops to one knee, hauling Tom around as well and driving Flesher’s face into his knee with an adapted Pressure Drop, then pops back up to his feet and grabs a front facelock before swinging his right arm over and down to send Tom face-first into the mat with the Unfinished Business! *BANG!* “YEEEEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!” Mike grabs Tom and rolls him onto his back, then makes the cover as Kivell dives to count… ONE! TWO!! THR- -but Flesher kicks out! “BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!” “THAT WAS THREE!” “THAT WAS THREE!” “I don’t know whether the fans are right or not, but it sure was close,” Mak Francis confirms. “Close to losing Kivell his job,” King seethes. Michael Stephens looks at the SWF’s Head Official for a long moment just to make quite, quite sure that Kivell is sure about that count. The referee’s decision doesn’t change however, so Stephens sighs and grabs Flesher’s singlet to bring the woozy Cruiserweight Champion up to his feet. Tom is disorientated after having his face mashed twice in quick succession and it’s the work of a moment for Mike to grab a ¾ facelock and run for the buckles, towing Flesher behind him… but Tom wises up and shoves on instinct, breaking Stephens’ grip and sending the World Champion careering into the buckles to collide with them chest-first! *whump* However, the Superior One’s relief is short-lived, as his attempt at a follow-up avalanche is cut off by a Stephenskick as Mike hears him coming and lashes out without needing to look! *CRACK!* The strike wasn’t as hard or as fast as sometimes and Tom staggers back rather than falls down, although it hasn’t done much for his general mental state. Stephens looks back to see his opponent still standing and decides to rectify this state of affairs by jumping to the top buckle, then springing back and twisting through the air to deliver the Corkscrew dropkick to the Cruiserweight Champion! “YEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!” Flesher is flat on his back, gasping for breath; Stephens is getting up, but even the straight-edger’s vaunted conditioning is starting to break down now. He still has the energy to move, but not with the same speed as before, and instead of vaulting to the top rope as he did mere seconds ago he takes longer and climbs one buckle at a time on his next upwards venture. Which is occurring right now, since he’s certainly not going to waste a chance to drop something on Flesher again… “This has been a productive avenue of attack all evening,” Mak comments, “just as getting down and wrestling has been for Tom; both men are playing to their strengths as expected, but we have yet to see who will finally triumph!” Michael Stephens aims to make sure it’s him, of course; he also aims to drop his fist right between Tom Flesher’s eyes, and he succeeds with admirable precision. *BANG!* “TOXXXXXXXXXXXXX-IC…” Stephens rolls away rubbing his knuckles, but as he gets to his feet he points to his fist and asks the crowd if they want ‘one more’ - the response is a universally positive one, so Mike heads back to the corner of the ring and begins climbing again. He gets to the top, straightens up and then leaps off… and once more, drives his fist into Tom Flesher’s face! *BANG!* “TOXXXXXXXXXXXXXX-IC…” “Closed fist! Illegal!” King tries, but he’s wasting his breath. “You can feel the momentum starting to build behind the Sensation,” Mak says, ignoring his commentary partner, “the crowd are with him and things seem to be going his way… then again, how many times have we said that before?” Mike doesn’t ask the crowd this time; instead he heads straight for the turnbuckles and starts hauling himself up. A couple of seconds later and the World Champion is standing on the top rope, where he raises both hands and twirls his fingers above his head… …backwards. “YEEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!” There is a second of realisation where the Toronto crowd catches on and have the time to raise their cameras; then Michael Stephens takes a deep breath and leaps off into the air, backflipping as he goes. Dozens, scores, maybe even hundreds of camera flashes go off inside the Toronto Skydome, and for a moment it seems that Michael Stephens is flying through a sky made entirely of blinding white lights. Then he comes crashing down with one leg across Tom Flesher’s throat to complete the Shooting Star Legdrop. *WHAM!* “INGLORIOUS!” Mak bawls, “he got him!” Indeed he did, and as Matthew Kivell stops blinking in the aftermath of the camera flashes he sees Stephens hooking the far leg with his arm and the near leg with his own leg, then rolling into the cover to stack as much weight as possible on top of Tom Flesher. The referee dives to make the count… ONE! TWO!! THHHHHHHHHHHHHRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR-NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!! “WHAT!?” Mak yells. “YES!” King exults. “BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!” One of Tom Flesher’s hands has shot upwards, reaching towards the cloudless Canadian sky, and in doing so has lifted one of his shoulders a few centimetres off the mat. The Superior One is not beaten yet, and the two fingers that Matthew Kivell brandishes towards the timekeeper confirms it. Michael Stephens will have to do yet more to keep the World Title in his grasp. “I thought he had him, I honestly thought that Michael Stephens had won,” Mak Francis admits, “but the desire to win is still too strong in Tom Flesher; he might be an underhanded cheating dick, but the man has a drive that has brought him to the top of this sport, and kept him here.” “I wasn’t worried for a second,” King interjects. “You’re also a damn liar.” Michael Stephens’ chest is heaving, not just from exertion but also from the emotional effort that has been poured into this match. It seems that the Sensation, like Mak Francis, thought that the Inglorious legdrop had been enough, but now he has to recalibrate his thinking. He rolls Tom over - not that difficult, as even a semi-conscious Flesher has an instinct to belly down - and grabs a front facelock, then starts to haul the Superior One up. Tom comes up slowly, but once he’s reached a vertical base Stephens underhooks one arm… then the other… “It looks like Mike’s going for the RTF II here,” Francis says, “will it work against a man with a neck as thick as Tom’s?” …but we might never know, as Tom Flesher’s brain suddenly seems to kick into gear, and the prospect of a painful submission move prompts him to try and fight his arms free. Michael Stephens is caught off-guard by the sudden resistance and Tom jerks his arms loose of his opponent’s grip, then hooks Stephens behind each knee and pushes, knocking the World Champion onto his back with a double-leg takedown that Mike has no chance of countering; from there, Tom starts hooking Stephens’ legs together in an attempt for the Superior Stretch… “TOXXXXXXXXXXXX-IC…” …but Mike braces the soles of both feet against Flesher’s stomach and pushes with all his might, sending the Superior One staggering backwards! Tom’s balance fails him and he lands on his ass, and as he scrambles up to his knees James Matheson hops up to the apron and begins hollering about a low blow, claiming that Stephens kicked Flesher in the balls. Matthew Kivell turns to deal with the agitated lawyer… …and as Michael Stephens gets to his feet and advances on Flesher, Tom decides a little irony is in order. *CHING!* “BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!” “LOW BLOW! LOW BLOW!” Francis roars, “dammit Kivell, leave Matheson alone! There was a low blow, but not from Stephens!” “It’s better to give than to receive, Mak!” King yells back, and as Michael Stephens starts to crumple towards the mat Tom Flesher threads Mike’s left arm between his own legs and grabs it with his left hand, then stands and ducks his head under the World Champion’s right arm before reaching across Mike’s chest. It’s time to end this. *BANG!!* “LOGICAL DISCONNECT!” Mak yells, his voice getting hoarse as Flesher spikes Stephens onto the top of his head with the pumphandle Exploder ’98, “damn you Tom, not like this!” The noise of impact tears Matthew Kivell’s attention away from James Matheson, who for his part is quite content to let matters rest. Amy Stephens is screaming on the outside, but Kivell won’t let himself be distracted while there’s a pin to be counted, and he dives to the mat as Tom Flesher makes his cover. ONE! James Matheson clutches his briefcase so hard his knuckles go white. TWO!! All along the guardrail, SWF event security prepare for what might happen as the crowd starts to turn ugly. THHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE… …NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!! “YEEEEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!” “WHAT!?” Mak and King shout in unison. “TOXXXXXXXXXXXXXX-IC…” “TOXXXXXXXXXXXXXX-IC…” What was previously a chant has now turned into a full-throated roar, as thousands of Canadians yell out Michael Stephens’ old ring name. Quite how aware Stephens is of it is unclear, but the noise seems to be irritating Tom Flesher; the Superior One looks up at Matthew Kivell in pure, unadulterated astonishment for several long seconds, seemingly lacking words to question the referee’s count. James Matheson is going ballistic on the outside, but the noise in the Skydome is such that neither Kivell or Flesher can probably hear him anymore. “King, if you had said that was a slow count I might have been inclined to believe you for once,” Mak Francis says frankly, “I’ve just seen it, but I still don’t believe that Michael Stephens kicked out of the Logical Disconnect.” “We are in Canada, right?” the Gambling Man says, looking around, “don’t tell me we’re back on the Fictional World Tour in some crazy place where Toxxic’s unbeatable!” “You know, I think Canada just might be that crazy place,” Francis says. Tom Flesher kicks himself into action; he doesn’t have the time to sit around gawping at referees, there’s a match to be won. While his opponent’s resilience may have taken him by surprise, it’s not like he doesn’t have other options open to him. One way or another, he will end this match soon, and what better way to try than a tried and tested one? “It looks like Tom’s going for a gutwrench here,” Mak notes as Flesher turns Stephens over onto his stomach and starts to pull the World Champion up, then wraps his arms around the Englishman’s waist, “and… yes, I think he’s going for the Ego Buster! I don’t care who you are, if Tom can lift you for this, he’ll put you down with this!” But that’s just the problem; lifting Michael Stephens for it. Tom Flesher is a stocky, muscular individual (with a little recently-added ‘padding’, but that’s neither here nor there), but there’s very little even such a powerhouse can do to gutwrench someone up when that someone has both arms wrapped tight around your right leg to prevent himself from being hoisted off the ground. Stephens is sandbagging for all he’s worth while still holding on, and after a couple of aborted attempts Flesher releases his grip and starts hamming forearms into Mike’s back to try and get him to let go. This doesn’t have much of an effect, so Tom manages to lock his right arm around Mike’s head with a front facelock, then simply sprawls backwards. There is a risk, however small, of Stephens getting a pinning predicament out of this gamble, but Tom neutralises that by throwing left knees into the Englishman’s head, jarring him until finally he releases his grip. Once this aim has been achieved Tom takes the logical next step and wraps his newly-freed legs around his opponent’s torso! “Flesher’s got the Wet Cement locked in!” Mak exclaims, “Stephens isn’t seated so the hold isn’t quite as inescapable as usual, but at this stage in the match I’m not sure if it’ll make much difference as far as the World Champion is concerned!” Michael Stephens begs to differ. He starts throwing elbows at Tom’s left knee, trying to make the Superior One release his bodyscissors like he did at the start of the match, but this time Flesher grits his teeth and holds on, trying to squeeze the life out of the champion before things get out of hand. The elbows keep coming and for a moment Tom’s grip slips, prompting Stephens to try and prise Flesher’s legs apart fully and roll forwards into a pin, but Tom reapplies the bodyscissors at the last moment to prevent Stephens escaping! “TOXXXXXXXXXXXXXX-IC…” Matty Kivell bends down, seeking reassurance from Michael Stephens that he doesn’t want to give it up yet. Presumably the World Champion is still defiant because the referee retreats… for now. But Stephens’ struggles are getting weaker. “We could be just a few seconds away from a new World Champion,” Mak Francis states, “if Michael Stephens taps or passes out here… well, it’s been a hell of a ride for him, and one heck of a match on the greatest stage of all time.” “He’s held out longer than I thought he would,” Suicide King admits, “but in the end there was only going to be one winner tonight; Tom Flesher will be crowned as the greatest all-round, all-weight competitor the SWF has ever seen.” Matty Kivell moves back in at Flesher’s request and grabs Michael Stephens’ right arm, then raises it in the air. It’s time for the moment of truth. He releases the hand… …and Michael Stephens flips a v-sign in the general direction of the referee, then slams his open hand straight into Tom Flesher’s face! “YEEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!” Flesher recoils, but there’s only so far you can go when you’ve got your opponent locked into a submission move. Stephens’ hand withdraws and strikes again, looking like it catches Tom right on the nose, then the World Champion grips Flesher’s nose in a fist and twists as hard as he can! “That’s cheating!” King roars. “The eyes would be cheating,” Mak Francis responds, “but is the nose? I’m not actually sure!” Tom yells in pain and instinctively releases the front facelock to bring his hands up and protect his face. Michael Stephens’ head emerges… and he doesn’t look pleased. The World Champion is red-faced and short on breath, but he can’t go anywhere while Flesher still has the bodyscissors locked on. No matter. Some things should be settled up close and pers’nal, so he grabs Tom’s head in both hands and jerks his own forwards. *CRUNCH!* “YEEEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!” The headbutt catches Tom flush in the face and knocks Flesher’s head back so far that the back of his skull cracks on the canvas. The grip of Tom’s legs starts to weaken so Mike does it again- *CRUNCH!* -and now Tom does release him, rolling away in an effort to escape the World Champion! Stephens starts to get up, face a grim mask, and as Flesher rises back to his feet he turns around to be met with a RIGHT! LEFT! RIGHT! LEFT! A tight smile crosses Michael Stephens’ face. It’s been a long time since he’s done it like this, but what the hell. They are in a baseball stadium, after all. So he winds up like a pitcher, left leg coming off the ground, then steps forward to deliver a… …DISCUS CLOTHESLINE! *WHAM!* “YEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!” “TOXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX-IC…” “TOXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX-IC…” Michael Stephens picks himself up off the mat, tired and bruised but riding on the wings of a final adrenaline charge and the roar of the crowd. Tom Flesher is as tough as nails and he’s already starting to fight his way back to his feet, but Mike’s ready for him. It’s time to take this one home. He holds his left hand out in front of him, then brings his right hand forward and mimes cracking open a can. Then he tilts his head back, and takes several swallows of imaginary Cola. “Wakey wakey Tom,” Mak Francis shouts, caught up in the heat of the moment, “it’s time for your CAFFEINE BOMB!” “TOXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX-IC…” Flesher gets up into a kick to the gut, and Michael Stephens grabs the front facelock and threads Tom’s arm over his shoulders. “TOXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX-IC…” He reaches down to hook Flesher’s left leg with his left arm… “TOXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX-IC…” …and Tom starts firing Shoteis into his opponent’s ribs! Mike tries to fight through it and get his opponent off the ground but Flesher keeps striking, and finally Stephens involuntarily releases his grip. Tom shifts his position slightly, manoeuvring round until he’s under Michael Stephens’ body, then straightens his legs and hoists the World Champion up onto his shoulders. The cameras focusing on Flesher’s face show only the stony determination of a man who’s come too far to be put off by anything anymore. Pain. Injury. Guilt. Nothing matters now. Which might explain why Michael Stephens is currently being held in an Argentine Backbreaker Rack. “NO!” Mak shouts, memories of his own recent injury evidently haunting him, “Tom, don’t do it!” “It’s his own fault!” King shouts back, “Toxxic should have lied down and died before now!” Tom Flesher takes a step, winding up to drop Michael Stephens square on his skull with the Burning Hammer. Sure, he’ll feel shit about it tomorrow morning, but he’ll feel shit about it with the World Heavyweight Title in his possession. The night is too far gone for any considerations other than winning or losing, and one thing Tom has never considered in his career is losing. A knee slams into the side of his head, and the Superior One staggers sideways. “YEEEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!” Flesher shakes his head muzzily and tries to reset himself, ready to heave Stephens off his shoulders and down to imminent defeat. But another knee hits him in the temple. And another. “He’s fighting it! Michael Stephens is fighting it!” Mak roars as the World Champion uses the only option available to him. Flesher readjusts his left arm, trying to catch hold of Stephens left leg as well as the right one that’s already under his control, but Mike isn’t going to be denied. Another knee slams into Flesher’s skull, further derailing his thought process… …and the New Yorker’s grip slackens, allowing Michael Stephens to slide backwards off his opponent’s shoulders and away from the corresponding danger. However, his feet don’t touch the ground. That’s because his legs have wrapped around Flesher’s torso, and one arm around the Superior One’s neck. “YEEEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!” “LAST ORDERS!” Mak bellows as Tom’s eyes suddenly bulge as he feels his oxygen being cut off, “Michael Stephens is using his sister’s move to win this match!” Tom starts staggering backwards, the sudden shift of weight unbalancing him. He only has a second before he topples altogether and no matter how good a mat wrestler he is, he doesn’t fancy trying to counter out of a rear naked choke with bodyscissors once he’s on his back, not at this stage of the match. So the only thing to do is make sure he doesn’t get there. Accordingly, the Cruiserweight Champion gambles and runs backwards, losing his balance as he goes but managing to end up- *THUMP!* -crushing Michael Stephens against the turnbuckles! “BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!” “You cannot put one over on Tom Flesher!” Suicide King exclaims, “this man is the definition of wrestling, Mak!” Michael Stephens’ grip slackened when the air was blasted from his body; Tom Flesher isn’t in a much better condition himself, but he’s able to turn around and slap the taste out of his opponent’s mouth! *SMACK!* “BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!” “FLESH-ER SUCKS!” “FLESH-ER SUCKS!” Stephens staggers along the ring ropes, trying to get enough separation between himself and the Cruiserweight Champion to get his breath back. Tom has no interest in allowing that to happen and pursues him, then grabs Mike’s wrist and Irish whips him across the ring. Stephens rebounds off the cables and runs right into Tom, who ducks at the last moment to neatly slide his head under Mike’s right arm and throw his own across his opponent’s chest, then grabs the back of Stephens’ baggy pants with his left hand… “LOGICAL DISCONNECT!” King yells. …but Stephens fires off one, two, three elbows to the temple with his right arm, staggering the Superior One sideways and loosening his grip, then clamps both arms around Tom’s chest and clasps his hands together, ready to hoist his opponent off his feet… “SIDE EFFECT!” Mak shouts. …but now Tom lashes out with elbows, driving them into Mike’s skull and knocking the World Champion’s grip loose again! A left-handed Shotei staggers Stephens sideways and Tom backs into the ropes for extra momentum, then charges forwards and lashes out with his right foot. There’s no way Stephens is kicking out of this Yakuza Kick… …but Stephens ducks! “YEEEEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!” Flesher stumbles to a halt, off-balance as the expected resistance to his foot never came, and turns to try and grab his opponent. However, Michael Stephens has already started moving; in fact, he’s running for the ropes that Flesher bounced off a second or so before. Tom turns to pursue, readying himself for a knee strike or something similar, something to take the wind out of Stephens’ sails once and for all and allow him to drop him on his head or lock him in something painful, something to end this match. But Mike is wise to the situation now. Tom Flesher is too good to get down and wrestle, too tough to win a war of attrition with, too ring-smart to try and outwit. Opinions may be divided on whether or not he is truly the best the SWF has ever had, but he’s without a doubt the best Michael Stephens has ever faced one-on-one. It’s time for one last throw of the dice, time to ride the luck that he rarely has to depend on anymore, and see what happens. So he jumps. For one precarious moment, Michael Stephens balances in the middle of the top rope, perfectly balanced between inside and outside, up and down… …victory and defeat. Then as the rope starts to spring back under his weight he backflips into the ring, sailing through the air towards his opponent. Tom Flesher is talented, tough and very very smart, but one thing he’s never mastered is being fast. He can’t change direction, and he’s just a split-second too late to duck. Mike grabs him around the head as he soars over his opponent, pulling Tom Flesher backwards and down. The back of the Superior One’s skull slams into the canvas one more time. *BANG!* “YEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!” “SUNNY IN ENGLAND!” Mak roars, “he finally got it!” With a last burst of effort, Mike reaches forwards and grabs Tom Flesher’s leg as Matthew Kivell dives to make the count… ONE! TWO!! THHHHHHHHHHHHHHHRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!!! *DING-DING-DING!* “YEEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!” “LADIES AND GENTLEMEN,” Funyon booms, desperately trying to make himself heard over the roar of the crowd and the rolling opening chord of ‘Rookie’ that echoes around the Toronto Skydome, “the winner of the match, STILL SWF World Heavyweight Champion and NEW~ SWF Cruiserweight Champion… ‘The Sensation’, MIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII-CHAEL… STEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE-PHENS!!” “TOXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX-IC…” “TOXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX-IC…” Michael Stephens lies on his back in the middle of the ring, face up towards the sky. He’s dimly aware of his sister arriving at his side, and of Matthew Kivell reaching down to raise his right arm in victory. Then the referee returns with the title belts - all three of them - and slowly, the Englishman allows himself to be helped to his feet. “Fans, I don’t remember calling a match that has had this much drama in it before!” Mak Francis says simply. “The two best wrestlers in the SWF today went at it tooth and nail, putting everything on the line for one shot at ultimate glory, a win in the main event of the biggest wrestling show of all time, a chance to be recognised as the best. Michael Stephens, four-time World Champion, two-time Tag Champion and now Cruiserweight Champion as well came out of it on top tonight following the Sunny In England; he was the better man tonight… but King, you’d be hard-pressed to insert a credit card in the difference between him and Tom Flesher.” “I’m in shock,” the Gambling Man says, “Toxxic stole this! There is no way, no way he should have won that match! Tom had him beaten so many times, but the Limey bastard kept wriggling out of it! I’m telling you Mak, there’s gonna be a reckoning!” Wearily, Mike holds the World Title in his right hand and the Tag Title in his left, allowing Amy to buckle the Cruiserweight Title around his waist. Then the Sensation slowly climbs to the second rope and holds his arms out wide, blinking in the thousands of camera flashes that go off as the SWF fans in attendance seek to capture a memento of this unique moment. Joe Peters, showman that he is, clearly planned for it. *BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOM!!* An entire wall of red pyro erupts, not from the ring posts or the entrance ramp, but from the very roof of the Skydome itself! The fans cheer even louder in response and the cameras pan back to Mak Francis and the Suicide King at the announce table. “What a night!” Mak says as King still shakes his head in bewilderment and disappointment, “fans, thank you for joining us at the biggest show the SWF has ever put on. What will the fallout from tonight be? Have matters truly been settled between Bruce Blank and Jay Hawke? What about Mike Van Siclen and Wildchild? Will Danny Williams stick around? However, we know one thing; Michael Stephens won’t have long to rest, because in just a few days’ time on AftershoxxXXxx he’ll be defending the Cruiserweight Championship he’s just won! Tune in then, and THANK YOU FOR JOINING US FOR GENESIS VII!” The last shot the cameras have is of the ring. Tom Flesher is starting to sit up, an expression of confusion on his face as James Matheson goes to break the news to him. Meanwhile, Michael Stephens leans against the ropes, weighed down by his three titles as his theme music rings out around him. He’s been used to it for so long that he hardly listens to the words anymore, but as he looks at his title belts he realises how appropriate they are tonight. ‘I never thought this could be me I guess you never do, until it’s happening to you…’ FADE OUT © 2006 Smartmarks Wrestling Federation ‘Raising Workrate By Typing Faster’

EARLIER THIS WEEK... The Toronto press corps is gathered in front of a platform with two tables. On one side, Tom Flesher sits in a hooded sweatshirt and track pants, the hood up. Sweat drips from his face, and he periodically towels his face off. He is flanked by James Matheson and Allison Onita, both dressed in businesslike fashion. In the center is a podium, where Joseph Peters stands, and next to that is a digital scale with a large, easy-to-read display. On the other side, Amy Stephens sits next to a comfortable Michael Stephens, clad in his standard soccer jersey and baggy trousers. Peters taps the microphone. “Thank you for coming to the official SWF Genesis VII press conference,” Peters says. “Today, we’ll be conducting the official weigh-in for the SWF World Championship and Cruiserweight Championship match, the main event of our flagship event. “We’re proud to be kicking off our seventh year in business. In the past six years, we have had an impressive list of talent. We count among our ranks some of the most talented pure athletes ever to compete in professional sports: Danny Williams, Tyler McClelland, the Wildchild, and Mak Francis. They’ve been joined by true giants among men: Bruce Blank, the Boston Strangler, Nemesis and the HVille Thugg. The SWF has given opportunities to the best talent drawn from around the world, from as close to home as the Canadian Intelligence Agent and El Luchador Magnifico to athletes as well traveled as Japan’s Thoth and Australia’s Andrew Blackwell. We pride ourselves on allowing young talent, like Taylor Thompson, as well as seasoned veterans, like retired Judge William Hearford III, to showcase their abilities before an international audience. Today, the SWF boasts broadcasts to all regions of the globe – most notably including Australia, Great Britain, Canada, Denmark, and of course, the United States. “This week, our sixth year culminates and our seventh commences. We can think of no better way than to showcase our athletes at their best. “The Unique Youth, Zyon, will face off against Canadian sensation JJ Johnson in a classic two-out-of-three falls match. “A four-way elimination match featuring Japanese newcomer Scion of Light and fellow new face Scotty ‘the Crush’ Raina as well as veterans Manson and Scott Rageheart will be sure to light up the stage. “Veteran Danny Williams, who has served admirably as the SWF’s good-will ambassador to Japan, will take on a mystery opponent in a match certain to capture the interest of wrestling purists and new-style fans alike. “The Cruiserweight Champion will be crowned in the final match of the evening, but he’ll have to contend with either ‘Hollywood’ Spike Jenkins or Japanese high-flyer ‘The Divine Wind’ Akira Kaibatsu. “Jimmy the Doom and the Crimson Skull will settle their long-running feud and decide the Hardcore Championship in a match that I’d rather the Toronto Sun not cover.” Peters chuckles, and he’s met with strained laughter from the journalists. “Johnny Dangerous, one of our success stories, will meet the grizzled veteran Charlie ‘Grappler’ Matthews, who some of you may remember watching as children. Grappler’s one of the toughest wrestlers I’ve ever seen, and I have no doubt that the first blood match will be an instant classic. “A steel cage will be erected around the ring, and ‘the Beast’ Gabriel Drake will meet Landon ‘La Cucaracha’ Maddix, the SWF’s poster child for free trade with Spain and one-half of the SWF Tag Team Champions. “The Bahaman Bomber, the Wildchild, will settle his grudge with Mike Van Siclen in a match without count-outs or disqualifications. This one’s been building longer than I’ve been in charge of the booking, and I can’t wait to see this score settled. “SWF International Champion Bruce Blank will meet his nemesis, Jay Hawke, in an Old School Rules match. Special rules will govern countouts and disqualifications, and this match will be decided in two of three falls. “And, finally, the main event... SWF Cruiserweight Champion Tom Flesher will defend his title as well as challenge for Michael Stephens’ World Heavyweight Championship. Because the Cruiserweight Championship is being defended, the wrestlers will have to make the upper weight limit of 230 pounds, and we’ve decided to let you all in on what a real weigh-in looks like. First, I’d like to introduce a man who needs no introduction, the World Champion, Michael Stephens!” The World Champion stands up and takes the microphone. “I’m sorry, I’m not much for talking,” he says. “It’s been a long run up to the SWF World Heavyweight Championship, including a couple of wins over that fellow sitting on the other side of the podium. I don’t expect tonight to be any different.” Peters takes the microphone and says, “Michael, if you’d kindly step on the scale, please...” Stephens steps on the scale. The numbers read 221.5. Joe Peters announces, “Even wearing his street clothes, the World Champion is well under the 230-pound limit. Thank you, Michael, for your time.” He then turns to Flesher’s side of the podium. “His opponent at Genesis is one of the SWF’s mainstays. Like Mr. Stephens, Tom Flesher has been named Wrestler of the Year. He himself is a former Heavyweight Champion. At this time, Tom, if you have any remarks, feel free to make them.” James Matheson stands up as Flesher towels his face off once more. “My name is James Matheson,” he says, “and I’m Mr. Flesher’s manager. On behalf of Tom, I’d like to say how thrilled he is to be main-eventing Genesis once again. We’re confident that he’s going to walk out a winner, just as he did against Perfect Bo at Genesis III and just as he did in the main event of Genesis IV against Justice William Hearford. Now, without further ado, I’d like to let Tom weigh in.” Flesher stands up. Looking emaciated, he sheds his hooded sweatshirt and the t-shirt beneath it. He very carefully towels off, making sure to collect all of the sweat he can before stepping out of his warm-up pants as well. Once again, he towels off, and steps onto the scale wearing only a pair of blue boxer shorts. The scale reads 229.9. “Tom,” asks Joe Peters, “would you like to address the reporters?” Flesher looks at Peters, and quickly dons his hoodie once more. Allison Onita dutifully hands him a bottle of water, which he guzzles for a few moments before turning back to the press corps. “I’m sorry I’m not more personable today,” he says, “but if any of you have ever wrestled, you know that making weight is the most difficult part of the game. I’m pleased, though, that I have more time to recover, and that I won’t have to worry about a morning weigh-in on the day of the card as we so often do. The extra time to recover will allow both Mr. Stephens and me to perform at the highest levels, and, if I may be so bold, to crown a new World Heavyweight Champion. Thank you,” he says, “and we hope to see you at Genesis.” Fade to card

‘O Fortuna’ rings out around the Toronto Skydome as the crowd gear themselves up for the final, epic encounter in a night that has already burned itself into the annals of wrestling history. The main Smarktron screen changes one more time to flash up a new graphic: On the left of the screen stands a stocky man with reddish-brown hair and a title belt over his shoulder, flanked by another man with spectacles and a steel briefcase. His name flashes up below him: ‘THE SUPERIOR ONE’ TOM FLESHER (w/James Matheson) “BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!” On the other side of the screen a different figure appears; more lithe and traditionally ‘athletic’ than Flesher, with dark curtains of hair hanging down in front of steel-grey eyes. He has two title belts over his shoulder and is flanked by a girl who bears a vague facial resemblance to him, with a black undercut and mountainous cleavage. MICHAEL STEPHENS (w/Amy Stephens) “YEEEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!” Two title belts appear at the bottom of the screen, prompting more words to flash up underneath… WORLD TITLE vs. CRUISERWEIGHT TITLE “Well, that pretty much says it all,” Mak Francis declares as the television picture shifts to the announce table where he sits with the Suicide King, “Tom Flesher, currently recognised as the best cruiserweight in the SWF goes head-to-head with Michael Stephens, currently recognised as the best wrestler in the SWF… and Stephens just happens to also be a cruiserweight. This rivalry dates back to early 2004 when Tom Flesher teamed up with then-Commissioner ‘Grand Slam’ Mark Stevens to defeat the team of Michael Stephens and Jimmy ‘The Demon’ Liston, but has spread far and wide since then. Flesher beat Mike with his own Caffeine Bomb in another tag match, Mike pinned Tom following a top-rope Caffeine Bomb in Flesher’s hometown of Buffalo and then hit a Super Sunny In England - or Intoxxication, as it was known then - to get the winning fall on Tom in a three-way match for the World Title also involving defending champion Janus. More recently a match between both Stephens siblings and Sean Davis vs. Flesher and Charlie Matthews got called off due to interference from Mike Van Siclen, but Tom and Charlie gave Amy a Spike Piledriver afterwards anyway; however, Mike got some measure of revenge when he and Landon Maddix took Flesher and Matthews’ tag titles!” “It’s a clear case of luck on Toxxic’s part,” Suicide King snorts, “granted, I’d rather have him with the belt than some no-name schmuck like Zyon or,” he shudders, “Landon Maddix… but c’mon Francis, there’s no way he’s on the same level as Tom Flesher. This guy carried the company in 2003, he’s one of the greatest World Champion’s ever, he was the leader of the goddamn Magnificent Seven. Toxxic’s band of cronies known as Revolution Zero didn’t even come close.” *BOOOM!* There is a sudden blast of blue pyro from one side of the stadium and with that, the main riff of ‘Kashmir’ by Led Zeppelin kicks up, heralding the arrival of none other than the challenger, Tom Flesher! James Matheson comes out first, clutching his suitcase and glaring around at the booing and jeering fans, then comes… …not Tom Flesher. No, in fact it’s a line of men in red coats and brown, wide-brimmed hats. Matheson smirks as the highly-recognisable uniforms start to disperse down the entrance ramp, forming a guard of honour for the Cruiserweight Champion, who is still yet to appear. “BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!” “Those are representatives from the Royal Canadian Mounted Police!” King yells at the crowd, “why are you booing your own police force, morons!?” “Well, for starters because this is yet another chapter in Flesher’s ongoing and truly ludicrous notion of ‘being Canadian’,” Mak Francis comments, “but mainly because those aren’t Mounties King, and you damn well know it.” “What do you mean?” the Gambling Man protests, “they’re wearing the uniform aren’t they?” “That they might be. However, that’s Tim Dillon, and that’s Bryan Levy, and that’s Martin ‘Big Country’ Hunt, for crying out loud… I think that’s Chance Silver on the end, and someone who might be Haffy, I can’t tell from here…” “I’m sure they’ve been paid well for their presence,” King declares, “and far more than they’re all worth, I have no doubt.” The line of ‘Mounties’ now stretches from the soundstage right down to the ring, featuring the names mentioned by Mak and several more besides. Above them the Smarktron flashes up clips of Tom Flesher’s best moments - including several Nelbinas from his 2004 run - and then, as the words ‘SUPERIOR ONE’ appear… the Superior One appears. “BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!” The crowd jeers even louder as Tom Flesher makes his way onto the ramp, clad in a gold warm-up suit and jiggling up and down to keep limber. He starts to make his way down the ramp… and as he does so, each and every ‘Mountie’ bends their knee to him. “FLESH-ER SUCKS!” “FLESH-ER SUCKS!” “Good God…” Mak says, awestruck, “…can you imagine how much money it must have taken to get people like Bryan Levy and Tim Dillon to do that?” “Hey, they’ve got to get their next hit or their next drink from somewhere.” The noise in the Toronto Skydome is growing louder and louder as the fans verbally shit all over Tom Flesher, but the man himself is unperturbed. He reaches the bottom of the entrance ramp and steps through the ropes held open for him by James Matheson, then strips the warm-up top off to reveal his usual blue singlet (with gold side panels) and starts to stretch. However, something seems… different. “Is it just my imagination, or has Tom gained some weight?” Mak asks. “It’s your imagination,” King replies instantly. “No, no I’m sure of it,” the Franchise insists, “look at him! There’s no way Flesher is below the Cruiserweight limit!” “He weighed in under the limit,” King reminds him. “Yeah, a week ago!” “Doesn’t matter,” the Gambling Man replies, “what’s done is done. For the purposes of this match, Tom is a cruiserweight. Not that I don’t think he is anyway,” he adds hastily. SWF Senior Official Matthew Kivell looks at Tom Flesher dubiously, but it’s not his job to guess people’s weight; he’s just there to enforce the rules, acknowledge the submissions and count the pins. For his part Flesher seems bored, and asks Kivell if there’s any way they can hurry things up a bit… “COME AND HAVE A GO IF YOU THINK YER ‘ARD ENOUGH!” “COME AND HAVE A GO IF YOU THINK YER ‘ARD ENOUGH!” “YEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!” The crashing opening chord of ‘Rookie’ by Boy Sets Fire rings out across the Skydome as every floodlight in the place hits full; the Smarktron, which moments ago was a sheer, brilliant white, is now fading rapidly to black. Jagged white letters flash up as it does so, spelling out a familiar slogan one word at a time: ‘PREPARE TO BE PROVED WRONG…’ As the spiky guitar riff starts Stephens’ face appears smiling his distinctive lopsided grin before the Smarktron cuts into clips from his matches - the infamous Glass Jawbreaker on Aecas, the All-Show Brawl with the Insane Luchador, the Caffeine Bomb on Nathaniel Kibagami and, appropriately enough, the Super Sunny In England on Tom Flesher to win his first World Title. Finally it cuts to footage of him taking Mike Van Siclen off a balcony and through a table with the Stephens Shock Syndrome, the devastating landing timed to coincide with the- *BOOOM!* -explosion of red pyro all along the soundstage that announces the arrival of the SWF’s most decorated Englishman as the main riff hammers out! And through the flame and smoke… “TOXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX-IC…” …with his black hair hanging down over his face and hiding his steel-grey eyes… “TOXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX-IC…” …World Title buckled underneath his new trench coat and Tag Title hanging from his right hand… “TOXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX-IC…” …comes the man once known as Toxxic. “There he is!” Mak Francis shouts as Michael Stephens looks up at the vista of faces that greets him, then down towards the ring where his opponent waits, “that’s the World Champion, the man who’s never lost a title match where he’s been the challenger… and he’s challenging for Tom’s Cruiserweight Title tonight!” Stephens suddenly breaks into a sprint, tearing down the entrance ramp as if all the hounds of Hell were at his heels! The ramp is so long that it takes him several seconds to get to the ring, but when he does he simply rolls in under the bottom rope and pops up to his feet, then sheds his coat and pulls off his personalised England soccer shirt before unbuckling the World Title. He takes one belt in each hand and faces Flesher across the ring, then crosses his arms for a moment in the straight-edge ‘X’ sign before throwing them wide- *bap-bap* *BOOOM!* -to ignite another blast of red pyro from the top of each buckle! ‘I never thought this could be me I guess you never do until it’s happening to you. Like all the fun turned into shame And all the “could-have-beens” rearrange…’ ‘Rookie’ starts to fade out and the camera shot shows Amy Stephens making her way down the ramp after her brother, signature beer can in hand. Mike hands his Tag Title over to Matthew Kivell, who passes it to the timekeeper for safe-keeping, then takes the World Title from Mike and the Cruiserweight Title from Flesher before stepping back to let Funyon do his stuff. “LADIES AND GENTLEMEN,” the veteran ring announcer booms, “the following contest is the Main Event of Genesis VII and is scheduled for one fall, for the SWF Cruiserweight AND World Heavyweight Titles! The referee in charge, SWF Senior Official Matthew Kivell. Introducing first in the corner to my left,” Funyon continues, “the challenger for the World Title; accompanied to the ring by James Matheson, he hails from Buffalo, New York and weighs in at 229.9lbs… he is a two-time Smartmarks Wrestling Federation World Heavyweight Champion, an SWF Hall of Famer and the reigning and defending SWF Cruiserweight Champion, this is ‘The Superior One’, TOM FLESSSSSSSHHHHHHH-AAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHH!!” “BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!” “YOU’VE GOT FAT!” “YOU’VE GOT FAT!” Flesher sticks a finger in his ear and wiggles it around, plainly not believing what he’s hearing, then settles back into his bored stance in the corner. However, despite his apparent relaxation it’s also clear that Tom is fit and ready to move. “And his opponent,” Funyon begins again, “in the corner to my right, the challenger for the Cruiserweight Title; accompanied to the ring by his sister Amy, he hails from Nottingham, England and weighs in at 218lbs… he is one-half of the SWF Tag Team Champions,” he continues, earning both him and Mike a dirty glance from Flesher, “and is a four-time and reigning and defending SWF World Heavyweight Champion, this is MI-CHAEL… STEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE-PHENS!!” “YEEEEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!” “LET’S GO STE-PHENS!” “LET’S GO STE-PHENS!” Matthew Kivell instructs Matheson and Amy to leave the ring, which they both do. Then he holds the Cruiserweight and World Titles up and shows them to all sides of the Skydome before handing them out to the timekeeper, before calling Flesher and Stephens in towards the middle. Neither man pays much attention to Kivell’s explanation of the rules, instead glaring at each other; Kivell instructs them to return to their corners but neither man obliges, instead starting to exchange heated words! The referee figures that he may as well go with the flow and calls for the bell… *DING-DING-DING!* The opening bell goes but neither man seems to pay much attention; instead they continue advancing towards each other, jaws working overtime until they end up face-to-face and, indeed, nose-to-nose! Stephens' two inch height advantage is noticeable at such close quarters as both men keep spitting out words... but then Tom Flesher places both hands on his opponent's chest and shoves him away! "OOOOOOOOOOOOHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!" Stephens' eyes narrow, and the straight-edger raises two black-nailed hands to return the favour; the considerably-more-than-cruiserweight Flesher rocks back a step, but not much more. "OOOOOOOOOOOOOOHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!" Flesher glares daggers at his opponent; Stephens shrugs and smirks as if to say 'whatcha gonna do about it, fat boy?'. Flesher's answer is to swing an open-handed bitchslap... ...which Stephens ducks with lightning-quick reflexes... ...and delivers one of his own to the Cruiserweight Champion! *SMACK!* "YEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!" "The arrogance! The cheek!" King splutters. "The hilarity," Mak Francis sniggers. Tom Flesher's hand flies to his jaw and the Superior One gapes at his opponent, clearly astounded that this Limey has the balls to disrespect him in such a way. Stephens' smirk is now quite clearly the familiar lopsided grin from days gone by... ...a grin that quickly disappears as Flesher lunges at him and takes him down with a blast double-leg! Stephens tries to get into an effective defensive position but Flesher has already wriggled his opponent's shoulders to the mat... ONE! ...Stephens kicks out and manages to roll onto his front but Tom simply spins around on top of him like the World Champion was some sort of breakdancing mat, then once he's finished showing off he slaps Mike in the back of the head, scoots out to his front and applies a facelock. "And that's what you get if you disrespect Tom Flesher!" Suicide King says with some satisfaction. Stephens is fighting against the front facelock while Flesher grins at the ease with which he got the upperhand; in fact the Superior One isn't too bothered about stopping his opponent from reaching the ropes, and seems to view the fact that this is the only escape route Stephens has as a sort of moral victory. It takes some effort, but Michael Stephens manages to cross enough of the ring to hook one boot over the bottom rope and force a break. Matty Kivell raises his hand to begin the inevitable count... and Flesher instantly breaks, rolling away and to his feet, then beckoning Stephens up. Kivell, aware that he's on the biggest stage in pro-wrestling, makes sure to fake a heart attack at Tom's compliance with the rules. "Wait... did Tom just not work the count?" Mak asks, astonished. "It's just his little way of letting Toxxic know how much better he is," King replies lazily. Michael Stephens looks at Flesher distrustfully, seeming more put out by this than he would have been if Flesher had held on. Regardless, the World Champion gets back to his feet and readies himself, well aware that Tom is going to try and take it to the mat again. Indeed, the Englishman’s suspicions are borne out as Flesher lunges for him again, this time slipping behind his opponent and seizing a rear waistlock which he uses to haul Stephens off his feet, then dump him on his front on the canvas. From there Flesher applies a hammerlock to his opponent’s left arm and scoots out to the front; Michael Stephens knows what’s probably coming next, but it doesn’t help him avoid Tom threading his free arm under Mike’s right elbow and bringing the World Champion over onto his back for the pin… ONE! …but Mike manages to roll a shoulder off the canvas to break the count on the ‘By The Numbers’ pin before Kivell can get to two, and manages to wriggle his non-hammerlocked arm free to turn back over onto his front. Tom just sighs and rolls sideways onto Stephens’ back until he’s reclining across his opponent’s lumbar area, whereupon he threads his right arm underneath Mike’s to crank it back, then proceeds to smoke an imaginary cigarette with that hand. “BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!” Michael Stephens doesn’t appreciate this and suddenly wrenches down with his right arm, simultaneously twisting his body in an attempt to bring Tom over in something equivalent to a crucifix pin; however, Flesher simply rolls backwards and through with the momentum, coming back to his feet before Kivell can get down to make a count for the split-second his shoulders were on the mat. Stephens is up quick, but not quick enough; Tom takes him down with another blast double-leg, then gets back up and places one foot on Stephens’ neck. ‘ONE!’ ‘TWO!’ ‘THREE!’ ‘FOUR!’ ‘FI-’ Tom does work the count this time, while simultaneously protesting that he has no idea what he might be doing wrong; as Kivell reaches the dreaded five-count Tom removes his foot and seeks to regain stable footing by putting it back down on the canvas… “BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!” …unfortunately Michael Stephens’ face got in the way, and the Superior One succeeds in raking his bootheel across the Sensation’s eye. Unintentionally, of course. “See, Tom just proved on three separate occasions that he’s the better mat wrestler,” Mak Francis says, “no-one was in any doubt of that… so why does he need to cheat on top?” “There’s no need involved,” Suicide King sniffs, “he does it because he can, because he wants to and essentially because Tom is too good for rules.” Matthew Kivell doesn’t think so, mind you; the referee argues with Flesher, at least until the Superior One brushes him away as Michael Stephens stands. The World Champion does not look happy but Tom doesn’t intend to give him a chance to improve his mood, and hits him with another blast double-leg… …but Stephens is wise to it this time, and drops down into a half-crouch to catch the unsuspecting Buffalo native with a front facelock! “Ha! Tom went to the well once to often, and even an indifferent mat wrestler will catch on sooner or later!” Mak Francis says with some satisfaction. “Oh, no, not a front facelock,” King says with absolutely no worry in his voice, “dear God, what will Tom do? He might as well tap.” However, King’s sarcasm is not entirely accurate; granted, Tom Flesher would be able to fight his way out of a front facelock held by Michael Stephens in a matter of seconds, but Michael Stephens knows this as well and has no intention of sticking around. As Flesher reaches up to start prying at the arm wrapped around his eighteen-inch neck Stephens grabs Tom’s hand and twists out to the side, transitioning into an armwringer on the Cruiserweight Champion. Again, this wouldn’t normally be much trouble for someone of Tom’s abilities… if only Stephens didn’t suddenly run for the nearest ringpost, dragging Tom with him! “What the-” Mak manages, before Mike runs straight up the buckles until he reaches the top rope, then leaps off to land astride Tom’s head before snapping back to take the Cruiserweight Champion over with a hurricanrana! “YEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!” Tom skids across the mat having landed mainly on his neck and upper back, taken off-guard and completely unaware that his opponent has rolled under the bottom rope to the apron. Flesher gets up, looking around for Michael Stephens… and too late realises that the World Champion is behind him, as a crowd roar heralds Mike returning to the squared circle with a springboard headscissors that dumps Tom onto his neck again and sends him rolling across the ring, then under the ropes and out to the floor! “LET’S GO STE-PHENS!” “LET’S GO STE-PHENS!” Tom is up on the outside but looking decidedly off-balance and uncertain, and this isn’t helped any at the sound of approaching feet which suddenly cuts off… *WHAM!* “HO-LY SHIT!” “HO-LY SHIT!” “HO-LY SHIT!” “Michael Stephens just went over the top rope and onto Tom Flesher on the outside!” Mak Francis yells as the Canadian crowd demonstrates their approval for the running somersault senton that Mike delivered to come crashing down on his opponent like a 218lb human missile, “the World Champion just turned the pace up a notch or two, and now it’s Tom Flesher who’s struggling to keep up!” Michael Stephens looks around at the crowd with a grin on his face and raises one black-nailed fist in a salute… ‘COME AND ‘AVE A GO!” “…IF YOU THINK YER ‘ARD ENOUGH!” the crowd roars back, prompting the World Champion to turn around and grab Flesher by the head before hauling him up to his feet. Stephens grabs Tom’s wrist and heaves, looking to send the Cruiserweight Champion into the guard rails with an Irish whip, but Flesher reverses and sends Mike in instead… only for the Englishman to jump up at the last moment, balance for a second on top of the rail and then corkscrew back off to take Flesher down with an improvised Role Reversal clothesline! “YEEEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!” “What agility from Michael Stephens,” Mak Francis exclaims, “he had to time that just right!” “Translation: he came within an inch of messing up, and succeeded more through luck than judgement,” King snorts. “Just you wait Francis, this is a flash in the pan. The minute this clown stops fooling around on the outside and takes things back to the ring, where a wrestling match should be conducted, Tom will have him for breakfast. With maple syrup, most likely.” Michael Stephens seems about ready to test this theory as he picks the slightly dazed and winded Flesher up off the protective mats on the outside (or possibly the outfield, not that Mike would know) then rolls him into the ring. The World Champion follows and makes a cover with a lateral press, leg hooked… ONE! …but Tom Flesher unsurprisingly kicks out microseconds after Kivell’s hand finds the mat. Michael Stephens takes this in his stride and takes hold of his opponent by the head, then pulls Flesher up to a vertical base. From there he wraps one arm around the American’s head and spins sideways to take Tom down with a swinging neckbreaker, but instead of releasing him Mike holds on and rolls back up to his feet, hauling the Cruiserweight Champion after him. This time Stephens twists around, bending Flesher’s thick neck at a nasty angle and preparing for a Hangman’s, but Tom starts firing back elbows into the Englishman’s skull, jarring his grip loose. Stephens turns around to try and get a grip on his opponent again… and Flesher thumbs him in the eye. “BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!” Matthew Kivell remonstrates with Flesher who protests with a wide-eyed innocence that would put any five year-old with his hand in the candy jar to shame, then takes two quick steps and fires off a running Shotei to Stephens just as it looks like the World Champion’s vision is clearing. However, even though he’s knocked down by the open-handed palm strike Stephens knows that he doesn’t want to be on the mat with Flesher around and struggles back to his feet as soon as possible; an admirable aim, but it simply allows Tom to grab him and Irish whip (or possibly Irish-German whip if we’re being exact) the straight-edger into the nearest set of turnbuckles. Stephens hits with a thump, and has a second’s grace before what little air remained in his lungs is forcibly removed courtesy of a Flesher avalanche! *WHAM!* “Tom’s used to throwing his weight around in the ring,” Mak comments, “and it looks like there’s a bit more weight than usual in there tonight...” “Tom’s easily under the Cruiserweight limit,” Suicide King defends his sometime protégé, “and Matheson will sue if you say otherwise Francis! He’s a fine figure of an athlete!” “Jeez King, who died and made you Bobby Riley?” Regardless of the Gambling Man’s selective vision, Flesher’s avalanche is effective and Stephens has slumped down in the corner as a result. Tom knows better than to look a gift horse in the mouth and proceeds to do what any self-respecting New Yorker would do in the same circumstances - kick the man while he’s down. Or in this case, use your boot to choke him. ‘ONE!’ ‘TWO!’ ‘THREE!’ ‘FOUR!’ ‘FI-’ Flesher breaks off just before the disqualification point, leading to Kivell having another go at him. Lip readers might be able to detect Flesher’s excuse (‘my foot slipped’) and it seems that the Cruiserweight Champion is being especially accident-prone tonight, as he once more steps on Stephens’ throat… ‘ONE!’ ‘TWO!’ ‘THREE!’ ‘FOUR!’ ‘FI-’ …and once more, ceases and desists mere microseconds before Kivell rings the bell on his ass. Mike is wheezing and virtually horizontal, so Flesher takes his cue and picks up the Englishman’s feet to drag him towards the centre of the ring, then sits Stephens up and positions himself behind the World Champion to apply a bodyscissors. “Excellent strategy,” King says approvingly, “keep him grounded, control his breathing… I taught him everything he knows.” “Tom’s a natural wrestler,” Francis argues, “and you taught him none of that. You are a natural cheater.” “BORRRRR-ING!” “BORRRRR-ING!” The Canadian crowd don’t seem to be set on fire by the Superior One’s tactics and are making their feelings felt by delivering a chant usually saved for his regular tag team partner. Tom looks around in surprise and, it might be said, a little pain. “BORRRRR-ING!” “BORRRRR-ING!” “That’s rich, coming from a country that includes Quebec,” Suicide King mutters, causing Joe Peters to kiss another Canadian sponsor goodbye. However, Tom Flesher appears ‘hurt’ enough by the crowd’s chants to give them a bit more action, something to spice the evening up a bit… so he slaps Michael Stephens in the back of the head a couple of times. “BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!” The blows seem to waken the oxygen-starved World Champion into something more approaching life and he starts levering at Tom’s legs, trying to prise them open enough to escape. Flesher’s having none of that of course, and demonstrates this fact by twisting his body to bring Stephens over into a pin… ONE! TWO!! …but Mike manages to roll his weight back into a sitting position and escape what would surely be the most embarrassing World Title loss in history. However, the near miss acts as something of a catalyst and Stephens forgoes his previous efforts at levering Tom’s powerful legs apart, and instead simply starts firing elbows into the Superior One’s knee. This is understandably a bit more effective and Flesher grits his teeth in pain, then decides enough is enough and reaches forward to rake Stephens in the eyes again! “BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!” However, although Stephens is blinded he does get what he was after; Tom decides to remove his knee from harm’s way and releases the bodyscissors, then gets back to his feet and walks around in a small circle to try and shake some of the pain out of it. Mike pushes himself back to his feet, swiping at his eyes as he does so… and walks straight into a Tom Flesher bearhug. *THUMP!* Correction, a Tom Flesher Railgun suplex. “LET’S GO STE-PHENS!” “Textbook overhead belly-to-belly there,” Mak Francis says, “Tom may have gained some weight, but he hasn’t lost ability.” ONE! TWO!! …and Stephens kicks out, not really in any danger of losing the match off the pin but still forced to expend energy. “Will you stop with comments about Tom’s weight?” King sniffs, “sitting next to you tonight is like being in the women’s restroom.” “…and what would you know about that?” the Franchise asks suspiciously. King just smirks. Meanwhile Tom has decided to bring Michael Stephens up to his feet again, albeit only so he can find another way of dropping him onto the mat. On this occasion Tom grabs his trusty front facelock, then underhooks Stephens’ right arm with his left. Normally Mike is fairly good at escaping underhooks, bad memories of the Demonstar and all, but Flesher doesn’t give him the chance as he brings his left knee up under Mike’s chest and flips the World Champion over it to bring him down onto his back with the Flying Cement Job, making a cover to complete the move… ONE! TWO!! …and Stephens kicks out again. Flesher could hold on to try and make another pin but instead elects to let go and see what his opponent does; predictably, Stephens turns over onto his front to avoid another pinning predicament but that allows Tom to easily straddle his opponent’s back and grab Mike’s chin for a Camel Clutch. “LET’S GO STE-PHENS!” “LET’S GO STE-PHENS!” “A good wear-down hold applied there by Tom,” Francis notes, “but he hasn’t taken the relatively simple step of hooking Stephens’ arms over his knees. That would make the hold that bit more painful and more difficult to escape from… in the manner that the World Champion is attempting now, actually.” Indeed, Michael Stephens still has his arms free and is starting to inch towards the ropes. Flesher doesn’t seem that bothered and is merrily yanking back on his opponent’s chin to extend the neck backwards. “BORRRRR-ING!” “BORRRRR-ING!” “Tom wants to give Stephens an easy way out of this one,” King speculates, “just to make it that more depressing when he puts him back in it. It’s Tom Flesher Mak, he can do what he wants whenever he wants, and no-one’s going to be able to stop him.” Flesher realises that the ropes are getting close and figures he’ll give Stephens something to remember him by, so for the last few seconds he forgoes the chinlock to apply a fishhook to Stephens’ mouth- ‘ONE!’ ‘TWO!’ ‘THREE!’ ‘FOUR!’ ‘FI-’ -and releases just before the disqualification point, which happens to be more or less when Stephens makes the ropes anyway. Kivell backs Tom up complaining about the fishhook, but Flesher protests that he broke the submission hold when his opponent made the ropes. Regardless, Flesher doesn’t waste too much time on banter with SWF officials and instead focuses on moving back in and grabbing the newly-standing Michael Stephens before he has much time to recuperate, then dragging the World Champion away from the ropes. From there he delivers a kick to the gut- “BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!” “That was low![” Mak Francis exclaims as Stephens doubles over in agony; Matthew Kivell gets in Flesher’s face but he can’t be completely certain that it was a definite, full-blown low blow, and Tom blows him off by wrapping his arms around Stephens and gut-wrenching the Englishman up into… well, we’re in Toronto and it’s Tom Flesher. What sort of backbreaker do you think he’s going to use? ‘OOOHHHHH, CAAAAAA-NA-DAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!’ *CRUNCH!* Tom demonstrates why the SWF never released “Genesis VII: The Album” (and not just because Phil Collins might sue) and drops to his knees, causing Michael Stephens’ spine to be bent sharply out of shape with the move known in modern times as the Derailler, but more traditionally referred to as the Canadian Backbreaker. Not a popular choice. “BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!” “When will Tom give up this ridiculous notion of being some sort of Canadian hero!?” Mak Francis exclaims in exasperation as tens of thousands of rabid fans give Flesher the bird in unison. “When will Toxxic give up this ridiculous notion of being some sort of wrestler!?” King mimics. “FLESH-ER SUCKS!” “FLESH-ER SUCKS!” Tom just stands there basking in the disdain as Michael Stephens rolls over onto his front, looking to avoid being pinned. However, the Cruiserweight Champion seems to have something more exciting in mind as he starts clapping his hands together; not the usual Tom Flesher golf clap, but the rhythmical, quickening beat of a luchadore about to launch some kind of suicidal enterprise. *clap* *clap* *clap* *clap* *clap* *clap* *clap* *clap* *clap* *clap* *clap* *clap* *clap* A few of the crowd actually join in; most are still too busy hurling abuse, but Tom turns and runs for the ropes anyway, bouncing off and accelerating back across the ring. He hits the far cables, rebounds and hurtles back, then hits the ropes once more and gets even more speed to cross the ring even quicker, comes off the far ropes one more time at a pace he probably hasn’t reached for several years… …then slews to a halt, turns and applies a Camel Clutch to Michael Stephens. This time, with the World Champion’s arms hooked back over his knees. “BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!” “Ha!” King chortles as Flesher looks around at the fans, visibly mouthing something along the lines of ‘boring, eh?’, “forget Wildchild, forget Zyon - only with Tom Flesher could you get the EXTREME~ Camel Clutch!” “Well regardless of the lead-up to it this is still an effective hold, especially now Tom’s got it locked in properly,” Mak Francis concedes. “One of his strengths is how well he does the simple stuff, so Michael Stephens is going to have a hard fight getting out of this predicament.” “BORRRRR-ING!” “BORRRRR-ING!” A hard fight seems to be a true analysis of the situation; Michael Stephens has something well in excess of 230lbs bending his spine down towards the mat, his arms are trapped and relatively useless and his chin is being wrenched back. However, you don’t become a four-time World Champion without a tendency to fight, and Stephens is doing his best to wriggle his arms free. Flesher is doing a good job of controlling him, but finally Mike manages to get his right arm out… and at that moment Flesher jumps up, then crashes back down onto Stephens’ back with all his weight, crushing the World Champion into the mat. “BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!” Flesher just smirks around at the crowd, then rehooks his opponent into the hold and settles back. He can wait all night if he has to, but he probably won’t need to. “BORRRRR-ING!” “BORRRRR-ING!” Apart from the fact that Michael Stephens is not going to be giving up easily; not here, not tonight, not in the main event of the greatest show of all time. The persistence of the champion pays off and he manages to wriggle one arm free again, giving him that much more traction to start to drag himself towards the ropes again… so Tom Flesher jumps up, and comes crashing down on his back again. *CHING!* Well, he would have done if Stephens hadn’t rolled over onto his back and raised his knees, causing Tom to land right on the Superior Package. “YEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!” “That’s a low blow!” King roars, outraged, “disqualify hi- no, wait, he’d keep the World Title.” “Low blow!?” Francis asks in exasperation, “it was more a low landing!” “Goddammit Francis, how come the title could change hands on a DQ in the International match, but not this one?” Regardless of the rules of the respective matches it doesn’t seem to be an issue on this occasion as Matthew Kivell is showing no signs of calling for the bell. Tom Flesher has rolled away from his opponent, clutching his happy-happy-joy-joy area and probably wishing fervently for the soothing attentions of Allison Onita; meanwhile Michael Stephens is still lying on his back looking up at the lights, face screwed up in pain and showing no sign of getting up to capitalise on his momentum-changing manoeuvre. “LET’S GO STE-PHENS!” “LET’S GO STE-PHENS!” With both men down Matty Kivell has a job to do, and he raises his hands to begin the count… ‘ONE!’ ‘TWO!’ “King, I can’t remember us ever having a double count-out in the SWF,” Mak Francis comments, “but out of all the matches we’ve had, this is probably the one you don’t want it in! There’s so much at stake here.” ‘THREE!’ “Yeah, there’s no way Tom should be leaving here tonight with just the one title,” Suicide King agrees. Well, sort of agrees. ‘FOUR!’ However, Tom Flesher is a tough bastard and it’s going to take more than his recently-increased bodyweight crashing down on his own genitals to keep him off his feet for the long ten count that Kivell is currently employing. The Cruiserweight Champion rolls onto his knees, braces his hands against the canvas and starts to push himself up; a trifle shakily, to be sure, but he’s getting there. ‘FIVE!’ He’s getting there faster than Michael Stephens too, as the World Champion has yet to do much more than grimace in pain. ‘SIIIIIIX…’ …and Tom Flesher is back to his feet. The Superior One winces, turns towards his opponent and makes his way slightly gingerly towards him. Michael Stephens is still on his back… …and suddenly coils his legs up until his knees nearly touch his chin, then kips up back to his feet before leaping into the air to nail his opponent with an enzuigiri! *CRACK!* “YEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!” “Stephens was playing possum!” Francis exclaims, “he wasn’t as badly hurt as he made out-” “Nearly though,” King adds with a nasty laugh, “he doesn’t look in great shape!” Indeed, although Flesher has toppled face first to the canvas Michael Stephens takes a couple of seconds to get back up from his own landing position, and he holds his back as he does so. This doesn’t stop him from dropping a leg across the back of Tom’s head despite the wince of pain as landing on the canvas sends a mild shock up his spine; however Mike knows there’s no time to waste and he also knows that he doesn’t want to try and get one over on Tom on the mat. Instead he turns and makes his way for the nearest set of turnbuckles, stepping through the ropes and climbing to the top from the ring apron, then crouching on the top to await Flesher getting to his feet. “LET’S GO STE-PHENS!” Tom Flesher starts to get up, holding the back of his head and lips moving in words that are probably best left unheard. He looks around for his opponent… and too late looks up to see both of Stephens’ boots a microsecond before they impact on his chest, knocking him back down with a dropkick! “LET’S GO STE-PHENS!” Mike gets up again, a little quicker this time and with a tight smile on his face. He turns and runs for the ropes, bounces off and then leaps into the air to come down on Flesher with a rolling senton that not only drives some of the breath from the lungs of the Superior One but also allows Mike himself to roll through and come back up to a standing position; not for long though, as he instantly backflips with a standing moonsault to crash down on Tom again, then hooks the leg for the pin! ONE! TWO!! …Flesher kicks out, but Stephens doesn’t give him a chance to regain any breath as he grabs the Cruiserweight Champion by the head and starts pulling him up to his feet. Flesher is currently a little short of oxygen to make much protest and Stephens grabs his wrist to Irish whip him into the ropes; as the Buffalo native makes the return trip Mike sidesteps at the last moment and snakes his left arm under Tom’s for a half-nelson, then grabs the back of his opponent’s singlet and hoists the Cruiserweight Champion off his feet before sitting out to drive Flesher down with a facebuster. *WHAM!* Stephens uses the half-nelson he still holds to turn Tom over, but instead of going for the pin the World Champion heads for the turnbuckles again, twirling his fingers over his head as he does so. This time he manages to vault straight up from the mat to the top rope, twisting as he does so to end up facing the ring again. Mike straightens on the top rope, takes a breath and leaps off forwards, somersaulting through the air to come down and land a leg across Flesher’s throat with the Hangover! *BANG!* This time he does make the cover, hooking the leg and rolling into it to stack as much as possible of his 218lbs on top of his opponent… ONE! TWO!! TH- -but Tom kicks out again! “This sort of high-speed offence is just what Stephens needs to be bringing to the table against Tom,” Mak says approvingly, “if Tom can’t get hold of him he can’t wrestle him, and Tom’s strength lies in counter-wrestling, not evading high risk moves from the top rope!” “You tell me how this flying around makes Stephens the champion of a ‘wrestling’ federation,” King sulks. Regardless of the Gambling Man’s opinion of his worthiness to hold the title, Michael Stephens is intent on keeping it; with the Hangover having failed he takes hold of Flesher again and starts to haul the heavier American back to his feet before taking him into a front facelock with his left arm. He stretches his right arm out to the side, then starts to whip it down and across for the Unfinished Business… …but Business remains Unfinished, as the moment Mike starts to twist Tom grabs him around the waist with lightning speed, then hoists upwards and bridges back to take Stephens over with a backdrop suplex! It’s not a full-blown Backdrop Driver - Stephens lands on his back, not his neck - but it still knocks the wind from the unsuspecting World Champion, and Flesher makes sure to keep some control over his downed opponent by grabbing Mike’s right leg as he gets up. From there he fires a few kicks into the knee before placing his own leg in the crook of Stephens’ and starting to twist… “Tom’s going for the Figure Four!” Mak shouts… …Stephens isn’t going to be having any of that though, and as Flesher turns the Brit plants his foot square on the Superior Ass and shoves with all his might, sending the Cruiserweight Champion stumbling away. Flesher turns back as Stephens starts to get up- *KER-RACK!* -and drives a boot right into Mike’s face with a Yakuza Kick! “BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!” “Dear God!” Mak shouts as Tom pulls up with a smirk on his face, “Tom didn’t get much of a run-up on that, but it’s still put Stephens down and Flesher back in control!” “As it should be,” Suicide King nods approvingly while Flesher makes a cover. ONE! TWO!! TH- -but Stephens kicks out, not out of it enough to lose the World Title yet! Flesher looks up at Matthew Kivell questioningly while James Matheson yells from the floor that it was clearly three; Kivell remains adamant however and Flesher, sighing at the quality of today’s officiating, grabs Michael Stephens and starts to haul the Englishman back to his feet. A front facelock quickly follows, but this time Flesher throws Stephens’ arm around his own neck before grabbing the World Champion by the waist of his baggy pants and hoisting him up. Stephens isn’t quite brought to the vertical, and instead of falling backwards for a textbook suplex Flesher simply throws Stephens forwards to land hard on his front, then jumps onto his back with both feet! “DOUBLE STOMP~!” King shouts. ‘See that!?’ Flesher yells to a kid in the front row brandishing a sign reading ‘HEY TOM - GOT FAT?’, ‘I’m a damn cruiserweight! Eh?’ “BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!” Flesher just grins as the Toronto Skydome fills with boos and jeers for his shameless - and completely inaccurate - statement. However, as the seconds go by the catcalls slowly start turning into something else; a buzz of anticipation. Flesher, confused, looks down at James Matheson who is urgently pointing to something behind him… …and Tom turns around into a European uppercut, courtesy of a very annoyed Michael Stephens! *WHAM!* “YEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!” “That was a stupid mistake on Tom’s part,” Mak Francis says as the Superior One goes down, then scrambles back up to his feet again, “someone with his ring experience should know better than to waste time baiting the crowd when the match isn’t won, especially against someone of the ability of Michael Stephens!” Tom doesn’t have much better luck this time as Stephens nails him with another- *WHAM!* -that causes Flesher to stagger back into the ropes, then grabs the Superior One’s wrist and Irish whips him across the ring. Flesher rebounds and can’t stop himself in time to avoid the standing dropkick that comes his way courtesy of the World Champion, knocking him down to the mat! “LET’S GO STE-PHENS!” “LET’S GO STE-PHENS!” Michael Stephens almost pops back up to his feet, the adrenaline flowing through his veins blocking out the pain - for now. However, ‘for now’ might be long enough to get the job done, as he runs to the nearest ringpost and scales it quickly, then leaps off into the air. He somersaults forward again, but instead of dropping the Hangover onto Tom Flesher he rotates a little less and lands in a standing position with devastating impact on Flesher’s ribcage! *BANG!* “DOUBLE STOMP,” Mak yells, winking at King, “with AUTHORITY~!” “Die.”

FOUR!! Hawke makes sure he doesn’t get disqualified as he quickly backs off to let Bruce get a breath of fresh air. A confident and arrogant grin spreads across Hawke’s face as he listens to Bruce cough for air, he’s got the big man at his mercy. Bruce pushes himself back to his feet by using the ropes but before he can regain his senses or even his breath Hawke rushes in and rolls him up with a School Boy trip from behind. Kivell drops to the canvas to count the pinfall ONE!!! The moment Blank blocks the referee’s field of vision Hawke puts a foot up on the bottom rope to aid him in his pinfall attempt “FOOT ON THE ROPE!!” Mak yells out TWOO!!! “Calm down Mak it’s perfectly legal now that he’s used his rope breaks” King says. “The hell it is!” is Mak’s only reply THR-NO!! The argument over whether the foot on the rope was legal or not is quickly made a moot point as Wayne rushes over and pushes Hawke’s foot off the rope to save his brother once more. BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!! THROW HIM OUT!! THROW HIM OUT!! THROW HIM OUT!! “I’m with them King, they should throw Wayne Blank out of here” Mak says “Throw Bruce’s manager and driver out of the arena? What did he do?” King asks. “Are you blind? He interfered in the match more than once, he saved Bruce more than once” “Really? I didn’t see that” King lies. Since Kivell didn’t see Wayne interfere he has no reason to throw the younger Blank brother out, a fact that just turns the crowd even more hostile as the skinnier, younger Blank brother cheers Bruce on. Since the crowd is so negative towards Bruce and Wayne right now it really isn’t much of a surprise that the fans actually CHEER for the appearance of Hawke’s rob-clad back up. YEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHH!! “We saw this guy save Hawke on Lockdown” Mak says as the unknown guy runs down the aisle. “Didn’t Jimmy shoot all his druids? Did this guy escape the massacre?” King quips. When Wayne sees the big druid looking guy come running at him he does two things in quick succession. First he screams like a little girl and then secondly he takes off running down the other ramp away from the ring. KICK HIS ASS!! KICK HIS ASS!! KICK HIS ASS!! The fans in the Rogers Center are hoping, no begging for the big man to knick Wayne’s ass but Wayne has one thing going over the mystery druid and that’s speed which is the reason why Wayne is able to avoid an ass kicking at least for now by hauling ass to the back. The mystery druid stops about three quarters down the ramp as Wayne goes backstage, then he turns and looks at Hawke for a moment before continuing his chase. “There we go! Now maybe we can get a wrestling match going” Mak says relieved that Wayne Blank has been removed from ringside. “That’s unfair! Wayne is a licensed manager the other guy is just some guy who’s a bit early for Halloween!” King protests. During all the commotion of Hawke’s mysterious back up appearing and everything Matthew Kivell neglected to pay attention to what Bruce was doing, thus he has missed seeing Bruce pull a pair of brassknucks out from his boot and before sliding them on his right hand. Blank still looks winded and gasping for air as he stands bent over in the corner, but part of that is a ploy on his part to hide the knucks on his hand from everyone’s view. “What did he pull out of his boot?” Mak inquires “Not a thing Mak, you are so paranoid” King replies trying his best to dismiss Mak’s comments as mindless drivel. Kivell watches the druid leave to ensure that he doesn’t stay at ringside. Once Hawke is sure that Wayne is gone he turns his attention back towards Bruce who still looks winded to him. Hawke approaches Bruce and then… *WHACK!!* In a flash Hawke is knocked out as Bruce strikes him upside the head with his steel enhanced fist. After successfully hitting Hawke with the knucks Bruce slides the illegal object off his right hand, then he grabs Hawke’s trunks by the waistband so that he can slide the brass knucks into Hawke’s trunks! YOU SUCK!! YOU SUCK!! YOU SUCK!! YOU SUCK!! Bruce can’t resist giving the fans a double bird salute as he covers the fallen Jay Hawke. ONE!!! “No, no, no, not like this, not like this” Mak laments as Bruce lays across Hawke’s chest counting along with Matthew Kivell. TWOO!!!! “I don’t see Hawke getting up from this one Mak, Bruce demonstrated that brass beats tactics every time” King says. THREEE!!!! *DING!*DING!!*DING!!* BULLSHIT!! BULLSHIT!! BULLSHIT!! BULLSHIT!! BULLSHIT!! BULLSHIT!! “The winner of the first fall in 25 minutes, 14 seconds – the International Champion BRUCEEEEEEEEEEEE BLANK!!!” Funyon informs everyone. “Bruce stole it, Hawke was in total control of the match, he was only moments away from putting Bruce down and Bruce stole it” Mak complains. “Yeah well what are you gonna do?” Is the Suicide King’s philosophical take on it. There is a 30 second rest period between each break and Bruce is using it to his fullest, getting some water and wiping off the sweat with a towel. Hawke on the other hand is using the 30 second rest period for something totally different Regaining consciousness Matthew Kivell checks on Hawke, then helps him back on his feet as Hawke looks a bit dazed and staggered after being hit on the side of the head with the brass knucks. Bruce just grins and even gives Hawke a little “Fuck you” wave from across the ring as he wipes the sweat off his chest. “Bruce has been able to frustrate Hawke, he’s been able to throw him off his game plan and now he’s got a HUGE advantage going into the second round” Mak says “Yeah he’s got a woozy opponent, that always makes it easier” King quips as the thirty second rest period expires. “Ladies and gentlemen with 34 minutes and 46 seconds left it is now time for the SECOND FALL!!” Funyon says and then nods to the time keeper to ring the bell *DING!* Instead of rushing Hawke to get the early advantage Bruce circles him, then he points to something as he begins to complain vehemently to Matthew Kivell. Hawke looks confused as Bruce starts to make fist gestures and then points to Hawke’s tights. “What is he doing?” Mak asks. Kivell reluctantly waves Hawke over and then begins to pad him down for weapons starting at the waist band. It only takes the referee two seconds the find the pair of brass knucks that Bruce stashed in Hawke’s trunks only moments ago. “WHAT?? NO!! NO!!” Mak yells out as Kivell begins to question Hawke, threatening to disqualify him. Hawke shakes his head, denying having ever even seen the brass knucks as Kivell gets in his face. Bruce keeps urging the referee to disqualify Hawke spouting off lines about rule breaking and how that’s a disgrace to the International title. “If Bruce gets Hawke disqualified then he’s a freaking genius!!” King says admiring Bruce’s underhanded tactics. “If he gets him disqualified then Bruce stole the match! AGAIN!!” Mak rants “How can you steal the match twice? Did he give it back in between?” King jokes but Mak is so enraged that he doesn’t even hear the Suicide King’s joke. After arguing back and forth the referee puts the brass knucks in his pocket and then orders the match to continue. When questioned by Bruce Kivell informs Bruce that he didn’t see Hawke use the knucks so he’s letting him off with a warning. Seeing his plans foiled Bruce gets in Kivell’s face, but Matthew Kivell didn’t become Senior Referee by being a pushover so the zebra pushes Bruce off RIGHT INTO A ROLL UP BY HAWKE!! ONE!!! “This could even the score!!” Mak says as Hawke grabs hold of Bruce’s tights TWOO!!!! When Kivell raises his hand for the third count he notices Hawke’s hand on Bruce’s trunks and breaks the count. Then he taps Hawke on the shoulder to make him break the cover, when Hawke feels Kivell’s tap on the shoulder he immediately releases his grip on Bruce and leaps back to his feet, hands in the air thinking that he just got the pinfall on Blank. “It was just a two Hawke!!” King yells trying to get Hawke’s attention. “He thinks he’s got it, he thinks he’s evened the score.” Hawke leaps up on the middle turnbuckle and celebrates his victory, well his imaginary victory. Bruce gets back to his feet, then grins as he eyes the perfect opportunity to attack Hawk from behind. Bruce approaches Hawke from behind to attack him, but instead he’s surprise to see Hawke bounce off the ropes as he twists around for a … BLOCKBUSTER!!! YEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHH!! “I think Hawke suckered Bruce in!” King yells out as Hawke quickly rolls up to his knees after hitting the neckbreaker like move on Bruce. “He played the champion like a fiddle by pretending to celebrate prematurely.” Mak adds to not feel left out. Jay Hawke begins to berate Bruce as the Dean of Professional Wrestling starts a series of knee drops to Bruce’s shoulder, each time he lands a knee he tells Bruce that he’s the best, that Bruce is worthless and that outsmarting Bruce is easy. JAY HAWKE SUCKS!! JAY HAWKE SUCKS!! JAY HAWKE SUCKS!! “These guys are so damn fickle” King laments as the crowd begins to boo Hawke’s antics only moments after popping for the twisting Blockbuster. “Neither of these guys will win a popularity contest King but the fans do enjoy seeing them get beat up” Mak says as a way to explain why the crowd popped for Hawke taking Bruce down. Hawke grabs Bruce by the hair and the wrist and drags the big man back to his feet and then pushes him into the corner I think everyone probably knows what comes next. *CHOP!!* WHOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!! “Damn those chops are doing their damage tonight, look at Bruce’s chest” Mak says as the camera catches a close up of the burst blood vessels and the bruise starting to form where Hawke has been chopping him all night long. *CHOP!!* WHOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!! “SHUT THE FUCK UP!! YOU CANADIANS DON’T DESERVE TO EVEN MENTION RIC FLAIR’S NAME!!” Hawke yells causing the crowd to erupt RIC FLAIR!! RIC FLAIR!! RIC FLAIR!! “Okay Mak you’ve GOT to admit the Canadians are weird, they’re chanting for a guy that’s not even in the ring – hell he’s not even in the same federation as Hawke and Blank” King complains as the fans get on Hawke’s case. “That’s why I love coming to Canada, you never know WHAT will happen” Mak replies with a smile. RIC FLAIR!! RIC FLAIR!! RIC FLAIR!! Hawke figures that the best way to make the chants stop is to continue the match, which is what he tries to do by Irish Whipping Bruce across the ring – just a shame that Bruce has other ideas and reverses the Irish Whip so that it’s Hawke that ends up being thrown towards the turnbuckles. Hawke blocks the impact by leaping up in the air, putting his foot on the second turnbuckle to break the momentum and then leap back down facing Bruce totally unscathed. “A unique but effective way of countering the Irish Whip King” “That’s what Hawke is all about, efficiency: He’ll take you down with the least amount of risk or impact to himself and then make you wish you had never stepped inside the squared circle with him. King replies revelling in his Jay Hawke fandom. Bruce gets up a head of steam and rushes Hawke hoping to bowl his much smaller opponent over, but Hawke has other plans, plans that involve a deep arm drag that takes the big man completely over and to the mat in the blink of an eye *WHAM!!* “SHADES OF RICKY STEAMBOAT!!” Mak yells out as Hawke channels the Hawaiian Dragon in the ring. “And look at him roll over into a Fujiwara Armbar on Bruce, this is poetry in motion Mak” King gushes as Hawke applies the very painful armbar on the International champion. Bruce is in a serious amount of trouble as Hawke is pushing back with both feet to inflict the maximum amount of elbow and shoulder damage to his opponent. The only saving grace that Bruce has right now is the fact that he is stronger than an ox and his arms are so pumped that they’re hard to totally straighten out if Bruce doesn’t want that to happen. Hawke has all his weight on Bruce’s bicep as he attempts to straighten Bruce’s arm out while pulling back on the wrist but so far the big man has been able to negate the most painful part of the move. “If Hawke can straighten that arm out and really apply the Fujiwara he could end up tearing Bruce’s tricep” Mak says, perhaps speaking from experience. “Yeah I think Hawke realizes that” is King’s reply not realizing that Mak made the comment for the fans at home and not in an attempt to make polite conversation with the Suicide King. After struggling with the Fujiwara armbar for a couple of moments Hawke changes tactics and swiftly twists Bruce’s arm behind his back in a hammerlock position. With one hand on Bruce’s arm Hawke stands up and then inserts his foot in the crook of Bruce’s twisted arm, getting his foot under Bruce’s forearm. “BRUTAL!!” Mak says loudly as Hawke drops straight back to the canvas wrenching hard on Bruce’s arm. Bruce’s face is a contorted image of pain and misery as Hawke expertly works over Bruce’s right arm. the Dean of Professional Wrestling gets back to a vertical base, still with his foot trapping Bruce’s arm and then he lets himself fall backwards once more, raising his foot in a sharp, sudden motion thus twisting even more on Bruce’s arm. The noise that escapes Bruce is one more at home in a bullfighting competition than a wrestling match as the big man roars in agony. “Hawke could have the second fall any moment now!” King says with excitement as Hawke picks Bruce apart in the ring. “I don’t remember Bruce submitting in the SWF, do you King?” Mak asks. “Now that you mention it… no, no I don’t. It’d be quite a feather in Hawke’s cap if he’s the first one to make Bruce tap out.” says King. Bruce has two options, reach the rope or submit – he’s not in a position where he can escape the hold since he can’t even touch Hawke and every time he tries to get to his knees Hawke twists the hammerlock even further bringing Bruce back down flat on his face. Bruce’s free left hand hovers over the canvas, trying to bridge that last 3 inch gap between the tip of his finger and the rope Looking like he could tap at any second now from the excruciating pain. “This is where Bruce could really use Wayne” King says “But that big hooded dork had to run him off” “Yeah heaven forbid we’d have a clean, even match King” Mak says with a sarcastic roll of the eyes. Bruce’s hand is about an inch away or so, will he tap or will he reach the ropes?? Is Jay Hawke going to make Bruce tap?? … NO!! Bruce barely gets the outermost tip of his middle finger on the rope but it’s good enough for Matthew Kivell to make Hawke break the Hammerlock. While it might have frustrated Hawke to release the Hammerlock he doesn’t show it, he’s got a plan and he’s sticking to it. When Bruce is released from the hold he quickly gets back to his feet to avoid being locked up like that again, rubbing his shoulder and arm as he tries to get some feeling back in it. “That was as close as I’ve ever seen it King” “Yeah but it’s still 1 – nothing to Bruce so it wasn’t close enough now was it?” King counters. Hawke swoops in like his namesake and applies the same hold that Bruce was so fond of earlier in the match, the side headlock. If Hawke was looking to control Bruce with this move he’s sadly mistaken as Bruce quickly stands up straight and uses his left arm to raise Hawke up in the air. Hawke flips over Bruce’s back and lands behind him, the second his feet makes contact with the canvas he pushes forward shoving Bruce into the ropes. The rebound allows Hawke to roll Bruce up, grabbing his tights for that extra added advantage Hawke is always ready to use. ONE!! “1 All!!” King boldly predicts TWO!! THR-KICKOUT!! Bruce kicks forward with so much force that it sends Hawke hurting into the ropes, hitting them at such an awkward angle that he ends up getting his head trapped between the top and the middle rope as he flips over and sits on the apron. HOLY SHIT!! HOLY SHIT!! HOLY SHIT!! “That’s how Cactus Jack lost an ear!!” Mak yells out as the camera catches a shot of Hawke’s right ear bleeding a little. Bruce is in no shape to take advantage of Hawke’s precarious position as he sits on the mat, gasping for air while trying to bring some life back into his right arm. Matthew Kivell, Funyon and the time keeper all rush over to help Hawke out of the beartrap like position he’s in twisted up in the two plastic coated steel cables. Kivell makes sure Hawke’s head doesn’t sustain any additional injuries as Funyon and the time keeper push the ropes apart enough to slip Jay’s head free. “Is he okay?” Mak wonders. “He’s a pro, he’ll be okay” King says with more confidence than he really has. Hawke sits on the apron for a moment to gather his senses again, he’s red around the neck and there is a trickle of blood coming out from his ear but other than that he looks to be fine. “Hawke needs to thank his lucky stars because that could have gone seriously wrong” Mak says “What are you now? The worker safety advocate?” King fires back at Mak. Hawke rolls back into the ring and gets to his feet not looking much worse for wear except maybe for his bleeding ear but even that looks minor. The break in the action has allowed Bruce to get back on his feet as well and given him time to catch his breath, the big man wasn’t built for a long match such as this after all, he’s never gone past 30 minutes and this match has passed that mark a while back. “That’s the sign of two men with no quit in them” King says as Hawke and Bruce circle each other “This is a fight of wills as much as it’s a fight of skills” “This is Lawler against Von Erich! this is Flair and Funk! it’s Piper and Hogan King, it’s old school tough and it’s old school awesome” Mak gushes. “If they keep this up it’s definitely a classic in the making” the Suicide King admits. Hawke is the first one to act, he’s a fall behind and if the time runs out he’ll walk away without the International title. Hawke rushes Bruce head on, hoping to catch the big man off guard with such an attack, but Bruce has had enough time to gather his senses and catches Hawke as he runs at him. Bruce raises the Dean of Professional Wrestling up in the air and… FAILS TO GORILLA PRESS HIM!! “Bruce’s right shoulder couldn’t take it!!” King says as Bruce is forced to drop Hawke. “He made a mistake, he was trapped and acted on instinct but it was a mistake” Mak points out. Hawke lands on his feet behind Bruce’s back as the big man winces in pain, a pain that’s only increased as Hawke swiftly hooks Bruce’s right arm with a Chicken Wing and then leaps up on Bruce’s back as he tries to get the Crossface locked in as well “WING SPAN!! WING SPAN!! HAWKE COULD HAVE IT RIGHT H…” Mak is cut off mid sentence as Bruce lurches left and then bucks to the right throwing Hawke off him before the former International champion could fully lock on the Crossface. Bruce looks spooked as he turns and stares at Hawke, the attempted Wing Span seems to have rattled the champion. Bruce approaches Hawke and then engages him with a Collar and Elbow lock up. When Matthew Kivell approaches the two to check the hold Bruce suddenly finds himself thrown over the top rope and to the floor. “WHAT THE HELL?” Mak yells out as he nearly breaks his wheelchair in surprise. “Did Hawke just throw Bruce over the top rope? That’s a disqualification” King adds. Kivell raises his hand in the air ready to call for the bell when Hawke intercepts him and then begins to explain something to him. While Hawke apparently pleads his case Bruce is on the floor complaining about being thrown out of the ring while smirking like a cat that just ate a whole tuna. After a few explanations from Hawke Kivell goes over to talk to Funyon, Funyon nods a few times and then picks up the microphone. “Ladies and gentlemen due to comments made by Jay Hawke Senior Referee Matthew Kivell has decided to look at the instant replay” Funyon announces to draw everyone’s attention to the ring 0=0=0=0=0=0 Instant Replay 0=0=0=0=0=0 We are taken back to moments ago as Bruce and Jay lock arms, jockeying for position and control over the collar and elbow tie up. When Kivell approaches it looks like Hawke grabs Bruce by the hair and throws the big man over the top rope with ease. The slow motion replay also reveals Bruce’s Cheshire like grin the moment he hits the floor only to be replaced by Bruce acting like he hurt himself. The instant replay then goes back to the collar and elbow tie up, but this time from the reverse angle. From this angle it’s revealed that Bruce pinned Hawke’s hand against the side of his head so it looked like Hawke was holding his hair and then LEAPT over the top rope himself. 0=0=0=0=0=0=0=0=0=0=0 BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!! WHITEEEEEEEEEEEEEE TRASH!! WHITEEEEEEEEEEEEEE TRASH!! When Kivell sees that Bruce jumped over the top rope himself he immediately waves off any disqualification thoughts and orders the match to continue. YEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHH!! “Bruce tried to get Hawke disqualified? That low down rotten bastard!” Mak fumes, he may not particularly like Hawke but he hates to see anyone get shafted. “There was only one thing wrong with that plan Mak” King says. “Oh yeah and what is that?” “He got caught” the Suicide King states. Bruce looks like he just swallowed a sack of lemons, his well laid plan had been destroyed by a single camera. Hawke attacks Bruce the moment the Redneck Superman steps through the ropes hoping to maintain his advantage. The break in the action seems to have benefited Bruce a great deal though as he shrugs Hawke off and throws him into the corner. Then he turns up the speed and runs straight at Hawke looking for a shoulder tackle in the corner. *CLONK!!* OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOHHH!! Hawke ducks out of the way so that instead of hitting Hawke in the midsection Bruce shoots through the ropes and drives his right shoulder straight into the ring post with a sickening thud. YOU FUCKED UP!! YOU FUCKED UP!! YOU FUCKED UP!! Hawke is quick to step through the ropes, grab Bruce’s right arm and then slam it hard against the ringpost just to add injury to injury. Kivell warns Hawke but the Dean of Professional Wrestling didn’t make it to where he is today by listening to the referee so he promptly proceeds to ignore him while stretching and twisting Bruce’s arm against the ring post ONE!! Neither Hawke nor the crowd is really sure if that was Kivell counting for a rope break or for Hawke being out of the ring… or indeed both. TWO!! Since Hawke can’t run the risk of being disqualified when victory is so close that he can taste it he decides for one big impact move. Hawke grabs Bruce by the wrist, then leaps backwards off the apron snapping Bruce’s arm down hard over the metal support strut for the middle rope. THREE!! Kivell indicates that Bruce only has 1 rope break left as he continues to count Hawke out of the ring. Not that Kivell should have bothered with the count as Hawke soon rolls under the bottom rope back into the ring. “I’ll be surprised if Bruce can even use his right arm right now” Mak says as Hawke gets in position behind Bruce who’s still bent over between the ropes. “Here it comes…” King warns everyone Hawke grabs Bruce by the back of the tights to pull him out of the ropes, then while Bruce is still not sure what’s going on he hooks Bruce’s right arm with the Chickenwing and leaps up on Bruce’s back to get the proper leverage for the Crossface “WING SPAAAAAAAAAAAAAAN!!” Mak yells out as Hawke struggles to lock his hands together. “Holy shit he got it” King says as Hawke actually manages to lock his hands together while riding on Bruce’s back. Blank only remains on his feet for a moment before falling flat on his face from the pain and agony inflicted by the Crossface Chicken wing. Once Bruce is down Hawke puts the finishing touches on his favourite submission move by wrapping his legs around Bruce’s left arm adding a leg scissor to complete the Wing Span. “This has GOT to be it” Mak says. “He can’t take this for long that’s for sure.” King agrees. But Bruce doesn’t have to take it for long as he gets a foot on the bottom rope to break the Wing Span. Kivell yells at Hawke to get him to break the hold, then starts to pull on Hawke’s feet to get Bruce out of the painful predicament. “That was Bruce’s last rope break!” Mak realizes “If Hawke puts the Wing Span on now he’ll have no choice but to tap out” Kivell finally gets Hawke off Bruce and since Hawke showed such a blatant disregard for the referee’s instructions he restricts Hawke to a neutral corner while Bruce gets back to his feet but then slumps into the corner due to the excruciating pain in his right arm. Once Kivell lets Hawke go he runs across the ring, leaping at Bruce LEAPING INTO A KNEE!! Jay Hawke’s head makes contact with Bruce’s knee as the champion manages to raise it at the last moment. Hawke staggers backwards after striking the knee with the right side of his head, holding his hand up to his ear. When Hawke removes his hand he stares at his blood stained fingers in disbelief. “This could be bad King” Mak says when he notices that Hawke is bleeding a lot more from his ear “Especially since it seems to be coming from inside the ear, not behind it” King adds. While some would have freaked out Hawke proves once again that he’s a true professional, bleeding ear or not he’s got a big bastard to put down and he’s not going to stop until he’s done it. Hawke knocks Bruce’s feet out from under him with a low drop kick and then rolls the big man over onto his stomach. “LET’S END THIS!!” Hawke yells out as he locks the Crossface Chickenwing lock on Bruce who’s in too bad a shape to defend against the hold in his current position. Once Hawke’s hands are locked together he wraps his legs around Bruce’s left arm and pulls back with every ounce of strength in his body. TAP OUT!! TAP OUT!! TAP OUT!! TAP OUT!! “Hawke has this one won Mak!” King states without a shred of doubt in his mind. “I don’t see how Bruce can get out of it King, unless the blood on Hawke’s hand causes his grip to slip” Mak says pointing out the only chance Bruce has of escaping the Submission hold. But Hawke’s hands do not appear to be slipping, in fact they’re locked together so tightly they may as well be one. Bruce bellows in pain while Hawke’s face is the picture of determination as he rocks backwards causing Bruce a tremendous amount of pain. Bruce quickly gets his foot on the bottom rope but Kivell just stands there, Bruce has used his three rope breaks and is now totally at Hawke’s mercy. TAP OUT!! TAP OUT!! TAP OUT!! TAP OUT!! Kivell can just stand and watch as the crowd reaches a fever pitch, they know they’re witnessing something special, they know that it’s only a matter of moments before * TAP!!*TAP!!*TAP!!*TAP!!* RAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHH!! “BRUCE TAPPED OUT!! HAWKE MADE BRUCE TAP OUT!” Mak yells out as the ringing of the bell is drowned out by the fans roaring in approval of the awesome match they’re witnessing. “He did it Hawke, made Bruce tap out” King says sounding like he almost can’t believe it. “Ladies and gentlemen in 49 minutes, 34 seconds – the winner of the second fall by Submission evening the score 1 to 1: JAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAY HAWKE!!” Funyon announces Kivell raises Hawke’s hand in the air as the Dean grins from ear to bleeding ear, he’s half way there, he’s put the beast down once and really hurt him in the process. “They’ve gone nearly 50 minutes King at full speed, this is amazing” Mak says when he hears Funyon’s announcement of the time. “Bruce is definitely paying for that, he’s not built for a marathon performance although he’s held up admirably so far” King says. Bruce is sitting in the corner rubbing his shoulder as he’s leaning into the ropes trying his best to regain a bit of breath and a bit of clarity before the third and final fall here tonight. While Bruce is attending to himself Matthew Kivell is attending to Hawke, or more specifically trying to attend to him as Hawke keeps pushing the referee away every time the zebra tries to check his ear. Kivell looks concerned over Hawke’s state but finally takes Hawke’s word for it that he’s alright despite the rather profuse bleeding from his ear. “Ladies and gentlemen with 10 minutes and 26 seconds left it is now time for the THIRD AND FINAL FALL!!” Funyon announces signalling for the last fall *DING!!* Hawke doesn’t look totally steady on his feet as he steps out of the corner for the third fall but he’s not about to let that stop him. Hawke drags Bruce to his feet and then lays into him once more with a punishing knife edge chop *CHOP!!* WHOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!! Bruce’s chest is a map of bruises and welts from where Hawke has dug his hand into him through out the night and the former champion doesn’t look like he’s done *CHO- Bruce puts up his left hand to swat the chop away and then lands two stinging left hands that drives Hawke out of the corner. While Bruce’s right arm has been worked over and is next to useless right now Bruce has some success attacking with his arm hand instead. Hawke tries once more to get in close only to be greeted to a left fist causing him to wisely take a few steps back. Hawke turns his head to say something to Kivell about Bruce’s closed fists when the International champion comes out of the corner and *BLAM!!* BIG BOOT TO THE RIGHT SIDE OF HAWKE’S HEAD!! “Oh my god right on the ear” Mak says horrified by what that might have done to Hawke. Hawke hits the deck like a ton of bricks and his ear isn’t just bleeding now it’s positively GUSHING turning right side of his face crimson red. The sight of blood awakes something in Bruce, something that he fed off for 213 days as he defended the Ultraviolent title, a bloodlust unparalleled in the SWF. “Look at Bruce” the Suicide King says as Bruce stares at Hawke, eyes wide open, fists clenched as is every muscle in his body “He looks like a volcano ready to erupt” Mak says. Bruce pushes Kivell back as the concerned referee tried to check out Hawke’s condition and then stomps the Dean of Professional Wrestling on the right side of his head BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!! *WHAM!!* And another stomp, this one turns the bottom of Bruce’s shoe crimson red as he makes contact with Hawke’s ear. Bruce drops to his knees and holds Hawke in place with his weakened right arm while he lets left fist after left fist rain down over Hawke’s face in quick succession. Kivell grabs Bruce around the head and the arm and physically drags Blank off his bloodsoaked opponent. A feat he would not have been able to do 52 minutes ago before the match started I can tell you that. “This could be bad King, if Hawke has inner ear damage he could go deaf” Mak says The Suicide King says nothing at all, he just looks on with a worried frown as Hawke tries to get back on his feet but loses his equilibrium and falls back down. Kivell helps Hawke to his feet but is dismissed by the Dean of Professional Wrestling when he tries to check out the ear, instead Hawke defiantly staggers towards Bruce. The right side of his face, his right shoulder and his chest is covered in the sickening sight of blood but Hawke is not ready to give up, not as long as he’s got a breath left in his body. “I’m not so sure… I’m not so sure this should go on” King says meekly as Hawke is obviously having problems with his equilibrium in the ring. Kivell tries to get Hawke’s attention but before he has a chance to look Hawke in the eyes to see how much he’s with it Bruce steps in, hooks Hawke under his arm and then lifts him up in the air for a suplex. *WHAM!!* Bruce’s left arm and left side is soaked in Jay Hawke’s blood, painting Bruce crimson. Kivell keeps trying to check on Jay Hawke but this time it’s Bruce who pushes him out of the way and then drops a knee to Hawke’s head. *DING!*DING!*DING!*DING!*DING!*DING!* Bruce looks up in surprise as he gets ready to drop another blood soaked knee to Hawke’s head. “What happened?” Mak asks Once the bell stops ringing the entire arena grows silent, even Bruce stops dead in his tracks unsure of what is going on. Kivell gives Funyon a quick message and then signals for some help from the back. After comprehending exactly what Matthew Kivell told him Funyon raises the microphone, for once he does not look happy about doing his job. “Ladies and Gentlemen… Senior Referee Matthew Kivell has stepped in and stopped the match since he fears that continuing would cause serious and permanent damage to Jay Hawke’s health” Funyon says in a sombre voice. “I think he made the right choice King, Bruce didn’t look like he was going to stop” Mak says concurring with Kivell’s decision. “THEREFORE!” Funyon says “The winner of the match 2 falls to one and. . . STILL SWF INTERNATIONAL CHAMPION!!” BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!! “BRUCE BLANK!!” BULLSHIT!! BULLSHIT!! BULLSHIT!! BULLSHIT!! ”I… AM… IRON MAN” *BA-DOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOUUUUU!!!!* *BA-DOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOUUUUU!!!!* *DAH-DAH-DAH-DAH-DAAAH-DANANANANA-NA-NADAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!!* It takes Bruce a moment or two to realize that he’s won the match, at first he just sits there on his knees as he stares at the referee. It’s not until Matthew Kivell hands Bruce the International title that it dawns on him that the match is over and that he’s won. “Bruce retains! Holy crap he beat Jay Hawke, he did the impossible” Mak says as he sits there, stunned at the whole thing. “I can only think of two words to cover this Mak – they are “Holy shit”, Holy Shit Bruce did it!” King says sounding about as surprised as Mak Francis over the whole thing. When Kivell goes to raise Bruce’s right hand in the air to signal that he’s the winner Bruce shows that he didn’t exactly escape from the match unscathed as he winches in pain and then pulls his arm out of Kivell’s grip. He doesn’t even have enough movement in the right arm to raise the title only enough to grip it to his body as he uses his left hand to support his right arm. “After this I got to wonder who can beat Bruce for the International title, he’s left the Ultraviolent garbage behind and he’s getting it done in the ring” King gushes as Bruce rolls under the bottom rope and then staggers towards the exit. He’s soaked in blood (Even though it isn’t his) and sweat, he’s hurting in every place imaginable but he’s still got the International title and he’s beaten Jay Hawke. “You’ve got to give credit to Jay Hawke though King, he poured everything he had into this match and maybe more, hell he gave his blood for this match” Mak says as a pair of emergency medical technicians attend to the former International champion. “Oh absolutely Mak, he may have lost but he’s definitely NOT a loser tonight!” King responds. The EMTs want Hawke to lay down on the stretcher they brought to the ring but Hawke stubbornly refuses their request. After much back and forth and the EMTs checking Hawke’s ear once more one of them grabs Hawke under the left arm to support and guide him as he heads down the ramp t the back. “He’s walking out of here like a man Mak! He can hold his head high” “You know what else?” Mak asks. “What’s that Mak?” “We’ve still got another match to go here at Genesis VII” Mak reminds everyone.

There is a buzz in the air, an excitement that only really comes once a year in the SWF, it’s Genesis and by now there are only two huge matches left. The fans have been treated to a show filled with action, excitement and a shark pool but even after all that they are still ready for more, they are still eager to see both the International and the World title be defended. “Ladies and gentlemen the following match is for the ESS DUBAYA EFF INTERNATIONAL CHAMPIONSHIP!!” Funyon announces with a grin, he had always loved these high profile events. “The match will be contested under “Old School” rules which means best two out of three falls within a 60 minute time limit. Three rope breaks PER fall and throwing an opponent over the top rope will result in an IMMEDIATE disqualification” “Someone tell Howard Finkel here that we already know all of this” the Suicide King says with annoyance. “Come on now King, I’m sure not everyone remembers the rules after all it was over a year ago that Jay Hawke wrestled Manson under “Old School” rules” Mak replies “I remember it vividly Mak, after all I was at ringside in London when Hawke successfully defended the title at Ground Zero” King reminds Mak. “Introducing first the challenger” Funyon says just as Pink Floyd’s “Another Brick in the Wall Part II” slowly starts up. When the instrumental intro hits the lights in the arena dim until it’s totally pitch black. “There is just something wrong about him coming out as the challenger” King quickly interjects during Fuyon’s pregnant pause. “He is a former World Tag-Team Champion and a TWO TIME International champion! From the Hall of Fame City of Cleveland, Ohio he is the “Dean of Professional Wrestling”, Mr. International Champion himself. . . JAY HAWKEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!!!”” ”We don’t need no education. ” The lights kick in, golden fireworks shoot off from both sides of the ramp in left field *FWOOOOOOOOOSH!!* ”We don’t need no thought control. ” The TV screens surrounding the “heel” entrance flash the words “the Dean of Professional Wrestling” as the man himself steps through the curtains in perfect unison with another burst of fireworks. *FWOOOOOOOOOSH!!* ”No dark sarcasm in the classroom. ” Hawke can’t help but smirk as the 70,000 or so fans in the arena boo him at the top of their lungs as he stands there at the top of the ramp for a moment. Hawke stands there with his arms raised out to the side as he shows off the lavish and expensive black and gold robe he’s wearing for this special occasion. *FWOOOOOOOOOSH!!* “The champion is styling and profiling tonight Mak” the Suicide King says as Hawke points to the image of the International title on the back of his robe. “Erm King? He’s not the champion, he’s the challenger” Mak reminds King. “Sorry force of habit” King replies with a smirk making it very clear who he’s putting his money on tonight. ”Teacher, leave those kids alone. ” Fireworks shoot off on either side of Hawke as he walks down the ramp showering the gifted athlete with golden sparks as he heads towards the ring. JAY HAWKE SUCKS! JAY HAWKE SUCKS! JAY HAWKE SUCKS! *FWOOOOOOOOOSH!!* “I noticed that Hawke is coming out without his robe clad watchdog” King says referring to the mystery man that saved Hawke from a 3 on 1 beating on Lockdown and was seen with Hawke on Smarkdown as well. “He’s an enigma wrapped in a mystery” Mak quips “No that’s a cloak” King replies while rolling his eyes so hard that he almost sprains them. ”Hey, teacher, leave those kids alone! ” *FWOOOOOOOOOSH!!* Hawke stops for a moment about three-quarter of the way to the ring and looks down at a group of fans in the front row as he shakes his head over a sign one of the rednecks in that section is holding up “Bruce is my heiro” If it’s the sentiment of the spelling mistake that makes Hawke shake his head we will probably never know or maybe it’s the surprising fact that Bruce actually has a fan in the arena tonight. ”All in all its just another brick in the wall. ” Hawke puts his game face on and pushes all other distractions out of his mind, the booing, the jeering and everything else and just focuses on the task at hand and the ring in front of him. Once Hawke is up on the apron he unties his black belt and slides the robe off. ”All in all you’re just another brick in the wall” With the robe folded Hawke hands it off to a ringside attendant before climbing up on the ropes to show everyone just how confident he is by making the “belt” motion around his waist. JAY HAWKE SUCKS! JAY HAWKE SUCKS! JAY HAWKE SUCKS! “Black and gold, very stylish” SWF’s very own queer eye for the wrestling guy says as he notices that Hawke has replaced the purple lettering with gold tonight, he’s even gone so far as to have golden laces and soles. “And I thought it was Bruce who had a stylist ordering him around” King replies. Hawke jumps over the top rope just as Funyon puts the microphone up to his lips once more, ready to introduce the International Champion. Before the big man can get a word out he’s very rudely cut off by what sounds like a drum beating. *THU!* *THU!* *THU!* *THU!* “What the hell is that sound?” Mak wonders, to which the Suicide King really doesn’t have a reply *THU!* *THU!* *THU!* *THU!* *BA-DOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOUUUUU!!!!* YEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHH!! Moments after one of the most famous guitar riffs in rock is heard a light shines on the stage at the other end of the field, a light that shines straight on the rock legend himself Ozzy Osbourne. ”I… AM… IRON MAN” *BA-DOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOUUUUU!!!!* OZZY!! OZZY!! OZZY!! OZZY!! OZZY!! “I heard that he would be here, I didn’t know he was going to perform NOW” King says as crowd in the Rogers Center rocks out. *BA-DOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOUUUUU!!!!* *DAH-DAH-DAH-DAH-DAAAH-DANANANANA-NA-NADAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!!* White smoke begins to billow out from the right field entrance as the lights begin to flicker. *DAH-DAH-DAH-DAH-DAAAH-DANANANANA-NA-NADAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!!* Once there is a thick smoke cover around the entrance a pair of headlights appear and the roar of a top tuned, high power engine is heard. Funyon just stands there with a confused look on his face, he had not been informed that Bruce had changed his entrance and his music, a fact that’s thrown off the normally stoic ring announcer. ”Has he lost his mind?” The moment Ozzy begins to sing the front of a custom ’67 Dodge Charger emerges from the smoke, the black paint job is decorated with blue flames, the image of the grim reaper holding his scythe in one hand and the International Title in the other decorates the hood of the car. ”Can he see or is he blind?” “Is that Bruce?” Mak asks when the camera zooms in on the beautiful paint job. “Bruce as the Reaper?” King says as he notices that it is indeed Bruce’s face on the grim reaper and not the traditional skull face “I can see that” ”Can he walk at all,” The black Charger convertible slowly rolls forward, pulling out of the smoke as the crowd boos the International champion. ”Or if he moves will he fall?” Bruce is in the back seat, sitting in the middle with his hands on the back of the white leather seats smoking a big cigar while grinning from ear to ear. “We’ve seen in the past that Bruce likes to make an entrance but this is… man that’s a beautiful car” Mak admits. “Being the International champion has been good to Bruce” King comments, alluding to the higher payoffs in the International division than in the Hardcore division. ”Is he alive or dead? Has he thoughts within his head? We’ll just pass him there Why should we even care?” There is no one in the world Bruce would trust his new custom car with except his brother Wayne, which is why the younger Blank is driving while Bruce is living it large in the back seat. WHITEEEEEEEEEEE TRASH!! WHITEEEEEEEEEEE TRASH!! “Give me a break! Here is a guy trying to improve his image, to get away from the more “country vibe” if you will” King says “And that’s being nice about it” Mak interjects with a wink “He’s trying to improve himself and they’re all over him for being white trash” King finishes after totally ignoring Mak’s attempt at swimming in his soup. ”He was turned to steel In the great magnetic field Where he traveled time For the future of mankind” Once the car is parked at the end of the ramp Wayne steps out of it and then heads for the ring while Bruce stands up in all his 6’8’’ glory, arms spread out to the side as he shows off his pride and joy – the International Title around his waist. After gawking at Bruce’s entrance Funyon realizes that he has a job to do. ”Nobody wants him He just stares at the world Planning his vengeance That he will soon unfold” “AAAAAAAAAAAAAND THE CHAMPION!!” Funyon bellows trying his best to cover up his earlier faux pas. “Hailing from Mobile, Alabama weighing in at 295 pounds of bad attitude he is the former and longest reigning SWF Hardcore champion and currently in his 55th day of his reign as the SWF INTERNATIONAL CHAMPION!!” “You know that’s the second longest run with the International title ever” Mak reveals. “Impressive, of course the longest reigning champion is in the ring and held it almost 5 times as long” King points out. “Here is the Redneck Superman: BRUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUCEEEEEEE BLAAAAAAAAAAAANK!!!” Funyon finishes ”Now the time is here For iron man to spread fear Vengeance from the grave Kills the people he once saved” BRUCE BLANK SUCKS!! JAY HAWKE SUCKS!! BRUCE BLANK SUCKS!! JAY HAWKE SUCKS!! Bruce just smirks as he steps over the side of the car onto the ramp as the fans try to duel it out over who sucks the most. Hawke seems both unimpressed and unamused by Bruce’s entrance and has taken to leaning back in the corner while waiting for the action to start. ”Nobody wants him They just turn their heads Nobody helps him Now he has his revenge” Once Ozzy stops singing the crowd shows their appreciation for the aged rock god once more as he heads off stage to leave the spotlight to the participants in the International Title match. Once the music dies down Wayne Blank grabs the microphone from Funyon and then turns to address the crowd. “Thank you Fugly” Wayne starts out “But I do have to correct you on a matter here big man. I know you’re a professional and all but you did make a mistake during your introduction of my brother” Wayne says, a comment that seems to annoy Funyon cause he’s not usually one to make mistakes. “You mentioned he is the current International champion which is true you forgot to mention that Bruce is also a more impressive International Champion than Jay Hawke” Wayne says holding up one finger as if he was counting off items on a list “That’s debatable” Mak comments “And you should also have added that he is a a better Intercontinental Television Champion than Andrew Blackwell” BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!! “ICTV champion? What’s that got to do with anything?” Mak asks. “You do know the history of the International title don’t you Mak?” King questions as he’s not sure if Mak was around when the International title was created. “Bruce is also a more intimidating United States champion than Danny Williams” Wayne adds with a grin BULLSHIT!! BULLSHIT!! BULLSHIT!! BULLSHIT!! BULLSHIT!! “Danny is here tonight, Bruce better hope he hasn’t heard that” King says. “Add to that a more worthy Junior League World Champion than Spike Jenkins” Wayne says as he counts off finger number four. “Well that’s true” Mak admits “Yep he got that one right” King concurs. “And finally a much, much more impressive Junior League European Champion than Landon Maddix could ever hope to be” “That’s not that hard” King comments never missing an opening to preach his anti-Maddox gospel. While Wayne made the “extended” introductions Bruce made his way around the car to the trunk. Once Wayne finishes up Bruce pops the trunk on the Charger and then reaches into it. If you thought Bruce’s arrogant grin was wide before its nothing compared to the grin on his face as he pulls out four title belts and hold them up in the air for the whole world to see. BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!! “So Fugly – pay attention now! This is the proper introduction. “Here is the unified ICTV, US, Junior League World and Junior League European title holder – THE INTERNATIONAL CHAMPION BRUUUUUUUUUUUUUCEEEEE BLANK!!!!!” Wayne bellows as he tries his best to imitate Funyon’s announcing style. YOU SUCK!! YOU SUCK!! YOU SUCK!! “Oh for the love of” Mak mutters “Of all the arrogant…” “You have to admit he does have a point, after all the International title is the merging of all four titles” King replies, he’s always liked a bit of flash himself and well Bruce with a belt around his waist and four other belts held high in the air is definitely “flash” Hawke doesn’t look very impressed though, not with Wayne’s tirade nor with Bruce’s title collection but then again he tends to do his talking in the ring after the bell rings. Senior referee Matthew Kivell gets the distinct impression that neither of the two wrestlers are paying any attention to his pre-match instructions but instead spend the time just staring at each other like two gun fighters waiting for the other to make his move. * DING!*DING!*DING!*DING!*DING!* “This should be something special Mak, the longest and the second longest reigning International champion facing off to determine just who’s the better champion” King says as he rubs his hands. “This is what Genesis and the SWF is all about, competitive spirit, talented wrestlers… and well Bruce Blank” Mak says “And two people who don’t give a shit about the rules!” King adds with a laugh. “Erm, yeah there is that too I suppose.” Mak admits. Neither Bruce nor Hawke seems to be moving at all, unless you count their mouths as both of them are quite eager to tell the other one just why THEY are the superior one and why the other one sucks donkey balls, it’s an oratory battle beyond anything ever seen in a presidential debate BRUCE BLANK SUCKS!! JAY HAWKE SUCKS!! BRUCE BLANK SUCKS!! JAY HAWKE SUCKS!! “I wish the fans would make up their minds!” King laments as the dueling chants try to convince people that both participants in this match suck. Finally the talking stops and the action starts as Hawke and Blank lock up in a collar and elbow tie up hold that Bruce quickly turns into a sideheadlock on Hawke due to his superior strength. Bruce grins from ear to ear as he grinds his wrist bones into the side of Hawke’s head to actually do something useful with the side headlock instead of just the traditional time wasting. “Man when you’re as powerful as Bruce Blank even a side headlock can hurt an opponent” Mak says commenting on the vice like grip Bruce has on his opponent. At first Hawke tries to elbow Bruce in the kidneys to get him to release the hold but the Dean just can’t get a good angle to really hit Bruce where it hurts. Instead he changes tactics and drives his knee into the back of Bruce’s leg, then the moment Bruce loosens up his grip Hawke clutches Bruce’s wrist and pulls backwards turning the side headlock into a standing hammer lock on Bruce. “Beautiful, Hawke is just so smooth in the ring it’s a beautiful thing to watch” King comments as Hawke twists Bruce’s arm behind the big man’s back. “Hawke’s secret is that he’s always thinking 3-4 moves ahead so he always has options ready” Mak adds as the two of them sing Hawke’s praise. Bruce tries to break out of the painful hammerlock by throwing a back elbow with his free arm, but the elbow is something that Hawke anticipated and easily ducks. It’s obvious that neither of them are looking for the insane pace they produced in the two 10 minute challenges that lead up to this match, they have an hour which means that this time there is no rush. Bruce tries his best to spin out of the Hammerlock some how but fails, he’s also not able to power out of the hold since the Hammerlock is more about leverage than power. “It’s a bit early for Bruce to come up short isn’t it?” “Hawke is a very gifted athlete Mak, I don’t think anyone here would expect Bruce to keep up with him hold for hold. Bruce needs to get devious and he needs to get enough room to use his power. When it comes to power Hawke is the one that just can’t compete” King explains. After being unable to figure out any other means of escape Bruce pushes backwards with his massive legs pushing Hawke into the corner forcing a rope break. ONE!! To everyone’s surprise Hawke releases the Hammerlock at 1 and then quickly slides under Bruce’s arm as the big man continues to press backwards. Two seconds later Bruce finds himself with his back against the corner looking at the Dean of Professional Wrestling. *CHOP!!* WHOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!! Hawke lands a knife edge chop with so much force that even the fans in the cheap seats could hear it. The chop stings Bruce but he quickly fires back with a right fist to the side of Hawke's head. Hawke shakes the blow off and then fires back with another chop aimed at Bruce's chest *CHOP!!* WHOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!! Hawke looks a little annoyed at the "whooo'ing" after the chops but he soon gets other things to worry about as Bruce comes out of the corner swinging, hitting Hawke on the left side of his head with a massive forearm shot that knocks the Dean of Professional Wrestling down on his ass. "Now who just used a rope break? Was it Bruce or was it Hawke?" Mak asks, not sure of how the rope breaks are counted. "I think it was for Bruce, I know Hawke was the one who touched the ropes but the break benefitted Bruce" King explains since he's witnessed an Old School Rules match before. The current champion can't help but smirk as he rushes in and knees Hawke in the side of the head to keep him on the ground. A vicious boot to the chest draws a lot of boos from the Canadian crowd and Bruce scraping the bottom of his sole across Hawke’s eyes only amplifies their dissatisfaction. WHITEEEEEEEEEEEEE TRASH!! WHITEEEEEEEEEEEEE TRASH!! “Will you people get over it and move on!! Here is a guy who’s trying to better himself, trying to improve and get away from the redneck image and what do the fans do?” King asks “They tell it like it is” Mak replies, making the Suicide King contemplate accidentally pulling the plug on Mak’s headset. Bruce’s mouth doesn’t stop running as he pulls Jay up from the ground, talking trash to the former International champion like it was going out of style. Hawke is unable to resist as Bruce hurls him into the corner with authority and then follows up with a series of shoulder thrusts to the mid-section. “You’re not so tough now are you? Jay Who?” Bruce yells as he slaps the Dean of Professional Wrestling. The slap wakes Hawke up a bit as he lashes out with a short, sharp elbow to the side of Bruce’s face. Hawke’s elbow gets repaid by a punch to the face by Bruce as he easily shakes off the impact. After driving the tip of his boot into Hawke’s midsection Bruce grabs his bent over opponent and flips him up on his shoulders in a power bomb position. The only problem with that move is that Hawke keeps going with the momentum and flips over Bruce's back into a Sunset flip position So technically it's only really a problem for Bruce Blank A problem that sees him rolled up for a pin ONE!! TWOO!!! KICKOUT!! Kivell has hardly raised his hand after the 2nd count before Bruce kicks out and kicks out hard. Bruce is back on his feet only moments after Hawke is and he manages to get the first shot in as he connects with a fist that drives Hawke back into the ropes. The big man does a quick spin like he was throwing a discus and then lands a gigantic soup bone upside Hawke's head "Oh shit!" King lets out as Hawke is lifted upwards and over by the blow. Bruce strikes with such force that Hawke flips over the top rope and would have tumbled to the floor if Bruce hadn’t caught the Dean of Professional Wrestling by the boots to stop him from going over the top rope. “See Bruce is a lot smarter than you give him credit for, he was almost disqualified for knocking Hawke over the top rope” King says explaining Bruce’s uncharacteristic show of compassion. “Especially considering he can lose the title by DQ as well. You know it’s kinda ironic that Hawke is the one that requested that stipulation” Mak says. “Ironic?” “Well he did have three lucky escapes where he lost by DQ but kept his International Title King” Mak explains. “Well… erm” is King’s only reply, Mak finally found something that the Suicide King couldn’t argue with. Bruce flips Hawke back down to his feet and then tries to control him with another collar and elbow tie up. Hawke attempts to turn it into a side headlock but Bruce is too strong and too tall and instead he wraps his massive arm around Hawke’s head. Being one of the most powerful men in the federation even a side headlock is a painful excruciating experience, something which Jay Hawke can attest to right about now. “That must be like having a vice clamped on your head” King says. “He definitely looks stuck” Mak replies as Hawke tries his best to slip out of the headlock but to no avail. After having wasted most of his tricks without being able to escape the headlock Hawke puts both his hands on Bruce’s back and then pushes forward, forcing the big man to move around the ring in a circle until Hawke manages to get Bruce into the ropes ONE!! At first Bruce just keeps the sideheadlock on, grinding his wrist bone against Hawke’s ear TWO!! When Kivell reaches two Bruce releases the hold and lifts both hands up in the air to show everyone that he let go. A moment later Hawke finds himself in the sideheadlock once more as Bruce reapplies it before Hawke has a chance to pull away ONE!! Kivell counts once more which brings a huge grin to Bruce’s face. “He just used two of Hawke’s rope breaks in 5 seconds!” King says while laughing. “That’s… I can’t believe I’m saying this, but that’s some very smart tactics by Bruce, Hawke is down to his last rope break already” Mak admits. This time Hawke pulls away from Bruce the moment the big man loosens his grip, he’s not about to fall into Bruce’s trap a second time. Hawke isn’t accustomed to being outsmarted in the ring, let alone by someone like Bruce who’s earned a reputation for fighting dirty but not fighting smart. BRUCE BLANK SUCKS!! JAY HAWKE SUCKS!! BRUCE BLANK SUCKS!! JAY HAWKE SUCKS!! Hawke’s mind is racing, the savage opponent that he was expecting hasn’t shown himself tonight. If Bruce wasn’t his opponent and if he wasn’t holding a title that Hawke considers *HIS* title he might have been impressed with the improvement Bruce had made since his Ultraviolent days, but right now Bruce is an opponent Hawke has to beat, he’ll be impressed tomorrow. For some reason Hawke decides to go for yet another collar and elbow tie up, only to walk right into a finger to the eye from Bruce. BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!! “That’s the old Bruce that we know” King says as the Redneck Superman robs Hawke of his eyesight. “And he was doing so well” Mak says with a sigh dreading that the match would turn into a cheat-a-thon or a slugfest like most of Blank’s matches. But instead of pounding away on Hawke Bruce wraps his massive arm around Hawke’s head once more and squeezes tight, so tight that it threatens to cut off Hawke’s blood circulation. Jay knows he has to act fast or run the risk of loosing consciousness in the vice like grip so he pushes Bruce into the ropes and then throws him forward hoping to push the big man off. DENIED!! Instead of pushing Bruce off Hawke ends up hurting even more as Bruce clamps the sideheadlock on even harder pulling Hawke off his feet and wrenching his neck in the process. Hawke gets back on his feet and then begins to push Bruce forward once more, going round and round in circles like before. “Maybe this is Bruce’s plan, maybe he’s using the headlock to rob Hawke of all his rope breaks” Mak speculates as it looks like Hawke is going to push Bruce into the ropes once more. But unlike the last time Bruce doesn’t just go with the flow, he throws himself down to the mat while releasing his hold on Hawke. Hawke’s forward momentum is so great that he can’t stop himself from falling forward through the ropes and onto the floor. “WHO’S THE CHAMPION!!” Bruce bellows as he raises both arms in the air. WHITEEEEEEEEEEEEEE TRASH!! WHITEEEEEEEEEEEEEE TRASH!! Matthew Kivell raises three fingers in the air as Hawke gets back to his feet on the outside of the ring. Hawke doesn’t look like he’s in a tremendous amount of physical pain but the frustration and the anger is clearly written on his face as he’s been unable to really get the best of the champion so far. The Dean draws out the count to a 7 count as he tries to put a new game plan together mid match, something he’s not accustomed to. “He better get in the ring” Mak warns Hawke “Oh like he doesn’t know what the count is Mak, Hawke is the consummate professional, hell he can be in the locker room not even watching a match in progress and he just instinctively knows what the count is” King states “That doesn’t even make sense” “Doesn’t it?” Is the Suicide King’s cryptic reply. Hawke jumps up on the apron as Kivell holds up 8 fingers in the air, but he doesn’t get a chance to step through the ropes before Bruce is on him like a nerd on an inconsistency in the latest Star Wars movie. Bruce grabs Hawke by the head and drapes him backwards over the top rope, holding him in a very vulnerable position as he raises his massive right hand. *WHAP!!* Bruce drops a massive Hammer like forearm across Hawke’s chest that flips the Dean of Professional Wrestling back inside the ring. Feeling in complete control of the match Bruce turns his attention away from Hawke and then does the Fargo strut across the ring as the Rogers Center explodes in a cornucopia of hostility BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!! BRUCE BLANK SUCKS!! BRUCE BLANK SUCKS!! BRUCE BLANK SUCKS!! Bruce can’t help but grin as he Bruce turns around fully expecting to be looking at Hawke on the ground thinking he’d be in control of the match this stage. When he sees Hawke on his feet ready to fight he’s understandably surprised and upset. Although not as upset as he gets after Hawke lands a Roundhouse kick that knocks the big man down to his knees. Hawke takes a moment to threaten Wayne Blank and make him back off before turning his attention back towards his opponent. “This is your time to capitalize Hawke!” King encourages Hawke. “I’m not so sure he’s got Bruce in enough of a compromised situation” Mak interjects Hawke proves Mak Francis wrong as he leaps on Bruce to control the big man by getting him in the dreaded front headlock! He even smiles to the camera as he tightens his grip to control the big man, Hawke’s got Bruce right where he wants him. Obviously Hawke is using the front headlock to control Bruce, the only problem with it is that it’s not very effective on opponents that haven’t really been worn down yet, opponents like Bruce Blank. The International Champion takes a moment to regain his breath, then he grabs Hawke by the tights and stands up straight lifting him off the ground. Bruce holds Hawke up for a moment but the Dean of Professional Wrestling is a wily character who uses his speed and balance to flip over Bruce’s head, landing on his feet behind the big man’s back NECKBREAKER!! Hawke wastes no time in grabbing Bruce from behind and then taking the big man down with a snapping neckbreaker. The move does a lot of damage to Bruce who was caught totally unprepared by it. Hawke quickly capitalizes on this opportunity by landing a leg drop right across Bruce’s throat. After leaping back to a vertical base Hawke punishes Bruce once more with another leg drop to the throat. “Now we’re going to school!!” King yells out as Hawke looks to take control of the match. Hawke pulls Bruce to his feet but then does something very uncharacteristic for him, he makes an error in judgement as he wraps his arms around Bruce’s waste trying to suplex him. Bruce plans his big feet firmly on the canvas and stands his ground blocking the belly to back attempt. “I can’t believe Hawke did that” King says in disbelief. “Blank has managed to frustrate Hawke big time in the early portions of this match by sticking with wrestling instead of his usual ground and pound attack” Mak says perhaps revealing why Hawke made such a mistake. Bruce tries to catch Hawke with a back elbow but Hawke sees it coming and backs off before it can connect. Hawke is cursing himself for making such a blunder but quickly forgets about it as he eyes an opening. The challenger knows that using his speed is the best chance he’ll have against a big guy like Bruce Blank which is why he runs at Bruce before the big man is completely turned around. Bruce catches Jay, stands up straight and throws him up over his head with a backdrop… JAY LANDS ON HIS FEET!! Bruce turns around only to be looking down the business end of a Superkick BRUCE DUCKS!! With Bruce ducked down Jay leaps over the top of the big man, grabs his tights and then rolls him up with a Sunset flip. ONE!! TWOO!!! KICKOUT!!!! “Bruce almost got caught napping there King” “Oh bull, it’ll take more than that to put Bruce down for the three count” King counters. Hawke rolls back up on his feet after Bruce kicked out of the sunset flip, waiting for his opponent to get back up. The moment Bruce is on his feet Jay Hawke rushes in, takes advantage of the fact that Bruce is still off balance as he grabs him by the head and the leg to roll him into a small package ONE!! TWOO!!! FLIPPED OVER!!!! Bruce manages to flip over on top of Hawke so that HE is in control of the small package. ONE!! TWOO!!! NO!!! Jay Hawke gets a foot on the rope at the last moment, opting for the easy way out of the pinfall instead of breaking the small package. Hawke is the first one back on his feet ready to pounce on his opponent. His plans are interrupted by Bruce as he suddenly explodes out of the crouching position he was in and clobbers Hawke with a teeth rattling Lariat. *POW!!* BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!! You can tell that Bruce really enjoyed cutting loose on Jay with that move as he looms over his opponent with a sadistic grin. Bruce just can’t resist the temptation and paintbrushes Hawke with a couple of slaps to the back of the head as Jay tries to shake off the cobwebs. His arrogance costs him though as he goes for another slap and instead ends up turned around with his arms hooked by Hawke who’s still on his knees. “Hawke’s going for a blackslide!!” Mak says as Hawke tries to bring Bruce over into a pinning predicament. “Man when was the last time you saw an honest to God backslide used?” King asks. The challenger manages to pull Blank off his feet into a backslide, Hawke even gets up and drives with his legs as he presses Bruce’s massive shoulders to the canvas. ONE!! “He could get it!!” Mak yells out TWOO!!!! “On a backslide?” King questions THRE-NO!! Hawke looked like he had Bruce down and pinned for the first fall but at the very last moment Wayne Blank reaches through the ropes and pulls one of Hawke’s legs out from under him to break the pinfall. Fortunately for both Bruce and Wayne Matthew Kivell was too focused on counting Bruce’s shoulders down to notice the interference. Hawke gets to his feet and then pulls Bruce up and into the corner where he fires off a… *CHOP!!* WHOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!! “Damn you could hear that one all the way in Sasca.. Saska… in Ottawa!!” King says as Hawke’s knife edge chop digs into Bruce’s chest. Being a firm believer in the old adage “One good chop deserves another” Hawke quickly lays into Bruce with another knife edge chop to the chest *CHOP!!* WHOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!! And then a third one to complete the trifecta of chops *CHOP!!* WHOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!! Demonstration that he’s finally getting his head in the game again Hawke ducks under right hand from Blank and then strikes the champion over the back of the head with a well placed Enzugiri. The kick to the head knocks Bruce forward, dropping him to one knee. Hawke plants both his boots in Bruce’s wide back as he lands a running drop kick that knocks Bruce forward off his knees, chest first into the middle turnbuckle. “Now we’ll all see why he’s the longest reigning champion EVER!!” King says with excitement as Hawke takes control of the match. Hawke jumps up on Bruce’s back, placing both feet on the big man’s shoulders as he pushes Blank into the ropes choking him on the middle rope. ONE!! Kivell begins the count to make Hawke break the hold but Hawke doesn’t look like he’s ready to get off Bruce’s back TWO!! Hawke grabs the top rope and uses it’s tension for extra leverage as he pushes down on the champion with every ounce of strength he’s got THREE!! When Kivell goes to raise four fingers in the air Hawke stomps the big man in the back of the head and then… FOUR!! Jumps off him to break the count, only to attack Bruce seconds later. Hawke wraps one arm under the middle rope and another over the middle rope and behind Bruce’s neck effectively trapping choking Bruce out. ONE!! “This is Bruce’s third rope break, after this there is no salvation in the ropes for Bruce” Mak says as Matthew Kivell indicates that this is indeed Bruce’s third and final rope break in this fall. TWO!! “Doesn’t look like much of a salvation to me Mak” King comments as Hawke cinches the choke hold on tighter and tighter. THREE!! “At least it’ll either stop at four or cause a disqualification, after this rope break it’s fair game” Mak quite rightly points out.

The Pepsi Max © Tale of the Tape: Bruce Blank Vs Jay Hawke Bruce Blank Nickname: The Redneck Superman Age: 32 Height: 6'8" Weight: 295 lbs Years as a Pro: 17 Signature Moves: Gorilla Press, Big Boot, Piledriver Finisher(s): Blank Bomb, Broken Dream Accomplishments: SWF Ultraviolent Champion (213 Days) SWF International Champion (55 Days and counting) Last Five: 3 - 2 Jay Hawke Nickname: The Dean of Professional Wrestling Age: 30 Height: 5'9" Weight: 215 lbs Years as a Pro: 10 Signature Moves: Fujiwara Armbar, Rings of Saturn Finisher(s): Hawk Swoop, Wingspan Accomplishments: SWF USJL Champion (5 Days) SWF International Champion (30 Days, 273 Days) SWF World Tag-Team Champion (35 Days) Last Five: 2 - 3 POWER ADVANTAGE: Bruce Blank LEVERAGE ADVANTAGE: Bruce Blank SPEED ADVANTAGE: Jay Hawke EXPERIENCE ADVANTAGE: Bruce Blank TECHNICAL ADVANTAGE: Jay Hawke STAMNIA ADVANTAGE: Jay Hawke HOT/COLD: - OVERALL ADVANTAGE: Push

… And slamming him face-first into the steel stairs! “Van Siclen’s going for broke now,” says Mak. “He becomes the first person in this match to really make use of the no disqualification stipulation.” MVS grabs an electrical cable running adjacent to the ring barricade and measures off a length of it in his hand before turning back towards Wildchild… CRACK! … And whipping him across the back with the cable! CRACK! CRACK! CRACK! Van Siclen whips Wildchild repeatedly, leaving deep welts across his back, as Herrington hops down to the arena floor, trying to dissuade him from his present course of action. “Herrington’s trying to talk MVS out of whipping Wildchild,” says King, “but there’s nothing that he can do about it; there’s no disqualification!” “Wildchild’s in big trouble now,” agrees Mak. “He’s going to have to dig deep to turn things back around in his favor!” MVS finally relents in whipping Wildchild, only to wrap the cable around his throat and proceed to choke him out! BOOOOOOOOOO! “And Van Siclen continues to pour it on,” notes King. “He’s got Wildchild compromised, and he’s not letting up!” “Yeah,” agrees Mak, “but he’d better get the kid back in the ring. This might be a no disqualification match, but it’s certainly not falls count anywhere; Van Siclen has to win it in the ring!” Herington continues his attempts to appeal to MVS to relent, but to no avail. “If MVS keeps choking Wildchild out like this, it’s not going to take much to finish the match, once he DOES get it back in the ring!” says King. Finally, the Spectacle releases the cord from around Wildchild’s neck and allows him to fall to the floor. He walks around the ring towards the timekeeper’s table while Herrington checks on Wildchild to make sure he’s okay. “Wildchild looks like he’s in bad shape,” says Mak. “Herrington might have to stop this match; he may need medical attention!” “Maybe he will, and maybe he won’t,” says King, as Red helps Wildchild to his feet. “But, either way, he shouldn’t be helping Wildchild to his feet; he don’t have no right to do that!” Wildchild reaches up with one hand to grasp the middle rope as he attempts to climb back into the ring… WHACK! … When suddenly Mike Van Siclen races around the corner, the mysterious metal object clenched firmly in hand, and jams the business end of it into Wildchild’s exposed ribs! BOOOOOOOOOO! Wildchild grabs his ribs in pain and staggers down the apron, coming to rest in front of the ringpost; Van Siclen charges after him, taking a wild swing with his weapon… THWACK! … Which Wildchild narrowly avoids by diving to the floor, but he can’t quite get away from the Spectacle, who kicks him in the ribs and knocks him onto his back. MVS then aims the weapon down, spiking it repeatedly into Wildchild’s chest! “Vicious assault to the ribs by MVS,” cries Mak. “Wildchild could have several broken ribs by the time he’s done!” “And I’m loving every minute of it,” adds King. “I’ve been waiting for years to see somebody do this to Clown-boy!” As the Spectacle continues his relentless assault, the cameraman shoots over his shoulder, to reveal a small dent in the side of the ringpost. “My God, King!” shrieks Mak. “Look at the ringpost! Mike Van Siclen was swinging at Wildchild’s FACE with that weapon of his; look what it did to the RINGPOST! What the hell is that thing MADE out of?” “I don’t know,” replies King, “but I tell you what: if he ever connects with WC’s face with that thing, the end of his career will be the LEAST of his concerns!” “Even I have to admit, though, that this is also brilliant strategy on the part of Van Siclen,” notes Mak. “Not only will brutalizing the rib area make it hard for Wildchild to breathe and draw in precious oxygen, but Wildchild also loves to uses his body as an offensive weapon; splashes and body blocks are staples of his offense, and if those ribs are broken, he could put himself in serious jeopardy by going for something like that!” “Don’t forget that Pinball,” adds King. “If those ribs are broken, he’s not going to be able to fold that body up for the Pinball attack, and that takes another MAJOR offensive weapon away from the Wildchild!” After finally relenting in his attack, the Spectacle tosses his weapon back into the ring, and taunts the crowd by signing the cross in front of them. YOU SUCK! YOU SUCK! YOU SUCK! YOU SUCK! MVS drags Wildchild over to the ring barricade, leaning him up against the barricade as he walks across the arena floor to get a running start, but not before pausing to sign the cross again: YOU SUCK! YOU SUCK! YOU SUCK! YOU SUCK! Van Siclen charges across the arena floor towards Wildchild… CRASH! … But the Bahama Bomber drops wearily to his knees at the last split second and MVS sails overhead with a missed jumping attack of some sort that sends him over the ring barricade and into the crowd! The Toronto fans cheer as Wildchild leans against the barricade, breathing heavily as he tries to recover. YEEEEEEEEEEAH! “What a miss!” shouts Mak. “That’s going to leave a mark… But, can Wildchild follow it up?” As Wildchild gets to his feet, he sees MVS recovering on the other side and whips his leg sharply over the barricade to catch him with a roundhouse kick, only for MVS to catch him in mid-swing… CRACK! … But the Human Hurricane whips his other leg over the barricade and crushes Van Siclen’s face with a tremendous Gamengiri! RAAAAAAAAAAH! “Gamengiri!” shrieks Mak. “He got MVS flush in the face with that Gamengiri!” “With the shin guards, I might add!” snaps King. “King, you know this is a no disqualification match,” mocks Mak. “Those shin guards are as legal as an armbar… just like MVS made use of that cable earlier, and the flag as well, so too can Wildchild use the shin guards!” Wildchild climbs weakly onto the top of the barricade and leaps off, slamming his back into MVS’s chest with a leaping Senton splash! “Van Siclen made the mistake of not going for the kill,” says Tom, “and now, he’s paying for it! Wildchild’s caught his second wind, and he’s taking it to the Spectacle!” Wildchild hammers MVS with hard right hands as the Spectacle gets back to his feet, and traps him in a front facelock, but MVS rushes forward before Wildchild can react, ramming him back-first into the hard rubber barricade! MVS returns his body to an upright position as Wildchild arches his back in pain, and winds his arm back to deliver a vicious knife-edge chop, but the Bahama Bomber ducks easily, slipping behind him and kicking him in the stomach as he turns around. “Van Siclen swinging and missing,” notes Mak, as Wildchild raises his hand in the sign for his Caribbean Cutter. “And now, Wildchild’s going for the Cutter!” Wildchild leaps into the air and extends his leg to come down onto the back of Van Siclen’s neck, but MVS has this move well-scouted, and suddenly snaps his upper body back up, taking Wildchild with him, and forcing the Human Hurricane to flip backwards in order to avoid a nasty spill! WHAM! ... And leaving him open to a devastating Superkick from the Spectacle! “Brilliant counter on the part of Van Siclen!” praises Tom. “Wildchild telegraphed that Cutter, and MVS had it well scouted. Now, we’ll see whether or not he can put the match away!” MVS drags Wildchild away from the barricade and shoes some fans away to clear out an area on the concrete floor. “What do you suppose he’s got planned here?” asks Mak. “I’ll bet I know; I’ll bet MVS is looking to drop Wildchild on that concrete!” says King, as MVS drags a couple of folding chairs over to him, opening them up on the floor. “Oh, wait… this looks even better! I think he’s going to try and suplex Wildchild onto those chairs and do some more damage to those ribs!” MVS sets the chairs up face-to-face and then walks back over to Wildchild, pulling him into a front facelock. He reaches down to grab the leg and lift him into the suplex, but Wildchild grapevines his leg to block it. “Wildchild’s fighting it!” says Mak, as MVS tries for the suplex again, and gets blocked again. “Hang in there, kid!” Finally, Wildchild completes the counter by shifting alongside the Spectacle and trapping him in a side headlock while he grapevines his outside leg before falling backwards… WHAM! … Driving MVS down onto the concrete with a side Bahaman legsweep! “Bahaman legsweep!” shouts Mak. “What a tremendous counter!” DUB CEE! DUB CEE! DUB CEE! DUB CEE! “Wildchild has MVS compromised,” notes King, “but he’d better not make the same mistake that his opponent did; don’t underestimate this guy’s resilience!” Wildchild crawls over to the ring barricade and pulls himself over it, back to the ringside area. As he recovers on one side of the barricade, MVS is crawling towards him on the other side. Wildchild finally gets to his feet, and begins to make his way towards the ring, but MVS grabs him by the back of his tights and spins him around. MVS swings his right arm through the air to deliver a punch, but Wildchild blocks it with his left arm before grabbing him by the back of the head with his right hand… WHAM! … And slamming him face-first into the top of the hard rubber barricade! MVS snaps back up, dazed, giving Wildchild the opportunity to leap into the air and knock him down with a standing dropkick! “That was a good recovery by Wildchild,” says Tom. “I thought that he might make the same mistake that MVS did, but MVS wasn’t able to capitalize on it!” “He got lucky, that’s all that was,” replies King. “Everybody gets a lucky punch in, once in a while!” Wildchild rolls MVS back into the ring, and then climbs onto the apron himself. He steps between the ropes, and then lowers the shoulder straps from his tights, unleashing a feral howl as the fans chant for him: DUB CEE! DUB CEE! DUB CEE! DUB CEE! DUB CEE! Wildchild points to MVS as the Spectacle scurries backwards into the corner, pulling himself to his knees and holding his hands up to ask for time out. “MVS wants a time out,” says Mak, “but there are no time outs in wrestling!” “You can hardly blame him, though,” notes King. “This is the longest he’s had to wrestle in years… hell, for that matter, this is the longest Wildchild’s EVER wrestled; we’ve already gone past the thirty minutes he wrestled against Pretzler last year… we’re closing in on forty minutes!” Wildchild heads to the corner in order to put the finishing touches on MVS… CHING! … But the wily Spectacle slams a fist into his testicles! Wildchild immediately bends over in pain, and MVS grabs him by the waist, pulling him into the corner and slamming his face against the top turnbuckle! MVS traps Wildchild in a waistlock and pops his hips as he pulls him overhead into a German suplex. He holds on for the bridge as Herrington drops down to count the shoulders: ONE! TWO! THREE! NO! “Two-point-nine-nine!” exclaims Mak. “It doesn’t get any closer!” “Wildchild was less than an inch away from being pinned,” agrees King. “And now that MVS has taken back control of the match, I just can’t see how Wildchild can mount a comeback.” Wildchild rolls onto his knees and tries to crawl to the nearest corner, and Van Siclen walks beside him, occasionally kicking him back down to the canvas while taunting him. YOU SUCK! YOU SUCK! YOU SUCK! YOU SUCK! “MVS is toying with him now,” laughs King. “He’s going to teach this young punk a lesson!” MVS pulls Wildchild to his feet as he nears the corner, and lifts him back motions for the Riot Act. “He’s going to go for Riot Act,” says King. “And if he gets it at this point in the match, it will definitely be over!” MVS traps Wildchild in a standing headscissors; he grabs WC in a waistlock and pulls him up off the canvas, but the Human Hurricane amazingly manages to rotate out of Van Siclen’s grip and up over his shoulders, landing on his feet behind the Spectacle and then quickly spins around, trapping MVS in a waistlock and pushing him into the nearby corner! MVS slams headfirst into the turnbuckle and stumbles backwards, cracking the back of his head against Wildchild’s forehead as he does so! Both men go down! LET’S GO, DUB CEE! LET’S GO! CLAP-CLAP! LET’S GO, DUB CEE! LET’S GO! CLAP-CLAP! LET’S GO, DUB CEE! LET’S GO! CLAP-CLAP! LET’S GO, DUB CEE! LET’S GO! CLAP-CLAP! “Head-to-head contact, and both men are down,” says Mak. “And referee Red Herrington has no choice but to deliver a ten count!” ONE! TWO! THREE! FOUR! “I hope that somebody gets up,” says Mak. “This has been such a great match, it’d be a shame if it had to end with a double-countout!” SIX! SEVEN! EIGHT! WILDCHILD SITS UP! YEEEEEEEEEEAH! “Wildchild’s up!” shouts Mak. “He’s got the advantage!” Wildchild crawls over to MVS and collapses atop him to attempt a cover: ONE! TWO! THREE! NO! “He didn’t get it!” shouts King. “MVS got the shoulder up!” Wildchild gets to his feet, arguing about the count to the referee, when he sees MVS getting to his feet behind him. Having learned from his previous mistake, Wildchild ducks the forearm as MVS charges in after him, and grabs him by the wrist, whipping him into the corner. He races into the corner after him, leaping off the canvas and twisting around in midair to execute his patented Blue Crush splash! CRASH! … But MVS dives out of the way, causing Wildchild to slam face-first into the top turnbuckle! As Wildchild staggers backwards, MVS hooks the inside of his leg and rolls him into a schoolboy pin! ONE! “MVS has his feet on the ropes!” cries Mak. TWO! THREE! NOTSOFAST! “No way!” shouts Mak. “He got caught! Red Herrington caught MVS trying to cheat!” MVS gets to his feet and makes a token “It wasn’t me” protest, before pulling Wildchild to his feet. “Wildchild will not stay down!” says King. “As much as I hate to see high-risk, I think that MVS is going to have to try something innovative if he wants to get the win here tonight. It doesn’t look like he’s going to be able to beat Wildchild with anything out of his regular arsenal!” Almost as if he were patched into King’s headset, Van Siclen drags Wildchild over to the corner and lifts him up into a seated position on the top turnbuckle. “You asked for innovative,” says King, “and MVS give you innovative!” MVS turns away from Wildchild and climbs backwards up the turnbuckle, pausing to extend his arms in a crucifix pose. YOU SUCK! YOU SUCK! YOU SUCK! YOU SUCK! “Look at this!” says Mak. “Van Siclen looks like he’s calling for an avalanche crucifix bomb!” “I wouldn’t mind seeing it,” agrees King, “but he’d better stop waiting time!” MVS sits up on the top turnbuckle and reaches up to grab Wildchild from behind, underneath both arms. He stands up on the middle turnbuckle and lifts Wildchild to his feet from the top turnbuckle. “This is it!” shouts Mak. “It’s all over!” Van Siclen pushes Wildchild up over his shoulders and heaves him into the ring… WHAM! … BUT THE HUMAN HURRICANE SWINGS ALL THE WAY OVER MVS’S BODY AND LOCKS BOTH LEGS AROUND HIS NECK AS HE ARCHES INTO THE RING, SLAMMING MVS ONTO THE CANVAS WITH A DEATH-DEFYING SUPER SPACE RANA! HOLY SHIT! HOLY SHIT! HOLY SHIT! HOLY SHIT! “Oh my God!” exclaims Mak. “He countered that move in midair, into a Hurricanrana!” Wildchild scrambles over to Van Siclen and collapses atop him for a cover! ONE! TWO! THREE! NO! “You’ve got to be kidding me!” shouts Mak. “I can’t BELIEVE that Van Siclen could kick out of that!” WC looks up at Red Herrington with in disbelief, but the referee placidly holds up two fingers in response. He gets to his feet and continues to argue, before finally turning his attention back towards the Spectacle… WHAM! … Who grabs him by the sides of the head and sits out, driving the Bahaman’s face into the canvas with a sitout facebuster! Van Siclen rolls Wildchild and collapses atop him to apply a lateral press: ONE! TWO! Wildchild kicks out at two! Van Siclen pulls WC to his feet and grabs him by the wrist, whipping him across the ring; he scoops the Caribbean into his arms as he bounces off the ropes and rotates his body quickly to drive Wildchild into the canvas with a quick and dirty powerslam! “Van Siclen showing his resolve,” says Mak, “as he survives an unbelievable high-risk move by the Wildchild, and has the Bahama Bomber right back where he wants him!” “Where’s he going right now?” asks King, as the Spectacle heads out to the apron. “He’s got the man beat; what the hell is he doing?” Van Siclen climbs up onto the top turnbuckles and glares down at his opponent. “He’s going for a high-risk move of his own, is what he’s doing!” replies Mak, as the Spectacle fashions his fingers into the shape of a gun and points them to his head. “He’s going for Siclen’s Gambit!” Mike leaps from the top turnbuckle, tucking his knees towards his chest as he rotates forward, and then quickly pumps his arms and legs towards and away each other… SPLASH! … As he crashes into Wildchild with Van Siclen’s Gambit! “Siclen’s Gambit!” croaks Mak. “He nailed him with it!” The Spectacle hooks the leg as Herrington dives into position: ONE! “He’ll get the three!” shouts King. TWO! THREE! NO! The Toronto fans erupt as WC gets his shoulder up at two and nine-tenths of a second! Now it’s the Spectacle’s turn to look up in disbelief. “I don’t believe it!” exclaims King. “I can’t see how Wildchild could possibly kick out of that!” “He’s got a lot of heart,” replies Mak. “That’s how!” MVS pulls Wildchild to his feet and backs him into a neutral corner; he lowers his shoulder and drives it into WC’s midsection, and then look up at his nemesis’ face to revel in his pain! Van Siclen lowers his head to drive another shoulder into his opponent… CRACK! … But the Bahama Bomber stuns him with a sudden knee to the face! Wildchild follows up with a quick forearm to the side of the head, and then stands MVS up with a hard right jab! And another jab, and then a third! “Never count the Wildchild out, King!” shouts Mak, as WC continues to pepper Van Siclen with rights. “Look at the kid fire back!” Van Siclen finally puts a stop to Wildchild’s momentum with a rake of the eyes and grabs him by the wrist to whip him across the ring, but the Tropical Tumbler reverses him most unexpectedly, sending him crashing into the turnbuckles instead! WC charges in after him and leaps from the canvas, twisting in midair as he approaches the corner and smashing into the Spectacle with his patented Blue Crush! “Blue Crush!” exclaims Mak, as Van Siclen staggers out of the corner. WC suddenly bends down to scoop the Spectacle off the canvas… … Lifts him up… WHAM! … And powers him back down to the canvas with a scoop slam! The fans go crazy as WC drops to one knee, clutching his back from exertion! “Oh my!” shrieks Francis. “That wasn’t exactly the ‘Slam Heard ‘Round the World,’ but I can’t imagine that ANYBODY could have seen that coming!” “He’d have taken some of my money!” replies King, as WC rolls out to the apron. “And what do you think he’s doing now?” Wildchild gets back to his feet on the apron and staggers over to the corner, where he climbs up to the top rope. “That’s a high risk area,” warns Mak, “but not for this guy!” WC asserts his balance on the top rope and then looks over his opponent out into the crowd, before he cups his hands to his mouth… WC: CAW-CAW! Crowd: CAW-CAW! … And sounds off with a birdcall! WC leaps from the top rope! WHAM! … And crashes into Van Siclen’s chest with the Bird Dropping! He rolls over and hooks the leg, as Herrington dives into position, the fans chanting along with his count: ONE! “I don’t think he’s gonna get up from it!” shouts King. TWO! “No way!” agrees Mak. THREE! NOWAYJOSE! “I don’t believe it!” shouts Mak. “Van Siclen slips out the back door; you don’t GET closer to getting pinned than that!” WC looks up in abject horror at Red Herrington, as he slowly realizes that his mortal enemy has just kick out of his previously inescapable move. “Unbelievable!” asserts King. “Nobody’s ever kicked out of the Bird Dropping before; that move has put away some of the best wrestlers in the world!” “This is remarkable!” says Mak. “Both these men have shrugged off each other’s best shots!” Wildchild gets to his feet and walks over to Herrington, practically pleading with him to overturn his decision. “Well, that wasn’t exactly Wildchild’s best shot,” replies King, “but I don’t see anyway that he can get him with the Wild Ride! I mean, it took just about everything Wildchild had in him just to get Van Siclen up in that slam! I can’t imagine that he can lift all that weight up over his head long enough to deliver the Wild Ride!” WC hangs his head as he turns away from Herrington… … Leaving him wide-open to the Spectacle, who levels him with a running forearm! “What a shot!” exclaims Mak. “Did he ever catch him!” “And that’s exactly why you should never take your eyes off your opponent,” adds King, as Van Siclen staggers over to his corner. “I mean, obviously Wildchild was distraught over not being able to put Van Siclen away with that Bird Dropping, but what’s done is done!” Van Siclen reaches down into the corner and grabs his metallic truncheon. “And he’s got that weapon again!” moans Mak, as MVS turns his attention back to his arch-rival. “He’s going to try and put Wildchild’s lights out for good!” WC crawls over to the opposite corner and uses the ropes to pull himself to his feet. He turns in time to see that the Spectacle has him trapped between a rock and a hard place! “This is it!” shouts King. “All things must come to an end, and tonight, that thing is going to be Wildchild’s wrestling career!” Van Siclen raises the pole over his head like a sword, and slashes it down towards Wildchild… CRACK! … But the Human Hurricane dives to safety, as the weapon bounces off the top turnbuckle and rebounds, smacking Van Siclen in the head! The fans erupt as the Spectacle falls backwards to the canvas, dropping the pole as he lays motionless. “He hit himself!” shouts Mak, as WC reaches down to grab the truncheon, lifting it up not without effort. “Wildchild turned the tables on him! And now he’s got that weapon!” Wildchild drags the pole over towards Van Siclen and reaches down to grab the still-unconscious Spectacle by the hair, grunting as he pulls him into a sitting position; WC then raises the weapon as he stands behind his nemesis… CRACK! … And takes a mighty swing at the Spectacle’s right shoulder! Van Siclen screams like an animal caught in a trap as WC holds the weapon overhead with both hands. “That’s horrible!” roars King, barely audible over the crowd’s cheers. “I can’t believe that Wildchild would stoop that low!” “I call it poetic justice!” replies Mak. “A shoulder for a shoulder!” Wildchild drops the truncheon and walks over to Van Siclen, rolling him onto his stomach; the Bahama Bomber then grabs MVS by his right arm, nearly pulling it out of socket as he pulls him to his knees! WC twists Van Siclen’s arm into an armbar, and then steps over it, holding the Spectacle’s arm between his legs as he squats down… INTO A SHOULDERBREAKER! YEAAAAAAAAAAH! “Argh!” Mike Van Siclen half-screams, half-gurgles, as the pain shooting into his possibly-separated shoulder quickly becomes unbearable and, after the beating he’s taken tonight, he has little choice… TAP, TAP, TAP! BUT TO TAP OUT IMMEDIATELY! YEAAAAAAAAAAH! DING! DING! DING! Wildchild releases Van Siclen’s arm, and falls backwards as the PA system immediately bridges into the chorus of “Let’s Get Dirty.” Thirty thousand fans all come to their feet as one as Funyon makes the official announcement: “Here is your winner,” he bellows, “the WIIIIILDCHIIIIILD!” The Bahama Bomber stares glassy-eyed at Red Herrington, as the referee raises his hand in victory. “What a match!” shouts Mak Francis. “What a tremendous win for the Wildchild!” “Well, I hate to say it,” adds King, “but I have to give the kid some credit; he showed me something that I didn’t think he was capable of!” “I told you, King,” replies Mak, “when it’s a big match situation, I don’t think that there’s anybody in the SWF that can out-perform the Wildchild right now! And the Bahama Bomber is finally able to put his demons to rest, as he closes the book on his two-year quest to get revenge on Mike Van Siclen!” Wildchild clutches his right arm to his chest as he gets to his feet, and then walks over to Van Siclen, jabbing his left arm emphatically at the MVS, to emphasize that he made good on his promise to put the Spectacle on his back. “This is the kind of match that takes so much out of both competitors,” says Mak, “that you wonder if either man can ever be the same again!” Still clutching his ribs, WC waves at the crowd with his free arm, before exiting the ropes and slowly easing himself out to the floor. “Well, here’s something to think about,” replies King. “In that memo that Wildchild had attached to the contract, he’d said something about being out of Van Siclen’s life forever! You don’t suppose that he came into this match expecting for this to be his last, do you?” “Well, if it is, I can’t think of a better way for a great star like Wildchild to go out!” answers Mak, as Wildchild begins to limp his way up the ramp. “He’s given so much to the SWF in the last four years, and if he decides that he wants to end it, four years to the date after he started, then it’s fitting that he comes out the way he came in… with a win! I hope that we see you again soon, but if not, thank you, Dominic! Thanks for the great matches, and all the memories!” Wildchild stops at the top of the ramp, and grits through the pain to give the fans one final, full bow before he exits the stage and returns to the back, leaving Mak, King, and the fans at home to wonder whether they’ll see him again any time soon… As we: FADE OUT

FADE IN “Two years of animosity has led us to this point,” says Mak Francis, “as Mike Van Siclen and the Wildchild will fight it out in a good old-fashioned grudge match!” “That’s right!” agrees the Suicide King emphatically. “No titles at stake, nothing on the line… it’s just two guys with a score to settle, who’ll be trying to beat the crap out of each other!” “And Wildchild has been chomping at the bit to get his hands on Van Siclen for two years,” adds Mak. “Wildchild’s wanted to get revenge on Van Siclen ever since the Spectacle came close to ending his career, over two years ago! And, as we now know, Wildchild had created the disguise of the Birdman two years ago to try and get back at Van Siclen, only to be thwarted when Van Siclen had to unexpectedly leave the SWF!” “And that was kind of a cowardly move, if you ask me,” chimes King. “I mean, if you want to get revenge on somebody, you don’t go sneaking around like a thief in the night, under a mask! Wildchild should have been enough of a man to challenge Van Siclen face-to-face, instead of under disguise!” “Be that as it may,” continues Mak, “after Van Siclen made his return a few months ago, Wildchild did, in fact, try to get a face-to-face matchup with him. And, it was only after Van Siclen refused to fight him in any way shape or form, and even went so far as to get Wildchild suspended in order to avoid having to face him, that…” “Wait a minute,” admonishes King. “Wait just a minute, Francis! Where do you get off saying that Van Siclen got Wildchild suspended to get out of having to face him? Wildchild’s the idiot that signed that ridiculous contract! Nobody told him to sign himself to a handicap match at Ground Zero!” “Come on now, King,” replies Mak. “We both know that there was no way that Van Siclen was going to agree to facing Wildchild man-to-man, if he could get out of it! He maneuvered Wildchild into that match, and then he went of his way to make sure that Wildchild wasn’t able to collect on the stipulation!” “That’s called smarts!” answers King dismissively. “Wildchild could have refused at any time… Van Siclen took advantage of the kid’s emotions and suckered him into that match!” “Well, you know what they say about paybacks,” replies Mak. “As Wildchild put the Birdman mask back on during his suspension, in order to get some revenge on Van Siclen, and boy, did he ever put a number on the Spectacle!” “He put a number on him, all right,” agrees King, “and it was absolutely despicable! I can’t believe that you can cheer for a guy that would stoop so low as to do some of the things that he pulled while masquerading as Birdman; he could have easily caused Van Siclen to suffer a career-ending injury!” “And if he did, then Van Siclen would have gotten his just desserts!” snaps Mak. “King, after what he put Wildchild through, for the sake of what was basically sheer petty jealousy, getting back some of what he inflicted would be the nicest thing that could have happened to him!” “SOME of what he inflicted?” barks King incredulously. “Wildchild has embarrassed this guy repeatedly on national television, all throughout the Canadian Tour, and he was never supposed to be there in the first place! He should have been at home, serving his suspension!” “That may be the case,” replies Francis, “but it’s a moot point now, as Mike Van Siclen, after being frustrated and humiliated one time too many, ran to SWF Commissioner Joseph Peters’ office, and unwittingly signed a contract that not only led to Wildchild getting his suspension lifted, but has also brought us to where we are today!” “Well, Wildchild went through a lot of trouble to get this match,” says King. “Let’s see if he’s still happy with that course of action in a few minutes!” “So, anyway, King,” asks Mak, “how do you think the match is going to go?” “Well, you know,” replies King, “it’s interesting: Wildchild’s obviously got the speed advantage, and may even be a better wrestler on the mat, but Van Siclen’s got the size and weight advantage, and he’s probably a little more capable of withstanding punishment… In situations like these, I usually like to compare the experience between the two, but again: while Mike Van Siclen has been wrestling a lot longer than Wildchild, both in other promotions and in the JL, here in the SWF, in big match situations, I think Wildchild may actually have him beat!” “He does,” adds Mak, “at least where Genesis is concerned. Interestingly enough, this is only Mike Van Siclen’s second appearance at Genesis; his previous appearance was at G-5, where he lost a Tag Team Title match as a member of Hollywood Boulevard. On the other hand, this will be Wildchild’s fourth consecutive appearance at Genesis: he’s amassed a pretty impressive record of 3-1 at Genesis, and his sole Genesis loss came at G-5, in a Triple Threat match while he was wrestling as Birdman, so he’s definitely not going to be rattled on the big stage! Not only that, King, but Wildchild is also riding an eight-match winning streak on Pay Per View; his last Pay Per View loss of any kind came against El Luchadore Magnifico, at Ground Zero 2005 and, if nothing else, that tells you that Wildchild really steps his game up when the world is watching!” “Well, ordinarily in a situation like this, I’d also be concerned about the wrestler returning, and whether or not he’s actually in in-ring shape,” says King. “Now, obviously, now that it’s been revealed that Wildchild was running around as the Birdman, we don’t have to worry about whether or not his conditioning is up to par… But, Wildchild is going to have a different and pretty unique problem.” “And what’s that?” “Well, as I’m sure you’re aware,” replies King, “Wildchild was very successful in the Cruiserweight Division while he was competing as the Birdman, which is obviously to be expected, in hindsight.” “Obviously,” agrees Mak. “In fact, I think that he went five and one.” “Right,” continues King. “But, the only thing about it is that ALL of his opponents during that time period were cruiserweights! Wildchild hasn’t wrestled against a heavyweight opponent in almost two months, and you and I both know that there’s a different pacing that’s required when you step up in weight class!” “I see where you’re going with this,” concedes Mak. “And now that I think about it, I may have to agree; after all, cruiserweight wrestlers don’t typically expend as much effort to throw around other cruiserweight opponents as they do with the bigger guys; they can move at a faster pace for a longer period of time because they’re not burning as much energy on their suplexes and slams!” “Exactly!” affirms King. “Wildchild has gotten accustomed to working at a different pace, because his opponent’s weight hasn’t really been an issue with him; we’ve even seen his execute a few power moves, like when he hit that snap powerbomb on Zyon a few weeks back. But, I can guarantee ya: he ain’t gonna be able to hit nothing like that on Mike Van Siclen!” “Absolutely not!” agrees Mak. “But Wildchild has proven to be one of the most resourceful wrestlers we have here in the SWF, and I’m sure that if anyone can step it up to get a big win, he can do it! So, with that in mind, let’s send it over to Funyon in the ring!” DING! DING! DING! “The following no countout, no disqualification match is scheduled for one fall!” booms Funyon. With that, sirens go off, and the sounds of “Hyphy Juice” by The Team hit the speakers as Mike Van Siclen steps through the curtain to a rousing chorus of boos. Clenched in his left hand is a three-foot dark metal object that looks like an extra-long metal file, the end in Van Siclen’s hand heavily wrapped in tape. “Making his way to the ring at this time,” calls Funyon, “from Harrison, Illinois, and weighing in at two hundred sixty-three pounds… Mike! VAAAAAN SICLEN!” Van Siclen stops in front of the camera, brandishing whatever nature of weapon it is that he’s holding so that the cameraman can zoom in on it. “You see this, Wildchild?” shouts the Spectacle. “I’m gonna finish the job I started two years ago with this!” “King, what is that that Van Siclen’s carrying to the ring?” ponders Mak, as Van Siclen proceeds down the aisle. “It looks like a square baseball bat!” “I dunno,” replies King, “but Van Siclen says he’s going to finish the job he started two years ago with it, so you’ve got to think that he’s come out here intent on using whatever that is to end Wildchild’s career!” Van Siclen walks up the steel stairs to the apron and then steps between the ropes to enter the ring. He stows the metal bat-like object underneath the bottom rope in his assigned corner and moves towards the center of the ring; the Spectacle makes a show of signing the cross and pointing towards the sky as he awaits his opponent. “No loss of confidence on the face of Mike Van Siclen,” notes Mak. “Despite a less-than-stellar record here in recent weeks, he’s still feels pretty confident that he can beat the Wildchild!” “That could be because he’s expecting Wildchild to make a dumb mistake sooner or later,” replies King. “And, when it comes to Wildchild, that’s usually a safe assumption; I mean, you’ll never go broke betting on Wildchild to take so stupid and unnecessary risk!” “Just a quick bit of trivia,” interjects Mak. “Wildchild made his debut here on September 18, 2002 in the SJL; this is his fourth anniversary here in the SWF. And not only that, but it’s also his twenty-fourth birthday!” “What a damned shame!” says King, shaking his head. “What’s that?” asks Mak. “That poor son of a bitch is going to get his ass handed to him on his birthday,” King replies with mock sadness. Van Siclen lowers himself into a ready crouch, as “Hyphy Juice” fades into the ethereal, and the fans begin to cheer wildly the lights abruptly cut out and a squeal echoes throughout the arena: RAAAAAAAAAAH! ATTENTION! ALL YOU NIGGAZ! ALL YOU BITCHES! TIME TO PUT DOWN THE CRISTAL, TIME TO TAKE OFF THE ICE FOR A MINUTE… TIME TO THROW A LITTLE MUD IN THIS MOTHERFUCKA… Toronto erupts as Redman’s “Let’s Get Dirty” heralds the arrival of the Bahama Bomber! A solitary spotlight pierces the Rogers Centre, flashing off and on in rhythmic time as the beat throbs melodiously. The cheers become even louder as the Bahama Bomber bursts onto the stage… RAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH! “They’re on their feet here for the Wildchild!” shouts Mak, as Wildchild pauses at the head of the ramp, before purposefully making his way down the aisle. “His opponent,” booms Funyon, “hails from Morgan’s Bluff, Andros, in the Commonwealth of the Bahamas!” RAAAAAAAAAAH! “He weighs two hundred and fourteen pounds!” RAAAAAAAAAAH! “He is… the WIIIIILDCHIIIIILD!” RAAAAAAAAAAH! Midway down the ramp, WC suddenly starts running towards the ring at breakneck speed; he somersaults between the bottom and middle ropes to enter the ring, and narrowly avoids a lariat from the Spectacle as he rolls to his feet! Wildchild runs across the ring and leaps into the air explosively as he bounces off the ropes… WHAM! Crashing into Van Siclen’s midsection with a body spear that takes him down to the canvas! Referee Red Herrington immediately calls for the bell: DING! DING! DING! “Bell’s gone,” shouts Mak, “and we’re already off and running!” Wildchild assumes a mounted position over Van Siclen and begins to hammer him in the face with piston-like right hands. Herrington begins to deliver a five-count to WC, before he remembers that it’s legal in this match, and sheepishly backs away. Wildchild pulls Van Siclen to his feet, only for the Spectacle to stun him with a quick punch to the midsection, followed immediately by a clubbing forearm blow to the back of the neck! Van Siclen drives a series of forearm shivers to the side of WC’s head, and then leads him by the back of the head over to a neutral corner, in order to bash his head into the top turnbuckle… WHAM! … But the Bahama Bomber gets his foot up to block, and then bashes Van Siclen’s face into the top turnbuckle instead! WC steps out onto the apron and quickly leaps up to the top rope as Van Siclen staggers away from the corner, before leaping from the top turnbuckle and knocking the Spectacle down with a flying double-axe handle! “Double-axe handle finds the mark!” shouts Francis. “And Wildchild became very adept at that particular maneuver while he was competing as Birdman!” WC pulls Van Siclen to his feet and leads him over to the corner by the back of the head and proceeds to bash his face repeatedly into the top turnbuckle! The fans chant along with him in time with the repetitions: ONE! TWO! THREE! FOUR! FIVE! After five shots, Wildchild releases Van Siclen’s head and watches as he staggers out of the corner; the Spectacle takes a wild swing at WC that misses by a couple of yards, before tripping over his own two feet and falling to the canvas! The Tropical Tumbler pulls Van Siclen back to his feet and leads him across the ring to the other corner, where he and the fans treat the Spectacle to more of the same: ONE! TWO! THREE! FOUR! FIVE! This time, Wildchild grabs MVS by the side of the head as he stumbles out of the corner and leaps into the air, driving the back of Van Siclen’s head into the canvas! From there, WC takes two handfuls of hair and begins slamming the Spectacle’s head repeatedly into the canvas! “Look at Wildchild go to work on the Spectacle!” shouts Mak. “He’s getting two long years of frustration out right now!” “And I never thought I’d see Wildchild pushed to the point of using these kinds of tactics,” laments King. WC pulls Van Siclen to his feet and then grabs him by the wrist, whipping him into a neutral corner; the Human Hurricane runs towards the edge of the ring as MVS staggers out of the corner, leaping onto the top rope and curling into a ball as he springs back into the ring, knocking Van Siclen off his feet with a Pinball attack! “There’s that patented Pinball attack that we haven’t seen in a while!” shouts Mak, as WC winds his hands above his head. “And look at this: he just gave the sign for the Falling Star Press!” Wildchild runs towards the edge of the ring and leaps onto the ropes… “I can’t believe it!” exclaims King incredulously. “If he hits this, it’s over!” Wildchild springs back into the ring, rotating his body in a forward motion as he does so to crash into Van Siclen with the Falling Star Press! WHAM! … But the Spectacle brings his knees up at the last split second, and drives all of the air out of the Bahama Bomber! “Oh!” cries Mak. “Mike Van Siclen, bringing the knees up! That was an excellent, heads-up maneuver by Van Siclen, as the Wildchild was trying to wrap this match up in a hurry!” “That was a huge mistake on the part of Wildchild,” adds King. “He should definitely not have tried to go for that move this early in the match; no way, no how!” Van Siclen sits up slowly, trying to clear out the cobwebs, before crawling over towards Wildchild and applying a lateral press: ONE! TWO! WC kicks out at two! Van Siclen gets back to his feet and grabs both of Wildchild’s legs; the Spectacle applies the Double-Leg Wishbone, and then positions his foot between WC’s legs and pulls on the legs to deliver the Rectal Stretch! Wildchild cries out in agony as MVS begins to scream obscenities at him. “Here you see Van Siclen starting to take control,” notes King. “I told you, Francis, you’ll never go hungry betting on Wildchild to take a stupid risk!” Van Siclen suddenly takes WC by surprise, leaping between the Bahaman’s legs and driving the point of his elbow into his opponent’s sternum! MVS rolls over and applies a second lateral press: ONE! TWO! Wildchild again kicks out at two! Van Siclen pulls him to his feet and grabs him by the wrist, whipping him across the ring; he lowers his shoulder as WC bounces off the ropes, and launches him into the air with a big back-body drop! He then pulls Wildchild back to his feet and traps him in a front-facelock, before popping his hips as he rips the Caribbean over with a snap suplex! “Van Siclen has totally taken Wildchild out of this match,” says King, as MVS exits to the ring apron. “But now he’s making the same mistake that Wildchild is a few minutes ago! There’s no need to go to the top rope; you’ve got the match under control!” Heedless of King’s warnings, the Spectacle leaps fearlessly from the top rope, his leg extended to deliver a guillotine legdrop! CRASH! … But he crashes into the canvas as WC rolls out of the way at the last minute! “I can’t stress enough how foolish it is to see these guys go up to that top rope like that!” moans King. “I mean, it’s bad enough when somebody like Wildchild does it, but when you see somebody who should obviously be ground-bound like Van Siclen go up to the top rope, you can’t help but wonder what the hell he’s thinking!” “Well, he’s probably thinking that there’s no title on the line, so why NOT go for it?” replies Mak. “It’s not like he’ll ever wrestle on a bigger stage than Genesis; what’s he holding anything back for?” Wildchild crawls over to one corner and uses the turnbuckles to pull himself to his feet as Van Siclen tries to get back up in the opposite corner; sensing an opportunity to swing the momentum back to his favor, the Tropical Tumbler dashes across the ring, leaping into the air as he approaches the corner, and driving a running high knee into Van Siclen’s back, slamming him into the turnbuckles! Wildchild then grabs the disoriented Spectacle by the back of the head and leads him across the ring, building enough momentum to send him crashing into the turnbuckles, before following it up with a tremendous back elbow! “Look at Wildchild fire off that elbow,” shouts Mak, “as he tries to regain a little momentum!” WC spins Van Siclen around, and then reaches up and behind him to apply a cravate before pulling MVS over his shoulder and out of the corner with a snapmare! “Hey, I’ll give the devil his due,” says King, as WC runs to the corner and leaps onto the middle turnbuckle. “When Wildchild’s on his game, he’s in that elite class of wrestler. And I’m talking about the Fleshers and Stephens’ of the world; he has the ability to be right up there!” Wildchild leaps from the middle turnbuckle and blasts MVS in the back of the head with a missile dropkick! “And he looks like he’s on his game here tonight!” shouts Mak. “What a tremendous high-impact move that was!” Wildchild hooks the leg as he applies a lateral press: ONE! TWO! MVS kicks out at two! Wildchild pulls Van Siclen to his feet, only for the Spectacle to bury a knee into his midsection; WC is stunned momentarily, but before MVS can advance, the Bahama Bomber responds with a reverse knife-edge chop to the chest! WC follows with an overhead chop to the top of the head, but Van Siclen returns fire immediately with a forearm to the side of the head! “They’re going toe-to-toe in the center of the ring right now!” exclaims Mak. Wildchild gets another chop in before MVS finally stops his attack with a rake of the eyes. The Spectacle then grabs WC by the back of the head and leads him across the ring to toss him over the top rope out the floor! As he turns away to catch a breath, however, the Tropical Tumbler grabs onto the top rope and skins the cat to pull himself back into the ring! “Look at this!” shouts Mak, over the crowd’s roar of approval. “That’s a tremendous show of agility by the Wildchild!” But, as WC turns back towards the center of the ring, Van Siclen grabs him by the head again and leads him back across the ring. “Van Siclen was waiting for him, though,” remarks King. MVS tosses Wildchild casually over the top rope, but the fans cheer loudly as the Caribbean Cruiser surreptitiously skins the cat once again! “He’s going to give it to him again!” exclaims Mak, as the Spectacle quickly runs over to bury a boot into WC’s midsection. “And Van Siclen is still right there!” MVS moves in closely to Wildchild, rattling his teeth with several snug forearms to the side of the face, before grabbing him by the back of the head and leading him across the ring; this time, however, the Human Hurricane reverses it on him, getting behind Van Siclen and pushing HIM by the back of the head to send him over the top rope and out to the arena floor! “Whoa!” shrieks Francis. “And there goes the Spectacle out the floor!” Wildchild runs across the ring to the nearby corner, leaping gracefully onto the top turnbuckle and vaulting out of the ring, flipping backwards through the air to crash into MVS with a springboard moonsault! The fans chant their support for the Bahama Bomber as he hammers Van Siclen’s face with piston-like rights: DUB CEE! DUB CEE! DUB CEE! DUB CEE! “Tremendous springboard moonsault!” shouts Mak. “He’s managed to shrug off the effects of missing that early maneuver, and has regained control of this match!” Red Herrington can only stand idly in the ring and watch as WC leans Van Siclen chest-first against the hard rubber barricade surrounding the ring; Wildchild hammers MVS in the back with a couple of hard forearm shots, before leaping off the arena floor and blasting Van Siclen in the back with a standing dropkick that nearly sends him flying over the barricade! “Yeah, but he’d better be mindful of how much energy he’s wasting out there!” warns King, as WC slides back underneath the bottom rope. “He’s had to do a lot of moving Van Siclen’s weight around, and it’s only a matter of time before all that catches up with him!” Wildchild runs to the ropes, picking up speed as he rebounds, and leaps over the top rope, flipping as he sails out of the ring, and crashes into Mike’s back with a flying somersault senton, crushing his chest against the hard rubber barricade! DUB-CEE! DUB-CEE! DUB-CEE! DUB-CEE! “Somersault senton into the barricade! That’s vintage Wildchild right there!” shouts Mak. Wildchild rolls to his feet and grabs Van Siclen’s legs, struggling slightly as he heaves the Spectacle over the barricade and out into the crowd. He then climbs up onto the barricade and measures MVS before crashing down onto him with a double-axe handle! “Boy, Wildchild is really taking it to Van Siclen out on the floor!” remarks Francis, as WC pulls Mike to his feet. “Yeah,” replies King, “but did you see the way he strained when he threw Van Siclen over that barricade? I told you before, Francis, he’s burning energy too quickly; he’s gonna run out of gas, no doubt about it!” Wildchild sets up a chair parallel to a corner of the ring, and then drags Van Siclen over to it; he pulls the Spectacle back to his feet and then dumps him in the chair, stunning him with a series of kicks to the chest before running back towards the ring, shooing everyone out of the way as he vaults over the barricade. “You know, there’s something that I find interesting,” remarks King. “Wildchild is the one who asked for this No-DQ stipulation, but to this point in the match, he hasn’t really made an attempt to use it!” “Maybe not,” replies Mak, as WC dives into the ring, “but he’s definitely made the most of that no countout stipulation! Wildchild’s got Van Siclen lined up with the corner. And I think I know what’s coming up!” The Human Hurricane trots across the ring and hops onto the top turnbuckle; he barely takes a second to steady himself before he takes off, racing across the top rope and leaping out of the ring as he approaches the other side! The Caribbean Cruiser dives through the air, tucking his feet to his chest as he flips over the ring barricade and re-extending them as he sails out into the crowd… WHAM! … Where he sends Van Siclen flying backwards, out of his chair and skidding across the concrete floor, from the shattering force of a Shooting Star Missile Dropkick! DUB-CEE! DUB-CEE! DUB-CEE! DUB-CEE! “Andros Dive!” shrieks Francis, as the Toronto crowd goes bananas over the move. “Andros Dive into a Shooting Star Missile Dropkick! I’ve seen Wildchild do a lot of different maneuvers coming out of that Andros Dive, but I’ve NEVER seen him hit with that kind of force, King! Mike Van Siclen flew out of that chair like he’d been hit by a shotgun!” WC pushes himself onto his knees and then leans back, resting his hands on his hips as he breathes in heavily. “Well, like I said earlier, when Wildchild has the full arsenal working, he’s tough to beat!” WC drags Van Siclen back over to the barricade and slams his head into it! He ducks down underneath the Spectacle and strains with effort as he lifts from underneath to push him over the top of the barricade and back to the ringside area. “But again,” notes King, “look at the strain from something as simple as lifting Van Siclen’s body weight; I told you before, Mak, Van Siclen’s about forty to fifty pounds heavier than the opponents that Wildchild has grown accustomed to wrestling. You can’t be doing all that heavy lifting and still have the energy to do all the high risk stuff that he likes to do! He needs to slow it down, and he hasn’t… and it’s going to cost him!” WC climbs up onto the barricade and waits for Van Siclen to get back to his feet before leaping onto his shoulders, landing in a seated position; the Tropical Tumbler quickly spins around on Van Siclen’s shoulders and locks his legs behind the Spectacle’s head before he arches backwards, pulling MVS overhead with a rana that sends him crashing into the steel steps! “It hasn’t slowed him down yet, King!” replies Mak, as WC gets a few more punches in on Van Siclen before pulling himself back to his feet. “Besides, like I said before, this is Genesis: you can’t hold anything back now!” Wildchild pulls MVS to his feet, and then struggles once more to get his body weight off the ground to roll him underneath the bottom rope. “You know, King, I just noticed that, conspicuous by her absence here tonight, is Melissa Fasaki!” remarks Francis, as WC pulls himself onto the apron. “You think that anything’s up with her?” “I suppose it’s possible,” replies King. “Then again, Wildchild may have just told her to stay backstage so that he wouldn’t have to worry about her while he was out here!” WC grabs onto the top rope and slings himself onto it; he twists in midair to face the crowd as he alights on the top rope and then vaults back into the ring, flipping backwards to crash into Van Siclen’s chest with a top-rope springboard moonsault! He applies a lateral press as Red Herrington dives into position: ONE! TWO! THREE! No! Van Siclen got his foot on the ropes! “Boy, was that close!” sighs Mak. “Wildchild appears to be cruising right now, but give credit to Mike Van Siclen for withstanding his attack!” WC pulls Van Siclen to his feet and whips him towards a neutral corner, but the Spectacle reverses, racing to the ropes as Wildchild bounces off the turnbuckles… WHAM! … And nailing him with the Hollow Point! Wildchild falls flat on his back, while Mike crumples to his knees to recover! “Whoa!” shouts Mak. “Hollow Point out of nowhere! A shout-out to his former tag team partner! That ought to buy Van Siclen some time!” Mike crawls over to Wildchild and makes a half-hearted pin attempt: ONE! TWO! THR— Wildchild kicks out at two! Van Siclen wearily gets back to his feet and attempts to pull WC up, only for the Bahama Bomber to slap his hands away and blast him with a vicious knife-edge chop to the chest, followed by a second and a third! Wildchild grabs Van Siclen by the wrist and attempts to whip him across the ring, only for the Spectacle to reverse it. Mike hangs on to WC’s arm as he pulls him in towards him and wraps it across his throat; the Spectacle then reaches across his opponent’s body to grab his other arm, raising it up across his throat as well as he falls backwards… WHAM! … Driving the back of WC’s head onto his knee with the Crossface Black! “Big time counter by Mike Van Siclen!” shouts Mak. “That should definitely turn the tide!” Mike crawls over to WC and hooks the leg as Herrington begins his count: ONE! TWO! TH— Wildchild kicks out at two! Van Siclen pulls WC to his feet and blasts him repeatedly in the midsection with a series of stiff front kicks, before spinning around and knocking him to the mat with a jumping back kick! The Spectacle then heads over to the nearby corner and lifts himself up to the middle ropes, measuring Wildchild as he leaps off and crashes down across his opponent’s throat with a second-rope legdrop! “Guillotine legdrop!” says King. “He actually got it this time; he could get a cover right here!” MVS rolls atop WC to apply a cover: ONE! TWO! THR— NO! “That was close!” shouts Mak, as WC sits up reflexively. “Boy was that close!” declares King, almost simultaneously. Van Siclen grabs Wildchild from behind by the shoulders and pulls him back down to the canvas to apply another cover: ONE! TWO! WC kicks out at two! He rolls onto his stomach to try and prevent another cover, but the Spectacle simply rolls him back over, this time hooking the legs as he goes for a pin: ONE! TWO! THREEEEENO! The fans cheer and MVS pounds the mat in frustration as WC kicks out yet again. “Hooks the legs this time, and still can’t get him!” shouts Mak. “Nah,” agrees King, as the Spectacle argues with the referee over the count, “Van Siclen has got to go for some kind of maneuver at this point; he’s tried for the cover three straight times, and even though he got Wildchild to expend some more energy, it’s clear that it wasn’t enough to put him away!” Mike turns his attention back to WC and lifts him up off the canvas to deliver a Scoop Slam, but the Caribbean Cruiser hooks his arms and legs around Van Siclen and pulls him down into an inside cradle! ONE! TWO! TH— Wildchild gets two, but can’t hold Van Siclen down for a three count! He beats the Spectacle to his feet and continues to keep him off balance with a battery of double chops to the trapezius, before grabbing him by the wrist and whipping him into the ropes. WC leaps into the air as Mike rebounds, but Van Siclen blasts his right out of the sky with the BIG LARIAT! “BIG LARIAT to Wildchild!” shouts Mak, as MVS scrambles to his feet, leaping back off the canvas to drop down across WC’s throat with a jumping kneedrop. “And a kneedrop; nicely executed!” Mike floats over to attempt a pinfall: ONE! TWO! TH— KICKOUT! MVS pulls Wildchild to his feet and whips him into a neutral corner; he charges into the ring after him, but the Caribbean Cruiser ducks out of the way at the last second, and Van Siclen slams chest-first into the turnbuckles! WC raises his arm as he surges back towards MVS to bust him in the mouth with a back elbow smash! Wildchild grabs Van Siclen by the wrist and whips him out of the corner across the ring, only for the Spectacle to reverse; Wildchild leaps onto the middle turnbuckle as he approaches the corner and gives Van Siclen a head fake that tricks him into bellying out on the canvas. “Look at that!” shouts Mak, as WC positions himself up on the top turnbuckle. “He faked him out with that head fake!” The Human Hurricane waits for MVS to get to his feet before leaping from the top rope and landing on the Spectacle’s shoulders, locking his legs behind Van Siclen’s neck and spins around as he takes him over and down with a satellite Dragonrana! Wildchild scrambles over to apply a pin: ONE! TWO! Van Siclen kicks out at two! Wildchild pulls the bigger man to his feet and backs him against the edge of the ring. WC then grabs him by the wrist and whips him across the ring, but the Spectacle reverses; MVS lowers his shoulder to deliver a back-body drop as Wildchild reverses, but the Tropical Tumbler sails overhead with a running leapfrog and lands on his feet behind him. WC spins Van Siclen around and scoops him up into a slam… WHAM! … But the fatigued Caribbean Cruiser, who isn’t all that strong for a professional wrestler to begin with, can’t hold the weight up, and falls backwards to the canvas with the Spectacle on top of him! ONE! TWO! THR— KICKOUT! “Did he get him?” asks King. “I don’t think so,” replies Mak. “I didn’t hear any bell.” “That was a close call for the Wildchild,” says King. “And I’ll tell you what: I told you about ten minutes ago, Francis, that this was going to happen! Wildchild is not accustomed to having to lift someone as heavy as Van Siclen inside that ring, and it had a negative effect on his endurance! It’s just like they teach you in weight training, you can’t increase your weight and expect to be able to keep up your same amount of reps!” “Well, you did call it, King,” concedes Mak. “I’ll give you dap for that; Wildchild tried to come into this match with his usual fast-paced style, and now he looks to be a few quarts low!” “You know, it’s kind of like the difference between doing the speed limit on the highway and taking it up to eighty or eighty-five,” explains King. “You’re going to get a higher level of performance, but you’re also going to burn out your gas more quickly, and that’s exactly what’s happened to the Wildchild!” As both men get to their feet, an enraged Van Siclen charges towards Wildchild and levels him with a ferocious lariat! He pulls Wildchild back to his feet and grabs him by the back of the head, leading him over to a nearby corner and smashing his head against the top turnbuckle, and sending Wildchild flying backwards, landing flat on his back on the canvas! The camera closes in on MVS, showing the anger on his face as the fans continue to boo him. “Big time clothesline by Van Siclen,” says Mak. “And he follows it up by rifling Wildchild into the turnbuckle!” “He introduced Wildchild’s ugly face into that buckle!” agrees King. “And it looks like MVS has decided that he’s done taking chances!” MVS pulls Wildchild to his feet and leads him to the edge of the ring before dumping him over the top rope out to the floor! “You may have spoken too soon,” replies Mak, as MVS climbs up to the top turnbuckle. “Van Siclen is going to the top!” The Spectacle allows Wildchild to get back to his feet before leaping off the top turnbuckle, blasting him between the eyes with a flying double axe-handle! MVS pulls Wildchild back to his feet and grabs him by the back of the head, leading him over towards the corner… CLANG!

"There you see it, the ring now surrounded by those unforgiving steel bars," King announces as we're back in the arena, the camera fixed on the 15 foot high Steel Cage erected around the ring apron, "a demonic steel structure. Almost like a cell. A prison cell perhaps. Now, I wonder who that will favour in this next match." "Oh. Whatever could you be getting at King?" groans Mak from his specially polished, big night, Genesis worthy wheelchair. "Sarcasm fits you about as well as that rent a tux you've acquired, which is 'not too flattering'. Just get on with the formalities so we can get on with the massacre." "My pleasure, King. Because up next, we've got a Steel Cage Showdown if you will, between an impressive SWF rookie making his Genesis debut and one of the most successful wrestlers in the company's history, here on the big show for the third straight year, fourth if you count the SJL's old Countdown show. Gabriel "The Beast" Drake takes on Landon "La Cucaracha" Maddix, in a match which is intriguing to say the least. Gabriel Drake is a bit of a recluse figure, at least in the back. He's not an overly talkative person, tends to keep himself to himself and when I've personally tried to speak to him in the back, he's been far from helpful." "You can't expect everyone to carry around a wheelchair ramp wherever they go, Mak." Mak sighs. Biggest show of the year and he still can't catch a break from his erstwhile partner. "So far, any dirt I've tried to dig on Drake, he's kept swept firmly under the carpet. But what we do know from other sources is that this guy has some sort of a history with our World Champion Michael Stephens which we're learning more on week in and week out but still don't have the full story on and a police record which saw him incarcerated for manslaughter. Suffice to say, he's got a dodgy past. We also know he's an impressive competitor in the ring, as so far he's undefeated in the SWF since his debut roughly two months ago. His issue with Michael Stephens has led into this match, as Stephens' World Tag Team Championship partner Landon Maddix accepted a match with Drake in his place, two weeks ago on Lockdown. That match didn't go as planned..." "It went better." smiles King, blatantly ignored by Mak. "...as Gabriel jumped Maddix in his locker room before the match and wasn't too many steps away from another case of manslaughter, if not worse. Even despite Gabriel's volatile nature, Maddix has agreed to step into this Cage tonight looking for a measure of revenge. To be fair, he was pushed into it a little by Gabe, who clearly intends on sending a message to Stephens tonight, through his tag partner. But it may prove to be a big mistake for the former two-time World Champion, who literally does have everything to lose in this environment." "A few corrections, if I may." chimes in King. "First of all, Michael Stephens is the current World Champion, but not for long. Secondly, Maddix is his current tag team partner. After tonight, he might end up being your tag team partner, what with being trapped in a Cage with a man capable of manslaughter. The Paraplegic Patrol. Got a good ring to it." "Ughh..." "And thirdly, you're talking about Gabriel Drake being pre-occupied with Toxxic. But this is Genesis VII and he's in there with, much as I loathe to say it, a two time SWF World Champion tonight. Drake can't be concerned about Toxxic, else he's going to give Maddix a half chance at surviving tonight." "Diplomatic as ever, The Suicide King." Mak sighs, to a cheesy smile from his broadcast colleague. "Well, the Cage looks about ready, so let's send it to Funyon at ringside." Decked out in his finest attire, the SWF's faithful ring announcer stands beside the ajar cage door with secondary referee Mark Hebner standing guard. Neither much fancy being inside the cage once Maddix and, specifically, Drake get out here. Unfortunately, Sexton Hardcastle doesn't have that choice, as he waits nervously in the steel enclosed ring. "Ladies and gentlemen, your following contest of Genesis VII is a STEEL CAGE Match!" Funyon booms, to an equally booming response from the crowd. "Well, that explains the Cage around the ring." says King, dripping with sarcasm. "In this contest, victory can be obtained via a pinfall, a submission or by escaping the Cage, by either going out over the top or through the door. Your referee outside the ring when the bell rings will be Mark Hebner and in the ring, Sexton Hardcastle." The officials get some pity applause, until all around the arena the bright lights of the big stage begin to face down into an eerie, blue shade and the mood abruptly changes. With the roof of the Skydome open, the scene isn't quite as spooky as it would be usually. But it's still pretty unnerving, as a set of white strobe lights shine through the darkening Toronto sky on the right side stage. The boo boys are already out as "The Devil's Rejects" by Rob Zombie begins to build. “I am the bad one… Distant and cruel one, I am the dream that, keeps you running down…” As the lyrics start up, the large (by SWF standards, at least) frame of "The Beast" comes into view. Hovering high over the crowd lining the entrance ramp, Drake strides down the aisle with his eyes fixed intently on the steel bars surrounding the ring. All too familiar, perhaps. “With distraction… Violent reaction… Scars of my actions, Watch me running out…” “Hell doesn't want them. Hell doesn't need them. Hell doesn't love them.” "Introducing first... hailing from Athens, Georgia. He weighs in tonight at two hundred and fifty eight pounds. So far undefeated in his SWF career and tonight, making his Genesis debut... "THE BEAST"... GGAAAAABBRRRRRRIIIIIEEEEEELLLLL... DDRRRRRRRRRAAAAAAAAAAKKEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!!!!" "BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!" "Not only making his Genesis debut, but just his second Pay Per View appearance." notes Mak, as the intimidating figure continues the long walk to the ring. "And while he doesn't seem the type to be over-awed by an occasion or a situation, you have to wonder if Drake is deep down feeling the nerves that maybe, so far, he's yet to in the SWF. Without a doubt this is the biggest match is Gabriel's short career." "Probably." King replies candidly. "But he doesn't look worried to me." “The Devil's Rejects… Rejects…” “The Devil’s Rejects… Rejects…” Reaching ringside, Drake stops and takes a long look up. Literally. Like, a fifteen foot look up to the top of the steel cage, which apparently isn't a concern to him as he smiles wryly at the structure. Drake tests the bars on his side of the ring before walking around ringside, ignoring the abuse of the fans he strolls past, his focus firmly on the task at hand. Out of the way stand Hebner and Funyon, having heard one too many tales about this man in the back for their liking, allowing Drake to climb the steps and through the cage door, entering the ring with the smile still on his face. "These Canadian fans, none too welcoming towards Gabriel here. No surprise, considering his recent actions." "Let's just hope they don't start any 'Convict' chants." King notes, as Drake does a quick survey of the ring. "Too right. There's no telling what this guy'll do if he's angry... well, angrier." "I was thinking more about the lawsuit Sean Davis would be filing us all in the morning." Again the relative bigman tests out the give of on side of the cage, shaking the iron bars causing the cage to rattle around on it's hinges. Satisfied with what he's seeing, Drake is now ready to go. And he turns to the left rampway, eyes locked through the bars on the entrance way. "How about that for a visual." points out Mak, with Drake peering through the steel bars and smiling from ear to ear. "Tell me exactly, what am I supposed to do Now that I have allowed you, to beat me! Do you think that we could play another game Maybe I could win this ti-ime." To the surprise of many, the Toronto crowd actually react with cheers to the sound of "The Game" by Disturbed. And by the end of verse 1, if you can claim nu-metal songs have something as traditional as 'verses', the crowd are even clapping along with the song, creating a wall of noise in the arena that everyone, but Drake, seems aware of. "I kinda like the misery you put me through Darling you can trust me, completely! If you even try to look the other way I think that I could kill this ti-ime!" "Paging the irony department!" calls out King, as Landon and Megan emerge to a rousing welcome from the Skydome crowd. "If anyone's doing the killing tonight, it's sure not gonna be this dork!" Despite the match he's about to get into and the man standing in the ring waiting for him, Landon seems pretty jovial as he leads Megan through the curtains by the hand. Stopping to look into the crowd, a smile emerges on The Next Generation's face as he realises that, yes, he is actually being cheered. And no Michael Stephens in sight. So, with the spotlight firmly on him, Landon unstraps his SWF Tag Team Title belt and thrusts his hands into the air, soaking up the adulation of the crowd. "And, introducing his opponent! Accompanied to the ring by his 'Perfect 10', MEGAN SKYE! He hails from Huron, South Dakota by way of Madrid, Spain... weighing two hundred, twenty pounds. One half of the SWF World Tag Team Champions and a former two-time SWF World Heavyweight Champion. Making his third consecutive Genesis appearance... this is LLAAAANNDDOOOOOONN... "LA CUCARACHA"... MMMMMAAAAAAAAAADDIIIIIIIIXXXXXXXXXXXXXX!!!!!" "YYYEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!" "Third consecutive appearance, with a 1-1 Genesis record," Mak confirms, as Landon and Megan make their looooong trek to the ring, "although it's 1-2 if you count the SJL Countdown show appearance." "In that case yes, yes we do." "Of course, his one victory came at Genesis V..." "Shut up." mumbles King. But Mak isn't listening. "...teaming with Edwin MacPhisto and "Grand Slam" Mark Stevens, two Midnight Carnival notees..." "Shut up right now." "...to DEFEAT the team of Tom Flesher, Chris Raynor and..." Mak pauses, feigning a shuffle of his notes as King's teeth can virtually be heard gritting over the microphone. "...according to my research, one Suicide King! Well, I guess that explains why you're always so bitter about Landon, eh Brian?" "You know damn well that's off-bounds conversation, Mak!" Mak can be heard dusting his hands in satisfaction as back on the rampway, Maddix has finally got to the ring and is unloading his entrance jacket and his Tag Team Title to Megan. Turning his head back to the ring, a little look of anxiety is clear on both manager and charge's faces. Hopping on the spot, Landon tries to fire himself up as Megan pats her man on the back, whispering some last words of encouragement before giving him a quick peck on the cheek for good luck. "That's right, kiss him goodbye baby!" King snaps, looking to get right back in the saddle. "*cough*genesisv*cough*" Maddix now climbs the ring steps, getting Hardcastle to keep Drake back as he cautiously slinks in between the ropes. The enormity of the cage multiplies as soon as Landon steps into the ring. And it multiplies yet again as the heavy steel door slams behind him, referee Hebner bolting it shut which seems like music to Gabe's ears. "LAN - DON!" "LAN - DON!" "LAN - DON!" "LAN - DON!" That isn't quite so musical. But, the fans can't help Landon now. He's trapped; just him, Drake and a near-powerless referee. *DINGDINGDING!* With the door firmly shut, poor Landon looks like he's about to become the prison bitch. Only, not in a sexual context. Infact, that might not be such a bad proposition right now as Gabe stands in the centre of the ring and dares Maddix to take the first shot, even offering up his jaw to The Next Generation. Landon looks around the ring nervously and again tries to fire up, balling up his fist as he takes a step towards Drake... ...before taking a flurry of steps the other way and scrambling for the door!! "YYEEEEEEEAAAAAAHHHHH!" Everyone is caught off guard by how quickly Landon is willing to ditch the match, even referee Hebner who has to rush to unbolt the door, the second delay perhaps proving crucial as Gabe is able to cover the ground just in time to catch Maddix's ankle! Hanging halfway in and halfway out of the doorway, Landon claws at the door's frame and tries to pull himself out. But Drake is too strong and he eventually hauls Landon in by the leg, sending him flying across the ring where he pops to his knees and begs for forgiveness. "And the first escape attempt comes after just five seconds!" calls Mak, with a hint of amusement. "It almost worked too!" "Almost." agrees King. "But almost means that now, Maddix is back in the cage and he's pissed Gabe off with his sheer cowardice. That's the difference here. Maddix just wants to get this victory and get the heck out of here. Where-as Gabe is gonna want to have some fun first." Fun or not, Drake certainly does seem a little pissed and makes sure he stays between Landon and the door as he looks to a lock-up. Eyes darting around the cage, it's clear Maddix is out of his comfort zone, looking at the cage wall and trying to calculate if he can get up and over before Drake catches him. He decides it's not worth the risk though and decides to try the lock-up... ...only to sidestep Drake at the last second, making another break for the door! "YYEEEEEEEAAAAAAHHHHH!" This time Hebner is on the ball and ready with the door. But this time, Maddix doesn't make it nearly that far, as Drake catches him around the waist in a makeshift bearhug and lifts the former World Champion off his feet, in a manner unbecoming of a former World Champion. Mainly because Landon kicks and flails like a little girl before he's deposited across the ring. And this time, Drake is really getting POed. "Okay, this is ridiculous." bemoans King, as Maddix retreats into a corner for another time-out. "How is it ridiculous, King? Landon is trying to win the match." "Without making contact with his opponent? This is Genesis VII, as you feel the need to keep reminding everyone even though they're already watching the show, you can't have a Cage Match end in under a minute with no action!" Maddix gets to his feet and tries to reason with Drake. If he'd paid more attention to who Drake was then he likely wouldn't waste his time, but pigheadedly he continues to try and convince The Beast that he was just joking around, real friendly like. Drake doesn't seem convinced and moves in on the attack. But Maddix holds his hands up to stop him. And offers up a test of strength. "Okay, now this is really ridiculous." King snaps incredulously as it seems "The Beast" can scarcely believe his eyes. His reaction, namely 'you've got to be fuckin' kidding me' says it all. "Did you come for the gunshow tonight King?" Mak asks, tongue firmly placed in cheek. "No, I came for the massacre and I'm getting a little sick of waiting for it!" Taking a long, hard, disbelieving look across the ring Drake simply shakes his head. Apparently, he's had enough and with his back to the cage door he throws his hands up and simply goes to leave! This wakes Maddix out of the world of make-believe and he quickly rushes across the ring... ...falling right into Drake's trap, as The Beast turns on his heels and mows him down with a big clothesline!! "BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!" "Haha, there we go!" cheers King. "That's one way to stop the stalling." "In spite of myself, I'm almost glad to see that happen because it means this match is actually a match. However, things could get very bad, very quickly now." Playtime is over now as Drake grabs two large chunks of blond hair, dragging Maddix back to his feet and tossing him unceremoniously into the turnbuckles. There Landon nestles, still knocked stupid from the unexpected clothesline, while Gabriel clasps hold of the bottom rope and DRIVES his shoulder deep into the gut of the cornered Cucaracha. A second shoulder barge follows, with the third right behind it, the air being driven from Landon's body barge by barge. Drake rears back once more and stalls, putting every bit of his body behind the fourth shoulder charge and lifting Landon off his feet from the force. "Who says you can't squash a cockroach?" crows King, as Gabe jerks forward to throw Landon's body off of his shoulder where it had lifelessly hung itself. Wringing out the arm, Drake now irish whips The Next Generation across the ring and into the opposite corner. And with a full head of steam he follows in, bringing his knee up into the face ala Harley Race, putting Landon flat on his ass in the corner. "Two hundred, fifty eight pounds behind that knee," calls Mak, "delivered with pinpoint precision." "He likes those knees." confirms King. "So do I, especially when it's guys like Maddix on the recieving end." Grabbing another couple of clumps of hair, Drake drags Landon up to a vertical base. Without his opponent's help Landon certainly wouldn't stay there and he slumps groggily over, as far as Drake will allow... *WHAM!* "OOOOHHHHHHHHHHHH!" ...before kneeing The Next Generation SQUARE IN THE FACE! *WHAM!* "OOOOHHHHHHHHHHHH!" ...again! *WHAM!* "OOOOHHHHHHHHHHHH!" ...and once more for good luck, Drake dramatically letting Landon go and stepping back, watching him fall lifelessly onto his face. "...wow." is all Mak can muster at the brutality. "This is like watching a mixed martial arts fight. Except more exciting, because unless Hardcastle's a pussy he's not going to stop the match for a KO or a little spec of blood here and there. And, obviously, because Maddix is in there getting mutilated." "Obviously." Mak sighs. To his credit, Maddix isn't taking this lying down. Well...he kinda is. But he's trying not to take it lying down, clawing onto Drake's ring gear and attempting to use it to drag himself back up. Drake just stares down at the former World Champion with destain, knowing he can take a free shot whenever he feels like it with Landon in this prone state. *WHAM!* "OOOOHHHHHHHHHHHH!" ...and he does, with yet another Muay Thai knee! "Merciless." groans The Franchise. "Gabe isn't one to end a match without getting all the enjoyment he can out of it. We saw it at Ground Zero against Ced Ordonez, against Akira Kaibatsu, against Michael Cross. We might be here a while, even if Landon can't find a way back into the match." Slipping his arms underneath those of his opponents, Drake sets and sinches in the double underhook. With a quick glance back, he then pops the hips, taking Maddix over with a crisp Butterfly Suplex to show he can wrestle, as well as just brutalise someone with knee strikes. The Next Generation rolls around a little, groaning in pain, while Drake rolls across the ring and pulls himself up by the cage wall. "He looks so at home." notes King, to a nod from his partner. "That's what makes this so unnerving." "LAN - DON!" "LAN - DON!" "LAN - DON!" "LAN - DON!" On the outside of the cage, Megan Skye looks to rally the crowd behind her man, sensing that he's in trouble in this early going. Drake just glares at her for her interference as Landon is up now, getting shoved nonchalantly away. Still woozy, Landon stumbles back, the ring ropes bouncing him back towards Drake which he uses as an excuse to throw a forearm. However, Drake sees it coming and swats the arm away, before piefacing the 220 pounder down, sweeping the legs out STO style for some extra impact. The back of Maddix's head bounces off the canvas hard and Megan instinctively looks away. Which is for the best, as Gabe isn't done, strolling across into the ropes and only breaking into any real speed mere seconds before he leaps from the mat, coming down across the chest with a big kneedrop! ONE! T.. No. Drake removes his knee from Landon's chest and shakes his head. "Oh, he's not done yet there Sexton." King smiles. "He's not done by a longshot." Indeed, with a grin emerging on his face, Drake points a finger ominously towards one of the walls of the cage. "Unfortunately, you might be right King." sighs Mak, no real fan of Landon's but no sadist either. "I guess Drake figures that since he's inside of this steel cage, he might as well make some use of it." "Hey it's like the saying goes Francis: when in Rome, kill like the Romans do. Or, something." The Beast takes his sweet time in bringing Maddix once more to his feet. He's enjoying this far too much to rush a second of the beating, taking in a long glimpse of the Rogers Centre as he lifts Maddix up over his shoulder, aiming him towards one of the cage walls. Unfortunately, he happens to choose the wall that Megan Skye has scaled, stood at apron level and pleading with Gabriel not to do what he's planning to do. "C'mon, get her down Hebner!" King howls, as Drake seems to be contemplating taking out two for the price of one. "Yeah, we need her down now, this is no safe place for Megan Skye to be." agrees Mak. Around the ring comes referee Hebner, yelling at Megan to get down, while Drake backtracks a few more steps and looks for an extra run-up, aiming to torpedo Landon into the cage and, thus, into Megan. "WATCH OU - " But the extra delay allows Landon to slip from Gabriel's grip and slide down the back in mid-run! "YYYEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAHHHHHHH!!" "Damni-" King semi-howls, not getting to the end of his thought (although it's obvious what it was) before Drake turns around and takes a flying forearm to the face! The Beast goes down, popping right back to his feet but only to take another flying forearm across the head to rapturous applause from Megan, who's back on safe ground now! Finally Landon is building some momentum and he rushes into the ropes. Scrambling back up, Drake swings for the hills. Underneath stoops Maddix though, hitting the ropes one last time and diving... ...into Drake's arms, Gabe managing to avoid the forearm and catch Landon, going into reverse and throwing Landon back with his patented Stungun manoeuvre... *CLANG!* "OOOOOOOOOOOHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!" ...except, with a little more mustard than usual, causing the top of Landon's head to strike the bars of the steel cage before he whiplashes down on the top rope!! Coming out of his seat, King's reaction is far from understated. "WOO-HOO! WOO-HOO!" "Devil's Reject, into the cage!!" Mak yells over his jubilant broadcast partner. "What a SICKENING sound that was, nothing but bone striking steel and to the suprise of no-one, it was steel that won out! Landon's skull could have split wide open with that desperation counter!" "Desperation nothing Mak, that was an ingenious move by Gabriel Drake! To the untrained eye, it might have looked like Landon was turning the match around. But he went for the same move three times in a row, like the brain-dead spot monkey he is and Drake scouted him, blocked the move and pitched him into the cage!" With Maddix lying motionless in front of him, Drake sits and casually adjusts his kneepads. A clearly concerned Sexton Hardcastle checks for any sign of blood or, for that matter, signs of life from The Next Generation. He doesn't seem to find either though before Gabe strides over and shoves him away. The hapless official falls arse over head and scrambles up, trying to assert some authority. Nevermind that it's No DQ though, Sexton doesn't dare get within reach of Gabe, making his attempt futile. "Gabriel Drake, with no regard for his opponent's well-being." points out Mak, prompting a mumbled 'me neither' from a certain someone next to him. Drake hauls Landon up by the hair, keeping hold of the blond locks, which are slowly being stained crimson as indeed Landon is lacerated from the crown of the head. Of course, that only spurs The Beast on, as he turns Maddix around by the hair... *CLANG!* "BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!" ...and guides him HEAD-FIRST into the cage wall!! "Now we're getting somewhere!" King cheers. Despite there being very little give in the cage, the steel bounces Landon back, where he promptly collapses back down to the mat. However, any hopes of catching a breather whilst down there are short lived. Gabe again lifts Maddix back up and doesn't encounter any resistance as he directs him towards the opposite side of the structure... *CLANG!* "BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!" ...and hurls him into the steel, again head-first!! "There's only so much of this a man can take," winces Mak, as the woozy World Tag Champion drops to his knees, "and it looks like Landon may be nearing his limit already. It's been all Gabriel Drake so far, here at Genesis VII!" Third time will be the charm now as Drake turns to side three of the steel enclosure. Again, there's no resistance from Landon, his lavishly dressed manageress unable to watch as into a run breaks The Beast, dragging Maddix with him all the way by the hair. And with a heavy throw of the arm, Gabe pitches Landon into the cage... "NO! NOT THIS TIME!" cries Mak, as suddenly Maddix bursts into life. On his way over the top, Maddix is able to hook the top rope, guiding himself into the cage with little more than a graze and a bump to the right knee before coming safely down on the apron between the ropes and the cage. "How the hell did he do that!?" The Suicide King's question is shared by Gabe as he turns around, expecting to see Landon splattered on the mat again, but instead on his feet. Quickly, he charges him though, bouncing off the ropes sideways on to crush Landon back into the steel. That proves to be just the set-up though, as Drake charges forward. Into the opposite ropes he goes, rebounding back with his head down, charging towards the trapped La Cucaracha like a raging bull as he looks to Spear him back into the steel... *CLANG!* "YYEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHH!!" ...ONLY TO RATTLE HEAD-FIRST INTO THE BARS OF THE CAGE!! "A sidestep by Landon," Mak again cheers, "and that's the first taste of the steel for The Beast tonight!" "He crushed his neck like a beer can." weeps King, worried for the first time in the match. And with good reason, as with Drake hanging over the middle rope, Maddix reaches up and grabs a bar, pulling himself up and beginning to scale the cage! "And now, Landon is looking to get out while he's still, virtually, in one piece!" The scale is slow and arduous for Maddix, still feeling the effects of his collisions with the cage. His throbbing head and bloody blond hair, matting in front of his face, mean Landon has to take the climb slow and steady. Which is no good for Megan, yelling at her man to hurry up, because Gabriel Drake has rolled from the ropes and is trying to drag himself back to his feet. "He's about halfway up!" calls Mak, all necks around him beginning to crane. "But that leaves another half up, plus two halves down. No way he makes it out! No way!" And King might be right, as Drake has his head down but is obviously aware of where Landon is, reaching out and grabbing the cage wall. Making the mistake of looking down, Maddix panics. For now Drake is still shaking out the cobwebs, but when he starts shaking the cage, it's going to be a damn near impossible climb... ...so he bails, jumping off the cage... ...BRINGING BOTH FEET DOWN INTO THE SPINE OF "THE BEAST" ON HIS DESCENT!!! "YYYEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHH!!" "AAAAHHH!" "Mega, MEGA Mushroom Stomp, from halfway up the cage wall!" Mak exclaims. "Even Mario isn't that much of a daredevil!!" Slumping back to the ground, the blood of La Cucaracha stains the Genesis canvas as Drake hangs over the middle rope once more, two footprints embedded between his shoulder blades. Megan is frantic on the floor, shaking the wall of the cage as she tries to summon Landon into making the cover. "LAN - DON!" "LAN - DON!" "LAN - DON!" "LAN - DON!" The support of the crowd, unusual as it is, seems to spur Landon on. Pushing up, he takes a moment to regain his bearings before rolling to the side, over to Drake who gets taken off the middle rope with a less than orthodox schoolboy cradle... ONE! TWO! NO!! "Not nearly enough weight behind that pin to hold 'The Beast' down," critiques Mak, staying impartial whilst King fans himself down beside him, "plus he took a crucial few seconds to capitalise, ruining any chance he had of getting the fall there." "Which was none at all." King argues. "If, heaven forbid, Maddix did win this match, his best and only real hope is by using his speed to run out of the door or over the top, like he's been trying to do from the very start. Gabe has never been pinned and never submitted, there's no guarantee it'll EVER happen, so why put your eggs in that basket?" "To be fair, he's never been hit with a Mushroom Stomp from halfway up a cage wall either." "No-one else would be stupid enough to, either. If Drake moved, Maddix would have blown both his knees out. That's why I don't agree with these..." "Spotmonkeys." Mak interrupts, finishing King's sentence off for him, seeing as he's heard it so many times since taking the seat next to him. Both men have used up some recovery time during this banter and meet in the centre of the ring. And despite the beating he's taken thus far and the blood still coating his scalp, Landon is first to strike... *SLAP!* "WHOOOOOOOO!" ...landing a knifedge chop. Still lacking some air after the feet in his spine, Drake is caught off-guard by the strike... *SLAP!* "WHOOOOOOOO!" ...and takes another before he can retaliate. Landon is far from fresh and both men are reeling now, the cage not wasting any time in taking it's toll on the two. And this time, it's Gabriel who strikes out... *WHAM!* ...connecting with a big right hand, putting Maddix on the backfoot... *SLAP!* "WHOOOOOOOO!" ...only for him to step back onto his frontfoot, rocking Drake with another trusty knifedge chop. "These men going toe to toe in the centre of the ring," calls Mak, "not the strategy Landon should really be implimenting, although he's holding his own at the moment it seems." Famous last words. Just as it seems like Landon might be in control he tries for an irish whip, only for Gabe to twist through and reverse the momentum in his favour, pulling The Next Generation forward into a knee, buried deep in the gut. "You were saying, Francis?" "Hrmph." Maddix bends double from the knee, finding himself pulled right into a standing headscissors by Drake. No more messing around, The Beast is angry now and he looks to finish the job for sure, reaching down and lifting Maddix up for the Demon Bomb. However, Drake doesn't reckon on just how tender his back still is until mid lift, by which time he's already losing control due to a sudden spasm. Landon manages to keep himself going up and over, slipping out of Gabe's grip in mid air and coming down with a front facelock. Quick as a flash, or at least a flash which is busted open from the head, Landon then whips around and takes Gabe over with a quick Swinging Neckbreaker, bringing the crowd back to life. "YYYEEEEEAAAAAAHHHHHHH!" "Another sudden counter and Drake came down hard on his back and neck there!" Rolling over, Landon drapes himself across the chest with the pin... ONE! TWO! Kickout! "HA!" scoffs King, as Drake gives an authorative kickout. "Beating Gabe Drake off a swinging neckbreaker? Think again!" "Whether you agree with it or not, this is smart strategy, going for pinfalls and escapes at every opportunity. You never know what might be the crucial, winning move in a match like this where so much punishment is being taken from the cage." "But you do know it won't be a swinging neckbreaker." Retreating into a corner, Landon crouches down and waits, even encouraging Gabriel to get back to his feet. That last bit might just be for show, but Drake does indeed start getting back up, still favouring his back as he gets to his knees... ...then one knee... Uh-oh. "SHINING WIZAAAA..." ...DUCKED! Drake manages to extract his head out of the path of Landon's knee just in time, sending La Cucaracha sprawling forward empty-handed. "Jeez, calm down Mak. I know it's Genesis VII, bu..." Just as King is speaking though, Drake explodes off the ropes, hooking his arm towards the turning Maddix's head with a... "...SHOTGUN LARIAAAAAAA..." ...DUCKED! Landon manages to weave his head out of the way, Drake quickly slamming on the brakes and coming up just short of the cage wall. Thanking his lucky stars, Gabe then turns back around after Landon, but doesn't plan on being met with a Dropsault, sending him sprawling through the ropes and out against the cage on the ring apron. "You okay Brian?" Mak teases, as King curses at not being able to finish his scream. "Take it easy wouldya, we don't want a coronary on our hands, even if it is Genesis VII." "Says the guy in the wheelchair." "What's that supposed to mean?" ".....cripple." "Touché." Still on his hands and knees, Landon regrets the choice of move, his backflipping sending a rush of blood to his head that really could have done without. Nausea can wait though. Clambering back up, the Tag Team Champion has Drake pinned up against the cage and can move in a little closer, with his opponent's reach nullified. *SLAP!* "WHOOOOOOOO!" Rearing back, Landon lashes Gabe with another knifedge chop. Except this one is against the cage wall, with Drake unable to get as much of a block up with his arms hampered by the ropes in front of him. *SLAP!* "WHOOOOOOOO!" Another chop connects, Drake's body lurching back into the steel bars for good measure. And it wouldn't be wrestling if there weren't a trifecta... *CLANG!* "OOOOOOOOOOOOHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!" ...trouble is, Landon's third chop finds nothing but cold, hard metal as Drake ducks out of the way, causing Landon's hand to bounce off the steel! "You can now add 'broken hand' to the laundry list of injuries from this match." announces Mak, a little unsympathetically. Away stumbles Landon, his main concern being his right hand now, which is in some desperate need of some ice and perhaps some more serious medical attention. Unfortunately for him, Megan Skye didn't think to bring ice out with her. She does have her uses though, pointing out to Landon that he needs to turn around, right now. Which he does, just as Drake charges across and tackles him to the ground with a Spear, catching Maddix completely off guard! "BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!" Hovering over Landon, The Beast has the perfect opportunity to go for the cover. An opportunity, for whatever reason, that he passes up. "Wait...Gabriel Drake, not going for the pin here." "Doesn't look like he's going for the door either," adds King, "which pretty much leaves one thing. More punishment!" "I don't think he needs to inflict more punishment, Maddix is down and there to be pinned. Yet, this seems to be Drake's mantra. He won't finish off a match until he's satisfied that his opponent isn't just beaten for a three count, but beaten to the point he needs help walking out of here!" "No complaints here." As with Ced, with Akira and with Cross before him, Drake clearly has other plans for Maddix as he ignores the protests of referee Hardcastle, going back to the 'handfuls of hair' method of pulling the two hundred, twenty pounder back to his feet. Going from hair to arm, Gabe then shoots Landon across the ring, whipping him across into the turnbuckles in one corner of the ring. Waving her towel over her head, vainly Megan tries to attract Drake's attention. But this time, he's not interested, blatantly ignoring the buxom blonde beauty as he stalks after his opponent. "LAN - DON!" "LAN - DON!" "LAN - DON!" "LAN - DON!" The chants a little more than white noise as far as Drake is concerned now, unconcerned with the fans around Skydome as he stoops low and sets Maddix up on the turnbuckles. "This is trademark Gabriel Drake here, no good can come of this." Mak calls. With Maddix sat on the top turnbuckle, Gabe sets about positioning him. Over the ropes go the legs, putting his opponent in an even more uncomfortable position than before, sat crotched across the metal buckle. Taking a step back, Drake then looks to introduce his opponent to The Right Hand Of Gabe... ...but Maddix reaches back, grabbing the steel bars behind him and arching himself out of the palm's range! Cursing under his breath, the increasingly frustrated Drake smacks his palm on the canvas, spinning to throw the strike again...and getting cut off with a flat foot to the face! Drake stumbles, falling back towards the corner and into a second foot to the face, Landon now sat more comfortably on the top turnbuckle pad. With Drake dazed, Maddix then reaches out and hooks hold of the head, placing it over his shoulder. "Crash Landon!?" Mak questions aloud. "When was the last time we saw Landon go for this?" "Not since Jay Hawke told him not to..." Leaping from the middle turnbuckle, around swings Landon. Around. And around. And...still around, right back against the turnbuckles where he's once more deposited by Drake, powerful enough to control the rotation of the move and counter. "...he probably should have listened." Hitting the buckles spine first, a rush of air escapes Landon, slumping against the corner, winded. Drake quickly puts him right back on the top buckle though... *SMACK!* ...and this time fires The Right Hand Of Gabe up underneath The Next Generation's jaw! Maddix's eyes roll like a cartoon character's and he collapses to the side, the cage the only thing preventing him from spilling off the top and to the apron. In this time, Drake again re-positions the legs behind the ropes and climbs the ropes, stepping to the middle strand in front of his opponent and latching on a front facelock. Up to the top goes Drake now, Landon still sat astride the buckle as Drake now reaches down, grabbing hold of the red and yellow shorts and beginning to drag Landon up to the top rope with him. Fighting against it, Maddix latches his legs around the turnbuckle and prevents himself from being lifted up, buying himself time to recollect his bearings, before peppering Gabe with some left hands to the kidneys. "Maddix, trying to fight against this top rope superplex!" Mak buzzes, the crowd buzzing around him as both men battle away in their precarious position. Drake's standing on the rope is faltering now as Maddix mixes in some right hands with the left, firing away from both sides as The Beast's balance begins to escape him. Seeing this, Maddix stops the punching and pushes at Drake's legs, causing him to fall from the ropes. "Oh, he got out of it!" cheers Mak, before realising that Gabe has landed on his feet... *SMACK!* ...leaping up and firing off a second palm strike! "For now at least." sneers King. Maddix is back to sitting prone on the buckle now as Gabe fumes to himself. All this work for the superplex, not something he's used to. And in the end, he loses his cool and gives up on the move he's been looking for, instead pulling Landon's head down and onto his shoulder, then reaching out and hooking the legs under the knees. "Oh yeah, even better!" King cheers, over the sound of the cage being shook frantically by Megan. "This was the downfall of Mike Cross on Smarkdown!" Turning from the buckles, Drake confidently runs forward with Landon's body stacked up in a ball... ...but carrying two hundred, twenty pounds on your shoulder blades after they've been stomped on from about six feet in the air isn't the wisest of ideas. And Drake's grip on the legs of La Cucaracha doesn't last long, allowing the struggling Landon to escape before being driven to the canvas, rolling forward off the shoulder and landing on his feet behind The Beast! Coming to a stop, Drake's annoyance prompts him to turn and run headlong at Landon... *SMACK!* "YYEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHH!!" ...AND GET FELLED WITH A SUPERKICK!!! "OH! He took his head off with that one!" Mak erupts, as close to coming out of his seat as someone in a wheelchair can be. "Pure desperation." King sulks from beside him. "If he flukes a win off of that, I quit." ".....come on Landon, make the cover!" Still shaken up, Landon looks around hazily for where Drake came to a stop. Megan is again there to point him in the righ direction, getting her man to clamber around 360, his head still cloudy but with enough sense left to drop on top with the cover... ONE! TWO! TH- ...NO! "BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!" "He kicked out!" stammers King, as if looking for some confirmation. "He kicked out. He...definitely kicked out, no problem." Sitting up, Maddix hangs his aching head in his hands, looking around for some more advice from his manager. However, his eyes don't fall on Ms. Skye. Instead, they fall on the door of the cage, Mark Hebner up from his seat on the outside as Landon gives the signal to 'open up'. "That kickout might not save Drake for long though," Mak points out, as slowly Landon starts to crawl hand over foot towards the door, "because it looks like Maddix is going for the door!" "He's running like a girl! For shame!" "Brian, it's a Cage Match. The goal is to escape the cage." "....like a girl." *tuts* With the door now wide open, the light at the end of the tunnel if you will, Maddix continues to drag himself across the canvas. The blood flow from his head seems to have stopped now, but he's still feeling the effects of the laceration, making his crawl ever slower as his adrenaline from earlier fades. "LAN - DON!" "LAN - DON!" "LAN - DON!" "LAN - DON!" The support of the crowd and of Megan Skye seems to get the adrenaline flowing again though, as Landon pushes up onto his hands and knees and begins a more 'orthodox' crawl. The doorway is in sight now and with one last, despairing dive, Landon reaches out... ...grabbing the bottom rope... ...his fingers finding the apron skirt... ...AND DRAKE SPRAWLS FORWARD, GRABBING AN ANKLE!! "BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!" "Ah, so close!" "And yet sooo far away!" gloats King. Landon's fingers still skim across the edge of the apron, trying in vain to clutch onto something to pull himself forward with. But by now Drake is up to his feet and has the leverage and strength to drag Maddix away from the door, into the centre of the ring. Still clutching the leg, Drake then drops to a knee, draping the leg around the back of his neck in the Stretch Muffler position. "BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO..." "He's going for Spite and Malice!" cries Mak. "Nobody has ever escaped this hold, if he locks it in, it's over for sure!" With the leg in place, all Drake has to do now is turn over and sit back into the crab. Flailing around, Maddix has done enough homework to know what's coming and is desperate not to be placed in he hold, pushing up so that he's actually walking on his hands... ...as Drake turns him over... ...BUT LANDON COUNTERS WITH A HURRI-LAN-RANA!! "YYEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!" "What!?" King exclaims, as Drake goes tumbling across the ring. "Landon had it scouted and countered it with a headscissors of sorts. A little unorthodox, maybe, but he escaped the hold regardless." "Yeah, but HOW!?" Gabe is able to roll through the potential head-spikeyness of the takeover and comes right back up to his feet in a corner. Up too is Landon and he strides in, not risking a run. Which might be a mistake, as he walks straight into a quick knee strike from Drake who comes out of the corner. By the head, Drake then hurls Landon face first into the top turnbuckle. Out bounces Landon, falling right back into Drake who locks a Muy Thai clinch around the head... *WHAM!* "OOOOHHHHHH!" ...connecting with a knee strike, although Landon guards his face with his forearms to deflect most of the blow. "I think Gabriel's losing his cool here." "Nonsense!" protests King, as Gabe fires off another knee into another semi-block. "He's going with what worked early in the match, using his violent streak to his advantage. Maddix simply can't compete in a match like this!" King might be right as even with the guard up, Landon is sinking to his knees under the barrage of knees. Still with the clinch, another knee strike from Drake rains in, before he throws Maddix down and makes his first pin attempt of the match... ONE! TWO! KICKOUT!! "YYEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHH!!" Drake turns his attention to referee Hardcastle as Landon's shoulder just jerks of the canvas in time, glaring at the puny official and basically, without a word, warning him to quicken up the count. He then sets up picking Landon back up, feeding his head through the top and middle ropes, placing the top of his head against the steel cage. Rearing back, Drake then kicks back like an agitated mule right into Landon's backside, causing Maddix's head to compact against the wall of the cage! "BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!" "Trying to open up that cut again." calls Mak. "Again, absolutely no remorse from this guy." "And why should there be? Like you keep saying, Johnny One-Line, this is a Cage Match and it is Genesis VII. Why shouldn't Gabe do whatever it takes to try and get the win, even if it means ripping someone's skull apart." Rubbing at the top of his head, Landon pulls himself off the ropes with gritted teeth, caught from behind by Drake who hoists him up for a belly to back suplex...but Landon manages to float over top, landing on his feet. Quickly Landon clubs Drake in the spine with a couple of forearms, giving himself a moment to assess his next move. Grabbing Gabe under the jaw from behind, Maddix then leaps up, tucking in his knees for the Lungblower... ...but Drake takes a step forward and manages to avoid the knees, using his strength advantage to lever Maddix up onto his back, into a Piggyback position! "Mark Of The Beast!" "YES!" NO! Maddix fights his way out of the backpack stunner situation with a frantic collection of left crossface strikes and right knees to the side, managing to land enough quickly enough to force Gabe to drop him down. "Oh for crying out loud!" despairs King, slamming his fists onto the announce table. "How does this slippery little bastard keep escaping by the skin of his teeth!?" As soon as his feet land on the canvas, Maddix then vaults back up, tucks the knees... ...and brings Drake down into the Lungblower!! "YYYEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!" "Right down across the knees!" cheers Mak. "Could that be the move to finally end Gabriel Drake's unbeaten streak?" As Drake bounces away off his knees, Maddix makes sure not to waste a second, scrambling right after him with a quick cover... ONE! TWO! T- NO, KICKOUT! "BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!" Getting back to his feet, Maddix limps across the ring wondering just what in the hell he has to do to beat this unbeaten Beast. Gabe meanwhile is using the ropes to pull himself back up...but the damage may have been done, Gabriel gingerly stretching out his back. Up he gets, and over he staggers as Maddix lines him up. Suddenly, a surge of energy allows the fuming Drake to charge at Maddix, arm out-stretched. But Maddix reacts and counters, drop-toe-holding Drake forward and through the middle rope... *CLANG!* ...HEAD-FIRST INTO THE CAGE WALL AGAIN! "OOOOOOOOOOOHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!" Gabriel rebounds back out from the ropes, shakily falling to his knees as Maddix turns... *SMACK!* ...AND HITS A SHINING WIZARD! "Oh, he got him that time!" Mak gasps. Having hit the shining wizard, Maddix is once again feeling the effects. But with Megan yelling at him to capitalise, Maddix forgets the pain and dives on Drake, cradling the legs with all his might... ONE! TWO! THR... ...ONLY TWO!! "OOOOOOOOOHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!" "Unbelievable!" gasps Mak breathlessly. "I thought for sure that was it!" "And so did Maddix. Look at him, blubbing like a baby, I love it!" Not quite blubbing, but Landon is beside himself, protesting the count with referee Hardcastle. Megan makes her own protest outside the ring with secondary referee Mark Hebner. But neither official can do anything to change the decision now, even if it were wrong, which there's no suggestion of except from the SWF's Power Couple. "LAN - DON!" "LAN - DON!" "LAN - DON!" "LAN - DON!" The Toronto crowd try to get behind Landon again as he throws up his hands in despair and crawls to the nearest side of the cage, ducking out through the ropes and again trying to scale out of the cage. "Again, Landon unable to get the pin, but quick to try an alternative method of winning the match." Mak points out, as Maddix starts to make some headway, just as Gabe starts shaking himself back into life. "But again, look at the resiliance from Gabriel Drake!" "It's gonna take more than a fancy knee to the head to keep this man down." insists King. Halfway up the cage wall, Landon takes another rung up and his hands meet the top of the cage for the first time. Now all he has to do is push up from there. Which is made harder by Gabriel Drake clutching his leg. "BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!" Climbing up the ring ropes, Drake transitions to the cage and now both men are on the steel structure. Gabe is a couple of rungs down from Maddix, but with his height advantage he's still within reach, firing off a hard punch to the midsection to slow Landon down a little more. Another punch connects, Landon now hanging on precariously. "Both men high over the ring," notes Mak, "one slip-up could prove disasterous for either man." Landon tries to kick out at Drake now, but Landon misses and takes another punch. Drake now has the time to scale up another couple of rungs so he's on a level footing with La Cucaracha on the cage wall, gripping Landon by the back of the head. Maddix does the same though... *CLA - ANG!* ...and BOTH men guide each other's faces into the steel! Neither takes a fall from that, but both men's footings are that bit unsteadier now. After a moment to shake the effects away, both Landon and Gabe then grab the heads again... *CLA - ANG!* ...and again send each other into the cage. Drake wobbles... ...but it's Maddix who takes the brunt of the steel, losing his footing and falling throat-first across the top rope, the whiplash effect sending Maddix tumbling across the ring and to the mat!! "BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!" "Maddix is down!" King booms, eagerness in his voice. "The coast is clear for Gabe, he's just gotta climb a couple more feet and he's out of the cage!" "And I don't think Landon will catch him if that happens, but he's close to the door in his own right!" Still on the cage, Drake is doing little more than clinging on for the moment, knocked dizzy from the meetings with the steel. A good twelve feet over the vast Genesis crowd, The Beast comes back to his senses and looks around the grandious stage, taking a glance behind him to see Landon on the mat, struggling to his feet. And a wry smile creeps over his face, as he begins to climb up the wall again. Reaching the top of the cage, Gabe pushes up and looks to lever a foot over the top... ...BUT HIS TRAILING FOOT IS CAUGHT! "YYEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHH!!" "Wow, nothing but desperation there!" Mak cries as with a despairing lunge up the cage, Maddix clutches onto the bottom Gabe's tights, halting his progress, barely. Rolling his eyes in the midst of realising he's in trouble once more, back over the cage steps Drake, placing both feet on the inside of the wall before thrusting down... *WHAM!* ...booting Landon in the head... *WHAM!* ...and again... *WHAM!* ...before slamming the foot down a third time across the top of the head, sending Landon spiralling off the top rope once more. Maddix barely manages to cushion his landing but does sprawl out across the canvas, to the satisfaction of Gabriel Drake. "BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!" "Gabriel Drake is so desperate so escape this cell, a feeling I'm sure he's more than used to!" "Okay," sighs King, "enough with the convict jabs wouldya. Gabe's about to pick up the biggest win of his career on his Genesis debut and you're bringing up his past." "You've been doing it all ni..." Mak protests, but gives up in mid sentence, realising it's not worth it. With the escape in sight once more, Drake takes a last glance back again before again levering the foot over the top. The Beast seemed a lot more comfortable being surrounded by steel bars than he does on top of them however, caution clear in his body movements, slowly tipping himself over the top... ...and climbing out of the cage for the first time! "BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!" Still Drake hovers over the cage and he still seems uncertain. But he's in the clear now, as Landon looks up and realises Gabriel is out of any possible reach. It looks bleak now. So The Next Generation goes for a fleeting Plan B. "OPEN THE DOOR!" "Maddix calling for the door, but he's a long way away and Drake is now on the outside of the cage!" Mak calls, his voice running a mile a minute as the action matches his speed of speech. "He's going to have to really move it now!" "It's over, ring the bell." King simply states. Megan is contemplating holding Drake up on that side of the ring, but even in this desperate state of affairs she doesn't much fancy doing anything to annoy The Beast, who is just five bars away from victory. Looking down, Gabe decides not to risk jumping from here and continues his crawl, confident that Maddix has no chance of reaching him... ...as he goes down a bar, Landon stumbling to his feet and despairingly watching on, seemingly resigned to defeat... ...so, with no hope left, Landon breaks into a run. He detours away from Drake though, The Beast dropping down one more bar, just a small hop down from victory... ...as Maddix takes a suicidal dive at the door, going headlong through the open doorway narrowly missing referee Mark Hebner with a topé esque swoop... *DINGDINGDING!* As his feet touch the ground of Skydome, Gabriel Drake is rightfully relieved, punching his hands into the air in victory despite the slight jarring of his back on landing. He has no reason to worry that the bell was so quick in coming, no concerns over the apparant lack of reaction by the fans around him, except for agape mouths and eyes focused across ringside. This is his moment. Rushing around ringside, referee Mark Hebner approaches Drake, who holds out his wrist ready for it to be raised in victory. However, Hebner by-passes him to get to Funyon, rambling something in his ear as Drake shrugs and goes back to his celebration. "Ladies and gentlemen, by escaping the cage and touching the floor first, your winner of this contest... ...LANDON "LA CUCARACHA" MMMM

Backstage we go, to the specially set-up interview stage, where our favourite company man Ben Hardy is standing by. "Benjamin Hardy, backstage here in the gigantic Toronto Skydome!" the SWF's resident roving reporter greets warmly, in a good mood if only because it's Genesis. And dressed with some sense of style, definitely only because it's Genesis. "We've seen some tremendous action out in the arena already and as we speak, our trusty stagehands are putting in place the fifteen foot high steel cage structure, which in mere moments..." Walking into shot with his SWF Tag Team Title over his shoulder and some small bandaging still across his forehead, Landon "La Cucaracha" Maddix stands beside Hardy, with Megan Skye on the other side. "...will house the battle between "The Beast" Gabriel Drake and my guest here, Landon "La Cucaracha" Maddix. Landon, we all saw the beating Gabriel handed to you less than two weeks ago. Any nerves, knowing you're going to be trapped in that Cage tonight with an obviously unpredictable opponent." "Of course there's nerves Ben." Landon answers, surprisingly honest. "It's Genesis VII, biggest show of the year. But Benny boy, I run on nerves. I run on adrenaline. And I have done for years." Wiping a hand across his face, it's clear that Landon is a little more 'serious' tonight than we're used to. No real mugging and posturing, no real arrogance. No goofiness, intentional or otherwise. "This is the grandest of the grand stages. This is what we as SWF employees wait all year for. This is why we put up with being stuck in some fictional world, wrestling under incomprehensible House Rules against giant Octopi or wrestlers who think they're robots who think they're wrestlers. You can talk about the beating I took two weeks or so ago. You can draw up your Tale Of The Tapes, talk about leverage advantages and technical ability. But it's Genesis. Which means everything's up in the air." To affirm his point, Landon throws his hands up over his head. "It's a matter of emotions tonight. Three years ago, I was on the Countdown show with the SJL crew and I got my first sample taste of what it was like to wrestle at Genesis. Countdown To Genesis 4, as a young up and coming 'buck' in this sport, I came in and suffered, to that point, the lowest night of my young career. My big night, my shot at the SJL European Title, my big match with Todd Royal. I lost. One of my very few losses with the Junior League." "Flash forward a year to Genesis V and suddenly, I was in the big-time. I was paired up with legandary figure, Edwin MacPhisto and the no-less legendary "Grand Slam" Mark Stephens against Tom Flesher, Suicide King and Chris Raynor. Hard to believe now, but I was the upstart back then. I was the wide-eyed rookie, still with something to prove in this company. This was pre-World Championship, this was my chance to prove myself as worthy of a spot at the top of the card. And it proved to be the high point of my career. I defeated Tom Flesher 1, 2, 3 in the centre of the ring and I won the match for my team. I'd made it." Suddenly, Landon's face drops. "And then, there was last year. 2005 as a whole was a terrible year for me. And Genesis VI was the lowest of the low, the peak of my misery. I'd lost everything by then. And to walk into the biggest stage, to fight for my pride and to come out defeated at the hands of Todd Cortez, that was the low point in my career." Shaking his head, the sorrowness of Maddix is pretty surprising. We haven't seen him like this, about this, since his crazed pursuit of Toxxic. Oh, how we forget. "Tonight, this may not be as personal of an issue as it was last year, it's not a proving ground for me like two years ago and it's not for a title like three years hence. But none of that matters. It's still Genesis. It's still the biggest show of the year. And I feel like I'm owed another high point. Tonight is different from any other time I've been on the card of the big show. I'm not the one with something to prove. Instead, I'm the one with the billing to live up to. On the biggest stage of the year, the supposed 'biggest showman' in the SWF today steps into that steel cage with nothing to prove and everything to lose. Stepping in with an unpredictable psychopath who obviously didn't get enough hugs from his mommy growing up. I'm giving up height, giving up weight and I'm trapped in the ring with no way out. But right now, the butterflies are buzzing. The nerves are jangling, but the adrenaline is pumping. It's Genesis VII, Benny boy! Right now, this feels like the biggest, most important match of my life. Despite everything, I'm excited. I am the big showman. And on the biggest show, the big showman plans on being the showstealer! Gabe, Prepare For Landon!" Back to the arena...

“Ladies and gentlemen,” Funyon booms over the jubilant crowd, “the following contest is the FIRST BLOOD MATCH! The rules of this match are quite simple - the first man to cause his opponent to bleed is the winner!” As expected, the fans pop beautifully for the announcement of the coming match, followed by a second pop for the dimming of the lights. On the giant screen, overhead, the pre-match graphic fades to black. Suddenly, the opening ‘fuse lighting’ scene from the Mission Impossible television series is shown as the opening bell ringing to the James Taylor Quartet’s cover of ‘Mission Impossible’ comes blaring over the speakers! YEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!! The familiar, rhythm driven song continues with lights moving and pulsing in harmony, while the Smarktron™ displays various clips of the Barracuda in ring, street and bedroom action. Finally, Johnny makes his grand entrance, and when he struts out from behind the curtains the volume of the crowd rises even more! “They’re on their feet here for Johnny Dangerous!” shouts Mak, “and what a tremendous statement the Barracuda could make with a win tonight at Genesis!” “While we’re on the subject,” the Gambling Man notes. “I’d like to be the first to point out that Johnny Dangerous has never actually won a singles match at Genesis.” “Well, this is Genesis! This show is all about kicking off a new SWF year with a fresh start,” replies Mak. “What happened in the past is the past. It’s water under the bridge.” “Riiiight. Let’s see if you’re still singing the same tune when we get to Wildchild and Mike Van Siclen’s match,” King says then rolls his eyes. “Entering first from Las Vegas, Nevada,” the ring announcer bellows. “He weighs in at two hundred and twenty pounds; HE IS JOHNNY ‘THE BARRACUDA’ DANGEROUS!” With the announcement of his name Johnny pivots, turns towards the crowd and raises his arm out to them. He stands idle with his arm outstretched momentarily – it’d had been far too long since he’d last heard a capacity crowd cheering for him, and having it happen again is a captivating moment for Johnny Dangerous. This was part of the reason he came back. The other part is standing about twenty feet away, and he glances towards the ring, smiling, before casually making his way down the walkway. “I’m still trying to figure out what’s up with the earpiece,” says King, pointing out the curled, white wire that wraps around Johnny’s ear and goes somewhere down his back. “He couldn’t possibly need to have someone in the back telling him what to do in the ring…could he?” “I seriously doubt he’d need someone to tell him what to do,” Mak argues. “After all, Johnny Dangerous is an accomplished ring veteran and besides THAT…all secret agents have gadgets like those.” Johnny enters the ring, climbs the turnbuckle, and pumps his fist as thousands of flash bulbs pop from all corners of the arena. When the Barracuda hops down he knows it’s time to focus on taking care of business…and knocking the shit out of a man who tossed him off the stage last week. “And his opponent,” Funyon continues, or tries to at least. “Opponent!?” the scathing, nails on a chalkboard voice of James Matheson rings out just before he steps out from behind the curtain. “Once again you’ve managed to screw up a simple introduction, Onion Boy!” he says as Grappler steps out nodding his head. “What you’re about to see is the furthest from an opponent you will ever see; because this isn’t a match, this is a straight up ass kickin’! So please let me introduce you to the man who has broken homes, shattered dreams and will make Johnny Dangerous bleed like a stuck pig! He is… CHARLIE “GRAPPLER” MAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAATHEWS!! BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!! Mannish Boy by Muddy Waters stars up as Charlie “Grappler” Matthews heads down the walkway, cracking his knuckles one finger at a time. “It looks like Charlie is well prepared to dish out a mauling,” notes King. “And we saw how easily Charlie manhandled Dangerous on Smarkdown.” “You mean came out from behind and tossed the Barracuda off the side of the stage?” Mak questions his announcing cohort. “That’s a major reason this match was signed!” Charlie heads up the steel steps – accenting every step with a loud clang of his boots, and when he reaches the top- *CRACK!* -Johnny rushes in and buries his knuckles deep into Matthews’ forehead, making sure he gets the first hit in and making sure he makes a statement from the start! The crowd roars their approval while Matheson spits fire and brimstone towards the referee and the offending secret agent, especially after Red Herrington signals for the bell. DING DING DING!!! Reaching over the top rope, Johnny grabs Charlie by the back of his head and pulls him into the ring, over the ropes, causing the Missouri Mauler to spill onto the mat. Charlie scrambles to get to his feet but he’s met with kicks and stomps every inch of the way! “Johnny Dangerous is certainly firing on all cylinders at the top of this match,” cheers Mak. Johnny grabs Grappler by his arm and then sends him across the ring, towards the ropes with an Irish whip. Charlie hits the ropes and rebounds, but he’s able to try and block whatever the Barracuda has planned, “-with a bearhug!?” Mak shouts, but Dangerous is quick enough to dodge the attempted slow down. Johnny ducks down, narrowly avoiding Grappler’s massive arms that lightly graze the top of his head, and then Dangerous hikes his back leg up, and over, and sends the sole of his boot into Matthews face! *CRACK!* “Scorpion kick!” the Franchise calls, and Charlie is sent staggering backwards from the blow. He falls into the ropes, stunned, but Matthews glances up in enough time to catch sight of the Barracuda charging right towards him, and ducks down, scooping Johnny off the mat before flipping him high over head, over the top rope to the thinly-padded concrete floor! OOOOOOOOOH!! The fans wince as bone crunches into the hard floor, but Johnny isn’t about to let the momentum shift like that - at least not if he has anything to say about it. He gets up to his knees as Grappler stands in the ring with his arms raised triumphantly and with the crowd showering him with boos. “That sure didn’t take much to put out those cylinders,” quips King, “and I…Hey! WATCH OUT!” King and Mak are barely able to dodge out of the way as a six foot-eight redneck comes leaping from the crowd barricade, to the announcers table, to the floor and- *CRACK!* BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!! “What in the hell is going on!?” Mak lividly shouts, “it’s Bruce Blank and he just plastered Johnny Dangerous’ face with that barbed-wire baseball bat!” Indeed, Bruce Blank is the guilty party, and his mighty bat is the weapon of choice. He leaps from the table, swinging his bat into Johnny’s skull, sending Johnny to the floor on his back and sending his high-tech shades skidding across the mat! “This is completely uncalled for!” cries Mak as Grappler watches the scene from the ring, snickering at the sight. “Why is Bruce Blank out here? He’s got his own match to contend with later on!” “There’s obviously some reason for this,” adds King. Bruce kneels down next to Johnny, grabs a fist full of hair to lift Johnny’s head up- *WHACK!* *WHACK!* *WHACK!* *WHACK!* *WHACK!* -and then Bruce absolutely hammers Johnny in the face with a series of right hands, busting Johnny wide open! “And it’s over!” sings King. Herrington, watching all of this from ringside and unable to do anything to put a stop to this as the rules to this match are there are none. He sees the Barracuda split open and bleeding from his forehead and against better wishes he signals for the bell. Obviously, the crowd is none to happy with this and they voice their disapproval with a loud, resounding boo! “This is not the way a match at Genesis should end!” However, the outcome suits Charlie and his manager just fine. Matheson tosses Charlie a towel to wipe the half bead of sweat from his forehead before raising Grapplers hand in victory. “The winner of this match,” says Funyon, “Charlie Matthews.” “And a cheap victory for Charlie Matthews at that,” Francis sulks. Though Funyon doesn’t try very hard to make his voice heard it wasn’t going to be heard, anyway. Not over the crowd who continue to chant against Bruce. WHITEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE TRASH! WHITEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE TRASH! WHITEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE TRASH! WHITEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE TRASH! Bruce stands up, leaving Johnny in a bloody heap and raises his arms out. He hears those chants and when they come he knows it means one thing for him…mission accomplished. Smiling, Bruce begins to leave ringside but is stopped when he sees something lying on the floor – a shiny pair of high-tech shades. He picks them up and places them on his face before finally heading out to a massive wave of heat from the Toronto crowd…. As We: FADE OUT.