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A man in a tacky wool suit sits on a table backstage, rocking his legs back and forth. His name is Ben Hardy, and he has nothing to do. Nobody he’s scheduled to interview, and he’s apparently chosen to lay in wait in the one hallway in all of Madison Square Garden that nobody ever goes down. He lets a breath out, looks up at the ceiling, and begins knocking his feet together. Because, as we all know, interviewers find this wildly entertaining. Knock Knock Knock Knock Knockstep Knockstep Knockstep Ben Hardy stops. Footsteps? Step Step Step Yes! Yes, there is! Hardy shoves himself off the table, dusts himself off, readies his microphone, and looks at the corner as... ...a hooded figure comes around, light reflecting off the red and white leather of his ring attire as he strides towards Smarkdown...NUMBA ONE ANNOUNCA! Ben rolls his eyes. Great. The guy that doesn’t talk. Oh well, it’s worth a shot. “Excuse me...Mr. Johnson?” Johnson pauses, and looks up, giving Hardy a look some would deem a lethal weapon. The interviewer swallows involuntarily, but his nervousness is revealed to be unfounded as Johnson sighs, throws his hood back, and stares. Eventually, he turns to the table in the hall, grabs the bottle of water standing there, twists the top off, and takes a swig. “What?” The voice is gravelly, sounds like it took some serious effort, and belongs to Johnson. It takes a moment for Hardy to realize that third thing, and another moment to realize that he was talking to him, despite the fact that there are no others in the hall. A third moment is taken to think up a question, as he hadn’t expected JJ Johnson to be speaking to him. He hadn’t expected Johnson to be speaking to anybody. “Umm...weren’t you supposed to face Spike Jenkins last Sunday?”? Johnson’s initial reaction leads Ben to believe that he picked a bad question, but then his face softens. Another swig of water. “Yes. Unfotunately, Spike came down with some sort of illness, and the match was postponed until this coming Lockdown.” Hardy thinks for a moment, then realizes he doesn’t have another question. He’s already gotten Johnson to speak twice, which is more than anyone has gotten him to say since November 2004. The injury. “So...is there anything you’d like to say? Anything that’s been bugging you? ...shout-outs to relatives, perhaps?” A look of disgust comes over Johnson’s face at the term “shout-outs”, but he shakes it off quickly. He then pauses for a moment, thinking about what he wants to say, as if he doesn’t have words to waste. Finally... “Yes. One. A while back, my former teammate Scott Pretzler cut a promo, likely intended to rile up Wildchild. However, at the end of that promo, he also deemed Toxxic ‘washed up’. But then, he decided that I was ‘content to stay in the middle somewhere.’” Johnson pauses here, takes another drink from his bottle of water, and continues. “Well, he’s right. I am content to stay somewhere in the middle. However, in retrospect, perhaps he shouldn’t have made a statement that incited someone as, if you’ll pardon my self-promotion, dangerous as I am, to come after YOUR part of the middle.” Johnson stops, and Hardy considers this before speaking next. “So...are you challenging Pretzler?” At this, a bemused grin slowly winds it’s way onto Johnson’s face. “You’re not nearly as dumb as you look. Although...” And Johnson looks Hardy up and down, at the wool suit in particular. “...my heartfelt condolences go out to anyone as dumb as you look. Yes, I am challenging Pretzler. Largely because of the fact that he swore to ‘restore credibility to the division’. And since winning it, in the 39 days since winning it, he’s defended it once. And he’s had plenty of Best of’s in the last three months, hasn’t he? Best of three, best of five. Every best of but a DVD. Although, with his affinity for himself, that can’t be far behind. And they’ve all ended in some sort of odd stipulation. But one stipulation they didn’t have was to defend the belt. His belt. Well, Scott...” Johnson turns to look at the camera. “...I want my own best of. Best of one. Straight singles. For the Cruiserweight title. On Smarkdown. Let me know, Scott. I’ll be waiting.” And Johnson walks away, leaving Ben to stare for a moment. Then he sighs, and goes back to his table. Time to play the waiting game some more. FADE OUT

Backstage, the one and the only (thankfully) Benjamin Hardy is backstage, standing with microphone in hand and presumably waiting for someone to interview. That someone, just happens to be Landon Maddix. Boos go up in the arena from those watching on the big screen, as Maddix limps into camera shot, standing beside Hardy. Still, he's clearly in pain from the brutal Casino Brawl at Ground Zero. A large bandaid is pressed across most of his forehead, covering the gruesome wound he picked up in the course of the match. Another other war wounds are covered by the long sleeved, Real Madrid shirt he's wearing...but he cannot mask the limp in his walk and the limpness of his right arm. "At Ground Zero, we saw truly gruelling battles on both sides of the pond...but perhaps none more so than the Casino Brawl, between Landon Maddix and Todd Cortez. Landon Maddix joins me now. And, Landon, it's clear that you're still feeling the effects of that match." Wiping some hair from his eyes, Maddix turns to Hardy, deadly serious. "Gruelling? Gruelling isn't the word, Ben. Look at me. I'm a mess. Do you realise the damage that Todd Cortez did to me, at Ground Zero? Do you have any earthly idea? Let me fill you in. Seventeen stitches in my forehead. Five stiches across my right bicep. Countless shards of glass pulled from my chest and arms, not under general anesthetic I should add. I can hardly walk, my back is killing me. My hair has been pulled and tugged so much that it's lost all it's shape and volume. To be honest, right now, I'm a wreck. A physical wreck. I haven't bled so heavily since Aecas decided it'd be a laugh to mash a handful of thumbtacks into my face back in the SJL. Yes, Todd Cortez destroyed me at Ground Zero." Head hung towards the floor, Maddix suddenly flicks his head back up, revealing a wide smile on his ravaged face. "But he didn't beat me. Even after breaking wooden stools across my back, slamming me on lobby floors, throwing me through glass doors...even after all he did to me, he STILL couldn't beat me! Without a shadow of a doubt, I proved at Ground Zero that Todd Cortez is NO match for me! I took his very best. I took his very worst. Over the course of that 'match', I took it all and still, when it was all said and done and the du... -- heh -- ...bubbles, had cleared...it was Landon Maddix, standing tall! The blood loss. The bad back. The injured arm. I overcame it all and I beat Todd Cortez, in the match HE requested, the match HE wanted! Me." "Well, you were victorious at Ground Zero." admits Hardy. "But, I suspect this issue isn't over..." "You suspect wrong then, Benny boy. See, I've proved all that I have to prove when it comes to facing 'The Urban Legend'. Even when losing pints of blood and suffering the equivalent pain of a double hernia, I'm still better than Todd Cortez. The entire point of facing Todd Cortez was to beat him and to begin the process of getting Megan back, where she belongs, by my side. I don't know if she's realised her mistakes fully yet...but now, she knows, that as long as she's with Todd Cortez, she'll never get back the glory days she had with me. The days where we would wine and dine and the most expensive of retaurants, lounge in the most exclusive of hotels, party in the most glamourous of locations, holiday in the most picturesque of resorts. The days, with me. As long as she's with Todd Cortez, the best she'll get is a Domino's Pizza and a fumble in the back of his Chevrolet. Now...notice, she's not back by my side yet. I've noticed that, don't worry. But the seeds of doubt have been planted in her pretty little mind. And now, she knows, deep down, that if she wants the grandest of lifestyles back then she needs me to provide her with it!" Smiling, Maddix flicks his hair back again. "Ground Zero was merely step 1. What I wanna talk about now, is Step 2. Namely, winning back the World Heavyweight Championship." "Owned now by Johnny Dangerous." reminds Hardy. "Johnny Dangerous, 2 time World Heavyweight Champion. Heh. The mind boggles, Benny boy...the mind truly boggles. Johnny Dangerous is holding the World Heavyweight Title again. The SWF is a laughing stock, again. I hoped that I'd finally gotten rid of Johnny Dangerous from my radar, but apparantly, I haven't. Because, now it's up to ME to save this company from going down the crapper." "You?" "Me." "Forgive my ignorance...but why you?" "Why me?" chuckles Maddix. "Didn't you see, Ben? Last time Johnny Dangerous was the World Heavyweight Champion, his reign was cut mercifully short by Toxxic. But now, Toxxic's gone. He's left. He's travelled back to Sherwood Forest to steal from the straight and give to the gay. And, with Toxxic gone, the future stars need to step up...and Ben, I AM the Future. So now, it's down to me to cut Johnny's second reign mercifully short. The way it should be. The way it's needed to be, ever since From The Fire. That's how long I've been waiting Ben. I've been waiting, unnoticed, unnappreciated, uncared about...and I've had enough." "You sound pretty bitter." "You're god-damn right I'm fucking bitter." growls Maddix, taking full advantage of Storm's relaxed policy on swearing. "When I won the World Heavyweight Title last Christmas, it was supposed to be the dawning of a new era. It was meant to be the beginning of the 'Landon Maddix Era'. 2005 was meant to be MY year!! But, something happened. I lost my respect. No matter how much I did, how much I won, I got crapped on day after day after day in this company. 2005, Clusterfuck Champion! That's ME! But, since From The Fire, I haven't had so much as a SNIFF of the World Heavyweight Title and that's bullshit! I EARNED every shot at the World Title I was given. I had to win a 9 man elimination tournament to get my first shot at Toxxic. I had to beat 18 men to get the second. Now, I'm not even getting the chance to earn my shot. And, why?" Maddix sneers. "Todd..Cortez. Martial Law held me back from what mattered. But, that's not a problem now. Todd Cortez is dealt with. Now, Johnny's going to need a challenger at Genesis. And from where I'm standing, there's only one choice. Toxxic has gone. Ejiro lost, he goes to the back of the queue. Pretzler...lost at GZ, back of the queue. ELM? Beat him. Danny Williams...not even good enough to get on the last Pay Per View. Wildchild shouldn't get shit until the committee sort out the Tag Title situation. Besides that, I beat him. You're looking at the rightful number one contender. And you're looking at the next World Heavyweight Champ..." Suddenly, Maddix stops, looking slightly confused as a figure walks into shot. A female figure. A female figure, storming right towards him. Maddix smiles as he figures out that it's Megan Skye storming towards him, opening his mouth ready to greet her... *SLAP!* "YEEEEEEEAAAAAAHHHHHHHH!!" ...he needn't bother though, as Megan slaps the taste right out of his mouth, knocking him back against the wall behind. "YOU BASTARD!!" screams Megan, Hardy trying to restrain her as she tries to get at the shocked Next Generation. "YOU COULD HAVE BLINDED HIM, YOU SICK BASTARD!! I STUCK UP FOR YOU!! I DEFENDED YOU!! YOU BASTARD, YOU CAN ROT IN HELL!! I'LL NEVER MANAGE YOU AGAIN, NEVER!!" "Come on Megan." pleased Hardy, trying to hold the raging female back. "Come on, leave it." "YOU ARE SICK!!" "Megan, calm down!" "And you can forget about the World Title at Genesis!!" Megan screams, calming down slightly as she glares a hole through Maddix. "Because you'll be busy, getting your scrawny little ass kicked by Todd!! He's spoken to Joseph Peters and he's got it confirmed! It'll be Todd Cortez versus Landon Maddix, one on one at Genesis!! And guess what, Landon...I'm gonna be in Todd's corner, where I belong, to watch him tear you limb from FUCKING limb!!" Megan storms off, satisfied with the stunned silence coming from Landon Maddix. Turning a pale shade of white, eyes bugged wide open, Maddix looks down despairingly...muttering a curse under his breath, before promptly storming off in the opposite direction to his former manageress. Hardy just watches on, shrugging and motioning to cut as Maddix's stomping footsteps grow slowly softer and into the distance.

Backstage, Devon Walters has found a seat against the wall in one of the many hallways of the Garden, his back against the brickwork as he stares up at a television screen, replays of Ground Zero going past. As he watches images from the House Rules Match, his brother Matthew walks up to him and sits down next to him, handing over a small cup of coffee. Devon nods and takes a quick sip before passing it back to his brother. Matthew points at the screen. “Look at that, bro. Spinebuster on an official, destroying one man’s knee and another man’s back in such horrible fashion…for what? For that belt?” The image of Marcus Ward holding up the Hardcore Gamer’s Championship is shown before he kicks down the ladder holding the body of Nick Blum. “Pathetic. He wins the match, and still takes the time to add that little insult to injury. He could have paralyzed him…” Devon’s eyes widen slightly and he looks to his brother. “…yeah, I would know, right?” Devon’s eyes turn to small slits and he rocks his head back as more images continue, shots from the World Championship match are shown. “We have a new world champion, and he’s even worse than Mr. Ward. Look at that face, Devon. Look at him laughing as the body of another man lies on the floor. It could have been a mistake, it could have been planned, but either way that almost ended a career and all he can do is smile knowing he is one small step closer to that world championship…and he got it. He had to jam his feet down into a broken and battered man, but he got it. You’ve seen him these past few weeks. Greed and gold lust trigger his emotions. He doesn’t care about the fans and I doubt he cares about anything really…except himself. There is a certain honor people share in that ring, that win or lose we are there to entertain the fans and respect each other…but when the entertainment is overshadowed by violence and the complete lack of respect we saw from so many people at Ground Zero…well, there is where all the problems begin.” The images on the television fade out on all of the winners at Ground Zero, finishing with Johnny Dangerous holding the World Championship high above his head with his middle finger out in the face of every fan that has every cheered and chanted his name. Matthew sighs. “Blood for gold. Destruction for gold. Total lack of respect…for gold. They must not understand that what goes around comes around, and everything they do to be able to call themselves a champion will eventually come right to them and lead to their own downfall. You want to hit someone with a chair? You want to throw someone through a table? You want to attack a man after all is said and done and kick them when they are down? Greed does horrible things to people, and it makes me sick. Every place we go it is all we are faced with and I am tired of it!” Matthew’s hand is shaking as he sets the cup down onto the tile floor next to him. “These people in the SWF need to learn that no matter what the rules are, in the ring or out of the ring, that there are consequences for every action, and whether they like it or not…karma is coming to their doorstep, one way or another. Right, bro?” Devon’s head tilts back down and the camera catches his eyes, seemingly in a meditative state as he turns toward his brother and nods softly. Matthew can only smile to himself as the scene fades to darkness.

An unfamiliar guitar melody blasts over the louder speaker, the heroic fast classical melody is pleasing to the ear but who’s arrival is it announcing? The high opera worthy vocals of Edguy come screeching over the power chords, spewing out the incredibly cheesy lyrics of their thundering power metal epic “Babylon.” Puzzled by the alien song, all eyes curiously turn to the entrance ramp. Is this a new wrestler, perhaps a returning one? No, it’s new theme music for a familiar face. Soon, the wide muscular frame of Danny Williams comes storming out of the locker room. Erupting into deafening applause, the New Yorkers treat Williams like a conquering hero. Vocal, intelligent, and well informed, Garden fans are not only the best in the U.S. but possibly the greatest period. They’ve seen Williams dominate the competition during the world wide tour, eliminating all who stood before him with ease. And now after being M.I.A for over a year, the agile strong man has returned to the country that bore him. “DAN-E! DAN-E! DAN-E!” Such a grand welcoming is hard to fathom when one takes into account that Williams virtually disappeared unnoticed last summer, despite recently holding the World Title. He had his moment in the spot light but once he fell, he fell hard, dropping completely out of sight as the likes of Janus, Va’aiga, Dace Night, Toxxic, and others made their names off of him. As they flourished he was forgotten. But things are different now, this summer it has been Williams who has made a name for himself, gaining monestrous momentum by man handling some of the biggest names in the SWF. His time is now. Sliding into the ring, Williams busts out some quick poses, exhibiting his superhuman physique, after all 265 plus pounds of muscle compressed into a 5'10" frame is impressive to say the least. The fans are going berserk but once Williams asks for the mic, they respectively quiet down. Williams doesn’t run his mouth for the hell out of it, so chances are he’s got some sort of big announcement to make. Speaking a confident but relaxed voice that commands attention, Williams gets to the point: “I’m a man of few words and tonight won’t be any different. I like a good fight as much as the next wrestler but that’s not the only reason I came back. I came back with a goal and a purpose. I’ve been patient though, taking my time, shaking off the rust. This is the SWF, things are always changing, you can’t just come back and be where you was, you have to prove you can still hang with the elite. And that’s what I did on the road, I defeated Mak Francis three straight times and bested both Magnifico and Toxxic in the 3 time World Champion challenge. I no longer feel like I’m ready, I know that I’m ready. So now that the SWF has come home, I’ll make the big announcement. I’ve come for the World Title! ” Before the fans can react to this monumental declaration, a snarly voice cries out in rage.. “BULLSHIT!” Searching for the source of this disembodied voice, the fans groan with disgust when they look to the entrance ramp, finding none other than a psychotic Magnifico huffing and puffing like he’s swelling up with repressed anger. The fans are disgusted by the mere sight of him, first he brutalizes poor Wildchild on pay per view and now this. Now that he has Williams’ attention, Magnifico storms down the entrance ramp, running his mouth like it’s a machine gun. “What are you trying to pull, huh? This is bullshit and you know it, Danny! Bullshit!” Sliding into the ring, Magnfico marches right up to Williams and get’s in his face. Keeping his cool, Williams looks right into his fiery brown eyes as the deranged luchadore gets to the point. “I believe we have unfinished business, Danny. That’s right, you owe me a rematch you son of a bitch! ” Coming to the conclusion that he’s dealing with a nut job, Williams calmly inquires in perplexed but somber psychologist like tone ,” Interesting. What makes you think I owe you anything?” Even though he feels Williams should know the answer, Magnifico explains himself with clinched teeth,” The last time we faced, I didn’t have my head on straight. I was wrestling for the wrong reasons, I was try to please these ingrateful bastards instead of going for the kill. This time it will be different, this time I won’t hesitate to tear your damn arm off and stick it up your ass. So what to do you say, Williams, you want a piece of the new and improved Magnifico?” Understanding the situation, Williams takes only a second to ponder before giving Mags his answer,“ You want another match with me? Ha! I’d be delighted to entertain your request....after I win the World Title. The Title is the only thing that concerns me right now and now that it’s within my grasps I’m not back tracking for nobody.” This isn’t the answer that Magnfico wanted to hear, hoping to entice Williams, he rolls out the insults, “What’s wrong, steroids shrink your balls! Are you scared I’m gonna finish what I started with you arm? Huh, bitch!” A small shove punctuates the sentence, barely moving Williams but getting his attention. Letting out a growl, Williams sends Magnifico crashing into the canvas with a thunderous shove! Pounding his barrel chest like a primaeval caveman, Williams spits down at the cowering Magnifico with a demonic growl, “Get up! Get up!” Not responding Magnfico slithers into a nearby corner like snake, eyeing Williams with an usual but chilling combination of fear and hate. Unimpressed, Williams throws out his hands in disgust! “You want a match with me, you come to me like a man and show some respect. Your head isn’t on straight it’s ass backwards. A punk like you isn’t worth my time, I’m out of here.” With that, Williams drops out of the ropes and heads towards the entrance ramp. Embarrassed and enraged, Magnifico slides out of the ring. Grabbing a nearby chair, Magnifico runs up behind Williams with a blood curdling battle cry! The fans try to warn Danny but’s too late! Clank! The steel connects with the back of skull, dropping him to the floor in a daze! Now that he has a crutch to lean on, Magnifico rolls Williams over and tears into him with a series of hateful punches! In total defense mode, Williams shells up, struggling to block the punches. Frustrated with the accuracy of his punches, Magnifico snatches Danny by the hair and relentlessly pounds the back of his skull into the steel entrance ramp! The sound Williams’ bone slamming against the hard steel echoes through out the arena, revolting the fans who can only verbally vent their disapproval! “Boooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo!” Numerous officials rush to the scene as Magnifico continues to pound Williams’ skull with gruesome determination! It takes about four of them but they eventually restrain the mad luchadore, pulling him away from the scene. Blind with anger, Magnifico tries to get back to Williams but a wall of security personal and officials prevent him from inflicting further damage upon the helpless fan favorite. With his face contorted with malicious thoughts, Magnifico storms back to the locker room, he may be discouraged for now but it’s evident that he’s not through with Williams by a long shot.

And we are live in 5 4 3 2 1 Pfft. ... ... ... “THAT’S IT?!? PFFT?!? WHAT ARE WE PAYING THESE PYRO GUYS!?” screams the Suicide King, irate at the fact that STORM~! from MADISON SQUARE GARDEN~! hasn’t started with a BANG~! “Don’t worry about it, King. HELLO, ladies and gentlemen and WELCOME to SWF Storm, LIVE from Madison Square Garden!” says King’s broadcast associate, the infamous, but in a good way, Longdogger Pete. “To start us off, following that exciting-” At this, King snorts. “-Johnny Dangerous promo, we have two men that weren’t on the PPV facing off! It’s high-flying submission wrestler extraordinaire, JJ Johnson, against power wrestler and quasi-robot, Ghost Machine! And that’s right now!” finishes Pete as Ghost Machine’s music hits to a chorus of boos. EH! EH BOO! EH BOO BOO! “Ladies and gentlemen the following contest is a Hardcore Match, and it is scheduled for one fall. Introducing first, being accompanied to the ring by JL Crunk and weighing in this evening at 318 pounds, from parts unknown, GHOST MACHINE!!!” As Ghost Machine and JL Crunk stride down the aisle of the legendary arena, throwing glares at the fans, a unique chant starts up from the notoriously smart audience packing the Garden tonight. WE WANT WORK-RATE! CLAP CLAP CLAP CLAP CLAP! WE WANT WORK-RATE! CLAP CLAP CLAP CLAP CLAP! WE WANT WORK-RATE! CLAP CLAP CLAP CLAP CLAP! “Well, would you look at that, Pete? Since when are they chanting for WORK-RATE on STORM? Usually they’re chanting for tables, and ladders, and barbed wire and hand grenades and God knows what else.” says King. “Well, maybe this is their way of showing their distaste for Ghost Machine, King. Can YOU honestly say that he brings the work-rate?” asks Pete. “Well, no.” King admits. “I shudder to think what they might chant for Johnson, when he enters.” And almost as if on cue, “Make Me Bad” hits, the signature red and white sparks spraying skywards (and earthwards) as smoke seeps out of the stage, gathering around the curtain. The guitars hit, and they have the sight of a silhouette, highlighted by the sparks in the smoke, before Johnson emerges, his head down as the fans begin another unique chant. IIIIIIIIIIIIIIIICEMMMMMAAAAAAANN... IIIIIIIIIICEMMMMMMAAAAAAANN... This stops Johnson dead in his tracks halfway down the ramp, and one can only imagine what thoughts are coursing through his head as the fans continue to drive the chant into his ears. IIIIIIIIIIIICEMMMMMMAAAAANN... IIIIIIIIIIIICEMMMMMMAAAAAANNN... “Whew! What a relief. I thought they were going to MOCK Johnson! Instead, they’ve given him a cool nickname! The Iceman! It fits him, doesn’t it?’ King says enthusiastically. “King, by “Iceman”, they mean “The Iceman” Chuck Liddell. The man who, with a stray kick to the throat, not only forced Johnson out of the sport of Ultimate Fighting, but as you saw from that promo, made speaking quite the chore. It’s possibly the worst thing they could chant.” corrects Pete. “Whoa. Awkward.” is all King can say as Johnson reaches the steps, pausing for a moment as the “Iceman” chants continue before throwing his hood back and striding up the steps. “And his opponent, weighing 219 pounds, from Windsor, Ontario, Canada...J...J...JOHNSON!” Ghost Machine looks on, unimpressed, as Johnson enters the ring and steps to the second rope, throwing his arms wide as the chorus hits. I feel the reason as it’s leaving me, no, not again It’s quite deceiving as I’m feeling the flesh Make me bad Johnson hops down, the fans momentarily silenced, no derogatory chants ringing out as referee Brian Warner goes to check both competitors for weapons, thinks better of it considering the stipulation, and calls for Gus the timekeeper/ring lackey/cameraman to ring the bell. DING DING DING! “And we’re underway! If you ask me, this’ll be an easy match for Johnson.” gloats King. “Ghost Machine has 99 pounds, and 7 inches on Johnson. Johnson might win, but it won’t be easy.” Pete speculates. Johnson doesn’t look quite as confident as King does, trying to keep the distance between Ghost Machine and himself at a maximum to start. JL Crunk screams at the Canadian in an attempt to free up an opening for his outpaced client to take advantage of, but much like the rappers he tries to recruit for his record label, Johnson ignores him, never taking his eyes off the monster in front of him. “Johnson quite obviously knows that in terms of size, he’s hopelessly outmatched. His only saving grace may be this no-holds-barred stipulation, which Johnson obviously has experience in, being a former Hardcore Gamer’s Champion. Which, might I add, is the only title Johnson has held.” Pete says, as Johnson continues to circle, the faintest signs of a “Boring” chant beginning to start up amongst the smarky crowd. “Ah, silly Longdogger, but if Pretzler accepts Johnson’s challenge, that might not be the case come Smarkdown.” prods King. “Wait. You’re actually admitting that it’s possible for Scott Pretzler to lose?” asks an incredulous Longdogger. “Hmmm. Good point. No. Pretzler will win.” King corrects, drawing eye-rolling from Pete as Johnson decides that the best course of action will be to rush the massive assumed robot. Ghost Machine’s mouth curls into an evil grin upon seeing his prey rushing to him... ...which explains why he’s so dismayed when his prey slides under him. His rough night doesn’t stop there as Johnson pops up and sends three kicks the back of his knee’s way, one after the other. This fazes the giant a little, but not enough to bring him to the ground, and certainly not enough to stop Ghost Machine from turning and around and throwing a clothesline. Johnson is too fast, however, ducking the brutish maneuver before it can succeed in it’s mission of removing his head from his shoulders. “Well, if Johnson continues at his current pace, Ghost Machine might not even touch him.” chuckles the Gambling Man. “It’s early, but I don’t know if Johnson can keep this up for too long. Fast or not, he’s only human.” Pete notes as Johnson dodges another strike, this one your average punch, before firing another short string of kicks at the knee of Ghost Machine. SNAP! SNAP! SNAP! The sound of high-speed boot on bone, in this case a kneecap, rings throughout the Garden as Johnson’s assault on Ghost Machine’s massive vertical base proves only mildly effective, and the masked man lets him know surprisingly quickly for someone his size, grasping him by the throat. “Plenty of possibilities here, although I’m not sure if ‘this ends well for Johnson’ is one of them” says Pete as Ghost Machine, with his other hand, reaches down. An instant later, and Johnson is a good 10 feet above the ring, Ghost Machine’s firm grip holding him in gorilla press position as he strides towards the ropes. Fans, knowing what usually happens whenever a small man is military pressed by a large man that is now striding towards the crowd, clear out of their seats, wanting to avoid as many two hundred and nineteen pound Canadian projectiles as they can. However, Johnson slips out of Ghost Machine’s grip before any huck-a-fighter can be played, dropping down behind the Parts Unknown-native. “Johnson dodged a bullet there.” says King. “Johnson dodged BECOMING a bullet there.” corrects Pete. Just as soon as Johnson hits the ground, he’s airborne again, thrusting his legs out to dropkick Ghost Machine in the back, sending the JL Crunk-managed monstrosity stumbling into the ropes. He rebounds back into a School Boy from Johnson, Warner dropping down and counting. ONE! TWO! And two is as far as he gets, Ghost Machine getting his wits about him and thrusting his legs out to send Johnson sailing a short distance. “Now Johnson has the advantage, Pete, because Ghost Machine is like a turtle. Tough as nails, but get it on it’s back and it’s only a matter of time before it dies.” gloats King as Johnson takes a moment to check himself for any minor injuries, then slides out of the ring and begins looking under it for a weapon, anything that could be used to bring down the mammoth individual that opposes him. Machine, left unattended, has risen back to his feet, and is talking over the course of action to take against the infinitely faster Johnson. Johnson, meanwhile, has begun removing things from the apron and throwing them into the ring. A kendo stick, two steel chairs, and a garbage can make it before Johnson throws the apron down, slides into the ring, and grabs his weapon of choice, twirling the kendo stick in his hand as he waits for Ghost Machine to turn around. Ghost Machine turns, and upon seeing the kendo stick-wielding Johnson approach, throws his hands up in front of his face. SWISH! WHAP! That’s not where Johnson was aiming, though, and a stinging sensation courses down Ghost’s leg as the training weapon whips into his knee. Ghost Machine grabs at it for a moment, rubbing it furiously with his hand in an attempt to numb the pain. SWISH! WHAP! Johnson, not one for passing up opportunities, lets fly with another shot, this one cracking off the crown of the giant’s head. As is human nature, Machine goes to treat the area that is in the most pain... SWISH! WHAP! ...and is rewarded with a stiff shot to the fingers. Ghost Machine gives up trying to numb the stinging, and lunges for Johnson in an attempt to prevent more stinging from happening. SWISH! WHAP! Johnson sends another shot into Machine’s forehead that slows the giant, but breaks the stick, leaving the Canadian weaponless against an opponent that makes the fact that you have a weapon just a little more comforting. The super-heavyweight is quick to notice Johnson’s semi-vulnerability, and again showing surprising speed, bursts forward and takes Johnson off of his feet with a double axe handle. “Running double axe handle! Some may know it as the Polish Hammer, but the move’s been around forever.” says Pete, showing off some wrestling knowledge as Machine decides that it might be enough to put his opponent away and drops down for the pin. ONE! TWO! And Johnson bridges out of the cover. Ghost Machine doesn’t give up, however, as he scoots over for another lateral press, this time hooking the leg. ONE! TWO! But hooking the leg still isn’t sufficient, Johnson sliding out from under Machine just after 2. Ghost gets to his feet as fast as he can, which isn’t very, and looks around for a bit before spotting the two chairs and the garbage can that Johnson threw into the ring earlier. With one deft motion, he sweeps down and snatches a chair off the mat, holding it up for all the Garden to see before bringing it back down into a more swing-able position and turning back to his victim... CLANKCH! ...only to have said victim kip up and leap, turning 270 degrees in the air before lashing out with his right leg and sending the chair flying back into the massive man’s masked mug. For the first time since the match began, the crowd sits up and begins to take notice as the blow sends Ghost Machine stumbling back before coming to a stop, leaning on the ropes as red begins to seep into the green and purple. “And Ghost Machine is busted open here, King, although with a kick like that, that’s not surprising.” comments the Longdoggah. “I would have been surprised if that HADN’T busted him open, Pete. Although Johnson’s not going to be able to pull a stunt like that if he faces Pretzler. Cruiserweight rules strictly forbid the use of weapons.” says the King of Hearts as Johnson bends down and picks up the chair that recently ricocheted off his opponent’s head. “True, Cruiserweight rules DO forbid the use of weapons, but imagine what a kick like that could do to your neck if it hit high on your head, or do to your jaw if it hit low. That chair may have busted Ghost Machine open, but it’s entirely possible that the ramifications of taking that kick, and I use this term loosely, ‘unprotected’ would have been far greater than if the chair were there.” is the Miami Menace’s observation as Johnson unfolds the seating device and stands it upright on the canvas before running to the ropes behind him, gaining momentum as he rebounds and charges forward, using the chair as a springboard to propel himself into the air. Once in flight, Johnson extends an arm and swings his legs out to the side, looking for all the world like a bird with one wing as he slams into Ghost Machine, the momentum from his flying clothesline enough to bring his massive opponent over the top rope and to the floor with him! “Well, that’s one way to get Ghost Machine down! Johnson may very well get the deciding fall off of that maneuver if he can get the cover fast enough!” One section of the crowd tries to start up a “Holy shit” chant, but the rest of the notoriously hard to please audience isn’t going to blow its load over a flying clothesline. Johnson rolls to his knees and takes a breather, glancing over at his face-down opponent before practically diving over and, instead of wasting energy rolling his opponent over for a cover, attempting to lock in his signature hold. Ghost Machine is quick to realize the impending danger and starts spasming, twisting, doing everything in his considerable strength to make his arm hard to get a hold of. Johnson stops his attempts there, deciding to conserve his energy for when he needs it. “Johnson tried to end this one early by going for the Frostbite, but Ghost Machine saw it coming and blocked it.” says Pete. “And for you people at home, by ‘blocked’, my partner means ‘flopped around like a chicken with it’s head cut off until Johnson gave up.” corrects the Gambling Man as Johnson drops a quick leg across the back of Ghost Machine’s neck before hopping onto the announce table and crouching down, his eyes focused on his opponent before... “WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING!? GET OFF THE TABLE!” ...his attention is diverted by a raving Suicide King. Johnson is too busy giving the Gambling Man a look that could intimidate Death himself to notice that Ghost Machine has reached under the apron. The King of Hearts finally calms down, and Johnson turns back to see his opponent rising to his feet. Johnson leaps just as Ghost Machine turns... PLONK! ...and becomes the second person this evening to be inducted into the “Have Steel Propelled into your Face” Club, Ghost Machine choosing the simple “throw it at them” method over the much more eye-catching “kick it into them” version. Both are equally effective, however, and as soon as Johnson hits the ground Ghost Machine is on top, hooking the leg as Brian Warner scrambles out of the ring to count the fall. ONE! TWO! THR-NO! The chair was effective, but it wasn’t enough to put the former ultimate fighter down for the count, and Ghost sits back on his haunches, taking a moment to wipe the blood out of his eyes before getting to his feet, grabbing Johnson by the head and shoulders and bringing him, too, to a standing position. Johnson shakes the cobwebs out of his head just in time to watch Ghost Machine’s fist ricochet off his forehead, followed by a brief pause before another fist is headed his way. Johnson ducks this one, however, and throws a punch of his own that cracks against his monstrous opponent’s jaw. This slows Machine, if only for a second, but a second is all Johnson needs as he lets fly with a flurry of fists that catches his adversary horribly off of his guard. Ghost staggers, and Johnson lays off the punches to dive around and take him over for a second School Boy. ONE! But Ghost Machine uses his momentum to roll out of the pinning predicament and gets to his feet at the same time Johnson does. Machine lunges forward and takes Johnson’s head off with a clothesline before taking a short break. “Well, a great time to take a breather is when your opponent is...wait...who’s that by the entrance?” Pete breaks off mid-commentary as a man strides out of the entranceway with both a folding chair and a clipboard. “Why, that’s Jay Hawke! He must be scouting potential challengers for his title.” King explains as the Dean of Professional Wrestling sets the chair upright and sits down, pulling a pen out of the top of the clipboard and and poising it over the paper, staring intently as Ghost Machine pulls Johnson to his feet. From there, the larger man doubles his opponent over with a knee before Irish Whipping him, back first and hard, into the steel steps, the thunk of flesh on steel sounding around the legendary arena. After deeming it safe to approach, JL Crunk comes up and whispers something in his client’s ear. “Oooh, let’s tell the fans what he could be telling him.” ponders King. “Let’s not, and keep this at least partially family-friendly.” mutters the Longdogger as Ghost Machine’s eyes light up. He then throws up the apron and reaches under, fumbling around for a moment before pulling out two thirds of a TLC match, leaving the ladder lying on the ground as he unfolds the table’s legs and sets it in front of him. NOW he turns his attention to the ladder, setting it up as well. His arsenal apparently complete, Ghost Machine goes around the table and grabs his opponent, laying him across the smooth wood. The decidedly not aerodynamic, and therefore has no business on a ladder, Ghost Machine then climbs the ladder anyway, only going up to about a foot above the table before stopping his ascent and looking down. “This is a definite Megan Skye’s face situation here, Pete” says the King, coining a rather bizarre name for a situation. “Why a Megan Skye’s face situation, King?” asks Pete. “Because. No matter what anyone does, it won’t be pretty!” As the Suicide King laughs wildly at his own joke, Johnson rolls off the table, delaying Ghost Machine’s flight, (if you could call it that) temporarily. Machine does the smart thing and climbs down, then kicks Johnson in the side before rolling him into the ring. He takes a moment to grab the chair from earlier, then slides into the ring himself, getting to his feet and stalking the Canadian. Johnson gets up and turns around, ducking the chair shot before throwing a hard hook kick that catches Ghost Machine on his right elbow. “Interesting place to aim a kick.” notes Pete as Johnson throws two more to the arm before grabbing the trash can that’s been in the ring since near the beginning and, in true only use of the garbage can fashion, shoving it onto Ghost Machine’s upper body. With Ghost unable to either see or use his arms, Johnson takes his time in grabbing the chair Machine dropped and taking careful aim, wanting to use as much finesse as possible in his next assault... CLANG! CLANG! CLANG! CLANG! CLANG! ...or maybe he just wanted to beat the shit out of Ghost Machine’s arm some more. Either way, it got the job done as Ghost finally shoves the trash can off of his torso, taking a moment to stop hyperventilating. CLANK! Johnson decides that his moment is up, and blasts Ghost Machine’s right arm with yet another chair shot. Machine clutches at the arm as it hangs feebly at his side, not wanting to try to use it. CLANK! Johnson refuses to let up, though, and the steel slams into Ghost’s arm a final time before Johnson decides the chair is too deformed to be used again. WHAP! So back to kicks. What were formerly yells of annoyance from Ghost Machine are now yells of pain, which is exactly what Johnson wants as he throws two more snapping kicks. WHAP! WHAP! Finally, Johnson drops back on the ropes and sprints forward, slamming a foot into Ghost Machine’s arm with a Yakuza kick. Ghost Machine grabs at it momentarily, and that’s when Johnson strikes, grabbing the arm and trying to bring Ghost Machine down with a Fujiwara armbar, trying to bend the arm at the shoulder and tet the submission victory. Ghost Machine buckles for a moment, but still has enough strength in his arm to throw Johnson off. Johnson hits the ground, rolls, and is right back on the arm, throwing another kick before another armbar attempt is made. “And Johnson is going after that arm like a man possessed! You know, King, it’s like Johnson realizes that that arm is the best chance he has at picking up the W tonight.” calls the Longdogger as Johnson is again thrown off, again rolls through, and again is right back, the kicks coming with more intensity than before. The armbar is blocked again, and Ghost Machine finally decides to go on the offensive. Johnson hits and rolls again, but this time Ghost Machine is waiting, grabbing Johnson around the shoulders with his left arm and swinging him around for a sidewalk slam... RAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHH!! ...but Johnson continues his momentum and manages to hook the right arm with his legs, pulling back on it as he wrenches on the left, and FINALLY the crowd reacts as Ghost Machine finds himself in the worst situation he’s been in all match, pain coursing through BOTH arms now as Johnson pulls with all his might. “And Ghost Machine in a VERY bad situation here! If he loses his balance and falls onto his stomach, the match is over. Johnson will just rip and tug and tear and pull until he gives up. If he loses his balance and falls onto his back, he might pin Johnson, but Johnson might roll him over and pin HIM, and with his arms controlled there’d be no escaping. Ghost Machine’s best chance for survival is stay upright, stay on his feet. Johnson can’t hold on forever...can he?” asks Pete, speaking as fast as he can as Ghost Machine looks around, gritting his teeth as he tries to find a way out of this dangerous predicament. “I give Ghost Machine, with a submission like this, 45 seconds to find a way out. If Johnson were switched around, and he was pulling on the right arm and controlling the left with his legs, Ghost Machine would have lost already. But yeah, Machine’s going to hyperextend his elbow if he stays in this hold too long, and if the elbow gets hyperextended, Johnson walks away with a three match unbeaten streak.” As King offers his opinion, Ghost Machine begins to get desperate, running and jumping, back first, into corners in an attempt to dislodge the opponent turned pit bull that has latched onto his arms, but Johnson refuses to let go, and indeed, seems to pull harder after every attempt to get him to let go. JL shouts encouragements from ringside, trying to will his client back into the fight. The fight may be beyond will, however, as Ghost Machine begins to tire out, his charges into the corner doing nothing to lessen the now burning pain in his arms, Johnson showing zero sign of letting up on the submission. Finally, exhaustion and the weight on his back forces Ghost Machine to his knees, where Warner gets in his face to check for any signs of submission. “Do you give up?” Ghost Machine shakes his head, sweat and blood flying off as Johnson wrenches back even further, if that’s at all possible, on the hold. “Ghost Machine can’t stay in this hold much longer, King! He has to submit! He would lose the match, but stay in this hold too long, and he might not have another match!” shouts Pete as Warner asks again. “Do you give up?” Ghost Machine hesitates this time. But after that short pause, he’s right back to shaking his head no... ...then he nods. DING DING DING! “Make Me Bad” kicks back in as Johnson finally releases the hold, rolling off of Ghost Machine’s back and staggering to his feet, Warner raising his hand in victory as Funyon does his thing. “Here is your winner, via submission, J...J...JOHNSON!” Johnson doesn’t stick around, climbing out of the ring and making his way up the ramp, past Hawke and to the back. “Ladies and gentlemen, Johnson toppled a giant here tonight. It just goes to show you, you CANNOT let your guard down, even for a second. If Pretzler accepts, he CANNOT let his guard down, or he won’t walk out of that match with the belt. Ladies and gentlemen, our next match is going to be great. New Hardcore Champion Marcus Ward defends his title against Nick Blum. Don’t miss it.” says Pete as we... FADE OUT

Johnny Dangerous promo to be edited in ASAP. My apologies, Johnny - I would've waited, but something's come up, won't be around much for the rest of the night.

In just under an hour, I went from a Level 1 Funky Footpad with no meat or equipment to a Level 2 Rhythm Rogue with a Sweet Ninja Sword, Chef's Hat, and Leather Studded Boxer Shorts, and over 500 meats! If I can do it, you can too!

I suggested teaming him up with Ced to form the Bemani Cross Zombies, but Tom wouldn't go for it.

New trailer's up: http://www.apple.com/trailers/universal/serenity/trailer_2/

-=-=-=- The Smartmarks Wrestling Federation presents... SWF GROUND ZERO, JULY 31st, 2005! (8:00 PM EST; 5:00 PM PST. Check local listings.)[/b] Send everything (promos, marked matches, bar tabs, etc.) to Ace309. Ground Zero is the last stop on the SWF's World Tour, and the first stop on the Road to Genesis! The first half of the show will be coming from The London Arena in London, England - recently closed due to being a financial failure, the SWF has rented and re-opened it for one night only (and sold out in record time), so our European Tour can go out with a bang! Tom Flesher has done his best to secure "Smarkdown-quality" talent, and as a result, the London Card will see Toxxic and Scott Pretzler settle their Best of Five series, as well as an International Championship Defense from Jay Hawke! We then switch over to American shores, where the second half of the show will take place in the Bellagio Hotel and Casino in Las Vegas, Nevada! The Main Event - Ejiro Fasaki's World Heavyweight Championship defense against Johnny Dangerous! -=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=- THE LAS VEGAS CARD LIVE from the Grand Ballroom of the Bellagio Hotel and Casino in Las Vegas, Nevada Commentary Team: Longdogger Pete (play-by-play), and the classic commentary team of Bobby Riley (heel) and CYCLOOOOOOOOONE COMET (face)! For the benefit of anyone who needs them, some descriptions for our guest announcers: Bobby Riley: Former SWF wrestler. As a commentator, he's your usual "root for the heels" sort of shmuck. Has a particular distaste for his partner's (Comet) antics. May or may not be gay - let the innuendo fly. Cyclone Comet: Former SWF wrestler and resident superhero. Will always back the faces, because faces are good and fight for justice and freedom! Tends to use over the top expressions, and may point out that unlike luchadores, he actually can fly. -=-=-=-=-=-=- Referees: Senior official Eddy Long, Nick Soapdish, John Trudel, Matthew Kivell. Backstage Interviews to be conducted by Ben Hardy. -=-=-=-=-=-=- Las Vegas Main Event - SWF World Heavyweight Championship Match Ejiro Fasaki © vs. Johnny Dangerous --> Some people think Ejiro snuck his way into Ground Zero's Main Event behind Tom Flesher's back, but let's face it - he's taken down some high-profile opponents to keep his gold. As far as Joseph Peters is concerned, Ejiro has earned his spot at the top. None of those high-profile opponents have been Johnny Dangerous, however. Johnny's been waiting a long time to get another shot at the SWF World Title - with a newfound intensity and a willingness to bend the rules, Johnny may be poised to take the top spot in the SWF for a second time, which would carry him all the way to the Main Event at Genesis VI. Rules: Standard singles match. I want a good clean fight, you two! Send to: Ace309 -=-=-=-=-=-=- Casino Brawl Landon Maddix vs. Todd Cortez --> Pffft. Women. Can't live with 'em, can't live without 'em. Well, that's not entirely true - Todd Cortez seems to be living with 'em just fine, one in particular, and this makes Landon Maddix none too happy. Martial Law is dead and buried, leaving these former friends tearing at each others throats. Landon's got plans for the future, plans that include taking the World Title, getting back Megan, and breaking a few of his old stablemate's bones - will he make good on his threats, or will Todd Cortez knock him off his pedestal? And what about Megan - will she play a role in this match? Rules: Rules are for sissies. This match starts on the Casino floor and can go anywhere it damn well pleases! Anything goes, and pinfalls count anywhere! Send to: chirs3 -=-=-=-=-=-=- Lady Luck is a Bitch - House Rules Match for the SWF Hardcore Championship Zyon © vs. Marcus Ward vs. Nick "The Hitlist" Blum --> When Zyon was just a wee nooblet, he shocked SWF fans and employees alike by capturing the Hardcore Title in short order - tonight, we see if our latest batch of new recruits show the same kind of promise! Zyon will defend against Marcus Ward, a man with considerable strength and a mind to match it, and a technical high-flyer in Nick "The Hitlist" Blum! Rules: There will be a slot machine outside the ring, with a cup of quarters on top. At the beginning of the match, Funyon will spin the slots once - but instead of cherries, bells, and sevens, this machine has been customized to display different match stipulations. Whichever stip it lands on, those are the current rules the match will be fought under. At ANY TIME during the match, a competitor may use the slot machine to change the current rules. Nobody knows what stipulations will be inside the machine - this is entirely up to the writers. Send to: janusd -=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=- THE LONDON CARD Coming to you LIVE from the London Arena in London, England! Commentary: The Suicide King (heel), Tom Flesher (play-by-play), and Annie Onita (face)! For the benefit of anyone who needs 'em, some descriptions for our guest announcers: Tom Flesher: A wrestling purist, Flesher will tend to favor the more technically-based of the competitors but otherwise call it straight down the middle. He’s a serious guy with little to no sense of humor, but will likely suck up shamelessly to King (who he’ll call “Brian” all night). King, meanwhile, will return the props, as Flesher spent a great deal of time emulating him as a rookie. Ann Onita: Allison Onita’s twin sister, the Eclectic One has a great deal of history with Flesher, starting as early as Flesher’s first SWF match (in which Ann, as Lady Red, turned on Tom, turned face and left The Clan – it was later revealed that Lady Red had been Allison Onita, now best known as Flesher’s lapdog, for all but that match). It appears that Joe Peters brought Ann in to commentate mainly to make Flesher miserable, and she’ll antagonize Flesher at any opportunity. Flesher consistently beat her, but she just gets under his skin and reminding her of that fact won’t shut her up. Ann is a bit unhinged, making her commentary prone to non-sequiturs and general silliness, but she knows her stuff. Expect her to back the face. Oh, yeah... and she's a lesbian. -=-=-=-=-=-=- Ring Announcer: Divefire Referee Pool: Ronald "Red" Herrington, Sexton Hardcastle, Anthony Michael Hall, Scott Ryder Backstage interviews conducted by Someone who's not Ben Hardy. -=-=-=-=-=-=- London Main Event - Best of Five Final Match - Canadian Deathmatch Toxxic vs. Scott Pretzler © --> The Best of Five series stands even at two apiece - it's time for the tiebreaker, Canadian Deathmatch style! Scott Pretzler goes into this match with the not-so-subtle backing of Tom Flesher - is this an added pressure to weigh him down, or an extra edge to help him out? Will he prove once and for all that he is the SWF's hottest commodity, or will Toxxic show the world that he's still got some fight in him? Rules: No countouts, no disqualifications. The first man to score an accumulated 10-count on his opponent wins. You accumulate a count by scoring a pinfall of 3 or more. So you could win getting two 5 counts, four 3 counts, etc. Send to: TheSuperstar -=-=-=-=-=-=- Wildchild vs. El Luchadore Magnifico III - This time it's personal! --> Oh, Mags. Mags Mags Mags. Tsk tsk tsk. Although, really, I can't argue with the evidence - Magnifico's return could charitably be referred to as lackluster, but ever since he stopped going out of his way to please the fans, things have turned around for him. Could this new attitude be just what Magnifico needs to return to the top? Not if Wildchild has anything to say about! Magnifico's actions, as well as his comments, have been way out of line as of late, and as the target of both, Wildchild's not gonna take it anymore! Tonight is the rubber match - time to see which of these men truly belong at the top! Rules: No Disqualifications! Send to: Justice -=-=-=-=-=-=- SWF International Championship Match - Old School Rules "The Dean of Professional Wrestling" Jay Hawke © vs. Manson --> Jay Hawke, in a surprising show of decency, has offered to put up his International Title against Manson, after losing to him in a non-title match. But this is Jay Hawke's title, and thus, Jay Hawke's rules, especially stipulated to make sure a clear winner is decided. Can Mansonocity topple the Dean of Professional Wrestling for a second time, or will he just be another notch on the increasingly impressive belt of the International Champion? Rules: Two out of three falls, with a one hour time limit. Three rope-break limit. Throwing an opponent over the top rope results in instant disqualification. Send to: Ace309 -=-=-=-=-=-=- JJ Johnson vs. "Hollywood" Spike Jenkins --> It shouldn't surprise anyone that Spike Jenkins is pretty high up on Tom Flesher's shit-list. Spike's recently returned from a 30 day suspension, but rumors are circulating that Flesher would like him gone on a somewhat more permanent basis. There's still some bad blood between JJ and Spike (possibly more to be edited in to Smarkdown), so neither man should need much motivation to cripple the other. Rules: Standard singles match. Send to: chirs3 -=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=- My apologies to Danny Williams, who I think is the only active writer left off - we just ran out of people to book you against. We're sorry. Your wookie is in the mail.

Nice to see Super Metroid and Starcraft in the Top 10.

Not only is every match present (with a healthy number of promos mixed in), but we had some truly spectacular matches tonight. Mad props to Ghost Machine for pulling out the legit win over Manson, and I highly recommend the Main Event and Magnifico/Zyon. Excellent show, you guys. I couldn't have asked for anything more to build up to Ground Zero.

I worship The Royal Tenenbaums. One of my favorite movies of all time.

I remember laughing myself silly to those shows. Any idea where I can find them, to read them again?

Good call, JJ. I totally forgot about that. Can anyone here dig up a good Annie-on-commentary match, for reference? I think I've got a few Comet/Riley's I can post, but I never followed the JL as closely as I should have, so I'm not too familiar with her style.

Oh, I almost forgot! The Official Ground Zero PPV Theme Songs are: London - The Sex Pistols' "Anarchy in the UK" Las Vegas - Reverend Horton Heat's "It's Martini Time"

You just had bad timing is all. And Zyon - I promise you, swear on my life even, that one day you will defend in a regular Hardcore match. Cross my heart, hope to die.

“Well folks, it’s that time again!” Longdogger Pete shills. “We’re live on Smarkdown from the Emerald Isle, and we have Toxxic vs. Scott Pretzler, Instalment IV lined up for you! Should Toxxic win this match then he wins the Best of Five Series 3-1...” “…and we all know that’s not going to happen, so let’s get on with Scott Pretzler stretching the limey bastard,” Suicide King cuts in. “You seem rather confident King, given that Toxxic’s submissions have scored victories over many well-known wrestlers,” Pete argues, “including Johnny Dangerous at Genesis V and former three-time World Champions Danny Williams and El Luchadore Magnifico.” “I am confident,” King shoots back. “Pretzler has got this one in the bag, and not even Spike Jenkins can save Toxxic this time!” “Oh please,” Pete snorts, “I don’t think Spike was trying to save Toxxic last Smarkdown!” “You don’t think. Period.” The bickering of the commentators is cut off as the cameras sweep down to the ring where Funyon stands, mic in hand. The veteran ring announcer raises it to his lips as the several thousand Irish fans start to pick up the noise… “Ladies and gentlemen, the following non-title contest is scheduled for one fall and will be contested under Cruiserweight rules!” he booms. “Introducing first, from Toronto, Ontario, Canada; he weighs in tonight at 226lbs and is the reigning SWF Cruiserweight Champion; he is ‘The Critic’… SCOTT… PUH-RETZ-LEEERRRRRRR!!” The stirring opening notes of Beethoven’s Ninth Symphony ring out over the arena and prompt an immediate and reflexive round of booing from the crowd. With the Smarktron showing images first of Pretzler reading excerpts from his Workrate Report and then applying the Snowflake Clutch and executing the Tildebang on various unfortunate opponents, The Critic finally steps out from behind the curtain and raises his arms in an ironic salute of the crowd as the Cruiserweight Title sits snugly around his waist. “BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!” “Ah, I see the Irish reputation for stupidity is well-deserved,” King remarks as the fans tell The Critic exactly what they think of him. Borderline racism aside, the crowd are certainly getting on the case of Scott Pretzler as he takes his own sweet time in getting down the entrance ramp to the ring. With a smug smirk, Pretzler soaks in the derision and struts up the ring steps before stepping through the ropes and unfastening his title belt which he hands to the officiating referee, Brian Warner. Blissfully unconcerned by the boos of the crowd Pretzler begins a few pre-match stretches to loosen up, the possibility of losing the series 3-1 apparently not bothering him at all. “Supremely confident,” Suicide King proclaims. “Supremely arrogant,” Longdogger Pete argues. “Scott Pretzler has a right to be arrogant,” the Gambling Man fires back, “because he is the best wrestler - with the possible exception of Jay Hawke - in this company today.” Suddenly the opening chord of ‘Rookie’ by Boy Sets Fire rolls out through the PA system and the Smarktron first whites out, then begins to fade to black as jagged white letters start to flash up a familiar slogan, almost in response to the Suicide King’s last statement… ‘PREPARE TO BE PROVED WRONG…’ The Smarktron changes and begins to show notable highlights of Toxxic’s career as the spiky guitars start up; the Irish fans come to life and start making some noise, although it is a mixture of both cheers and boos for the notorious Englishman who is about to make his entrance. Finally the Smarktron changes again to show Mike Van Siclen being taken off a balcony and through a table with the Toxxic Shock Syndrome, the devastating landing timed to coincide with the- *BOOOM!!* -stagewide blast of red pyro that announces the arrival of the SWF’s premier straight-edger! The main riff thunders out of the speakers and for a moment all that can be seen is smoke and pyro after-image… but then a familiar spiky-haired shape explodes out and tears down the entrance ramp towards the ring! “And his opponent, from Nottingham, England,” Funyon booms, “weighing in tonight at 218lbs; he is the ‘Straight-Edge Sensation’… TOXXXXXXX-IIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIC!!” Toxxic reaches the ring in only a few seconds, then slides under the bottom rope before popping upright in front of Pretzler. The Brit quickly rips off his ‘World Champion Tour 2004-05’ T-shirt and hurls it into the crowd, then without waiting for his signature pyro or any signal from Brian Warner he launches himself straight at Scott Pretzler! *DING-DING-DING!* “Foul! Foul!” King bellows. “He jumped him before the bell!” “You tended to jump people with the bell,” Pete snaps, “so quit yer whining!” Toxxic has barrelled into Pretzler and is already raining right hands onto the Critic as Pretzler is backed into the ropes, apparently too surprised or perhaps too cornered to employ any of his vaunted mat skills. Toxxic shifts the nature of his attack and drives a knee up into Pretzler’s midsection to blast the breath from his opponent’s lungs; now the Critic’s instincts kick in and he desperately grabs the limb, looking for a takedown, but Toxxic hammers both fists into the back of the Canadian’s neck and he lets go. The Straight-Edge Sensation then grabs his doubled-over opponent and hurls him out between the top and middle ropes to the floor! “TOXXXXXXXX-IC…” This early offensive flurry seems to have got most of the crowd on Toxxic’s side, and the Brit backs off to see how quickly Pretzler will recover. “He threw him over the top rope!” King yells. “Disqualify him!” “King, I think your eyesight has been affected by all those nights alone with the SWF Divas Calendar,” Pete remarks. “In terms of match strategy however, Toxxic might be on the right track here; the 20 Count on the outside in Cruiserweight Rules means that he can exploit his brawling advantage even more than usual in an environment where Scott Pretzler is definitely not at home.” ‘ONE!’ Scott Pretzler rises to his feet, rubbing his head and his ribs as he looks around for Toxxic. The straight-edger is nowhere in sight… until, that is, he comes flying over the top rope with a Tope Con Hilo! “YEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!” ‘ONE!’ Brian Warner bellows again from inside the ring. The Irish crowd have exploded in delight once more as Toxxic crushes the Critic beneath him; the Straight-Edge Sensation responds by pushing himself back to his feet and flipping them a quick salute, then reaches down and grabs Scott Pretzler to pull his opponent to his feet as well. Pretzler stands up rather groggily and Toxxic takes hold of his wrist before Irish whipping the Canadian towards the guardrail… but Pretzler reverses the move and Toxxic is sent careering towards the steel instead! The agile straight-edger jumps up and balances on the top, sending Pretzler crashing to the deck as the Critic anticipates a Role Reversal. However, after a quick look over his shoulder Toxxic just hops down into the crowd and begins shaking hands with the vocal front row! “TOXXXXXXXXX-IC…” “TOXXXXXXXXX-IC…” ‘TWO!’ “Brown-nosing sycophantic asshole,” King growls, “I never trust anyone who shakes hands with a fan!” Scott Pretzler has realised that the anticipated aerial assault has not materialised, so he pushes himself to his feet slightly shamefacedly and hurries towards where Toxxic has his back turned to him. The Critic reaches the guardrail and stretches over it, trying to catch hold of his opponent… and Toxxic whirls around, leaping into the air to catch Pretzler on the side of the head with a jumping gamengiri! *CRACK!* ‘THREE!’ After slapping a few more hands, Toxxic evidently decides that it’s time to follow up on his stunned opponent. With Pretzler on his back and trying to shake off the cobwebs Toxxic simply jumps straight over the guardrail, landing with both feet on the Critic’s chest in a double stomp! Scott Pretzler gasps for air as Toxxic bounces off grinning and Brian Warner yells at the Straight-Edge Sensation to bring the match back into the ring… ‘FOUR!’ “I don’t get what Toxxic is trying to achieve here,” Suicide King complains as the Brit chooses to ignore Warner’s count and turns to pick Pretzler up again, “he can’t win the match on the outside; all he can do is get counted out!” “He’s not trying to win the match outright on the floor,” Longdogger Pete explains, “but if he can rough Pretzler up enough in this environment then the Critic will become easy prey for a submission in the ring. Only a fool would want to trade wrestling holds with Scott Pretzler if he didn’t have to. ” ‘FIVE!’ “What happened to the noble art of grappling, one-on-one in a fair and sportsmanlike environment?” King demands. “Well, you came along King. It’s sort of gone downhill since then.” ‘SIX!’ Toxxic has pulled the breathless Scott Pretzler back to his feet now, and first rams the Canadian’s head into the ring apron, then Irish whips him into the ring steps! *CRRRAAAASSSSHHHHH!* Pretzler flips right over and lands on the arena floor on the other side, and Toxxic follows up by jumping onto the top of the ring steps, then somersaulting off to land the Hangover across his opponent’s throat! ‘SEVEN!’ Rubbing his tailbone (even padded, those arena floors are hard you know) Toxxic gets back to his feet and then pulls Scott Pretzler up after him. The Critic seems dazed and confused, so Toxxic finally heeds referee Warner’s demands and rolls his opponent back into the ring under the bottom rope before following him. Unfortunately for the Straight-Edge Sensation the return to the ring seems to kickstart some of Pretzler instincts, and before the Brit can follow up on his advantage the Critic has lunged for him and clamped on a front facelock. “BORRRRR-ING!” “BORRRRR-ING!” Scott Pretzler doesn’t bask in the derision of the crowd this time; instead, the Canadian is too busy hanging onto his hold and trying to clear his head, not to mention getting his breath back. Meanwhile Toxxic is struggling towards the ropes, but Pretzler suddenly rolls the other way and yanks his opponent away from the cables, not to mention giving Toxxic’s neck a nasty tweak in the process. “What did I tell you?” Suicide King asks. “As soon as they’re actually in the ring, Scott Pretzler is on top.” Toxxic is grabbing at Pretzler’s arm and trying to unlock the grip that’s clamping down on his neck. The Critic is fighting as hard as he can to hold on but Toxxic manages to prise Pretzler’s fingers off where they’re gripping his other arm, then takes the newly-vulnerable arm in both hands and tries to wrench it free. He’s only partially successful, but the Brit is able to squirm out of his opponent’s grip and roll sideways to come up with Scott Pretzler’s arm stretched out to one side. Pretzer yelps in pain but doesn’t wait for Toxxic to apply the Fujiwara armbar that is beckoning; instead he rolls forward on the mat to release the half-twist that Toxxic has applied, then brings his legs up and around to snare the Brit in a headscissors. The surprised Toxxic releases his hold on Pretzler’s arm and this allows the cocky Canadian to bring Toxxic down to the mat again. “BORRRRRRR-ING!” “BORRRRRRR-ING!” Toxxic attempts to kip up out of Pretzler’s grip but the Critic has his legs firmly wrapped around the straight-edger’s head and the only result is a truncated spasm. Scott Pretzler smirks at his former leader’s failure, but Toxxic starts pushing with his arms and legs and manages to twist around so that Pretzler is on his front. In this position the straight-edger is better able to lever Pretzler’s legs apart, then hurriedly extricate his head. Once free Toxxic wastes no time in jumping forward and looking to apply a side headlock on his opponent but almost before the hold is locking in Scott Pretzler has brought his legs up again to look for another headscissors. Toxxic dodges that but Pretzler wraps his arms around his opponent’s waist and heaves to bring the Brit over onto his shoulders… …which of course isn’t a pinning predicament in this match, but Toxxic instinctively kicks out and rolls away, freeing Scott Pretzler! Toxxic makes a lunge for his opponent the moment he realises his mistake but Pretzler is quick enough to catch him with a blast double-leg takedown that would have made Tom Flesher proud, then retains his grip on Toxxic’s lower limbs and begins trying to turn the Brit over. Toxxic fights it as best he can but within a few seconds Scott Pretzler has a Boston Crab applied, and the Canadian sits back with an air of pure smugness. “CA-NUCK FUCK-WIT!” “CA-NUCK FUCK-WIT!” The Irish fans are getting less and less impressed with the man from Toronto and a new and highly offensive chant begins to fill the arena. Pretzler sniffs in derision at the coarseness of the Guinness-drinkers, while Toxxic’s main concern is making the ropes. Pretzler is doing his best to prevent Toxxic from escaping him but the Critic simply isn’t heavy enough to deny his opponent any movement, and the straight-edger is gradually inching towards safety. With a sigh, Pretzler stands up whilst keeping hold of Toxxic’s legs and drag his former leader back into the middle of the ring, then releases one leg and kneels down in the centre of Toxxic’s spine. Before the Straight-Edge Sensation can come up with a counter Pretzler reaches down to wrap a hand around his opponent’s chin, then rocks backwards and brings Toxxic up with a bow and arrow backbreaker. “Impressive strategy,” King notes, “Toxxic can’t reach the ropes if he can’t touch the mat!” “And in this submission match, Scott Pretzler doesn’t have to worry about his own shoulders accidentally being counted down,” Longdogger Pete agrees reluctantly. “But then, I’ve never argued that Scott Pretzler isn’t a good wrestler; just that he’s not a decent human being.” “Ever heard the saying that ‘nice guys finish last’, Pete? Well you’re living proof, and you’re not even that nice.” “Excuse me? I was Hardcore Champion!” the Longdogger protests angrily. “So was Jimmy Liston.” However, despite Scott Pretzler not having to worry about falling victim to a surprise count he does have to worry about holding on to his opponent, and it is this that is proving tricky. Toxxic is thrashing about like a mad thing, partially from pain and partially in an attempt to get free. Pretzler holds on for as long as he can but eventually even a technical master like the Critic has to release his hold, and he does so; however, Toxxic is in no condition to launch a counter-attack as the former World Champion is too busy nursing his back. “TOXXXXXXXX-IC…” The chants of the fans don’t seem to be doing much good, and Pretzler fires a kick into Toxxic’s ribs before bending down and hauling the Brit back up to his feet. Before the man from Nottingham can begin much of a fightback Pretzler manages to thread Toxxic’s right arm through his own legs, then reaches forward to lock onto the straight-edger’s left and lifts the Brit from a pumphandle position, then dumps Toxxic down across one knee! “You see, Dogger?” King asks in satisfaction as the pumphandle backbreaker hits home. “Scott Pretzler doesn’t rely on brawling on the outside or flashy and ultimately useless high-flying - just good, solid wrestling that targets a body part. In this case the back, to set up his feared Snowflake Clutch.” The back of Toxxic certainly seems to have acquired a bullseye as far as the Critic is concerned; he drags Toxxic back up off the mat, then scoops the Straight-Edge Sensation up again and drops him with a pendulum backbreaker to inflict further damage on his opponent’s spine. This time Scott Pretzler dusts off his hands, prompting a further round of boos, then brings Toxxic back up to his feet and Irish whips the straight-edger into the turnbuckles. However, Toxxic manages to gain control of his momentum and jumps into the air, braces himself against the top rope with his hands and reaches back with his legs to ensnare the onrushing Pretzler in a headscissors. Toxxic then throws his body to one side and takes the Critic over before rolling back to his feet and launching himself into the air again to take the dizzied Canadian back down with a spinning heelkick! “TOXXXXXXXX-IC…” “TOXXXXXXXX-IC…” Now it’s Toxxic’s turn to grab Pretzler, and he instantly attempts his own Irish whip into the ropes. Pretzler reverses the momentum and ducks his head for a back body drop, but that’s never a good idea against Toxxic… *CRUNCH-WHAM! …and he first mashes Pretzler’s face into his knee, then completes the Sobering Thought by dropping backwards with a DDT and spiking the Canadian’s skull into the canvas! “YEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!” Scott Pretzler seems to be stunned by this move and Toxxic staggers up to his feet holding his back, then points to the turnbuckles (raising another cheer from the Irish fans). The straight-edger climbs as quickly as possible to the top rope, then raises one black-nailed fist in the air and leaps off- *WHAM!* -to drive a flying fistdrop into Pretzler’s forehead! “TOXXXXXXXX-IC…” “TOXXXXXXXX-IC…” The Critic spasms on the mat from the impact and Toxxic shakes his own hand out, but nevertheless gets back up and heads for the top rope once more. The straight-edger measures the distance, then goes flying out into the air again… *WHAM!* “TOXXXXXXXX-IC…” “TOXXXXXXXX-IC…” Toxxic seems to get to his feet a little easier this time, the effects of Pretzler’s submission holds and backbreakers perhaps starting to wear off a little. He points to the turnbuckles again… “ONE MORE!?” “YEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!” With the unanimous approval of the Irish fans Toxxic jogs over to the corner of the ring and begins to climb. Once at the zenith the Straight-Edge Sensation pauses to kiss his fist for luck, then coils his legs under him and leaps off… …but Scott Pretzler, even with his head ringing, could hear Toxxic’s question and the crowd’s response. He knows what’s coming this time, so he moves. *BANG!* Toxxic drives his fist into the canvas rather than Scott Pretzler’s forehead and proceeds to swear violently as the pain in his hand is not offset by any damage done to his opponent. The mat really isn’t that much harder than Pretzler’s skull, but as Toxxic desperately shakes his hand out to try and rid himself of the pain the Critic is able to grab him from behind and hook him into an abdominal stretch! “BOR-ING FUCK-WIT!” “BOR-ING FUCK-WIT!” Toxxic cries out in pain as Pretzler starts trying to bend him into an attractive pretzel shape, but the straight-edger continues to tell referee Brian Warner ‘no!’ when the official asks him if he wants to give it up. Undeterred, Pretzler continues to wrench away at his hold and even uses his right hand to fire a couple of punches into Toxxic’s ribs despite the referee’s admonishments. However, even this additional punishment isn’t enough to make Toxxic relinquish the match and after about a minute of having his opponent in the hold Scott Pretzler seems to be at risk of boring even himself. Accordingly the Canadian releases his hold and drags Toxxic up to his feet before the Brit can fight back, then hoists him up in a Fireman’s carry. Pretzler turns on the spot, letting the entire arena take in the spectacle, before shucking the Straight-Edge Sensation off his shoulders and dropping to one knee, letting Toxxic crash and burn with a dropping gutbuster! “This is truly a beauteous thing to behold,” Suicide King says, smiling. “Scott Pretzler has weathered all Toxxic’s attempts at a comeback and has controlled this match through the use of crisp, clean wrestling. Tom will be proud!” “Yes, very clean,” Longdogger Pete mutters as Pretzler ‘accidentally’ steps on Toxxic’s face and scrapes his bootheel across the straight-edger’s eyes. Brian Warner leaps in to admonish him and Pretzler immediately apologises for his clumsiness. “I’m not disagreeing about Flesher being proud, though…” With Toxxic’s eyes watering, Scott Pretzler brings the straight-edger back up to his feet. The ribs and chest seem to be the Critic’s new target, and he draws back his right hand before- *CRACK!* “WHOOO!” Toxxic grimaces in pain and wraps both arms around his chest as he doubles over while Pretzler smirks… but then the Brit’s expression turns to one of furious anger, and he explodes upwards with a European uppercut! *WHAM!* “YEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHH!” Pretzler staggers back, caught off-guard, but he doesn’t seem to know how to react except by retaliating… *CRACK!* “WHOOO!” Toxxic has to grit his teeth, but the Straight-Edge Sensation knows damn well that he’s not going to be beaten in a straight-up brawl by some poncey Canadian… *WHAM!* Pretzler staggers again, and this time doesn’t offer a comeback. Toxxic steps up to him again and- *WHAM!* -rattles the Canadian’s jaw for a third time, then reaches out and grabs Pretzler’s head in both hands before- *CRUNCH!* -delivering an almighty headbutt! Pretzler staggers back again and this time falls backwards as the crowd begins to find their voice again! “LET’S GO TOXX-IC!” “LET’S GO TOXX-IC!” Toxxic shakes his own head to clear it, then points at the nearest turnbuckles before twirling his index fingers over his head backwards… “Toxxic’s calling for the Inglorious,” Longdogger Pete shouts as the Straight-Edge Sensation begins to climb to deliver the Shooting Star Legdrop, “it’s not a submission move, but if he can do enough damage to Pretzler’s head and neck then something like the Repeat To Fade could give him an easy victory!” Unfortunately for Toxxic, he seems to have underestimated Scott Pretzler’s resilience. The Canadian has already rolled onto his front as Toxxic is halfway up the turnbuckles, and when the Brit reaches the top -now perhaps preparing for a missile dropkick or similar- Pretzler suddenly lurches forward and collides with the ring ropes, causing Toxxic to land crotch-first on the top buckle! “OOOOooohhhh…” The Irish fans are understandably sympathetic at the straight-edger’s plight, but Scott Pretzler has no time to either wince or laugh. Instead the Critic, still slightly groggy, heads for the ringpost where Toxxic is currently so uncomfortably perched and begins to climb. “Well, this is unusual!” Longdogger Pete exclaims as Scott Pretzler’s feet voluntarily leave the ground. “How many times have we seen Pretzler climb the turnbuckles in the last six months, King?” “Once, maybe twice?” Suicide King replies. “It’s good to know he’s so confident about this match that he’s willing to try new things!” Scott Pretzler has reached the second rope, where he pauses to deliver a right hand to Toxxic’s jaw to make sure the Straight-Edge Sensation doesn’t try anything. Toxxic still seems concerned at the fate of his testicles but the punch doesn’t hurt Pretzler’s cause any, and now the Critic goes even higher as he places one foot on the top rope… then the second… …the entire arena involuntarily holds its breath at this uncharacteristically daring display from the man from Toronto… …and Scott Pretzler jumps up, wraps his legs around Toxxic’s head and snaps backwards to execute a picture-perfect hurricanrana from the top rope! *WHAM!* Toxxic lands hard on his back but the cameras focus on Scott Pretzler whose disbelieving grin quickly changes to a more usual smug one as he picks himself up. The Critic then grabs Toxxic and brings him up to a sitting position before placing a knee in his back and crossing the straight-edger’s arms in front of his chest… “Snowflake Clutch coming up!” King crows. …Toxxic has other ideas however as the Brit manages to bridge up, using Pretzler’s knee as a fulcrum despite the pain in his back, then before the startled Canadian can react he twists around and reverses the crossing of their arms as the two men come face-to-face! Toxxic then tugs Pretzler up to a standing position and pulls him into deliver another headbutt- *CRUNCH!* -before twisting around again so the two men end up back-to-back with Pretzler’s arms crossed over his own throat. Toxxic holds the position for a moment before dropping straight down to execute a goku-raku neckbreaker on the Critic! “LET’S GO TOXX-IC!” “LET’S GO TOXX-IC!” Toxxic doesn’t release his grip upon landing, instead starting to roll over. However, Scott Pretzler knows very well what’s coming next and even through the pain in his neck he sprawls his legs as wide as possible to prevent himself from being turned onto his front. “Toxxic’s looking for that inverted bridging goku-raku, a variation on Scott Pretzler’s Snowflake Clutch, but the Critic is blocking it!” Pete explains as Toxxic tries unsuccessfully to get Pretzler in position for the move. “Which considering he helped Toxxic develop it, isn’t really surprising,” King points out. “Honestly, does Toxxic really think he can catch the master of the move with a cheap knock-off?” With Scott Pretzler blocking him Toxxic seems to come to the same conclusion; he releases his grip and instantly turns over, then grabs a reverse headlock before Pretzler can roll away. With this new hold locked in Toxxic starts to try and bring his opponent up to a vertical base, and despite the Canadian’s attempts to throw him off the Straight-Edge Sensation begins to succeed in his endeavour. With Scott Pretzler now arched backwards and trapped in a Dragon Sleeper Toxxic tries to grab the Critic’s right wrist, but the man from Toronto is fighting him all the way… “LET’S GO TOXX-IC!” “LET’S GO TOXX-IC!” “Toxxic is going for the Repeat To Fade!” Longdogger Pete shouts over the crowd noise. “If he locks this in…” But Scott Pretzler has no intention of letting that happen as he manages to keep his right arm out of Toxxic’s grip. Frustrated, the Straight-Edge Sensation abruptly drops to one knee and drives the other into the back of Pretzler’s neck, then pops back up to a vertical base. However, instead of dropping all the way down to the mat with an inverted DDT to complete the Detoxx he instead twists around again, this time bringing Scott Pretzler into a ¾ headlock and setting off at a run for the nearest turnbuckles! “INTOXXICATION!” Pete roars… …but Scott Pretzler has his own ideas about that as well. With a desperate surge of energy the Critic pushes Toxxic forward faster, breaking the straight-edger’s grip and sending him stumbling chest-first into the buckles. As Toxxic rebounds Pretzler wraps his arms around his opponent’s waist from behind, then bridges backwards to deliver a German suplex… *whump* …but Toxxic flips through the move and lands on his feet! Scott Pretzler realises that something hasn’t gone according to plan and turns around as fast as he can, only to find Toxxic’s foot flashing towards his face in a superkick- *whap* -that the Critic catches! Pretzler throws Toxxic’s foot away and grabs another rear waistlock as the straight-edger spins, then as Toxxic reaches down to try and unlock his opponent’s hands Pretzler takes hold of Toxxic’s wrists and pulls the Brit’s arms into a crossed position before bridging backwards- *WHAM!* -and landing a straight-jacket suplex! However, despite the submission-only stipulation Scott Pretzler holds the bridge as Toxxic’s shoulders are both down on the mat for one, two, three seconds… before finally releasing it and allowing the Straight-Edge Sensation to slump sideways, clutching his neck! “Well, I think that’s made a fairly good point,” Suicide King laughs, “not only did he land a German suplex variation after all, but in any normal match that move would have won it for Scott Pretzler and Toxxic could do nothing about it!” Pretzler grabs Toxxic by his spiky hair -ignoring the admonishments of Brian Warner- and brings the straight-edger up to his feet, then grabs Toxxic’s wrist and Irish whips him towards the ropes. However, the Brit manages to reverse the move and then as Pretzler rebounds he launches himself feet-first at the Canadian’s shins in a soccer tackle! *CRACK!* Pretzler flips forward with a yell of pain, and Toxxic wastes no time in scrambling across the canvas towards his downed opponent where he proceeds to begin locking Pretzler’s right foot into the crook of his left knee, then traps it there with his own legs and starts to reach forwards… “Toxxic’s going for the Regal Stretch now!” Longdogger Pete exclaims. “This has won him the World Title!” …and Scott Pretzler knows it. He didn’t spend four months in the Revolution Zero dressing room without picking up on his stablemate’s favoured moves and holds, and how people have countered them in the past. Accordingly he lashes out backwards with his right elbow as Toxxic tries to hook in the ¾ nelson facelock part of the hold, trying to catch the Straight-Edge Sensation in the face and knock him off his back. For his part Toxxic tries to catch Pretzler’s arm and thread his own left arm underneath it to lock around the Critic’s head, but Pretzler just isn’t giving him the space or time he needs. Toxxic tries to change angles, looking to hook the left arm instead, but the shift in weight give Pretzler an idea and he rolls, ending up on top of the startled Toxxic. After a moment’s confusion Toxxic continues with his attempts to apply in the ¾ nelson facelock but Pretzler’s legs are no longer trapped, and the Canadian pushes off the mat to roll backwards over Toxxic’s body, ending up with a reverse headlock applied on his prone opponent! “Come on Scott, you’ve got him!” Suicide King yells. Toxxic tries to fight it, but Pretzler has his grip locked in and he manages to bring Toxxic up, then slowly turns the former World Champion over… and sits down in a back-mounted Dragon Clutch. A back-mounted Dragon Clutch that is positioned quite high up the spine… “BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!” “That’s the Superior Stretch Beta!” Longdogger Pete shouts in astonishment. “This must be why Scott Pretzler was working the back and the ribs rather than the neck; he knew Toxxic could probably counter the Snowflake Clutch, so he was planning on using something different to get the win!” Toxxic knows the back-mounted Dragon Sleeper, of course. Spike Jenkins used it all the way through their time together in Revolution Zero. Landon Maddix used it to score the first ever submission win over Toxxic in the SWF. Toxxic can counter this move… if he knows it’s coming. But Scott Pretzler has caught him off-guard, and with the ropes nowhere in reach Toxxic is left with two options. Fight it as long as he can, hope he can get to the ropes but run the risk of lasting damage resulting from the move… or tap out now, allow Pretzler to level the series and go into the last match with a body relatively free from nagging injuries. A year ago, it would have been no question at all and Toxxic would have fought until he could fight no more. These days, he’s a little smarter. *TAP-TAP-TAP-TAP-TAP!* *DING-DING-DING!* “Ladies and gentlemen, here is your winner to level the Best of Five Series at 2-2,” Funyon booms, “SCOTT… PUH-RETZ-LERRRRRRRRR!” “BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!” The Irish fans are distinctly displeased at Pretzler’s win, but the Canadian is already raising his arms in victory. Meanwhile Toxxic is clutching his ribs, but the Straight-Edge Sensation doesn’t look quite as distraught at his loss as might be expected. “Well, Scott Pretzler has every reason to be proud of himself,” Longdogger Pete admits grudgingly, “because he is the first person to ever score two winning pinfalls or submissions over Toxxic in singles competition.” “I tell you Dogger, this man is the future of wrestling,” King laughs, “but now what I want to know is; when is the final match going to be for Pretzler to finally defeat Toxxic for good? And what will the stipulation be, if any?” ‘When I was back in seminary school…’ “Don’t look now King, but I feel we might be about to find out!” Longdogger Pete says, unable to quite contain his excitement. ‘There was a person there who put forth the proposition that you can petition the Lord with prayer. Petition the Lord with prayer? Petition the Lord with prayer?! YOU CANNOT PETITION THE LORD WITH PRAYER!’ With that, Led Zeppelin’s “Kashmir” bursts out over the speakers, and to a loud reaction, Tom Flesher steps through a cloud of blue smoke and pyro and into the arena. Some fans cheer, and some boo; all of them, however, know that they’re about to see something important. As he walks to the ring, Flesher holds a glass of scotch in one hand; his Camel cigarettes are visible in the front pocket of his blue collared shirt as he takes his spot on the ramp. “Well done, gentlemen,” Flesher says, taking a sip from his scotch, “although of course Scott deserves my praise rather more; an excellent choice of move to finish it, by the way.” Scott Pretzler inclines his head in acknowledgement and Flesher smirks. “I’d clap, but as you can see, ” the Superior One continues, indicating the scotch glass and a microphone, “I have a lot on my hands right now.” In the ring, Toxxic pulls a face at Flesher’s appalling pun while Scott Pretzler merely smiles. “Now then,” Flesher continues, “it is obvious to me that the Best of Five Series that I set up for you both has been drawn at two victories apiece, which to be honest suits me fine.” Another sip of scotch. “After all, it saves me having to find you opponents for Ground Zero. So, Scott Pretzler and Toxxic, you will be facing each other on the Pay-Per-View.” “YEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!” “This leaves me with one important decision to make,” Flesher begins again as the cheer dies away, “and that is what stipulation to attach to the match. After all, since we’ve had Hardcore and Submission it would seem a little anti-climatic to go back to a regular singles match, don’t you think?” Without waiting for an answer, Flesher forges on. “If Peters were here he’d undoubtedly sign something like a Hell in a Cell, but thankfully for us all he’s not, and I am. Therefore, without any further ado I would like to announce that the stipulation for the final match in the Toxxic vs. Scott Pretzler Best of Five Series, to take place at Ground Zero will be…” Tom Flesher swigs down the last of his scotch before beaming down at the two men in the ring. “…a CANADIAN DEATHMATCH!” “YEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!” “A Canadian Deathmatch!?” Longdogger Pete repeats in disbelief as Flesher smiles at the response his words got from the crowd. “That’s going to be…” “Brutal?” Suicide King finishes as Pretzler and Toxxic turn to look at each other. Neither man’s expression gives much away, but both have a look of determination. “Now then gentlemen,” Tom Flesher adds, “I want to make it very clear what this match will not involve, and that’s any sort of spine-shattering innovation from either of you. Toxxic, we all know what lengths you’re prepared to go to in order to keep someone down for ten counts,” the Superior One says, pointing his scotch glass at the Straight-Edge Sensation. “However,” the Smarkdown Generalissimo continues, turning his attention to Scott Pretzler, “I haven’t forgotten that you broke Kaine’s neck in your first match, Scott. So I’d like to warn both of you that while the booking committee will take into account your desire to win the contest and the series, any action from either of you that we consider to be above and beyond the, shall we say, ‘Call of Duty’ will result in a very severe penalty. In fact, you’ll be lucky to wrestle anywhere in North America again, let alone the SWF.” Flesher takes one final sip of scotch to empty his glass, then raises it in salute to both men - a rather mocking one in the case of Toxxic. “Toxxic, Scott… I’ll see you at Ground Zero. Try not to disappoint me.” “Well fans, what an announcement!” Longdogger Pete says excitedly as the crowd roars while Flesher turns and disappears again. “What a card we have for Ground Zero! As well as Johnny Dangerous challenging Ejiro Fasaki, we now have Toxxic vs. Scott Pretzler in a Canadian Deathmatch! Join us this Sunday for GROUND ZERO~!” FADE OUT ©2005 Smartmarks Wrestling Federation ‘Raising Workrate By Typing Faster’

Earlier today… Tom Flesher sits in his office, in the press box of the Croke Park Stadium in Dublin, Ireland. As he pages through the contracts and other paperwork in his portfolio, the ringing of a cell phone pierces through the silence. Flesher looks up at Allison Onita, who nods and grabs the phone off his desk. “Tom Flesher’s office. … No, I’m sorry, Mr. Flesher is unavailable. … I’m sorry, but may I take a message, Mr. Peters?” “It’s Joe?” Flesher asks. Allison nods. “I’ll take it.” After Allison hands him the phone, Flesher shoos her away, mouthing the word “Cigarettes” to her. She scurries off as he settles in. “Hey, Joe, what can I do for you?” Flesher nods as he listens to the voice on the phone, looking slightly concerned. “Really? Two? But I need to have access to - … Joe, you don’t understand. You’re a businessman, not a wrestler. … Yes, I know you’re my boss, but - … But the roster just isn’t - …” Finally, with a sigh, he says, “So the decision’s made? … Alright then. But know that I’m going to do everything in my power to get the top talent on board. I already have Pretz, you know that, and that means … Alright, Joe. I’ll let you know.” With that, he hangs up. After a pause of no more than a few seconds, he dials the phone. “Hey, Brian?” Flesher smirks as the picture begins to fade. “I’ve got a proposition for you ….”

“Hey, Tom?” Allison Onita slides into view as Tom Flesher shuffles through a pile of contracts, conspicuously sorting them into two piles. “Alli, I’m a little busy right now. Can it wait?” He takes a drag from a Camel, then taps it lightly into the ashtray in front of him. His suit jacket hangs on the back of his chair, his sleeves are rolled up, and his hair is messy. “No… I don’t think it can.” “Damn, girl,” he says, sounding tired. “You’ve just been insatiable lately.” “It’s not that,” she says, sounding concerned. “I, uh, just got a phone call.” “Was it Peters again?” “No….” “If Peters calls, you know to tell him to go to Hell, right?” “Yes….” Flesher looks over his shoulder, sensing something’s wrong. He sees Allison behind him, her face a mess of concern. “Alli, what’s eating you? Besides….” “I’m not in the mood for joking right now, Tom. My mother just called… she was saying how wonderful it’s going to be… when….” Flesher raises an eyebrow. “Is… she….?” Allison nods. “She just got the ticket.” “Just coming out to see the show?” Onita shakes her head. “Peters paid for the ticket… she’s going to be… at the table.” Flesher sighs. “Damn it… I didn’t think I’d ever have to see that bitch again….” Allison drops down and wraps her arms around Tom, who stands up and hugs her tightly. They embrace as the picture fades out.

As SWF Smarkdown returns from a commercial break, it begins with a somewhat jarring shot of eighty-three thousand Irishmen packed into the Croke Park Stadium. They anxiously murmur amongst themselves in anticipation of the next match, and said murmuring only grows louder when the lights are suddenly cut out and the Smarktron is illuminated. The phrases “I’m Born” “I’m Alive”, and “I Breathe” appear on the ‘Tron as the massive crowd already begins to cheer in anticipation of Zyon’s entrance. Their cries only grow louder as Zyon pops out from behind the curtain, just as Incubus’ “Vitamin” begins blaring over the stadium’s speakers. “The following contest is scheduled for one fall, and follows CRUIS-erweight rules!” Funyon proudly announces. “Introducing first, from Elkhart, Indiana, weighing in at two hundred pounds even...he is the SWF HARDCORE CHAMPION...ZYYYYOOOOOOONNN!!” Zyon’s already all the way down the entrance ramp as Funyon finishes his introduction. He hops onto the apron upon reaching the ring, pausing only briefly before pulling himself and flipping over the top rope, drawing a quick pop from the impressed crowd. Once inside the ring, Zyon pauses, listening intently to the chorus of “Vitamin”. You stare at me like I'm a vitamin. On the surface you hate, But you know you need me. I'll come dressed as any pill you deem fit. Whatever helps you swallow truth all the more easily. Zyon suddenly thrusts his arms into the air and bangs his head, doing so as the lights go back up all around the arena. He retires to a corner and begins to prepare for the upcoming contest, much of the crowd still cheering for the Unique Youth. “And welcome back to SWF Smarkdown, everyone!” LDP greets. “We’ve had an amazing show here so far in Dublin, and it’s about to get even better.” “For once, you’ve made a good point, and did it without an incomprehensible Southern slang.” King replies. “We’re the first ones to see the new, insane Magnifico in action. And what’s more, we get to see him beat the piss out of that goddamn spot monkey, Zyon.” Once again, the stadium’s lights are cut, though this time, the fans aren’t quite sure how to react. They sit in darkness for a moment, until... “HEY HEY!” *BOOM* The intro to Atake FDD’s “Tu Final” is shouted over the stadium’s PA as red, white, and green sparks shoot upwards from the stage. By now most of the crowd’s caught on and begin to boo, and the rest join in when they see Magnifico stride out from behind the curtain, illuminated by a single spotlight. His head bobbing to the thumping bass of his entrance music and his Mexican Flag billowing gracefully behind him, Magnifico quickly strides down the entrance ramp, his eyes locked solidly on Zyon. “And now, from Mexico City, Mexico, weighing in at two hundred and ten pounds...” Funyon takes a deep breath. “EL LUCHADOOOOOOOOOOOOORE MAGNIFICOOOOOOOO!!” Funyon’s announcement only intensifies the booing, which drowns out all other sound as reaches the ring and rolls beneath its bottom rope. He pops to his feet and shoots a quick, cold glare at Zyon, who’s all too happy to return the nasty look. Magnifico finally takes his gaze off of his opponent as he steps into the center of the ring, his eyes looking over the gigantic crowd. Suddenly, he thrusts his flag high into the air, doing so as the lights go up around the arena, revealing eighty-three thousand jeering Irishmen in the process. “Christ, the fans sure turned on Mag quick.” King comments. “You’d think that they were mad about ELM nearly choking Wildchild to death or something.” “Yeah, go figure.” LDP mutters. Magnifico turns away from the crowd and to the ref, who he hands his Mexican Flag to. The luchadore’s attention turns back to Zyon, who he keeps his eyes locked on as he executes a few cursory stretches. Seeing that everything is in order, the ref turns to the timekeeper and signals for the bell. DING DING DING “And here we go!” Pete enthusiastically cries. “Zyon’s been incredibly hot since joining the fed, but he needs to be extremely careful with Magnifico. He’s facing not only one of the SWF’s greatest Cruiserweights ever, but also a man who seems desperate to earn a win.” Magnifico and Zyon promptly end their pre-match warmups and begin circling each other around the ring. They get closer to each and the center of the ring, until they’re within arm’s reach of each other. At that point, they lunge at each other and lock up in the middle of the ring, pushing each other back and forth as each struggles to gain control over the other. After a few seconds, ELM pulls Zyon into a Front Headlock and begins wrenching away on his neck. Zyon counters the hold by walking backwards and into the ropes, bouncing off of them as he pushes Magnifico forward, using his momentum to break ELM’s hold and send him rushing across the ring. Magnifico bounces off of the far ropes and charges back towards the Unique Youth, thrusting his shoulder out as he does so and knocking Zyon to the canvas with a Shoulderblock! Immediately after hitting the Block, ELM makes a dash for the perpendicular ropes, bouncing off of them and rushing back towards Zyon. However, Zyon rolls towards the charging luchadore, forcing himto hop over his opponent and rush towards his third set of ropes on the night. Magnifico bounces off of the ropes as Zyon pops to his feet and leaps into the air, his legs extended for a Hurricanrana! Zyon manages to hook his legs around ELM’s head, but the second he does, Magnifico reaches up and grabs him by the waist, trapping the Unique Youth on his shoulders! “Well, that was quick.” King comments. “Coming up next, we have-“ “King, he hasn’t even landed a move yet.” Pete snaps. “Knock it off.” However, before ELM has a chance to do anything with that, Zyon begins hammering away at Magnifico’s forehead with his fist! With ELM sufficently dazed, Zyon is able to thrust his body and legs backwards, using the limbs to jerk Magnifico down to the mat with a Hurricanrana! And as ELM hits the mat, Zyon sits on his chest before reaching back and hooking both of Magnifico’s legs, turning the move into a Hurricanrana Pin! The ref falls to his knees and begins counting as Magnifico struggles to break free of the pin. ONE! TWO! No! ELM breaks free of the pin and immediately scrambles to his feet while Zyon does the same. “Very nice counter from Zyon.” LDP notes. “ELM didn’t move fast enough, and Zyon took advantage of it.” Zyon stands a split second before Magnifico and has time to grab him by the arm and pull him to his feet, right before using that grip to whip ELM across the ring and into the far corner. Zyon dashes after the luchadore immediately after whipping him, closing in on the luchadore as he lands back-first against the corner’s turnbuckles. However, ELM manages to leap out of the way just in time, leaving Zyon to crash into an empty corner! The Unique Youth, dazed, stumbles backwards and out of the corner. Meanwhile, Magnifico ducks behind Zyon, wrapping his arms around Zyon’s waist as he stumbles and pulling him into a Rear Waistlock. He immediately attempts to lift Zyon into the air for a German Suplex, but is foiled when the Unique Youth wraps his leg around Magnifico’s, preventing the luchadore from hoisting him off the mat! Magnifico struggles in vain to lift Zyon, until he takes one arm off of him, apparently giving up on the Suplex...but instead uses the arm to drive an elbow into Zyon’s neck! The crowd OHHH!s in surprise as Magnifico continues to hammer away at Zyon’s neck with the elbow, just bashing away at it until the Unique Youth falls to one knee, breaking under the relentless force of the strikes. ELM then reapplies the Rear Waistlock and immediately lifts Zyon into the air, right before falling back and slamming his neck into the canvas with a German Suplex! Magnifico holds the bridge after landing the Suplex, drawing the ref down to the mat to make the count as the fans heartily boo the luchadore. ONE! TWO! No! Zyon breaks free of the pin, causing both men to fall unceremoniously to the mat as the fans cheer the escape. “That’s something we saw from Magnifico in his contest with Wildchild.” Pete grimly notes. “When he was unable to pull his opponent off of the mat, he just beat the hell out of him until he was unable to resist.” “And like I said when he did that against Wildchild, it’s a great sign for the Mexican.” King cheerfully adds. “He’s not screwing around with his opponents anymore; his motive is to win, regardless of how he has to do it.” ELM quickly rolls back to his feet, leaving Zyon dazed on the canvas. The Unique Youth begins pushing himself back to his feet, but is discouraged somewhat when Magnifico begins stomping away at his neck, knocking Zyon back down to the canvas every time he gets even a little bit off of it. After landing a good many stomps, Magnifico tires of this and helps Zyon to his feet, right before throwing the Unique Youth into the nearby corner. As Zyon leans up against the corner’s turnbuckles, dazed, ELM rears back with his arm, right before driving it forward and... CHOP! *SMACK* “WHOOOOOOOOO!!” The crowd releases the requisite cheer despite themselves as Magnifico’s arm slices into Zyon’s chest with a Knife-Edge Chop. Zyon grips his chest and starts to stumble out of the corner, but ELM pushes him right back into it. He then pulls his arm back again and... CHOP! *SMACK* “WHOOOOOOOOOO!!” Zyon once again feebly attempts to escape the corner, but Magnifico again shoves him back into it, growing frustrated with the Unique Youth. ELM draws his arm back once more and... ...miss! Magnifico goes for another Knife-Edge Chop, but Zyon manages to duck beneath it! ELM’s momentum carries him a step forward and gives Zyon a second to recover. As such, when Magnifico turns towards him, Zyon is ready and immediately unloads on the luchadore with a flurry of stinging Forearm Strikes, drawing an encouraging cheer from the gigantic crowd! “Listen to this audience!” Pete happily commands. “They’re giving their full support to Zyon!” “Meh, that’s not that impressive.” King dismissively replies. “Once the whiskey buzz wears off they’ll see that Zyon’s nothing but an overhyped spot monkey and immediately go back to not caring.” Convinced he’s thoroughly stunned ELM, Zyon grabs the luchadore by the arm and tries to whip him across the ring. However, a couple more strikes might have been in order, as Magnifico manages to reverse the whip, sending Zyon rushing towards the far corner. ELM immediately rushes after him, and as such, is forced to skid to a halt when Zyon unexpectedly runs up the corner’s turnbuckles! The Unique Youth pushes himself off of the top turnbuckle and flies back at Magnifico, twisting his body as he does so and turning the move into the No Regard! ELM attempts to catch Zyon, but he’s too heavy and moving too quickly, and the No Regard easily knocks Magnifico to the mat! As ELM crashes hard to the canvas, Zyon lands right next to him, resting for only a split-second before rolling onto the luchadore and hooking his leg! The ref slides into position and begins counting as the fans cheer for the incredible maneuver and for the possible pinfall. ONE! TWO! No! ELM kicks out at two and a half, effectively ending much of the crowd’s cheering. “Magnifico can be aggressive as he wants, but that doesn’t mean he can match Zyon’s speed.” Pete reports. “ELM had no chance to counter the No Regard.” “Maybe not.” King concedes. “But it’s not like Zyon’s flips and flops are particularly devastating moves. One slip up and he’ll fall into the Mexican’s grasp, and that’ll be the end of that.” Undeterred by the lack of a pinfall, Zyon rolls off of Magnifico and pulls him to his feet. Zyon attempts a whip, but ELM’s not too dazed to reverse it, and he does just that. Zyon is sent rushing towards the far ropes, and as he bounces off of them, he sees Magnifico charging up at him and lashing his arm out for a Clothesline! However, Zyon manages to duck beneath ELM’s arm, which just grazes Zyon’s hairline! Magnifico’s falls into the ropes and takes a second to gather himself before spinning back towards Zyon. When he does, the first thing he sees is the Unique Youth leap into the air and kick his feet out! Zyon drives said feet directly into ELM’s chest with a perfect Flipping Dropkick that drives him backwards and over the top rope! The fans release an impressive pop as Magnifico tumbles over the top rope and to the outside, hitting the thinly-padded floor shoulder-first and with a cringe-inducing thud. “Beautiful Dropkick from Zyon!” Pete declares. “His speed has really served him well in this match!” “Grrr.” King growls. “What’s most annoying about this is I just know he’s going to follow that up with some ridiculously acrobatic yet useless move. I just know it.” The ref begins his count as Magnifico writhes on the outside, trying his hardest to shake off the effects of the nasty fall he just took. “ONE!” After a few moments, Magnifico begins to laboriously push himself to his feet. Zyon takes that as his cue to suddenly make a break for the ropes furthest from ELM, bouncing off of them as the luchadore reaches one knee. Zyon rushes back across the ring, rapidly approaching the luchadore as he slowly stands. “TWO!” As Magnifico reaches his feet, he slowly turns back towards the ring, scowling angrily as he does so. His mood doesn’t improve any when he sees Zyon leap over the top rope and flip forward, flying at the luchadore with a Tope con Hilo! Zyon’s body slams into Magnifico’s, knocking ELM back to the ground with a ridiculous amount of force! Another mighty wave of cheers rise from the crowd as Zyon tumbles to the ground next to the luchadore, not completely unharmed from the fall either. “THREE!” “Goddamnit. What’d I tell you?” King grumbles. “Tope con Hilo!” LDP cries, ignoring King, “Zyon perfectly executes a Somersault Body Attack Suicida, and he is in complete control of this contest!” Zyon works through the haze of the impact after a few moments and begins working his way to his feet, doing so as Magnifico lays motionless beneath him. Seeing that he has a second before ELM’s going to be a concern, Zyon rolls into the ring and then immediately rolls back out to reset the count. Once that’s done, he grabs Magnifico and pulls him to his feet...only to have ELM drive his elbow backwards and into Zyon’s gut the second he’s standing! Caught off guard, Zyon immediately doubles over in pain from the unexpected blow, which allows Magnifico to grab the Unique Youth by his tights and the nape of his neck. “ONE!” Holding him in that position, ELM runs forward with Zyon in tow and then suddenly releases him, throwing him head-first at the nearby guardrail! Zyon manages to duck a little bit before impact, avoiding having his skull cracked by the steel barrier, but in doing so shifts the point of impact square on the back of his neck! The fans seem to cringe as one as Zyon crumples to the floor, cradling his neck as the audience quickly switches their reaction to upset booing. “TWO!” “Christ!” LDP shouts, wincing. “Though I’m sure being thrown into wouldn’t have felt good in any situation, Zyon’s lucky that he was able to shift the impact from his skull to his neck.” “Which was a ridiculously amateur move.” King snaps. “The Mexican had already weakened Zyon’s neck with a German Suplex and the stomps that followed it. Now he’s got a clear target to focus on for the rest of the match.” Magnifico takes a second to gather himself before walking over to Zyon. He has a few select words with the irate Irishmen at ringside before grabbing Zyon by his hair and pulling him to his feet, right before leading the Unique Youth over the ring and rolling him inside. ELM dives in after Zyon and immediately covers him, drawing the expected wave of boos from the audience for the action. The luchadore leisurely hooks Zyon’s leg as the ref slides into position and begins counting. ONE! TWO! No! Zyon gets a shoulder up at two and a half, drawing a few hopeful cheers from the gigantic crowd. “Magnifico’s underestimating Zyon.” LDP pointedly remarks. “He could have really taken advantage of Zyon’s condition, but instead tried for the pinfall. ELM’s overconfidence is going to get the better of him if he’s not careful.” Visibly annoyed at the lack of a pinfall, ELM climbs back to his feet and immediately begins stomping away at Zyon’s neck, drawing a fresh wave of boos from the irritated audience. After landing five or six good stomps, Magnifico suddenly leaps into the air and extends his legs, allowing one to fall across Zyon’s neck as he falls! The Unique Youth writhes on the mat and chokes for breath as the Leg Drop crushes his windpipe and makes it extremely hard for Zyon to get any oxygen into his body. A bloodthirsty grin on his face, Magnifico grabs Zyon by the hair and painfully pulls him to his feet, right before throwing the Unique Youth into the nearby corner. ELM takes a step back, grabs the top rope, and then plants a foot on Zyon’s neck! The fans jeer Magnifico mercilessly as he presses his foot into Zyon’s throat, doing so as the Unique Youth struggles to breathe and tries his hardest to pull ELM’s foot away. Eventually, Magnifico drops the foot after a quick five count and a threat of disqualification from the ref. ELM grabs Zyon and whips him across the ring, sending him rushing towards the opposite corner as he still struggles to breathe properly. Zyon crashes back-first against the corner’s turnbuckles, wearily leaning against them as Magnifico suddenly breaks into a run on the other side of the ring. ELM quickly closes in on Zyon, but whatever he had planned is foiled when the Unique Youth throws his foot into the air, slamming it into the charging luchadore’s face! Surprised, Magnifico turns and stumbles away from the corner as Zyon quickly hops up onto the second turnbuckle behind him. The fans are already cheering in anticipation when Zyon leaps off of the turnbuckle and at Magnifico, who’s still stumbling away from the corner! In mid-air, Zyon wraps his arms around ELM’s head, which allow him to pull the luchadore down to the mat as he falls and slam his face into the canvas with a Flying Bulldog! A mighty pop is released from the audience as Zyon immediately rolls over and covers the luchadore, hooking his leg while the ref slides into position and begins counting. ONE! TWO! TH-Noo! Magnifico gets a shoulder up at two and three quarters, drawing a disappointed OHHH! from the crowd. “Beautiful Flying Bulldog from Zyon that catches Magnifico completely off guard!” Pete gleefully reports. “Smart move from Zyon by not waiting for ELM to turn back towards him before attempting anything off of the second rope.” “Yeah, sure, why give your opponent a fighting chance to counter your moves?” King scoffs. “Zyon’s cheating.” Zyon rolls off of his opponent and takes a second to catch his breath before grabbing Magnifico by the arm and standing up, pulling the luchadore to his feet as he stands. Zyon wearily whips the luchadore, who’s too stunned to resist, and sends him rushing towards the far corner. Before Magnifico even hits the corner, Zyon’s running after him, and as such, is right on top of the luchadore when he crashes back-first into the turnbuckles! Before ELM has a chance to react, Zyon leaps into the air, kicks his feet out, and slams them into Magnifico’s chest with the Snap! Zyon lands on his back, but is only there for a split-second, as he immediately kips to his feet to the delight of the crowd! What’s more, he pops to his feet right in front of Magnifico, who’s staggering out of the corner. As such, Zyon is able to easily lift the luchadore into the air, as if for a Scoop Slam! A rousing wave of cheers rise from the audience in anticipation, but they’re quickly and efficently silenced when ELM slithers out of Zyon’s grip and over his shoulder! Magnifico lands on his feet behind Zyon, facing the same direction as him. When Zyon spins to face the luchadore, ELM greets the Unique Youth by throwing a knee forward and slamming it into his gut, doubling him over in the center of the ring! Not wasting a moment, Magnifico immediately hooks both of Zyon’s arms, hoists him into the air...and then drives him downwards, slamming the skull of the Unique Youth into the canvas with the Cancun Crunch! The fans wince as one as they watch Zyon flop to the mat, his neck compressed by the force of the Double Underhook Brainbuster. Their sympathy quickly changes to anger, however, when they see Magnifico roll onto Zyon and hook his leg, drawing the ref down to the mat to begin his count. ONE! TWO! THR-Nooo! Zyon gets a shoulder up just before the three count, drawing a wave of hopeful cheers from the capacity crowd. Annoyed, Magnifico rolls off of Zyon and has a few choice words with the referee, basically cursing him out as he begins pulling Zyon to his feet. “No! Zyon went for the Aero Driver, but Magnifico managed to break free of his grip and reverse it into the Cancun Crunch!” Pete unhappily reports. “That’s what Zyon gets trying a weaker and overall stupider version of La Dia de los Muertos.” King smugly counters. Once Magnifico has Zyon on his feet, he spins behind the Unique Youth and traps him in a Rear Waistlock, right before ELM sticks his head beneath his opponent’s arm. ELM then lifts Zyon into the air and spins him around, looking to slam the Unique Youth into the canvas with La Bomba Fantastica! But as Zyon is spinned around, he wraps his legs around Magnifico’s head, right before jerking said legs backwards and yanking ELM to the mat with a Hurricanrana! The fans release a surprised pop for the reversal, and only grow louder when ELM pops back to his feet, just to be knocked back to the mat when Zyon slams a quick Forearm into his chest! Magnifico jumps to his feet once more, only to eat another Forearm and be knocked back to the canvas once more! The fans are as hot as they’ve been all night as ELM rises again, this time having his arm grabbed by Zyon for a whip. However, Magnifico manages to reverse it, sending Zyon rushing across the ring and into the far ropes. Zyon bounces off of the ropes and charges back towards Magnifico, who responds by lashing out with his arm for a Lariat! Zyon manages to duck beneath the arm, though, and runs at the ropes behind Magnifico! He bounces off of said ropes and rushes back at the luchadore, leaping into the air as Magnifico spins to face him! In mid-air, Zyon wraps his legs around ELM’s head...right before Magnifico reaches up, grabs him by the waist, and then sits out, slamming Zyon’s back into the canvas with a quick and dirty Powerbomb! The fans release a surprised and disappointed OHHH! as Magnifico immediately floats onto Zyon, hooking his leg as the ref slides into position. ONE! TWO! THRRRRRRRRNOOOOO! Zyon gets a shoulder up just before the three count, drawing a raucous pop from the delighted crowd! Infuriated, Magnifico rolls off of Zyon and immediately gets in the ref’s face, insisting in curse-laced Spanglish that he got the three count. “Goddamn referee!” King cries. “That was a three count!” “Not quite, King!” LDP refutes, all too happy to do so. “Magnifico surprised Zyon with that Sit-Out Powerbomb, but it wasn’t enough to garner the pinfall!” After a second, Magnifico turns his attention back to Zyon, still cursing the ref out as he does so. ELM grabs the stunned Zyon by the arm and painfully pulls him to his feet, right before shoving the Unique Youth into the nearby corner. Magnifico begins to wildly stomp away at Zyon’s gut, just kicking away at his stomach as the Unique Youth slumps further and further down in the corner and the fans boo ELM mercilessly. After about a dozen stomps, Magnifico grabs Zyon by the waist and hoists him into the air, before sitting him on the top turnbuckle. With Zyon sitting dazed on the turnbuckle, ELM climbs up after him and reaches the top rope. Magnifico grabs Zyon by the hair and pulls him to his feet, so that both are standing up on the turnbuckle. ELM then pulls Zyon into a Front Headlock and hooks one of his legs, setting the Unique Youth up for a Super Barrio Buster! The fans immediately begin to shout and curse at the luchadore...but their reaction quickly changes to encouraging cheers as Zyon begins slamming his fist into Magnifico’s gut, desperately trying to break free of ELM’s hold! Zyon eventually does just that, as Magnifico’s hold weakens enough for him to free his leg and his head! The second Zyon is emancipated, he thrusts his hands into Magnifico’s chest, shoving him and sending him flying off of the top turnbuckle! ELM lands flat on his back, crashing hard into the unforgiving canvas as the fans cheer jubilantly! “For Christ’s sake.” King grumbles, rubbing his temples. “ELM was two seconds away from breaking Zyon’s neck, but the little bastard had to go and ruin it.” “And now he’s got ELM in perfect position for the Final Flash!” Pete excitedly adds. With every fan in the building cheering encouragingly, Zyon slowly stands up on the top turnbuckle, looking down on the motionless luchadore. Suddenly, the Unique Youth leaps off of the top turnbuckle, sending his body flying at Magnifico’s! Az Zyon falls at ELM, he leans forward, looking to land the Final Flash... ...right as Magnifico rolls out of the way, leaving Zyon to crash neck-first into the canvas! The fans release a disappointed OHHHHH! as Zyon flops to the mat and onto his stomach, motionless save for the occasional spasmic jerk of a limb. “No! No! Zyon misses!” Pete grimly reports. “Magnifico rolls out of the way, leaving Zyon to fall right on his damaged neck!” Both men lay motionless for a few moments, both seemingly still reeling from their respective injuries. Suddenly, Magnifico rolls towards his opponent and wraps his feet around Zyon’s legs, right before reaching up and wrapping his hands around the Unique Youth’s face! ELM then pulls back, locking in the Sangria Stretch to the dismay of the live audience! The Unique Youth immediately cries out in pain as Magnifico wrenches away on Zyon’s damaged neck with all his might, tearing it apart with the deadly submission! “Whoo, here we go!” King exclaims. “Zyon’s dead in the water!” “Magnifico manages to lock on the Sangria Stretch!” Pete reports, distraught. “And with Zyon’s neck having taken a beaten throughout the match, it might only be a matter of time before he has to submit!” The ref drops to his knees and gets in Zyon’s face, asking him if he wants to submit. He receives an emphatic “NO!” in reply before Zyon cries out again in agony. The crowd, wanting to do something to help, begin to cheer Zyon on encouragingly, shouting for him to break free of the hold. Slowly, determinedly, Zyon reaches out with his trembling hand, trying his best to grab the nearby ropes! His arm is completely extended, but his fingertips just barely graze the ropes! Seeing how close Zyon is to breaking the submission, Magnifico pulls back on the Unique Youth’s neck with even more force! Zyon can feel the tendons in his neck being torn apart and his bones cracking as he reaches out as far as he can with his hand, mere centimeters from the ropes... ...before slapping the mat wildly, the pain overcoming his body and forcing him to submit. As the crestfallen audience immediately stops cheering, the ref pops to his feet and signals for the bell. DING DING DING “Your winner, by submission...” Funyon begins, “EL LUCHADOOOOOOOOORE MAGNIFICOOOOOOOOO!!” The fans take the hint and begin booing noisily, easily drowning out the strains of Atake FDD’s “Tu Final”. Magnifico rolls off of Zyon and begins pushing himself to his feet. As he rises, the grin on his face grows larger and more frightening, Magnifico completely jubilant at having won the match. Magnifico reaches his feet and begins laughing out loud, clutching his hair as his howls ring out loud and clear from the center of the ring. “Look how happy he is!” King joyfully announces. “Isn’t it great to see the Mexican overcome his problems and get a win?” “Yeah, just fantastic.” Pete snaps. “Well, stick around, folks, ‘cause we’ve still got a fantastic main event for you. Toxxic and Scott Pretzler go at it in a submission match and their fourth contest of their best-of-five!” The final image shown before commercial break is El Luchadore Magnifico, laughing hysterically in the middle of the ring as Zyon lays motionless below him...

When I was back there in seminary school… The Irish crowd bursts into cheers as Jim Morrison’s voice blasts over the speakers, trumpeting the arrival of the Smarkdown commissioner! … there was a person there who put forth the proposition that you can petition the Lord with prayer. Petition the Lord with prayer…? Petition the Lord with prayer?! YOU CANNOT PETITION THE LORD WITH PRAYER! With that, the Croke Park Stadium lights up with an explosion of blue smoke and pyro, and Led Zeppelin’s “Kashmir” detonates over every speaker in the building. As the smoke clears, Tom Flesher steps through the curtain, clad in a cream-colored linen suit, a blue shirt and an open collar. Flesher strides confidently to the ring as the fans cheer him, finally making it into the squared circle and grabbing a microphone. “Ladies and gentlemen,” he says, as the crowd quiets, “as you know, the SWF has been on a world tour since the end of April. We’ve had some great times, but, sadly, the trip has to come to an end. That’s why, in just six days, you’re going to see the SWF’s Ground Zero 2005 pay-per-view broadcast from LONDON, ENGLAND!” The fans cheer, despite their distaste for Britain generally. “… and LAS VEGAS, NEVADA!” Flesher pauses. “I’ll repeat that. Ground Zero is going to be held at two separate venues, with one show taking place in the evening in London, and the second show to follow immediately from the good old US of A. Why? Because even a Smarkdown can sell out one of the biggest arenas in the world. Why waste a pay-per-view on only one venue? If I know one thing that will sell out in London, England, it’s a show with Toxxic…” The fans boo. “Scott Pretzler…” The fans cheer loudly for Toxxic’s nemesis. “ ‘The Dean of Professional Wrestling’ Jay Hawke…” The International Champion gets a strong pop from the Smarkdown crowd. “… and all the other real talent in the SWF.” POPPOPPOPPOPPOPPOPPOPOPPOPPOP! As the machine-gun pyro goes off, the crowd bursts into cheers and Ejiro Fasaki steps through the curtain in a yellow ‘EF’-logo t-shirt and jeans with the SWF World Heavyweight Championship strapped around his waist. With the Crazy 88 theme from Kill Bill blaring over the speakers, Fasaki walks to the ring with a no-nonsense look on his face. The fans cheer for him, but Fasaki barely even acknowledges them as he steps into the ring and motions for a microphone. “Jerry,” Flesher says with a smirk, “it’s good to see you.” “Don’t give me that crap,” Fasaki says in clipped tones. “Do you remember what main-evented 13th Hour, Tom?” “Of course I do,” Flesher says with a glare. “The best damn match on the card, the one that had been building all month, and the one the fans were there to see. Wildchild against Scott Pretzler.” “And Tom, do you know what’s going to main-event Ground Zero?” “Well, the London show will be headlined by Toxxic, that’s for sure,” Flesher says. “I mean, it’d be kind of stupid to –” “Tom, I just want you to know… all this nonsense about me not being ‘ready’ for the top of the card, from not getting the top spot to 13th Hour right up to not even being booked on this show… it’s over. At Ground Zero, you’re not keeping me down any longer. Ejiro Fasaki defending his SWF World Heavyweight Championship against Johnny Dangerous is a main event anywhere in the world. It’s a main event in the United States, and it’s the last match of the night, the main event of the Vegas half of Ground Zero!” The fans cheer as Fasaki stares at Flesher. “Oh, is that how you want to play the game, Jerry?” Flesher glowers at his former stablemate. “You want to try to go over my head just so you can get your ego stroked? Well, go right ahead. You’ll get to the top of the card in Vegas and you’ll choke. You know, there’s a reason I was trying to keep you out of the limelight. You choke every time Bill’s not there to hold you up.” “All except December 2003, right, Tom?” Ejiro glares. “I put you off your game, hit an Orange Crush bomb, and won the World Title from you the first time. Face it, Tom, you were never the same again. I did it to Toxxic, and now I’m going to make sure Johnny Dangerous never comes knocking again. Whether you’re too caught up in your own ego to realize it or not, I am the SWF World Heavyweight Champion, and I’m coming out of Ground Zero on top!” Flesher stares at Fasaki, who glowers back. The staredown continues for several seconds before the show fades to commercial.

FADE IN “We’re just about ready for our next match,” says Longdogger Pete, “which will see Spike Jenkins, in his first match since coming off suspension, against the Wildchild! And King, I still haven’t gotten over what happened last week on Lockdown!” “Not to mention what happened earlier tonight,” says the Suicide King. “But, you know what? Magnifico’s lost nearly every one of his matches since beating Wildchild just after 13th Hour, and then, losing to Wildchild last week was clearly the last straw. Now, I’m not saying that I would have necessarily choked him myself, but I understand!” “That’s terrible!” scolds Pete. “What El Luchadore Magnifico did was deplorable, King! He let his fans down, and I can’t believe that you can sit here and condone what he did last week!” “Well, obviously you weren’t listening to Magnifico early on in the evening, or it would make perfect sense to you,” replies King. “But I wouldn’t expect you to understand, MacDougal, because you’ve never been in the position that Magnifico is in!” “Excuse me?” “That’s right,” continues King. “You don’t know what it’s like to fall from greatness, because you’ve never had greatness to begin with! You never held the Heavyweight Championship of the World, so you don’t know what it’s like to feel the pressure of falling from such a high pedestal! Here you have El Luchadore Magnifico, a three-time former World Heavyweight Champion, hasn’t wrestled in over two years, and he tries to make a comeback, only to feel the tremendous pressure and frustration of not having the immediate success that was expected of him!” “Well, King,” says Pete, “I’m not going to comment on your remarks about greatness…” “That’s because you can’t!” interrupts King. “However, be that as it may,” continues Pete, “there’s no shame in realizing that the level of competition has continued to increase since Magnifico retired, but that doesn’t give him the right to do what he did to Wildchild last week; like I said, King, he let millions of his fans down around the world!” “Let’s get one thing straight,” says King. “You can sit here and pay lip service to the fans all you want, but those fans couldn’t do anything but sit on their hands as Magnifico faced disappointment after disappointment. If I’ve said it once, I’ve said it a thousand times, the fans are a detriment; they coerce you into taking unnecessary risks, and they’ll turn on you in an instant!” “What are you talking about?” asks Pete incredulously. “The fans never turned on Mags; he’s the one who turned his back on them!” “The fans turned on him!” insists King. “They kept pushing him and pushing him to put himself at greater risk with each passing match, and when he started losing, they turned their backs on him!” “King, there isn’t enough time left in the program to explain how completely wrong you are,” sighs LDP, “but suffice it to say that Wildchild has been very distraught since Lockdown.” “Well, everybody’s waiting to find out what Wildchild’s response will be to Magnifico’s challenge,” says King, “but I’ll tell you, he’d better not look past Spike Jenkins tonight, because Jenkins is definitely not going to cut him any slack!” “Absolutely not!” agrees Pete. “Spike Jenkins is fresh off a thirty-day suspension; he’s eager to get back in the ring, and he doesn’t care who it is!” “That’s right,” adds King. “There’s never been any love lost between Spike Jenkins and Wildchild, even in the best of times, and I just can’t see Jenkins showing any sympathy here tonight!” DING! DING! DING! The chime of the bell calls the fans attention to the center of the ring, where Funyon stands ready to speak into the microphone. “Ladies and gentlemen,” he begins, “the following contest is scheduled for one fall!” Suddenly, the Croke Park Stadium is flooded with intense white light, and the SmarkTron whites out. A hush falls over the crowd, which is quickly broken up by the obnoxious sound of a record needle scratching across an LP… BAM! … And leading into “Black Label” by Lamb of God. Just as the song begins to pick up the pace, a silhouette can be made out underneath the SmarkTron. Spike drops down to one knee, leaving one arm to hang to the ground, while the other is firmly placed on his knee. After a few moments, Spike raises both arms into an “X.” “Introducing first,” continues Funyon, “from Hollywood, California, weighing two hundred twenty pounds… ‘Hollywood’ SPIIIIIKE JENKINS!” Spike makes his way completely around the ring and rolls underneath the bottom rope. He continues rolling until he hits dead center in the middle of the ring. Spike stops on his belly and then rises to one knee, resuming the position he was in at the top of the entranceway. Finally, Spike rises to his feet. He quickly peels off the hood, releasing his blonde, dyed hair free. “There you see ‘Hollywood’ Spike Jenkins,” says King. “The first-ever two-time World Cruiserweight Champion in the history of the SWF, and also the longest-reigning World Cruiserweight Champion ever!” “Jenkins’ credentials speak for themselves,” adds LDP, as Spike’s music fades out. “And he definitely has something to prove tonight; he’s looking to go into Ground Zero on a high note, but he’s going to have his hands full with the Bahama Bomber!” 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… The wild Irish fans go crazy as “Let’s Get Dirty” kicks into full blast! A solitary spotlight shines down on the head of the ramp, flashing intermittently in time with the beat, but the Caribbean Cruiser remains conspicuous by his absence. “What’s going on here?” Pete wonders aloud. “We’ve got Wildchild’s theme, but we’ve got no Wildchild!” Fans look around in confusion trying to locate Wildchild, to no avail. “Well, like we said earlier, he was clearly bent out of shape over the betrayal by Magnifico,” says King, “but I can’t imagine that he’s already left the building after that exchange earlier with Mags; he wouldn’t go so far as to forfeit, would he?” “Wait a second,” shouts Pete, as Wildchild finally meanders onto the stage, “there he is! He’s coming out now… but look at how he looks, King!” “He looks like he didn’t even bother to get changed,” notes King. “He’s still in his street clothes… and look at that: he doesn’t even have his facepaint on today!” Wildchild steps out onto the stage with his head held down and his shoulders slumped. He continues on down the ramp without fanfare, never once raising his head, and not even acknowledging the fans at ringside. “His opponent,” booms Funyon, “hails from the Bahamas! Weighing two hundred fourteen pounds, one-half of the SWF World Tag Team Champions… the WIIIIILDCHIIIIILD!” “This is unbelievable,” says Pete. “I’ve never seen Wildchild in such a state of disarray before, King; Mags has clearly gotten under his skin!” “Well, that comment about family got him worked up, but that’s definitely not going to help him against Spike Jenkins,” adds King, as Wildchild enters the ring. “Jenkins is desperate to get a win, and I don’t think that he cares who he’s got to go through, or what their state of mind is!” Jenkins, perturbed by Wildchild’s apparent lack of preparation, protests loudly to referee Red Herrington as Wildchild’s music fades out, finally deciding to pace back and forth across the ring, waiting for Wildchild to make the first move, as Herrington orders the timekeeper to ring the bell, signifying the start of the match: DING! DING! DING! “Bell’s gone,” says Pete, “and we’re underway… but it looks like Wildchild’s still lost in his own world!” Spike, becoming increasingly more perturbed by Wildchild’s lack of activity, heads over to the edge of the ring and demands the house microphone from Funyon. “Hey Wildchild,” he shouts into the mic, “I don’t know if you heard it, but that was the bell that just went off! The match has started, so let’s go!” He tosses the mic aside casually and crouches into a ready position as he waits for Wildchild to take action, but the Bahama Bomber continues to remain motionless, his head still held down. “Spike is ready to go!” remarks Pete. “He wants to work out some of the frustration of that thirty-day suspension, but Wildchild still seems unwilling to get the match started!” After a few more seconds of this, Spike demands the microphone once more: “Hey,” he bellows, “you’re not going to get any sympathy from me over what happened to you! Just because your little hero broke your little heart doesn’t mean that I’m going to take it easy on you!” Spike’s words cause Wildchild to raise his head, a mixture of anguish and rage flashing in his eyes. Satisfied that he’s finally seen signs of life from his opponent, Spike carries on. “I mean, just because you got a little sand in your man-gina doesn’t mean that you get a free pass, so you might as well come over here and take this (bleep!)-whippin’ like a man!” With that, he tosses the mic away once more, and then heads over to Wildchild, getting right up in his face! “Well, from the look of things, it appears that Spike Jenkins is going to get himself a match, even if he has to take it!” exclaims LDP. “Wildchild still hasn’t shown any indications that he intends to fight back, but I don’t think that Spike cares anymore!” “Wildchild had better start defending himself soon, or Jenkins is going to make him pay for it,” says King, as Wildchild looks back down towards the canvas. “I think he’s made it pretty clear by now that, even if Wildchild doesn’t fight back, that’s not going to stop him!” Spike grabs Wildchild by the face with one hand, squeezing both sides of his jaw fiercely before shoving him backwards with a pieface-like push! Wildchild once again looks up briefly at Jenkins before he turns around and begins heading towards the ropes! “What is this?” asks Pete incredulously. “Wildchild’s walking off!” This only serves to enrage Jenkins further, and he grabs Wildchild by the shoulder as the Bahaman reaches the edge of the ring, spinning him around violently! “Who the hell do you think you are?” roars Spike furiously, his screaming able to be heard through the camera’s microphone. “I’m Spike Fucking Jenkins! Don’t you EVER turn your back on me!” SMACK! Spike concludes his little tirade by slapping Wildchild across the face! The Bahama Bomber looks up at Hollywood, his eyes once again flashing with rage, only for him to lower them once more. His patience having long since abandoned him, Spike shoves Wildchild back into a corner and begins to choke him out with both hands while referee Herrington barks at him to break the hold: ONE! TWO! “I don’t know, King,” says Pete, as Spike continues to apply the choke, “I think that Spike is taking this a little too far!” THREE! FOUR! Before Herrington can reach a count of five, Spike releases the choke and walks towards the center of the ring, pleased with himself for finally getting something going, but he fails to notice Wildchild behind him, trembling with rage as he steps away from the corner! “Jenkins better turn around!” warns King. “It looks like that choke finally woke up Wildchild!” Spike turns around to check on his opponent… WHAM! … Only to be knocked to the canvas with a tremendous spear! Wildchild assumes a mounted position over Jenkins and begins to batter him with piston-like right hands! BAP! BAP! BAP! BAP! BAP! BAP! “Oh! He’s gone and done it now!” shouts Pete, referring to Spike Jenkins. “Choking Wildchild out managed to snap him out of whatever depression he was stuck in, and now Wildchild is running on raw anger!” “Well, obviously he had a flashback to getting choked out by Magnifico last week,” offers King, “and it set off something deep inside him!” Wildchild whips Spike into the ropes and explodes off the canvas as he rebounds, blasting him in the throat with an incredible leg lariat! Wildchild pulls Spike to his feet and immediately leaps off the canvas, nailing Spike with a standing dropkick that sends him tumbling through the ropes and out to the arena floor! The fans begin cheering in earnest now as Wildchild cuts loose with a feral howl! “Wildchild’s on fire!” shrieks LDP. Red Herrington motions for Wildchild to go to his assigned corner while he administers a count on Spike, but the Human Hurricane ignores him, racing across the ring to gain momentum from bouncing off the ropes, and leaping off the canvas as he returns to the edge of the ring, flipping through the air as he sails out to the floor… SPLASH! … And crashing into Jenkins with a sensational tope con hilo! Wildchild straddles Spike and resumes punching him in the face as Herrington begins to count both men out of the ring: ONE! TWO! THREE! FOUR! Wildchild pulls Spike to his feet and grabs him by the wrist, whipping him towards the ring barricade, but Hollywood reverses, sending Wildchild into the hard rubber wall instead! SIX! SEVEN! Spike charges in after him to follow up, only for Wildchild to lift his left leg up at the last split second, jamming his foot into Spike’s face! NINE! TEN! As Jenkins turns and staggers away, Wildchild climbs up onto the barricade and leaps off, alighting for a split second atop Spike’s shoulders, and then shifting all his weight forward as he executes a modified headscissors takeover that sends him sliding halfway across the arena floor! THIRTEEN! FOURTEEN! Wildchild rolls back into the ring, and immediately scrambles to his feet. He looks out to the floor, measuring Spike’s location before making a break for the ropes. Wildchild picks up speed as he rebounds, and charges towards the corner on the opposite side of the ring. He leaps onto the middle turnbuckle and then seamlessly springs off, breaking Herrington’s count as he sails over the top rope and out of the ring… CRACK! … Where he crashes into Jenkins with a phenomenal springboard suicide headbutt! HOLY SHIT! HOLY SHIT! HOLY SHIT! HOLY SHIT! HOLY SHIT! “Good grief!” shrieks Pete. “That was just about the most amazing thing I’ve ever seen!” Wildchild crawls back over to the edge of the ring and uses the apron to pull himself back to his feet, before rolling back into the ring, where he receives a rousing cheer as he stands back up: DUB CEE! DUB CEE! DUB CEE! DUB CEE! “Listen to these fans go crazy for the Wildchild!” exclaims Pete. “Spike Jenkins may have made the biggest mistake of his career when he got Wildchild all fired up!” Wildchild walks back over to the edge of the ring as Spike climbs back onto the apron and grabs him by the back of the head, leading him over to the corner and smashing him face-first into the top turnbuckle! The Tropical Tumbler climbs to the top turnbuckle as Jenkins staggers across the apron, leaning heavily on the top rope for support, and then leaps off without warning! WHAM! … Nailing Spike in the back of the head with a guillotine legdrop that knocks Jenkins over the top rope and back into the ring! DUB CEE! DUB CEE! DUB CEE! DUB CEE! “Tremendous legdrop by the Wildchild,” shouts LDP, as Wildchild goes for the cover, “and this could be it!” ONE! TWO! “Referee shouldn’t even be counting that!” exclaims King. THR— NO! “The referee never should have even counted that,” repeats King, as Herrington holds up two fingers. “This is Smarkdown; that means that attacking someone on the outside of the ring constitutes an illegal maneuver, and Red Herrington never should have counted that!” “King, you’re taking the whole ‘pure wrestling’ paradigm entirely too seriously,” replies Pete. “I’m sure that the referee is entitled to some latitude in these matters.” “Latitude, huh?” asks King. “Well, he’d better be consistent in his latitude, that’s all I have to say about it!” Wildchild pulls Spike to his feet and whips him towards the corner, but Hollywood reverses, sending Wildchild crashing into the turnbuckles instead! Spike runs to the ropes as Wildchild staggers out of the corner… WHACK! … And nearly turns him inside-out with a devastating lariat! Spike collapses to the canvas in exhaustion as lies motionless beside him. “Wow! What a clothesline!” shouts Pete. “Spike nearly took Wildchild’s head off with that one!” “Give credit to Spike Jenkins,” adds King. “He’s displayed tremendous resilience in coming back from that beating, and still managing to turn the tables on Wildchild like that!” Spike crawls over to Wildchild and falls atop him in a lateral press as Red Herrington gets into position to count: ONE! TWO! THR— KICKOUT! Spike takes a step back as Wildchild gets to his knees, and then suddenly thrusts his leg forward, blasting the Bahaman in the chest with a stiff kick! He kicks him again and then backs away, only to step back towards his opponent and drills him with a kick to the face that knocks him on his back! Spike goes for another pinfall: ONE! TWO! BUT ONLY GETS TWO! “Another near fall for Spike Jenkins,” says Pete, “as it appears that Jenkins has found his stride in this match!” “Well, you’d be surprised by how significant a thirty-day layoff can be,” explains King, “but once he got back into the swing of things, it clearly didn’t take him long to take control!” Spike pulls Wildchild to his feet and delivers several crisp Shotei to the chest, before running back towards the ropes and raising his arm as he rebounds to deliver a running lariat… but Wildchild ducks and begins hammering him with quick right hands! BAP! BAP! BAP! BAP! Wildchild backs Spike into a corner and then whips him across the ring towards the other corner, but Jenkins reverses, sending Wildchild rocketing into the corner… WHAM! … Where he crashes chest-first into the turnbuckles at an unbelievably high velocity! Wildchild bounces off the turnbuckles like a jet ball and collapses onto his back! Spike staggers over to his opponent and falls atop him with a pinfall attempt: ONE! TWO! THREE— NO! “Two count only,” says Pete, “but Spike seems to be getting stronger with each passing move, and those kickouts are becoming less and less forceful on the part of the Wildchild!” “That tends to happen when you get your man worn down,” explains King. “Now, we’ll need to see whether or not Spike Jenkins has the killer instinct to extend this advantage.” Spike pulls Wildchild back to his feet and whips him towards a nearby corner, racing to the ropes as Wildchild staggers backwards towards the center of the ring, and leaps into the air as he rebounds, reaching for Wildchild’s neck to hit him with the Phantom Neckbreaker, but the Caribbean Cruiser sidesteps him! Wildchild whips his leg through the air as Spike turns around to deliver a roundhouse kick, but Hollywood catches his leg in mid-move… CRACK! … Only for the Human Hurricane to whip his other leg through the air and blast Jenkins in the face with a Gamengiri! Wildchild stands with his back to Spike and springs off the canvas, crashing down onto his chest with a backflip splash! ONE! TWO! BUT ONLY GETS TWO! “Boy, I thought that Wildchild had him after that Gamengiri!” says Pete. “These two continue to go back and forth, and you have to wonder who will be able to come away with the win!” “Well, I’m going to have to consider Wildchild to be the favorite,” replies King. “He’s been wrestling extremely well in recent weeks, better than I ever thought he was capable of. Between that, and the fact that Spike is just coming off suspension, I have to believe that Wildchild holds a little bit of the favorite!” Wildchild pulls Spike back to his feet and whips him across the ring into a corner. He charges in after him, but Jenkins lowers his shoulder and lifts him out of the ring, only for the Bahama Bomber to land on his feet on the apron. Wildchild turns Spike around and grabs him by the back of the head, slamming him face-first into the top turnbuckle! He then leaps onto the top rope as Jenkins staggers away, before springing back into the ring, body extended to crash into Spike with a cross-body block! WHAM! … But Jenkins snatches him out of the air and plants him with a ferocious powerslam! “Oh my word!” shouts Pete. “Spike with a terrific counter! And he’s going for the pinfall!” ONE! “This could be upset city!” exclaims King. TWO! THREEE— NO! “That was extremely close!” cries Pete. “Wildchild was about four inches away from getting beat there!” Spike lifts Wildchild up off the canvas and plants him with a scoop slam. He then runs to the ropes, measuring Wildchild as he rebounds, before planting a kneedrop between his eyes. “Spike Jenkins scoring with another big move here,” says Pete, “but he could be making a big mistake in not going for the cover here!” Spike pulls Wildchild to his feet and places him in a Uranage position before dropping to his knees, jamming the Bahaman’s throat across his shoulder with the Minor Threat! He quickly scrambles to his feet and runs to the ropes, lifting his leg as he rebounds to nail Wildchild with a Yakuza kick, but the Caribbean Cruiser shows great resiliency of his own, as he ducks underneath… CRACK! … And knocks Spike senseless with a shuffling sidekick! RAAAAAAAAAAH! “Superkick out of nowhere!” shouts Pete. “Wildchild still has some fight left in him!” Red Herrington begins to count both men down: ONE! TWO! THREE! “This match looks like a pick-em at this stage, King,” notes LDP. FOUR! “Definitely,” agrees King. “The next person to score a big move will probably be the winner!” FIVE! SIX! SEVEN! Around the seven count, both men begin to stir. Wildchild crawls over to Spike and applies a weak lateral press: ONE! TWO! That only gets two! Wildchild and Spike then each roll to their knees, and begin to exchange blows as they fight to their feet, with the Bahama Bomber trading hard right fists with Spike’s Shotei. BAP! SMACK! BAP! SMACK! BAP! SMACK! Spike eventually takes control, backing Wildchild up against the ropes and whipping him across the ring. The Human Hurricane ducks underneath a rolling elbow attempt as he bounces off the ropes, and then leaps into the air as he rebound a second time, crashing into Jenkins with a cross-body block, only for Hollywood to roll through it and roll him into a cradle, hooking the tights as Herrington falls into position to count: ONE! TWO! THREE! NO! “Man, was that close!” sighs Pete. “I thought for sure he’d get it after hooking the tights!” Spike beats Wildchild to his feet and stuns him with a kneelift to the midsection. He whips Wildchild into the ropes once more and lowers his shoulder to deliver a back-bodydrop, only for Wildchild to catch him in an inside cradle as he comes off the ropes! ONE! TWO! THR— NO! “And that was another close near-fall,” mentions King. “Spike thought that he had firmly established control, but Wildchild’s lightning-fast reflexes were almost able to get him the victory!” Wildchild sidesteps a charging Jenkins and leaps into the air as he bounces off the ropes, blasting him in the face with a flying back elbow! “Another nice counter by the Wildchild,” says Pete. “And it looks like he’s going up… that’s high-risk territory, King, but not for this guy!” “And the thing about it is that you never know what he’s going to do up there!” adds King. Wildchild leaps from the top turnbuckle and dives into the ring to deliver a flying elbow smash… CRACK! … Only to get caught flush on the chin by a Spike Jenkins superkick! “The Last Dance!” shouts Pete. “He caught Wildchild out of the air with the Last Dance! What a brilliant, heads-up counter!” “I gotta give Spike credit on that one,” concedes King. “I didn’t think that he was fast enough to catch Wildchild like that! Now, we’ll have to see if he can put him away for good this time!” “Well,” says Pete, “he just gave the sign for the Ratings Crash; if he can hit it, Wildchild will definitely be put away!” Spike pulls Wildchild to his feet and traps him in a standing headscissors. Wrapping both hands around Wildchild’s waist, Spike lifts him up, trying to hold him in position to deliver the Ratings Crash, but Wildchild rolls through all the way to a seated position Spike’s shoulders, and then locking his legs behind Hollywood’s neck and taking him through the air with a rana! Both men roll to their feet simultaneously, and Jenkins charges towards Wildchild, but the Bahama Bomber stuns him with a kick to the midsection… WHAM! “Cutter!” shrieks LDP. “Wildchild got the Caribbean Cutter!” Wildchild rolls Jenkins onto his back and applies a lateral press as Herrington drops down to count: ONE! TWO! THREE! DING! DING! DING! “Let’s Get Dirty” begins to play again, and the crowd erupts as Herrington raises Wildchild’s hand in victory. “Here is your winner,” booms Funyon, “the WIIIIILDCHIIIIILD!” “Tremendous win for the Wildchild,” praises LDP. “Clearly with a lot on his mind, Wildchild was still able to dig deep and hold off a determined Spike Jenkins, and folks, when we come back from commercial, we hope to have some comments from the Wildchild, regarding ELM’s earlier remarks. Stay Tuned!” Wildchild pulls himself to his feet, leaning heavily against the ropes for support… As we: FADE OUT

It’s a decent enough afternoon in Dublin, the grey overcast has some people worried but it’s nothing out of the ordinary. The temperatures are at least in the moderate 60s, still a little cool to be running around in the ring in nothing but skimpy wrestling tights. Needless to say, the Croke Park Stadium is an overflowing madhouse of humanity. Thus far the Irish fans have been a predictably vocal crowd and they’re only going to get louder as the night progresses. The next match may not be the Main Event but there’s still a great deal of anticipation floating in the damp air, not so much because they will be witnessing a spectacle but a much deserved royal ass kicking. “PREPARE FOR LANDON!” WAAAAAAAAAH! DUM! DUM! The fans are prepared alright, prepared to boo him back to the states. While the post riff of Incubus’ “Megalomanic” plays, Maddix emerges from the locker room. Swinging his arms out to his sides, the maniac poses like he’s expecting cheers, but all he get’s are some jeers and a few colorful four letter words. “Ladies and gentlemen, the final contest is scheduled for one fall. Introducing first, weighing in at 222 pounds, hailing from Huron, South Dakota.......he is LANDON “LA CUCARACHA MADDIX!” Even though some believe he’s walking into certain doom, Maddix proudly struts down the ramp like he doesn’t have a care in the world. He’s literally radiating arrogance, rubbing everyone in it’s path the wrong way, agitating the hell out of everyone around him, inspiring violence in the thoughts of people who are normally peaceful. Pete: Landon Maddix is on a mission for respect. King: And getting killed in the ring will do just that...for most people, I personally find it to be a stupid act from a desperate loser. Pete: Unfortunately, Maddix’s goal is a little more difficult than that. Not only does he want to defeat Williams, he wants to make him submit. King: It’s good to have a plan or several, however it’s idiotic to reveal said plan to your opponent before the match. Pete: I guess he’s just that confident. By the time Maddix finds his way to the ring, security is already restraining fans, who look like they would like nothing more than to rip the cocky heel apart. Removing his jacket and shuddering in the cool weather, Maddix frantically warms up to keep the cool air off of him. Williams’ entrance is drawing near and yet Maddix still hasn’t shown any visible signs of fear or worry, it’s as if he believes he really has a shot at winning this. “And his opponent, weighing in at 265 pounds, he hails from Louisville, Kentucky.........” The Irish crowd explodes into raging chants and war cries! They know that Williams is a no nonsense tough guy and that the ass kicking he’s gonna unleash on the annoying Maddix will be immense. Not to mention they know that Williams is half Irish and that “Williams” is just his stage name. “DANNY WILLIAMS!” The entire island shakes from the deafening applause. Emerging from the locker room, Williams steps out into the dreary Dublin weather. With Maddix’s arrogant words ringing in his ears, Williams marches down the aisle with a purposeful stride. As he passes by the fans, they shout such encouraging words as,”Go kick dat fairy’s arse!” Pete: When asked to comment on Maddix’s boasts, Williams was annoyed to say the least. King: Good, maybe we’ll finally see somebody shut that little punk up for good. Crushing Maddix shouldn’t require too much brainpower. Pete: Despite finding himself in some of the most feared submission holds in the SWF, Williams has yet to submit since his return. It will be interesting to see how Maddix will attempt to break that trend. Williams slides into the ring, when he is greeted by another round of applause. Staying in his corner, Maddix cowardly taunts Williams from the other side of the ring. Williams goes about his pre-match warm ups, letting Maddix say what he wants now because once the bell rings he’s dead meat. That moment doesn’t come soon enough as Soapdish calls for the bell. DING! DING! DING! Making sure he looks his best, Landon annoyingly gives his blonde mane one more quick toss before leaving his corner. Set on tearing Landon limb from limb, Williams comes stomping out of his corner, stalking his surprised prey, who behaves as if he’s not ready yet. Not having anywhere to go, Maddix turns a few circles but to his disappointment, he can’t shake the massive beast from his tail. Looking for a restart, Landon ducks his head underneath the top rope. With rolling eyes, Soapdish comes to his aid, blocking Williams’ path. Lowering their thumbs, the fans angrily jeer Maddix’s stalling. “Booooooooooooo!” Obeying the rules, Williams backs up, giving Maddix some much needed space. Fixing his messed up hair, Maddix cautiously leaves the safety of the ropes. Now that he’s ready, Maddix instigates a grapple with a very eager Williams. Confident that he can control his much larger foe, the arrogant heel swiftly gains the advantage with a side headlock. Proud of this simple achievement, Landon smiles at the angered Irish crowd, letting them know he’s in the driver’s seat. Far to strong to be contained in such lackluster fashion, Williams easily turns out from underneath his captor, prying his hands off his head. Maddix screams in pain as Williams painfully bends his arm back into an overhead wristlock. Knowing that he can’t possibly over power Williams, Landon reaches behind his opponent’s head with his free hand and snatches a handful of hair. Using the thick brown hair of his captive, Landon tries to drag Williams back into a headlock, but the 265 pounder won’t budge. Suddenly, Landon can feel a tug on his own hair, Williams is fighting fire with fire! With the aid of Maddix’s golden locks, Williams dominantly throws his captor to the canvas! King: Nice move from Williams but he needs to conceal the hair pulling better. Pete: Williams has got to be careful, he can’t get too caught up in beating Maddix at his own game, no good can come of it. Angrily jumping to his feet, Landon complains to Soapdish, who instead issues a warning to both men. Even though both wrestlers get chastised, the fans loudly vent their disapproval as Williams gets warned, after all it was Landon who instigated it. Williams tries to plead his case but Soapdish won’t hear him out, both men are in the wrong and that’s that. With that mess sorted out, Soapdish gives them the clear to continue. Really getting angry, Williams goes right at Landon who seems a little too eager to lock it up. Williams finds out why when he walks into a surprise kick! Landon’s boot connects with Williams’ bread basket, briefly stunning the big man. But a follow up chop bounces off Williams’ well developed chest without inflicting any ill effects! Insulted by such a pussified strike, Williams snarls at Maddix with contempt. Since Danny’s chest is too muscular for his meager chops, Maddix decides to go upstairs with a forearm! Brushing off the pitiful blow, Williams mocks his helpless attacker with a glaring smile. Frustrated, Maddix runs into the ropes, using the added momentum to drill the statuesque Williams with a flying forearm! Maddix bounces off Williams like a human pinball, flopping on his back in un-ceremonious fashion. Despite a comical monster effort from Maddix, Williams doesn’t move an inch, sending the fans into gut bursting hysterics. Pete: They say when you run into Williams, it feels like he runs into you. King: Element of surprise or not, Landon trying to out forearm Williams is as stupid as a lug like you trying to beat me in a game of Chess. Pete: I’m still better at checkers. Finding that Williams is still standing tall, the vulnerable Maddix backs himself into a corner, begging his stalker to look into his heart and have some compassion. Williams is kind enough to let him get to his feet but his courtesy ends there. Grabbing the extended arm of his pleading victim, Williams leads him out of the corner and into the center of the ring, where he begins to painfully twist it. Landon shamelessly begs Williams not to complete the arm wringer but it’s no use. Williams contorts Maddix’s arm with the agonizing hold but a thumb to the eye is his only reward. Free from Williams’ powerful clutches, Maddix ignores Soapdish’s tirades and traps his blinded opponent in a 3/4 headlock. Thrusting himself forward, Maddix plants Williams’ chest and face into the canvas! Pete: And a dirty Landon Maddix takes the advantage with a Snapmare Driver! King: Now that was actually a smart move by Maddix, too bad I hate the guy with a passion. Displeased with this turn of the events, the fans bombard the ring with a hailstorm of “boos.” Exposing his teeth with a grin that a world class supervillain would envy, Maddix triumphantly raises his arms in the air. Williams had got him worried but he in the end, he knew he could get the best of him. Looking to capitalize on the opening he gave himself, Maddix spins around....only to find that Williams is alive and waiting for him. Behaving as if he’s seen a ghost, Maddix’s eyes cartoonishly fly out his skull in terror. Once more overwhelmed with fear, Maddix back paddles into the ropes, trying to create as much distance between himself and his seemingly invincible opponent. Not letting his cornered prey get away, Williams grabs Landon by the arm and whips him off the ropes! Maddix rebounds into the waiting hands of Williams, who effortlessly suspends him over his head! Kicking his feet and screaming, Maddix begs Williams not to drop him. Pete: The view from up there must be terrifying. King: Drop him on something painful! The crowd roars with glee as Williams mercilessly tosses Maddix into the air like a ragdoll! Crash landing on the other side of the ring with a booming a thud, Landon sits up, screaming in agony. Pulling his wounded opponent up for more punishment, Williams fires Landon into the ropes a second time. Boom! A thunderous Powerslam leaves Maddix a twitching corpse. Deciding it’s time to put Maddix out of his misery, Williams links his hands over his head. Knowing what that means, the fans leave their seats with excitement, hoping to get a better view of Maddix getting murdered. Williams hastily positions Maddix for the Powerbomb when his knee’s suddenly buckle! Struggling to breath, Williams mysterious crumbles to the canvas in agony. Seeing the low blow that the ref missed, the hostile Irish crowd threatens to riot. Pete: Maddix was a goner but with a single maliciously aimed strike he’s successfully killed all of Williams’ momentum. King: That’s the beauty of the low blow, which I invented by the way. Leaving Williams to wallow in pain, Maddix rolls to the ring apron. Suspicious, Soapdish assists Williams, who in between gasps complains about a low blow. Not an idiot, Soapdish believes Williams but there’s nothing he can do at the moment. He can’t stop a match for something he didn’t see. Hoping that he can get the drop on his stunned opponent, a somewhat recovered Maddix begins to ascend the turnbuckles but Williams catches him out of the corner of his eye. Pushing the ref aside, a snarling Williams forces himself to his feet. Not letting Maddix reach his goal, Williams violently shakes the top rope, causing the heel to slip from his perch and crouch himself on the top turnbuckle! Frozen in pain, a wide eyed Maddix sits on the turnbuckle like a sitting duck. The men in the crowd recoil in pain but they also can’t help but cheer, it may not be pleasant but Maddix brought it on himself. Williams may be justified but Soapdish isn’t gonna let this go. Once more, the official lets Williams get off with a warning but the rule infractions are starting to pile up, leaving Soapdish with fewer and fewer options. King: Williams is gonna have to be sneakier with those low blows. Pete: I know Danny is justified in his actions but once again, he shouldn’t be trying to beat Maddix at his own game. Showing no mercy on his crouched opponent, Williams charges with a growling battle cry. Stepping up on the bottom rope, Williams blasts Maddix with a jumping forearm, knocking the impaled heel from his nest and down to the floor! Adjusting his cup, Williams hobbles to the far side of the ring, where he leans into the ropes and waits. On the outside, Maddix begins to stir. A total mess, Maddix doubles over from the pain in his lower abdomen while struggling to nurse his busted jaw. Suddenly, flash photography lights up the stadium like a disco as Williams sprints across the ring at full speed. Threading the needle, Williams glides through the ropes with a spectacular dive, slamming his forearm into the rising Maddix’s jaw! Pete: Elbow Suicidaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah!!! The dazzling move sends the impressed crowd into an ear bleeding ovation. Rolling back into the ring, Williams celebrates with a brief arm raise. Trying to shake the cob webs loose, Landon pulls himself up with the guardrail and paces around a little. Realizing that he’s close to being counted out, Maddix raises a knee to the ring apron when he sees Williams headed his way. Jumping back down, Maddix backs away, he’s not ready to be jump right back into the thick of the action quite yet. Still not all together, Maddix takes a stroll around the ring side area, taking more time to regroup and rethink his strategy. Rolling his eyes, Williams rests his hands on his hips in a gesture of boredom, he wasn’t even going to attack Maddix. King: That idiot is letting Maddix recover, Williams needs to keep the heat on him. Pete: After those two warnings, Williams is trying to stay within the rules but your right, he’s gonna have to be a little more aggressive. Wanting to see some action, the impatient front roll fans respond to Maddix’s stalling by hurling a variety of insults at him as he paces by their seats. Not in Ireland to make any friends, Maddix ignores the taunts and cautiously climbs on the ring apron. Williams gives him his space, he doesn’t need to blind side this stooge to get the upper hand. Maddix ever slowly peeks his head into the ring when he leaps back down again, whining about Williams being to close. Fed up, Danny pushes Soapdish aside and slides to the floor. Not wanting to face the powerful brawler on the outside without an edge, Maddix makes a run for it. The fans cheer Williams on as he makes chase, following Maddix around the ring. Fearing that Williams is gaining on him, Maddix dives into the ring. Williams follows but the trap is already set! Letting Williams’ rise to his feet, Maddix thrusts out his leg for a nasty Maddix Kick! That’s caught! Pitifully jumping up and down on one leg, Landon begs for his life while the fans encourage Williams to show no mercy. Listening to the blood thirsty fans, Williams drops the leg and spins in place! Crack! A single bionic elbow drops Landon like a bad habit! King: Maddix needs to leave the cat and mouse games to the pros. Pete: Landon does not have an answer for Williams, he’s completely overmatched. King: It’s gonna be pretty hard to make Williams submit while he’s getting beaten from pillar to post. Peeling Landon off the floor, Williams stuffs the punch drunk heel into a standing head scissors. The crowd goes crazy as Danny hoists the much smaller cruiserweight over his shoulders for the Powerbomb! Doubling over, Williams slams Maddix into the canvas with superhuman power, shaking the ring to it’s very foundation! Leaning forward on his tippy toes, Williams pushes the neck and shoulders of Landon’s folded carcass into the mat for the pin attempt. Believing that the match may already be over, the jubilating fans jump out of their chairs and count along. “One!” “Two!” ............... “THRE–ooooooooooh!” sighs the crowd in disappointment as Maddix reaches up and grabs the bottom rope in front of him. Not really frustrated, Williams sits up and snaps his fingers. Getting the most out of his brief freedom, Maddix sluggishly rolls to the floor, where he rests on his back for as long as he possibly can. Not letting his prey get away this time, Williams climbs out on the ring apron, watching Maddix as he pitifully drags himself up with the corner guardrail. Letting Landon get to his feet and turn around, Williams gets a little running start and dives off the edge of the ring apron, winding up his arm for a jumping forearm! But nobody’s home! Grotesquely belly flopping on the hard steel, Williams flips over the barrier, landing at the feet of the shocked fans! “Oooooooooooooooooooooooooh!” Echoes throughout the arena in unison, even the most blood thirsty of fans are repulsed by the grisly spectacle, how could Williams survive such a nasty spill? King: I knew it wouldn’t take long for Williams to screw up. Pete: Good gosh, Williams could be seriously injured. Rolling back into the ring, the still weary Maddix sits up on his knees. He may be broken and sore but he can’t resist stroking his own ego. Letting everyone know he outsmarted their hero, Maddix arrogantly taps his temple in the timeless gesture. “Booooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo!” The pain in his ribs is searing but Williams can’t give up and let his fans down, he has to shut Maddix up and the first step towards doing that is getting back in the ring. Cradling his sternum and ribs, Williams slithers his way over the guardrail, his face a mask of torturous pain. Without a second thought, Williams bravely rolls back into the ring. Like a kid at Christmas, Maddix accepts the gift with youthful enthusiasm, this has turned out to be better than he’d ever hoped, not only has he stopped Williams’ snowballing momentum he’s conveniently injured his ribs. Guiding Williams to his feet, Maddix shoots him into the ropes, catching him on the rebound with a low forearm! Grabbing at his ribs, Williams deflates and sinks to his knees. King: What a lucky break, it seems that Williams injured his ribs during the fall, which as we both know plays right into Maddix’s hands. Pete: Indeed, softened ribs makes the Land of a Nod a much more effective submission hold. Body slamming Williams into position, Maddix leaps on his stomach, crushing his brittle ribs with a mean spirited Double Stomp! A crunchy Senton follows! Thrashing about in agony, Williams crawls to a nearby corner in hopes that it can provide some kind of sanctuary. Smelling blood, Maddix stays on Williams, tauntingly scraping his boot in his face, not because it’s gonna help him earn the submission but because it reinforces the fact that he’s superior for the moment. “Landon’s an Arse-Hole!” stomp!stomp! stomp!stomp!stomp! “Landon’s an Arse-Hole!” Soapdish thinks so too, ordering Landon to knock it off or he’ll start a count. Not wanting to get d.qed when he can make Williams suffer the ultimate humiliation by submitting to his favorite finisher, Maddix ceases the boot scraping and drags his wounded prey to his feet. Taking Williams by the arm, Maddix swings him out of the corner as hard as he possibly can. Pulling so hard that he skids to the canvas, Maddix successfully sends his muscle bound opponent rocketing out of the corner! Blam! Williams crashes into the cross corner sternum first, nearly dislodging the ring from it’s location! Springing backwards into the canvas, Williams rolls off his neck with the momentum, ending up belly down. Rolling the barely conscious Williams over, Maddix confidently ascends the turnbuckles of the closet corner. Making sure his hair looks it’s best, Maddix soars high into the air, bringing his limbs in before spreading them out to their fullest length! Landon crash lands on Williams, squashing the remnants of his ribs into dust! Pete: Frog Splash! Williams goes into pain induced spasms, coughing and gagging as if every breath is an unbearable struggle. Grinning at his once invincible enemy’s glaring vulnerability, Maddix signals to the crowd that it’s all over. Confident that Williams is finished, Landon tauntingly turns circles around his laid out foe, flicking the toe of his boot into his ribs, putting just enough on the kicks to cause him short stabbing bursts of pain. Unable to watch their hero endure such a beating, the fans do the only thing they possible can, rally behind him in the hopes their cheers can spur him on. “DAN-E!” “DAN-E!” “DAN-E!” Williams tries to get up and make a fight of it but the soccar kicks successfully keep him grounded, leaving him no other option but to suffer Maddix’s humiliation. Landon can’t help but cackle as the taste of victory teases his tongue, the fans may hate him but they will respect him, especially after just such a dominating victory. King: Landon needs to quit fooling around and go for the kill while he can. Pete: Your right, King. Hurt or not, Williams cannot be taken lightly. Dragging Williams the rest of the way up by his hair, Maddix steps behind him, bringing his arm around his head for the Land of the Nod! Seeing such a casual submission attempt coming a mile a way, Williams wraps his mighty hand around Landon’s thin wrist, preventing his arm from hooking his chin. This small glimmer of hope is enough to ignite the cheers of the masses. Holding Maddix at bay, Williams rises to his feet, almost but not completely ignorant of the burning pain in his sides. Turning out from underneath Maddix, Williams spins around and clocks him with an elbow smash! Wobbled but not out, Landon goes to the sternum with a kick! Williams hunches over with pain but not before answering Landon’s kick with one of his own! A spinning mule kick obliterates Landon’s abdomen, leaving him doubled over and open for an attack. Knowing what he has to do, Williams bounces off the ropes, steam rolling at Maddix with bad intentions! Approaching his target, Danny swings out his bulky arm for the... Pete: Axe Bombaaaaaaah!!! but it’s ducked! Trapping Williams’ head and arm, Maddix snaps backwards, planting his captive’s chest into the canvas! Pete: No, it’s the Complete Shot! King: This is the second time tonight that neanderthal has ran himself into trouble! Balling up, Williams hugs his aching chest as if he’s trying to keep it together. No longer in a playful mood, Maddix drags Williams to his knees and aggressively slaps on the inverted facelock, trapping him in the Land of Nod! Leaning back, Maddix twists Williams’ head and torso from side to side, putting an incredible amount of pressure on his spine and ribs! For the first time tonight, the strong willed wrestler cries out in pain, inspiring fear in the fans, who believe he may be on the verge of tapping. Pete: He’s got it locked in! King: Their close to the ropes though! Soapdish asks Williams if he wants to call it a night but the stubborn hero refuses to give in. He didn’t quit when the Franchise nearly broke his arm, he didn’t quit when Toxxic nearly gave him brain damage, and he’s not gonna quit now. Even though it feels like his ribs are being grounded into bread, Williams frantically scoots to the nearby ropes, bringing his torment to an end. Not ready to close the curtain on Williams’ nightmare just yet, Maddix drags Williams back to the center of the ring, where he viciously reapplies the hold. Fighting for what he believes to be the respect he deserves, Maddix puts everything he has into the hold, working it like his career depends on it. Even in the cool Irish air, Landon has worked up an impressive sweat. “Tap! Tap! Tap!”, howls the deranged heel as he adds as much torque to the hold as his body will allow. For Williams, every breath is a struggle and once he can suck in what precious air he can, the swelling of his lungs puts unwanted pressure on his bruised ribs and sternum, creating a hellish lose/lose situation. Now he knows why Magnfico tapped so soon, this is without question the most painful situation he’s ever found himself in. The only remedy within reach is a few quick taps on the mat. Pete: This looks like the end! King: Rake his eyes Williams, he’d do the same to you! The temptation of submission is great and the ropes keep looking further and further away. “The hell with that!” thinks Williams. Could Williams really live with himself if he let this blonde headed pretty boy get his way and make him submit? Of course not, Williams’ is not gonna let this punk make a name for himself at his expense. Too many bastards have already done that throughout his entire career, it’s time to take a stand and make his own name. If he can fight the pain and not tap out, he’ll be the victor regardless of what Funyon announces when the dust settles. Moving with unrivaled determination, Williams epically drags himself to the ropes one scoot at a time. Moved by Williams’ bravery, the fans show their support with a thunderous chant! “DAN-E! DAN-E! DAN-E!” Maddix struggles to keep the big man anchored but it’s no use, Williams has reached the ropes and there’s nothing he can do about it. Refusing to believe that Danny could reach the ropes not once but twice, Maddix clings to the hold in defiance, forcing Soapdish to administer a count. Waiting till three, Maddix breaks the hold and collapses with a combination of exhaustion and frustration, Williams has bested him and he knows it. Pete: Normally the Land of Nod is a death sentence but Williams isn’t an ordinary man. Threatening to throw a temper tantrum, Maddix storms to the nearest corner, where he starts angrily tearing at the top turnbuckle, untying it so that he may expose the cold steel beneath. This is in clear view of Soapdish who orders him to quit but it doesn’t do any good. Pete: He’s snapped, Maddix has lost it! It’s not until Maddix gets most of the turnbuckle off that Soapdish succeeds in pulling him out of the corner. Sick and tired of Maddix’s crap, Soapdish gives him one more warning. As Soapdish tries to repair the damaged buckle, a sneaky look appears on Landon’s face. Reaching into his tights like some kind of sexual pervert, a sinister looking Maddix maliciously unravels a balled up chain. King: He isn’t crazy, it was a trick to distract Soapdish. The bastard has created his own interference. Pete: I guess he’s finally adapting to the absence of his manager and partner. Wrapping the chain around his knuckles, Maddix looks behind his shoulder one more time, making sure that Soapdish is still busy in the corner. The frustrated crowd is going crazy but it’s no use, Soapdish won’t turn around until he has the ring safe and tidy again. Clinging to the ropes with one hand while he tightly cradles his chest with the other, Williams labors to reach his feet. Letting Williams stumble within his reach, Maddix winds up and swings! ................... But it’s blocked, ironically by the same arm Williams was using to hold his chest! Pete: He was playing possum! King: I knew there was a reason I never used the turnbuckle trick, it’s too damn time consuming. It’s pandemonium in Croke Park Stadium as Williams drops the shocked Maddix with his trademark Rolling Elbow! With his enemy laid out, Williams resumes holding his side, he was really hurt, he just wasn’t as helpless as he made out. By this time, Soapdish has fixed the buckle and turned around. The official spots the chain in Maddix’s hand but Williams is already prying it from his fingers like a grave robber. Dangling the weapon from his hand, Williams struts around the ring, asking the fans if he should give Maddix a taste of his own medicine. Satisfied with the overwhelming response, Williams ignores Soapdish’s pleas as he carefully wraps the chain around his fist. King: What’s this moron doing, he’s gonna get disqualified. The ref needs to be distracted, you dummy! Pete: I don’t think Williams cares, win or lose he wants to teach Maddix a lesson. Allowing Maddix to drunkenly rise, Williams pushes the scrawny official out of the way, winds up and takes a big swing! ............. Terrified, Maddix ducks his head and cowers! But nothing happens. Pulling the punch, Williams casually hooks Maddix in a front facelock and rolls him up with a well executed inside cradle! “One!” “Two!” ................... “THREE!” Soapdish calls for the bell and the fans burst into laughter! Ding! Ding! Ding! Outraged and embarrassed, Maddix harasses Soapdish, insisting that he d.q. Williams for having the chain. Of course the offiical can’t, since he never saw him use it. It seems that irony has bit Maddix right in the arse. Meanwhile, Williams has already left the ring, smiling and joking with the fans as he makes his way down the aisle. Spotting the chain laying in the ring, Maddix angrily kicks at it before making his exit. King: Bahahahahahaha! Maddix got outsmarted by Williams! Pete: All night, Williams fought fire with fire but instead of lowering himself to the point of d.q inducing weapon use he won the match cleanly. Fans, we have to take a short commercial break, stay tuned!