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Backstage, the SWF Cruiserweight Champion, The Fabulous Jakey, is at the catering table with Amy Stephens, who couldn’t seem any less interested into what he’s rambling about. “So, remember two weeks ago, when I beat Wildchild to become a 2-time Cruiserweight Champion?” Jakey rhetorically asks. “I don’t know if the cameras caught it, but I swear I saw these teenage girls crying in the audience.” Amy incredulously chomps on a carrot. “Everyone keeps bugging me to defend the title, but I told them I just need to relax,” Jakey goes on. “Remember how they mean they were when they made me fight Wildchild just a week after I won the thing? And then he totally cheated to get his title, but then at 13th Hour justice was served!” Amy rolls her eyes. “OK, well when I retire and get my own nationally syndicated talk show, remind me to not hire you as a guest host,” Jakey snaps before turning around. “Now I’m going to go find something relaxing to do. Does this place have a hot tub?” “Haven’t you seen the card?” Amy asks Jakey, who spins around on his heel. “You have a match.” “What?” Jakey asks with a venomous glare. “Yeah, you’re fighting … Fulminatus,” Amy informs him. Jakey’s eyes roll up almost to the back of his head. “Unbelievable,” he scoffs. “I’m going to a spa in Tampa next week.” -=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=- Red fills the arena and a loud techno beat blares from the speakers. “And our next match already underway here!” Mak Francis yells. “And our first participant is not happy!” The Fabulous Jakey enters from the curtain, wearing a plaid blazer over his wrestling garb in honor of Scotland. “Not even Jakey can pull off plaid,” Suicide King notes. “But you have to give him credit for trying.” “He’s wearing plaid and a frown,” Mak Francis observes, and as hokey as it is, it’s true; instead of looking confident, Jakey looks like he’d rather be anywhere else, as he holds his championship belt at his side, as if it’s a handbag. “The following non-title contest is scheduled for one fall! Making his way from the ring, from Minneapolis, Minnesota, weighing in at 160 lbs., he is the SWF Cruiserweight Champion, THE FABULOUS JAKEY!” Jakey enters the ring through the ropes and, with his right hand, holds his belt in the air, then turns around to show the other side of the arena. He asks Funyon to hold the belt with a smile, and Funyon reluctantly agrees while Jakey removes the blazer and parks it in the corner. Funyon hands the belt to the timekeeper as Jakey stands in the middle of the ring, awaiting his opponent. “I just don’t get Jakey’s attitude,” Mak Francis says. “To be in the SWF is a privilege. There’s a locker room full of wrestlers that want to be here, want to work hard, and would be more than happy to have a match in front of these great fans.” “You’re missing the point, Francis,” Suicide King says. “Jakey’s a two-time champion now. He’s certified himself as a rising star. He shouldn’t have to just wrestle anybody. He’s primetime status now!” The lights flicker on and off before a rock instrumental of “Inna-Gadda-Da-Vida” plays. The opponent, clad in turquoise tights, makes his way out of the curtain to a tepid but positive response. “His opponent, weighing in at 190 pounds, FULMINATUS!” Fulminatus, a walking enigma to be sure, walks out through a crowd of smoke. He glides down the ramp without paying any attention to the fans, who aren’t sure what to think of him. He adjusts his mask one last time, then dives under the ring and stares down Jakey. “Well, how is this match gonna start?” Mak Francis asks. Referee Nick Soapdish rings the bell, and just a millisecond after, Fulminatus TAKES DOWN JAKEY with almost a tackle, then, in a mounted position, hits him with lefts and rights. “And Fulminatus starting out very aggressive here!” Mak Francis yells. Jakey covers his face for protection while Fulminatus pummels away. Nick Soapdish yells at him and Fulminatus steps off Jakey, but then beats his chest and soaks up an immense amount of crowd approval. Fulminatus has taken his eye off the ball for one second too long, as Jakey is back on his feet and clubs him from behind, knocking him to his knees. “Jakey not wanting to take this match lightly!” Mak yells. Jakey kicks Fulminatus in the ribs a few times, then sets him upright against the ropes with his arms spread out and chest exposed. Jakey hits Fulminatus with a vicious chop, then another. With a smile on his face, Jakey runs off the ropes in attempts to clothesline the enigma out of the ring, but Fulminatus runs at Jakey at full force – “What a clothesline!” Mak yells, and Jakey gets up only to soak another clothesline. Jakey gets up only to face a third clothesline, and on the fourth occasion, Fulminatus changes it up, delivering a stunning dropkick that knocks the Cruiserweight champion down. Fulminatus instinctively goes for a cover. “What a dropkick! And a cover! ONE— TWO— And of course a kickout!” Fulminatus picks Jakey up and decks him with a wild uppercut, then throws him into the turnbuckle with velocity. Fulminatus, ducking his head down, runs at Jakey with full speed, ramming his head into Jakey’s sternum, then repeating the move on two occasions. “And Fulminatus doing a lot of damage in the corner!” Mak cries. Fulminatus isn’t done yet, as he switches it up with a barrage of kicks that leads Jakey to collapse into a seated position. Fulminatus milks this situation for all it’s worth, pressing his foot against Jakey’s throat for a foot choke. “Come on, break!” yells the ref, and counts ONE TWO THREE FOUR And Fulminatus breaks at five. In full control, Fulminatus picks Jakey up so that he is standing upright, then hits a deafening chop that makes the crowd cheer and Jakey writhe in pain. A smile grows on Fulminatus’s barely visible face as he hits another one. “And Jakey’s really not liking being in a match right now!” Mak cries, unable to contain some sense of joy in his voice. Fulminatus neutralizes Jakey with a very quick suplex, then points to the top rope, getting a rise of the crowd. “Is he gonna fly?” Mak cries. “Looks like it!” Suicide King gives back. Fulminatus ascends to the top rope and goes for a leg drop; “He calls this the Wrath of Norton!” Mak Francis explains. But Jakey, playing possum, rolls out of the way in the nick of time, leading Fulminatus to land very awkwardly with his leg extended, causing the crowd to gasp. “And a bad break for Fulminatus!” Mak cries. “Perhaps literally!” Suicide King retorts. Jakey, back to his feet, is quick to take advantage, stomping on the injured leg with force, then doing it again. With a sick smile on his face, Jakey drags Fulminatus by the leg to the ropes, then extends the leg on the bottom rope and stands on it, to the crowd’s disapproval. The ref admonishes Jakey to break and gives a count of ONE TWO THREE FOUR And Jakey relinquishes, but Fulminatus is writhing in pain on the mat. Jakey kicks the leg off of the bottom rope, then violently stomps on it again. Fulminatus grabs the leg in pain and Jakey trash-talks, soaking up boos from the audience. Jakey turns around to yell at the crowd. “Brush your teeth!” he yells to somebody. “Both of ‘em!” Now in front of the ropes with his prey right in front of him, Jakey grabs both of Fulminatus’s legs and goes for a jackknife pin “And this could be academic here! ONE TWO And Fulminatus finds a way to kick out!” The men get to their feet and both attempt to assault the other, but Fulminatus being bigger, stronger and quicker, gets the better of the exchange and again takes down Jakey with a modified spear, then mounts him with lefts and rights again. “And if Fulminatus can keep off the injured leg and not be vulnerable to attacks, I like his chances!” Mak yells. “He’s just got to keep the momentum going!” Fulminatus gets Jakey up and hits an impactful DDT that sends Jakey’s skull to the mat. Fulminatus again looks to the top rope, and the crowd cheers, but not as pronounced as before. “He’s not gonna do this again, is he?” Mak Francis asks. “I swear, we’re watching self-destruction at its finest!” Suicide King yells. “Although I’ve never seen you in therapy.” Fulminatus climbs to the top rope and goes for the leg drop yet again “Can he do it? YES!” Mak Francis yells. Fulminatus’s leg lands right on Jakey’s face, but the impact also takes some of Fulminatus, who takes some time getting the pinfall set up. “He’s got to hurry up!” Francis yells. Struggling, Fulminatus hooks Jakey’s leg and gets the cover: ONE— TWO— And Jakey kicks out of it!” Fulminatus gets to his feet, a bit daintily, then picks up Jakey and clubs him in the back a few times. Fulminatus attempts a suplex— --but Jakey counters it by grabbing the rope, sending Fulminatus down on his back with a considerable amount of force! “And a counter by Jakey!” Mak yells. Jakey grabs Fulminatus’s legs and SLINGSHOTS him into the turnbuckle “What a move!” Suicide King cries. Hardly missing a beat, Jakey wraps up Fulminatus with a schoolboy “A roll-up! ONE— TWO— ---Fulminatus barely getting the leg strength to kick out of it!” Jakey regroups quickly, picking Fulminatus up and whipping him backfirst into the nearby turnbuckle. With a leer at the crowd, Jakey goes up to the turnbuckle and begins punching Fulminatus with an array of attacks ONE TWO THREE FOUR But something snaps in Fulminatus, as he takes Jakey from the waist “And what a counter!” cries Mak Francis, as Fulminatus violently powerbombs Jakey from the corner, folding his opponent like an accordion! “And out of nowhere, Fulminatus hits a powerbomb!” On his bad leg, Fulminatus gathers himself and covers Jakey, hooking the near leg “The cover! ONE— TWO— THR— And Jakey got his foot on the rope!” “It’s an elementary mistake!” Suicide King decries. “He didn’t hook the leg closest to the ring ropes!” Fulminatus picks up Jakey and delivers a striking headbutt “A headbutt?!” Suicide King cries. “It was certainly unexpected!” Mak Francis yells. Fulminatus goes to throw Jakey off the ropes with an Irish Whip, but Jakey counters it with an Irish whip of his own, then attempts to throw Fulminatus out of the ring; Fulminatus acrobatically lands on the apron “And Fulminatus not out of it here!” Mak Francis yells. With his opponent on the ring apron, Jakey turns around right into a hard punch from Fulminatus; Jakey rotates in pain, then attempts to grab Fulminatus, but Fulminatus is quicker and hits him with another solid punch to the face “Fulminatus beating Jakey to the punch on two occasions!” Mak Francis cries. Not to be outdone, on the third occasion Jakey abstains from trying to punch the stronger Fulminatus and instead deftly KICKS him in the injured leg; Barely standing, Fulminatus winces in pain “That no good—“ Mak Francis yells. “It’s strategy!” Suicide King defends. With his opponent weakened, Jakey grabs him and lowers him so his upper body is cinched between the second and third ropes, then delivers a vicious DDT “And what a DDT with his opponent on the ring apron!” Mak Francis cries. Jakey pulls the rest of Fulminatus’s turquoise-clad body into the ring, then drapes himself over the motionless body “ONE TWO THR— And Fulminatus kicked out!!” With the crowd cheering, Jakey finds himself in disbelief! He yells at the referee incredulously. “And Jakey having words with referee Nick Soapdish! Not the classiest thing to do!” “It was a long two count!” Suicide King yells. Jakey yells a few more words at Soapdish, then turns around to his fallen opponent; He goes to pick up Fulminatus, but Fulminatus counters it with a small package! “An inside cradle! From nowhere! ONE— TWO— THR— No!” Jakey kicks out of it and angrily goes for a clothesline, but Fulminatus ducks it, then hits a spin kick with his strong leg, knocking Jakey down with force; Fulminatus takes a deep breath, then launches himself off of the apron with a standing moonsault “A standing moonsault! On a bad leg!” Mak yells. “ONE TWO THR— And Jakey barely gets a shoulder up!” Fulminatus kicks a prone Jakey a few times, then picks him up; “And unlike Jakey, who complains at a two and a half count, Fulminatus keeps going right away, trying to end the match! I think that shows something!” Mak Francis shares. Fulminatus sets up what appears to be a reverse DDT, but Jakey elbows out of it; with the tables turned, Jakey very quickly gets Fulminatus in a front face lock, then launches himself in a backward fashion off the middle rope “Jumping Jakey Flash!” Mak cries. With the bad leg hooked with his leg and the near one hooked with his arm, Jakey makes the pinfall “ONE TWO THREE!” “Here is your winner, THE FABULOUS JAKEY!” “Well, Jakey gets the match won, but it certainly wasn’t easy!” Mak Francis yells. “An early mistake nearly took Fulminatus out of this thing, but he kept at it! There was great perseverance tonight!” “But perseverance didn’t win the match!” Suicide King argues. “Well, what did?” Mak asks The King. Jakey raises his belt in the air in victory, letting that be Suicide King’s answer. As Jakey prepares to leave the ring, Referee Nick Soapdish helps Fulminatus to his feet. The crowd cheers out of respect – “And a great crowd here in Scotland tonight!” Mak observes. --And a flicker in Jakey’s eyes goes off, as he stands back up from the ropes, then marches to Fulminatus and kicks him in his leg again! “And come on!” Mak Francis yells. “The match is over! That was completely unnecessary!” Soapdish yells at Jakey, who fakes another attack, but then vacates the ring, walking up the ramp with his belt raised to a chorus of boos. “He may be riding high now,” Mak Francis predicts, “But the Cruiserweight Champion is gonna get what’s coming to him, and I certainly hope it’s soon!”

“Welcome back to Storm, where we’re about to see Kibagami squash the hell out of Austin Sly!” Mak says, gleefully. “Shut up, Mak! You’re not supposed to give away the ending without spoiler tags!” “Spoiler tags?!” Fog begins to billow up from unseen holes in the entrance ramp as the first haunting notes of Nevermore’s “The River Dragon Has Come” echo through the arena. The SmarksTron flickers and crackles, showing nothing more than static, just as the audience is lulled into a false sense of security by the soothing music… *BAM*! Every light in the arena – the house lights, the spotlights near the entrance ramp, even the picture on the SmarksTron – suddenly flares, blinding white, as the distortion kicks in and the music begins to pound through the speakers. The picture on the SmarksTron is replaced with the familiar burning ankh… Today, the warning came in the flood… The man himself comes through the curtains and the fog as the vocals begin, and the lights are finally reduced to their usual level. The Silent One briskly makes his way to the ring, ignoring the fans’ cheers completely as the music surges forward. As Kibagami nears the ring, a fan wearing a hooded sweatshirt and black track pants jumps the barrier and blasts him from behind, knocking him into the ring apron. The fan continues to wail away at The River Dragon, sending clubbing blows to his back and head. “Kibagami is being mugged by that fan!” squeals Mak. “Where’s security when you need it?” “We have security?” King says curiously. The man pulls Kibagami up and quickly whips him into the ring steps, causing a thunderous clang and probably some deep tissue bruises. The hooded man is almost instantly on top of Silent, grabbing him by the head and slamming it into the ring steps! Exciting! He reaches underneath the ring and pulls out… a steel chair! “He’s got a weapon!” “That’s just a chair, Mak.” “He’s got a wrestling weapon!” The man patiently taps the chair on the floor as Kibagami pushes himself up off of the ring steps, and turns around into… *Smack!* A thunderous chairshot! Kibagami is shaken, but doesn’t fall. *Smack!* … until getting smacked a second time! The mighty River Dragon falls to the floor, but is quickly picked up and rolled into the ring. The hooded man reaches down and pulls his sweatshirt up and over his head, revealing himself to be Austin Sly! “That’s not a fan, that’s just Austin Sly!” Mak yells, “what a despicable move!” “Suddenly I’m interested,” says King with a spike in his voice. Austin slides into the ring along with the chair, while the referee looks confused and calls for the bell. *Ding ding ding!* “It looks like this match is officially underway!” King giggles. “Yeah, and Kibagami has already had the fight taken out of him! How is this fair?” “It’s not. That’s what’s so great about it!” Austin immediately crawls over the top of Kibagami, trying to capitalize on his pre-match attack. The referee slides down to make the count. One! Two! Three - NOOOO! He got the shoulder up~! Austin sits up, stunned. He was almost sure that he’d taken all the fight out of Kibagami. An attack like that, and any other man in the locker room would be down for the count. But this isn’t any man, this is Silent. The most feared and respected man to ever step foot in the SWF locker room. It takes a slight bit more to put a man like that down. “He kicked out!” Mak turns to King. “Hah!” Austin looks at the chair that he brought with him into the ring, then looks up at the corner ringpost. An idea springs into his head. He casually picks up the chair and walks over to Kibagami. He doesn’t swing it, though. He simply lays it down on top of the man as he walks by towards the turnbuckles, which he quickly ascends. He faces out towards the crowd… back to his opponent… and leaps! Moonsault! The full weight of Austin Sly comes crashing down across the chair and across the chest of Nathaniel Kibagami. Austin rolls up to his knees, clutches his chest with one arm and pushes the chair away with the other before collapsing back across his opponent. “Shouldn’t that be a disqualification?” “Shut up, Mak.” One!! Two!!! Three!! Kibagami gets his shoulder up again, but this time just a slight bit too late. Austin pushes himself to his feet and quickly rolls out of the ring, having stolen a win. Silent slowly sits up, realizing finally what has just happened. The crowd boos incessantly, letting Austin know that they don’t approve of his actions or the “match” that they’ve just seen. Austin isn’t worried about the fans, though. He’s more worried about what will happen if Silent ever gets his hands on him. “What a despicable way to win a match, King.” “I don’t think Austin was too concerned about winning the match. I think he was more concerned about sending a message.”

“Welcome back to the Braehead Arena in Renfrewshire, Scotland!” Mak Francis shouts as Storm comes back from commercials, “we’ve just seen the conclusion to the first round of the New Blood Title Tournament, and we know that Saintly C. Killa, JRR, Michael Alexander and Adonis are through to the second round… and Adonis was welcomed into Revolution Zero straight after his match by the man we’re about to see in a second.” “Yes, and what a grand sight it was to see that group of veterans welcome a promising new arrival to their stable,” Suicide King says smugly. “Maybe,” Mak says, although his tone of voice casts severe doubt on that notion, “but right now we have someone who is more of a veteran than any member of Revolution Zero…” …and with that the arena lights drop and a guttural, distorted warbling spews forth from the PA system around the Braehead Arena. The fans rise in anticipation, thinking for a moment that a bagpipe band is about to come down to the ring, but they are to be rudely disappointed as ‘Scientific Remote Viewing’ by Cephalic Carnage kicks into gear with a growl, and flashing lights begin to pulse while smoke billows up from the stage. “BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!” A few moments pass as spotlights strike down, then the curtain parts and a hooded and cloaked figure emerges from the backstage area, chains clanking around him as he marches down to the ring. “MANSON has been around since 2001,” Mak Francis reminds viewers, “he’s never been anything less than dangerous, but he has never been quite as deranged as we’ve seen in recent months. The man is, quite literally, completely insane. He believes he’s some sort of apocalyptic messiah-” “MANSON is everything he claims to be, and it is true insanity to believe otherwise!” King cuts in, “kneel before MANSON, Francis!” “…kneel?” “Well, haven’t you fitted a lowrider unit to that thing or something?” “Ladies and gentlemen,” Funyon booms, eyeing the approaching menace warily, “the following contest is scheduled for one fall; introducing first, from Denver, Colorado; he weighs in tonight at 230lbs, this the ‘Savage Messiah’, MAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAN-SONNNNNNNNNN!!” “BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!” MANSON rolls into the ring under the bottom rope and clanks upright, at which point Brian Warner hurries forwards to check the Raging Bull over. MANSON’s crooked metal bat appears from under the cloak and gets discarded, as do the chains, and finally the cloak itself gets cast aside leaving only the impassive metal mask staring back at the referee. Warner faces the deranged veteran down and orders him to remove the mask, which MANSON does after a tense few seconds, then strides to the other side of the ring where he harangues the crowd for a moment, only to get booed some more. “Ignore them, MANSON,” King counsels his saviour, “they will seek redemption from your might before the night is out.” “You worry me.” The lights would usually return to a normal level after the Savage Messiah’s entrance, but on this occasion they do not; in fact they strike up to full, every bulb in the building snapping on, and the Smarktron whites out as a raucous, rolling chant rings out around the Braehead Arena… “COME AND HAVE A GO IF YOU THINK YER ‘ARD ENOUGH!” “COME AND HAVE A GO IF YOU THINK YER ‘ARD ENOUGH!” The oozing bassline of ‘The Gush’ by Raging Speedhorn follows hard on its heels, and as the Smarktron fades down to black again jagged white letters flash up a familiar slogan, one word at a time: ‘PREPARE TO BE PROVED WRONG…’ Three chords ring out; on the first we see Michael Stephens knocked off the top buckle to the floor by a Nathaniel Kibagami springboard enzuigiri; on the second we see him taken off the top rope by Gabriel Drake with the Mark of the Beast; on the third we see him chokeslammed out of the Clusterfuck by Janus onto the floor below. Then, as the bass solo hits the shot changes to show him taking Mike Van Siclen off a balcony and through a table, the shot starting to strobe and intercut with an image of Toxxic’s grinning face, the devastating landing timed to coincide with- *BOOOM!!* -the moment the song kicks in, and the stagewide eruption of red pyro that signals the arrival of the SWF’s most decorated Englishman! And through the flame and smoke… “TOXX-IC SUCKS!” …with trenchcoat flapping behind him and a lopsided grin on his face… “TOXX-IC SUCKS!” …staring down at the ring with the mischievous glint in his eye heightened by the dark eyeliner… “TOXX-IC SUCKS!” …comes the man they call Toxxic. “And his opponent,” Funyon booms over the crowd chants, “from Nottingham, England-” “BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!” “-he weighs in tonight at 218lbs and is the leader of Revolution Zero,” Funyon battles on gamely, “this is the ‘Straight-Edge Sensation’, TOXXXXXXXXXXXX-IIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIC!!” “TOXX-IC SUCKS!” “TOXX-IC SUCKS!” ‘Dysfunction is my game These thoughts drive me insane Tell me the price Of which I have to pay… Toxxic stops at the bottom of the ramp, crosses his arms briefly in the straight-edge ‘X’, then throws them wide, palms flat to the floor- *BOOOM!* -to ignite a blast of red pyro from the top of each ringpost as the chorus kicks in! Notably, although Warner and Funyon jump despite having seen the routine countless times before, MANSON doesn’t so much as flinch. The Straight-Edge Sensation rolls into the ring under the bottom rope, then pops up to his feet and looks over at his opponent, who stares back with no trace of reason in his murderous gaze. Toxxic grins at him, then turns away and climbs to the second buckle, looks out at the crowd and unzips his trenchcoat… …to reveal his England soccer shirt. Which of course, goes down a bomb in Renfrewshire, Scotland. “BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!” Toxxic’s grin widens as his little bout of crowd-baiting goes down exactly as he expected, and he pulls off both coat and shirt before dropping them to the outside and turning to face MANSON. Funyon exits the ring and Brian Warner calls for the bell… *DING-DING-DING!* …and MANSON charges forward across the ring, looking to grab Toxxic and bring the hurt straight away! The former World Champion dodges away and evades his opponent, then snares the Raging Bull in a drop toehold as the bigger man turns to pursue him. MANSON hits the mat and Toxxic goes to float over into a front facelock, but MANSON surges up from the mat and takes the straight-edger by surprise. Toxxic finds himself in a position not dissimilar to a rodeo rider facing backwards and the Raging Bull dumps him off to the mat, then rounds on him and begins stomping away at the Englishman. Caught unawares and with else nowhere to go Toxxic simply rolls out of the ring to escape his vicious opponent, prompting a series of jeers from the crowd behind him. “What yer doin’, ye great Jessie!?” Toxxic turns around and gives the fan a piece of his mind, then turns back to the ring to find out what MANSON’s up to. Which happens to be charging straight across the ring at him and launching himself between the top and middle ropes with an elbow suicida. Clearly, this calls for drastic measures. *SMACK!* “HO-LY SHIT!” “HO-LY SHIT!” “Toxxic just dropkicked MANSON in mid-air!” Mak Francis yells as the Straight-Edge Sensation leaps up just in time to plant his feet square into the face of the onrushing Savage Messiah and sending him crashing to the mat, “he might be an egomaniacal asshole, but this guy’s reactions are astounding!” “It’s MANSONOSITY vs. the Sensation Nation!” Suicide King shouts back, “there may be no survivors, Francis! Clear the area of all civilians!” “…what in the blue hell are you on about?” ‘ONE!’ shouts Brian Warner, determined to do his job in the face of obstruction from the wrestlers concerned. Toxxic, still grinning, gets back to his feet and wipes his brow theatrically as if to say ‘phew, that was a close one’… and only then notices that MANSON is starting to get rise as well. The Straight-Edge Sensation’s grin falls away and he grabs MANSON’S arm and hauls the Raging Bull upright, then goes to whip him into the steel guardrail around the ring, only for MANSON to reverse the whip and send Toxxic in towards the steel instead! The Englishman’s reactions are still up to the task and he hops up onto the rail, then leaps backwards with the Role Reversal clothesline to take MANSON down… …but such a venture relies on your opponent not catching you, then heaving you bodily overhead with a head-and-arm suplex onto the protective mats that right now seem about as protective as a perforated condom. *WHAM!* “YEEEEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!” “Good God!” Mak shouts, “Gargoyle suplex from MANSON, on the outside!” ‘TWO!’ Warner calls, figuring he could be earning his pay very easily tonight if they keep this up. MANSON rises again like a leviathan from the depths, throwing the metal horns in the air with a snarl, and sets his sights on the straight-edger currently writhing on the mat in pain. He doesn’t wait for Toxxic to rise and instead pulls the leader of Revolution Zero up by his hair before whirling on the spot and unleashing a spinning backfist that sends Toxxic staggering backwards into another set of guardrails. Toxxic leans there for a moment, clearly dazed, and MANSON backs up a step or two before launching himself forwards into a dead run and throwing one boot up with a Yakuza kick to catch Toxxic in the jaw and send him toppling over into the crowd… at least, that’s the plan, but the slippery straight-edger ducks and leaves MANSON to effectively crotch himself on the guardrail! ‘THREE!’ Even the Savage Messiah can be stopped by something like that, and Toxxic seeks to increase his advantage by teeing off with punches into his opponent’s face: RIGHT! LEFT! RIGHT! LEFT! However, instead of his usual windup the Englishman turns and trots away from his dazed and pained opponent, then turns back towards him… ‘FOUR!’ Toxxic breaks into a run, vaults up and leaps off the ring steps to crash into MANSON with a flying clothesline that sees him only just clear the guardrail with his legs, and send the Raging Bull sprawling into the crowd area! “HO-LY SHIT!” “HO-LY SHIT!” Warner winces, but manages to get out a ‘FIVE!’ “MANSON and Toxxic are just letting rip here - King, I think you might be right, there might not be any survivors!” Mak gasps as SWF security piles in to keep the crowd back from the downed wrestlers. “What’s got into them?” “MANSON is an unstoppable juggernaut of holy fury,” King points out reasonably, “and Toxxic can’t stand anyone one-upping him. This is only going to get worse, Mak.” The Straight-Edge Sensation is pushing himself upright out in the seating area, and once there he snaps his neck from side-to-side with a grin on his face (followed up by a wince). MANSON appears to have had the wind taken out of his sails and the Raging Bull is not raging quite so much as Toxxic starts to pick him up off the floor. ‘SIX!’ The straight-edger starts to hook MANSON up for a suplex but the Savage Messiah realises that this is not a good plan and starts firing punches into Toxxic’s ribs. The Englishman staggers back and MANSON appears to be considering a follow-up… then just whirls around and snatches up a chair, snapping it shut before turning back to face his opponent! Toxxic’s eyes widen and he ducks a wild swing as MANSON roars aloud in anger, looking to separate the arrogant straight-edger’s head from his shoulders while Brian Warner breaks off his count to yell imprecations from the ring. “MANSON’s lost it!” Mak shouts. “You’ve been saying that for months,” King argues, “what’s special about this match?” Toxxic ends up against the guardrail from his dodge, but MANSON isn’t done and the Savage Messiah raises his weapon again, then brings it down in an effort to squash his opponent into the ground… but Toxxic rolls away down the rail, and MANSON only hits steel. *CLANG!* ‘SEVEN!’ Warner yells, figuring the sooner this finishes the better. Toxxic hops over the rail away from his opponent, and MANSON just hurls the chair after him, narrowly missing! With that approach failing the Savage Messiah starts clambering over the guardrail after Toxxic, who has just rolled into the ring as Warner raises his hands again. ‘EIGHT!’ Toxxic looks up at the referee and points a black-nailed finger at him: ‘Hold that thought.’ -then rolls back to the outside and charges at MANSON! The Raging Bull also breaks into a run and extends his right arm for the Zantetsuken, but Toxxic ducks and rolls beneath it as the opponents pass each other with no contact. Both men stop and turn, but Toxxic is quicker and the Englishman hops up to the ring apron, then leaps off to land astride MANSON’s head before snapping back and around with a hurricanrana that sends the Savage Messiah tumbling into the guardrail! ‘ONE!’ Warner shouts, clearly unimpressed. Toxxic gets back up, but he isn’t grinning this time because so far that has proved to be a bad omen. He also doesn’t give MANSON any time to recover, instead grabbing his opponent and starting to drag him up to his feet, then towing the heavier man towards the ring. MANSON starts to resist again, but this time Toxxic lashes out with a headbutt that catches the Savage Messiah square between the eyes and stuns him long enough to be rolled under the ropes into the ring. ‘TWO!’ Brian Warner declares, looking in impatiently. “Well King, it looks like Toxxic’s speed and agility has - just about - given him the upper hand against MANSON,” Mak Francis states, “but now he needs to capitalise and, I would venture, put his opponent away as quickly as possible.” “MANSON will not go down easily!” King stresses. “Unlike Megan Skye.” “Word.” Toxxic grabs the top rope and vaults to the top buckle, then leaps off to land a fistdrop into MANSON’s face. The Straight-Edge Sensation makes a cover and hooks the leg… ONE! TWO!! …but MANSON kicks out right after two! Toxxic gets back to his feet and simply jumps into the air, then drops a leg down across his opponent’s throat before MANSON can roll out of the way. With that done the straight-edger heads back towards the turnbuckles and quickly climbs to the top rope, then leaps off with another flying fistdrop to his opponent’s head! “Toxxic sticking to his high-flying offence here tonight,” Mak comments as the Englishman sits up, shaking out his fist, “it’s the best chance he has to take the fight to MANSON, there’s no doubt about that.” “Here we go again,” King adds as Toxxic gets back to his feet and jogs to the corner of the ring again, then steps out to the apron and starts climbing to the top. He reaches it in short order and raises both arms above his head, then somersaults off to come crashing down with the Hangover! *WHAM!* Once more the former World Champion makes a cover and hooks the leg, and once more Brian Warner drops to make his count… ONE! TWO!! …and once more, MANSON kicks out! This time Toxxic takes hold of his opponent’s head and starts to pull his opponent up to his feet, then Irish whips the Savage Messiah into the turnbuckles. MANSON hits hard but Toxxic follows him right in and leaps into the air to deliver a leg lariat that mashes his opponent against the buckles again, then manages to control the ricochet off to land on his feet on the apron. MANSON staggers forwards out of the corner and Toxxic starts climbing to the top rope again, reaching out to grab his opponent for the Final Shine… *CRACK!* …but MANSON whirls around and pastes him with an elbow smash! Toxxic wobbles, trying desperately to stay on his precarious perch, but MANSON has other ideas and steps up to the second rope, then leaps off it into the air- *KER-RACK!* -and nails a springboard gamengiri that sends Toxxic toppling out to the arena floor! “HO-LY SHIT!” “HO-LY SHIT!” “Fans, check back at Toxxic’s entrance video,” Mak Francis yells, “for reasons best known to himself he has Nathaniel Kibagami in there doing that same move to him, with the exact same result! MANSON just knocked Toxxic to the floor, and the Straight-Edge Sensation is in a bad way!” ‘ONE!’ Brian Warner yells with a ‘not this again’ expression on his face. “ALL HAIL MANSON!” King roars, “he smites down the unbeliever with hideous wrath!” “King, he kicked upwards.” “I know, but you can’t very well smite up the unbeliever, can you? It just sounds all wrong.” ‘TWO!’ MANSON raises the metal horns overhead with a roar as he looks out to the floor where Toxxic is trying to recover. The Straight-Edge Sensation has been knocked woozy but he’s still with it enough to try and get up despite the dizzying blow to the head. ‘THREE!’ Brian Warner is at the ropes, raising his hand as he lays on the count, but he suddenly becomes aware of a vibration through the mat and he turns to see MANSON charging towards him! The referee dives out of the way and MANSON dives too - out through the ring ropes and into the now-vertical Toxxic with an elbow suicida! *WHAM!* “YEEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!” “MANSON learned from his mistake and waited until Toxxic was too dazed to counter or avoid the move this time around!” Mak Francis shouts, “and with those two big hits coming in quick succession, we might see MANSON on the verge of what would have to be described as an upset here!” “We’ve seen MANSON feud with Revolution Zero before,” the Suicide King reminds viewers, “now, perhaps, the Savage Messiah will call upon his new-found powers to vanquish its leader and truly announce his presence as the dominating force in this federation!” MANSON beats his chest and yells again in savage triumph, then grabs his opponent and rolls Toxxic back into the ring, forgoing the chance to do more damage on the outside in favour of going for the win as soon as possible. He follows the straight-edger’s body in and makes the cover while Warner dives to count… ONE! TWO!! TH- -but Toxxic kicks out! MANSON growls in frustration and hauls his opponent up into a sitting position, then fires a series of cowboy kicks into the Englishman’s spine! *CRACK!* *CRACK!* *CRACK!* *CRACK!* “MANSON’s teeing off here, and Toxxic seems to have no response!” Mak calls as the Raging Bull ceases his attack for a moment, only to turn his opponent over onto his front. He locks his leg around Toxxic’s, then bends down and grabs the Englishman’s arms before pulling upwards. Toxxic’s body is bent back off the mat… but only until MANSON places one boot on the back of the Englishman’s head and drives it down back to the canvas with a curbstomp! *CRUNCH!* “Imperial March!” The Franchise shouts while beside him King starts humming Darth Vader’s theme, “and a cover! He could have him!” Sure enough the cover has been applied… ONE! TWO!! THR- -but Toxxic still kicks out! “THAT WAS THREE!” “THAT WAS THREE!” The Scottish fans seem annoyed at Warner’s perceived slow count, eager as they are to have this particular symbol of Englishness (although hardly a stereotypical one) destroyed in front of their eyes, but the referee sticks to his guns. MANSON is less than pleased as well and drags his opponent up once more, then draws a thumb over his throat in the universal symbol of ending it all. Perhaps figuring that leaving Toxxic to stand still in one place is just asking for trouble given how slippery he can be the Savage Messiah grabs his opponent’s wrist and Irish whips Toxxic into the ropes, then as the Englishman rebounds MANSON winds up and lashes out with arm outstretched, looking for the Zantetsuken… …but Toxxic ducks it and simultaneously reaches up to snare the lariating arm, swinging himself up onto MANSON’s back and then allowing his momentum to take him clean over and come down in front of the startled Colorado native, grabbing a front facelock on the way down! From there it’s a simple matter to- *CRUNCH-WHAM!* “Sobering Thought!” Mak Francis yells as Toxxic hits his signature facecrusher/DDT combination, “that’s stopped MANSON in his tracks, but can Toxxic capitalise?” Perhaps he can, because the Straight-Edge Sensation wearily rolls over from the comfortable position he found himself in on his back and drapes an arm across MANSON… ONE! TWO!! TH- -but the Savage Messiah rises from the grave (or maybe the pin) and kicks out! Toxxic looks over at Brian Warner but the referee remains adamant, so the straight-edger flips him a v-sign and starts to pull MANSON up off the canvas again. The Savage Messiah is dazed and Toxxic isn’t exactly firing on all cylinders himself so progress is slow, but after a few seconds of struggle the Straight-Edge Sensation manages to haul his opponent upright. Toxxic delivers a sloppy European uppercut just to make sure that MANSON is still dazed, then points his opponent at the nearest turnbuckles and grabs a ¾ facelock. “Sunny In England!” Mak shouts as Toxxic sets off towards the ringpost, dragging MANSON in his wake… but the Savage Messiah shoves the Englishman away and sends him into the turnbuckles chest-first, countering the attempted move! Toxxic hits hard and gets the breath knocked from his lungs, but then feels MANSON charging in behind him and dodges out of the way just in time to avoid a MANSON avalanche! *WHAM!* Now it’s MANSON’s turn to be left breathless and the Raging Bull turns around gasping for air to find a wheezing straight-edger waiting for him… and Toxxic lashes out with a Stephenskick! *whap* “Caught!” King hollers, “all hail the reflexes of MANSON! Mighty are his synapses!” Toxxic just has time to realise that didn’t go quite according to plan when MANSON throws the boot away, spinning him around on the spot and then reaching out to grab a reverse facelock! The crowd starts rising to their feet in anticipation… “Instant Hell Murder!” King roars as MANSON sets himself to lift, “it’s over!” It is. But mainly because Toxxic has one trick left, and that is to push off the canvas with everything he can just as MANSON lifts him. The result is that he’s not quite as difficult to lift as MANSON was expecting, and the Savage Messiah is taken off guard. So Toxxic reaches the apex of the lift… …kicks his feet to overbalance himself… …and comes down behind MANSON, dragging his opponent down to drive the back of his skull into the mat. *BANG!* “SUNNY IN ENGLAND!” Mak shouts as the Scottish crowd roar and Brian Warner dives down to make the count, “Toxxic pulled that out of nowhere!” ONE! TWO!! THHHHHHHHHHRRRRRRRRRRRRRRREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!!! *DING-DING-DING!* “BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!” “Ladies and gentlemen, here is your winner,” Funyon booms, “the ‘Straight-Edge Sensation’, TOXXXXXXXXXXX-IIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIC!!” “TOXX-IC SUCKS!” “TOXX-IC SUCKS!” “See Francis, these people have been converted to the cause of MANSON!” King exclaims, his sweeping gesture taking in the Braehead Arena. “They’d be booing MANSON if he’d won, King,” Francis argues, “they don’t like either of these guys, and I can’t blame them! That was a hell of a knockabout match though.” Toxxic rolls out of the ring and starts heading for the back. He’s still a little dizzy, and he has a nasty bruise on his jaw coming up from the elbow suicida, not to mention a sore back from those cowboy kicks… but he’s still winning matches. Bring on the rest of the federation. FADE OUT

Backstage we go again, where resident interviewer Benjamin Hardy is in hot pursuit of his next interviewee. As Landon Maddix strolls down the hallway with hands on hips, Hardy scuttles up behind him and blocks his path, virtually cornering the former World Champion, who looks around, eyes darting for a quick escape. "Landon, can I get a few words?" Ben rushes out with, leaving Landon with very little option not to. "We haven't seen you since 13th Hour, what's your status with the World Heavyweight Title? Where have you been the past couple of weeks?" Landon holds up his hands, motioning for Hardy to settle down. "Okay, one question at a time there Benny. As far as where I've been? To be honest, I didn't really realise I'd been anywhere. Miss a couple of shows and suddenly you're AWOL. I guess I should be flattered at the concern, but, it really was just two shows. See, I haven't been away 'finding myself', or recharging my batteries or training in Guatemalaen Taekwando like some people do when they actually are absent from the fed. Simply put, I've been busy elsewhere." "Okay. Well, rumour is, you were called in to meet with Mr. Flesher earlier, why?" "Honestly, I'm not so sure it's my place to say. But, as far as the World Heavyweight Title goes, it doesn't look like yours truly is going to be in the running for a fourth reign any time soon." In an attempt to make light of what he just said, Landon pretends to 'bawl his eyes out' for a second. "So, no rematch clause? No return match?" "That's right Ben, as of right now, I'm a bonafide midcarder. Which, if nothing else, makes me more than qualified to be a member of Revolution Zero. Infact, I hear you're just one win away from getting your membership card through the post, so good luck with that. In the meantime, seeing as you've gone ahead and collared me here, there's something that really deserves my attention right now. Something and someone. That someone being MANSON." Shaking his head, Landon turns to the camera. "MANSON, I don't know if you can get good TV reception up there in cloud cuckoo land, so I'm going to trust that you hear about this through word of mouth at the very least. I really, really do not get you. Shocking, I know. But, I really don't get it. I don't get this sudden interest in me and everything I do. Going out to the ring and telling me that I 'was supposed to keep the belt'. Don't you think I know that!? Of COURSE I was supposed to keep the belt. I was wrestling Alan Clark and Johnny Dangerous for crying out loud! Now, see, I get that part okay. I get that I was 'supposed to win'. I get that I 'failed' by not winning. What I can't seem to understand though is what in the hell any of this has to do with you." Landon looks to Benjamin for some answers, but he just shrugs. "You and JJ Johnson, not so long ago, you took me out. Two on one. Go 2 Sleep, Curbstomp on the concrete. You were given a directive to take out La Cucaracha and sure enough, you did it. That's what hired guns do. They take out who they're told to take out and they move on to the next target. Except now, I can't hear one of your rambling diatribes without my name popping up somewhere in the middle. If you were trying to get my attention, congratulations. If you were trying to send me a message however, I'm afraid to say, it got lost in translation because my gibberish machine exploded trying to decipher exactly what Toxxic said in 'Wem-bur-lee' last week!" Shuddering a little at the mere thought of it, Landon decides to get back on subject. "Seriously. All this talk of MANSONITES and 'The Cult Of MANSONOSITY'? Ruling a kingdom in hell and destroying the earth? What is THAT all about!? Now, I'm hardly one to be talking about people having an inflated opinion of themselves. I realise that Ben, no need to point the irony out to me." "Uhm, I wasn..." "But, you have seriously gone off the deep-end if you really believe anything you've been saying. And you might very well be on the edge for even understanding it. MANSON, you're clearly on some sort of power trip. Or, quite possibly, some sort of acid trip. Either way, you're not some almighty being. You're not a mythological figure carved from ancient mountain rock. Hell, you're not even Todd Royal! What you are is delusional. Delusional about your 'powers'. Delusional about your stature. And delusional if you ever thought you had a shot at challenging me for the World Heavyweight Championship, let alone beating me for it." Landon points a finger right down the lens. "For future reference. I don't like you. I don't hate you. MANSON, as a great woman once said, 'I nothing you'. Please keep that in mind. Thank you." Off goes Landon, with Hardy left to wonder why he made so much effort trying to catch up to Landon, considering he barely got a word in edgeways.

“What do you mean you’re running behind?!” Oh the woes of the SWF Commissioner Tom Flesher. It’s obviously been a rough night for him already, and his troubles have only just begun. We don’t know who’s on the other side of his cell phone. It doesn’t really matter, it’s the tone of his voice that matters, and it’s not a happy one. Our beloved Commissioner is currently stalking the halls of the Braehead Arena. “How long is it going to take you to get here? Take that time, divide it in half, and that’s when you’d better be here!” Tom Flesher has never really been a laid-back type of guy. All business, through-and-through. Except for that time that he used the Cruiserweight championship as a dip tray. That shit was gold, baby. Outside of that, though… all business. He’s not exactly the forgiving type, either. In fact, there’s not a log good things about the man. He’s not exactly the type of guy who’s buttons you should push. Unfortunately for Tom, though, sometimes the buttons that you aren’t supposed to push are the most tempting. Flesher approaches the door to his office in haste. “I don’t care about how bad the traffic is…” … to find it slightly cracked. Flesher’s voice takes a tone of curiosity as he pushes the door open…. “… you just get here as soon as…” … and finds Austin Sly sitting in the chair behind his desk. Sitting in HIS chair messing with HIS stuff. “… never mind, I’ve got to go. I’ve got to take care of a pest.” Flesher flips his phone closed and casually without looking slides it down into the front right pocket of his pants. His gaze is firmly locked on the man sitting behind his desk, but it’s not necessarily an angry gaze. Well, at least no more angry than it usually is. “Thomas M. Flesher, in the flesh.” Austin chuckles a little, obviously entertained by himself. “I always thought it would be a lot harder to get in to see our fabled commissioner. I didn’t seem to have any problem, though. I guess that should be a given, considering just who I am.” “Who are you again?” Flesher says, narrowing his eyes. “Or a better question is, what are you doing in my office?” “You know who I am, Thomas. When you need music, I provide it. When you need public appearances, I provide them. I’m the guy that has been breaking his back trying to help put this little wrestling federation of yours back on the map. I’m the guy who washes your hand,” Austin says with a smile. “Washes my hand?” Tom says, spiking his eyebrow in curiosity. “I was your hand, Thomas.” “That sounds a little gay, no offense.” “You know what I mean, Thomas,” Austin receives a glare for his troubles. “I take care of you. Now I want you to take care of me for a while.” “Still treading that fine line between straight and…” “I want you to repay the favor,” Sly lets a smirk slide across his face. “I want you to give me the respect that I deserve.” “How does anything that you’ve done translate into earned respect?” Tom says curiously. “You’re being paid for your time to make these public appearances, so if you don’t want the money anymore we can find someone else to do them. Same thing goes for this ‘wonderful’ music that you provide us with. Don’t forget, Austin… you are replaceable. You’re not doing us any more favors than we’re doing you. It’s called a business relationship and I would think that at this age in your life you would be used to this concept.” “Forget all of that, Thomas. I just wanted you to know how much I… well… care. Sure, care is a close enough word,” Austin’s voice kind of dies down. “Anyways, forget all of that…” “Forgotten.” “… how about I remind you of my record?” “You should really hope that I’ve forgotten it if you’re really wanting some sort of help from me.” “Two. There are two former world champions on the active roster that I have previously defeated, Johnny Dangerous and Landon Maddix. They’ve held the World Heavyweight Title five times between the two of them. But I didn’t just beat them, I beat them for titles. Sure, they may not have actually been world champions at the time, but that doesn’t make the wins any less important! And with a win over Kibigami tonight, I'll stand at three!” “What’s you point?” Tom says, curiosity returning to his voice. “My point is that I am just as deserving as any of these other assholes that are constantly toting themselves as the next World Champ.” “Maybe.” “Maybe?” “Do something that proves you’re really deserving of what you seem to think you deserve.” Tom smiles, “prove yourself.” “I grow tired of this. I have a match to get ready for.” Austin says with a sigh, climbing out of Tom’s chair. “You haven’t heard the last from me.” “For some reason, I don’t doubt it.” Austin exits the room slowly, exchanging a quick glare with the commissioner on the way out. Tom shakes his head in disgust, “I’m going to have to have this room cleaned.”

Funyon is in the ring and brings microphone to mouth for the introductions. As he does, "Getting Away With Murder” blares to life with its opening riff, and Zack Malibu makes his way out through a shower of golden pyro. Mak covers his head in frustration. Alexander breaks the hold as the bell rings. Funyon’s voice fills the arena once again. “Here’s your winner of the match, the Mad Scientist of the Mat, Mmmmmmmmmmmiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiichaellllllllll Aaaalllllllllexxxxxxxxaaaaaaaaaaaaaander!” Alexander winces in pain as Hall lifts his injured arm, but he smiles to himself. “Now entering the arena, from Providence, Rhode Island, weighing in at 210 lbs., ‘The Franchise,’ Zaaaaaaaaaaaaaaack Maaaaaaaaaaaaalibu!” White pyro then shoots off on both sides of the ramp as he walks down to the ring. The crowd pops for Malibu’s entrance as he walks down the ramp, pointing into the crowd and smiling. The Suicide King snickers. “Your heir apparent arrives, Francis…it looks like he’ll be the experimental subject of the Mad Scientist tonight.” “Look, King, lots of people have called themselves ‘Franchise’…” Mak Francis begins. “Already trying to distance yourself?” King adopts an obviously Darth Vadery voice. “I find your lack of faith disturbing…” Then dropping the cheesy Vaderism, he adds, “I don’t blame you, really. Not even you would want to be continually associated with the losing side.” “King, seriously,” Mak sighs. “I’m not distancing myself from anything because I really have nothing to do with…oh, never mind.” “Dread Rock” by Paul Oakenfold begins to play, and the a video montage of Alexander’s previous in-ring exploits interspersed with Da Vinci’s “Vitruvian Man” highlighting the areas that the various moves depicted in the video injure on his opponents. “And his opponent,” Funyon declares, “from Greenville, South Carolina…weighing in at 221 lbs., the Mad Scientist of the Mat, Mmmmmmmmmiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiichael Aaaaaalexxxxxxxxxxaaaaaaander!” With mixed boos and cheers, boos being slightly more prevalent, Michael Alexander steps out onto the rampway, shakes his head at the crowd as he surveys them, and makes his way to the ring. Alexander looks at Malibu as he approaches the ring, smiling evilly. Malibu observes him confidently. Alexander climbs into the ring, now seemingly ignoring his opponent and makes his way to his corner, stretching nonchalantly. “This will be our second look at Michael Alexander, who was impressive in his match last week,” Mak comments. “This week, he’ll have much stiffer competition, though.” “I don’t know about the competition being ‘stiffer,’ but I’m looking forward to seeing more of Michael Alexander. He was excellent last week, and this week he gets a chance to make his mark in this tournament for the New Blood Title. I’d love to see him win this tournament. I think he’d make a great inaugural champion.” King chirps happily. Referee Anthony Michael Hall motions to ringside and… DING! DING! DING! …the match is underway! Alexander and Malibu circle warily, sizing each other up. They collide with a collar-and-elbow tie-up to start things off. Malibu snags a side headlock, wrenching on it with gusto. Alexander pushes Malibu towards the ropes and launches him off. Malibu comes of the ropes quickly with a beautiful flying forearm shot to Alexander’s head. The Mad Scientist is knocked solidly off his feet. “YEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!” The crowd pops huge for the shot. "Malibu starts things off with a powerful forearm shot." Mak says. "We're getting things moving here!" King snorts. "Moving where exactly? Malibu's just setting himself up to get too cocky and do something stupid." Alexander rolls onto his stomach near the ropes, trying to shake the cobwebs out of his head. Malibu kips up and yells to the crowd, getting an answering pop. Alexander slowly pulls himself up to his knees as the Preppy One approaches. Malibu pulls Alexander to his feet and fires a series of forearms into the Mad Scientist’s head. Alexander reels onto the ropes and rebounds a little, staggering out to drop into the center of the ring. "A series of crisp forearms from the Preppy One!" Mak declares. "He is not definitely on his game tonight. Meanwhile, Alexander seems taken aback by this storm of offense at the beginning of the match." "Malibu is doing nothing but flashing in the pan," King grumbles. "You're just trying to live vicariously through your namesake, Francis." Malibu begins stalking him. Meanwhile, Alexander picks himself up slowly, getting up to one knee. "Looks like Malibu is looking for something here," Mak crescendos. "It looks like it could be that shining wizard he calls the 'Zack Attack'..." The Pissed-Off Prep, seeing the opening he was looking for, runs in and goes for the Zack Attack. Unfortunately, it looks like Alexander was waiting for him. As Malibu runs in and begins the shining wizard, Alexander drops flat onto his back, dodging the knee which would have knocked him silly, and reaches up, catching Malibu’s other leg, causing the Franchise to drop solidly onto the mat face first. “YEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHH-OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!” The crowd heats up for the Zack Attack and then the counter to it, causing a weird cheer-jeer hybrid noise. King chuckles viscerally. "Going...going...gone! Malibu gets the first face full of mat of the match." Alexander rolls himself up, keeping his hold on Malibu’s left leg, stepping it over into a sort of inverted stepover toehold, remaining in a standing position. As he leans forward, putting pressure on the left knee, he reaches forward and instead of cinching in a crossface portion to turn the hold into a modified STF, he slaps Malibu across the back of the head repeatedly, doing no damage with the slaps other than to the Franchise’s ego. "And now Alexander is just putting the Prep in his place," King declaims gleefully. "Again, this is just wrong, but Alexander is obviously looking to take out the leg, and therefore remove the superkick, from Malibu's arsenal." Mak observes astutely. "Damn straight, Francis," King agrees. "The most sound strategy out there - take your enemy's best weapon away from him." "And the slaps are for...?" Francis gripes. "Obviously, to let him know that there's nothing he can do about it." King replies happily. The Preppy One raises himself up, furious, and then Alexander drops to his knees, viciously snapping Malibu’s left leg between Alexander’s knee and the mat. The Pissed-Off Prep howls in pain and drops back down onto his stomach. "That leg is taking some serious damage," Mak warns. "That's the idea," King laughs. Alexander smiles cruelly as he wrenches the leg again, putting even more pressure on the knee. Malibu, showing some ring savvy, reaches out and manages to grab the bottom rope. Hall tells Alexander to break the hold, but the Evil Genius wrenches it again. "He made it to the ropes!" Mak breathes a sigh of relief. "The hold should be broken..." "Not until the count is almost done..." King reminds him. Hall starts the count… One… Two… Three… Four… Alexander breaks the hold just before the count of five, bowing up a little at Referee Hall, who doesn’t back down. While Alexander is paying attention to the referee, Malibu struggles back up to his knees, using the ropes for support. He grimaces in pain as he makes his way to one knee. "Alexander is wasting time arguing here," Mak admonishes. "He's giving Malibu time to get to his feet again." "Well, that count was a little quick, Francis," King says. "You have to make sure the official is being impartial and not offering improperly hasty counts." Alexander turns from his berating of the referee back to Malibu, stalking up for what would have been a vicious double axe handle, but this time the Preppy One was waiting for him, and shoots a lightning quick elbow into Alexander’s midsection. The breath leaves Alexander in a “Whoosh!” as he doubles over in surprise. Malibu then hits a European uppercut to Alexander’s exposed face as the Mad Scientist is doubled over. Alexander staggers backward, but remains on his feet. "That sort of thing always comes back to bite you, losing track of your opponent like that." Mak shakes his head. "He'd be twice as good as he is if he could lose that attitude." "Francis, look," King advises, "wrestling, as you well know, requires high degrees of confidence and competence. And to win, you have to be willing to display both to everyone, even the referee." "I don't think it's so competent to let your opponent return to a vertical base when you had the upper hand," Mak disagrees. Unfortunately for Malibu, throwing the uppercut also threw the Preppy One himself off balance, and he has to hold on to the ropes to avoid falling, thus preventing him from immediately trying to capitalize on Alexander’s vulnerability. "See!" King pipes up. "Malibu was still in no shape to really do anything. No harm, no foul." "Well, that depends on your definitions of those last two concepts," Mak gripes. Alexander rubs his jaw as he stabilizes himself and then turns back to Malibu. The Pissed-Off Prep throws a kick to Alexander’s gut. The Evil Genius is able to catch the foot, however, and grins nastily at Malibu. His good mood is short-lived as Malibu, using his grip on the ropes to support his injured leg, suddenly snaps off a brutal enzuigiri! “WOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!” The crowd whoops as the kick connects. "Whoa! A perfect enzuigiri, even with the injured leg! Care to reassess the harm or the foul, King?" "You don't count your cards at the table, Francis," King snipes back. "The game isn't even close to over." Alexander’s eyes roll back into his head as he collapses in a heap. Malibu manages to land on his feet, wincing as his injured leg takes a little more weight than is comfortable. The Preppy One is now more pissed off than ever as he again approaches Alexander as the Mad Scientist lifts his head off the mat, groaning and holding the back of his head, rolling over onto his side. Malibu stomps Alexander’s midsection and head as the Mad Scientist tries to roll away toward the ropes. "The Prep hits some nasty stomps to Alexander," Mak observes. "Even if his leg is obviously still causing him some trouble." Malibu nurses his left leg, obviously still in pain, but does not let up his assault until Alexander rolls underneath the bottom rope to the outside. The Evil Genius is holding both his ribs and his head now, and he tries to walk it off outside the ring. "And Alexander is wisely taking to the outside to break up the momentum." King nods, seemingly agreeing with the Mad Scientist's choice. "And with that leg, Malibu's in no shape to..." Obviously, the kicks and stomps to the head are giving Alexander trouble, as he has his back to the ring and fails to notice that Malibu has positioned himself to flip himself over the top rope, and as Alexander turns back toward the ring, Malibu connects with the flip, landing himself into a position on Alexander’s shoulders for a hurricanrana at ringside! The crowd explodes! "A rope flip hurricanrana to the floor! Incredible! Even with the pain from his leg, Malibu is showing that he is still in this match!" Mak shouts. “HOLY SHIT! HOLY SHIT!” A chant erupts as both wrestlers are prone on the outside. "Calm down, Francis," King growls. "This isn't 'Falls Count Anywhere'; in the ring is all that counts. That was just a useless high spot that probably did almost as much damage to Malibu as it did to Alexander." Hall begins the count. One… Two… Three… Slowly, the Franchise makes his way back to his feet. He staggers a little, seeming to have further aggravated the injury to his left leg. "What did I tell you, Francis?" King reminds his broadcast partner. "Mr. Preppy is barely able to get himself up, and he's forced to waste a lot of energy to return to the ring in time." Four… Five… Six… Alexander has only made it back up to his knees when Malibu reaches him. Seven… The Pissed-Off Prep grabs Alexander by the hair and shoves him back into the ring underneath the bottom rope. "And for some reason, Malibu helps his opponent back into the ring. You know, hitting your opponent with a move like that on the floor then helping him back into the ring before the count-out really misses the whole point of attacking him on the outside." "Well," Mak stutters, but he is forced to agree. "I guess I can't argue with that." Eight… Malibu himself is slow getting back in, but does manage to beat the count. Alexander has made it back up to his feet as Malibu steps through the ropes, still showing the effects of Alexander’s assault on his left leg. The Preppy One moves forward to continue his assault. "And he wasted time jumping around outside the ring that he could have used to rest his leg and let the blood start flowing to it again." King gloats. Alexander is ready for this and shoots in for a single-leg takedown, lifting on the right leg of Malibu, forcing him to depend on his injured left leg for support. "He's forcing Malibu to put even more pressure on that injured leg," Mak harps. "You may have been right before, King." King begins to smile obscenely, but the Pissed-Off Prep drops down and it looks like he tries to roll the Evil Genius up into a small package... "Malibu with a small package!" Mak yells. The King's jaw drops and his smile melts in horror. However, the Mad Scientist actually rolls with the small package, using some extra forward momentum of his own to push the move further than Malibu wanted, putting the Preppy One’s shoulders on the mat for the first pin of the night! "Wrong!" King yells happily. "It's Alexander with a small package!" Hall starts the count! ONE! TWO! TH- NO! Malibu kicks himself free just in time. "Malibu still had enough left in the tank to kick out of that one, although that was an excellent reversal there." Mak states. "That was just Alexander showing him that anything that pitiful Prep can do, he can do better." King chimes in, smirking. Both men roll up to their feet quickly and Malibu manages to launch himself at Alexander with a dropkick which connects, although just barely, as Alexander saw it coming and rolled with it as best he could. "Malibu hits with a dropkick, although just barely!" Mak turns to the King. "You've got to admit that he's showing an amazing amount of resiliency by continuing to press his body even with that injured leg." "If there's one thing I've learned, Francis, it's that you should never admit anything." "I see you've been talking with your lawyer again." Both men are again down on the mat, with Malibu showing some residual effects of Alexander’s leg work as he lightly nurses his left leg while getting to his feet. The Mad Scientist rubs his jaw where the kick connected, but is still up on his feet just as quickly as Malibu. "Both men are back up now," King changes the subject back to the match. Mak shrugs. "Both have taken some heavy shots up until this point, but Malibu honestly looks slightly the worse for wear to to Alexander's focus." "Focus is a good thing..." King observes. "It not only keeps you on your game plan..." As the Pissed-Off Prep approaches to follow up on the dropkick, Alexander shoots again for the leg…or feigns as much. Malibu hops backwards to dodge the feigned shoot, and stumbles just slightly, his left leg still tender. This is all the opening that the Evil Genius was looking for, and he dashes toward the off-balance Malibu and, stepping up on Malibu’s right leg in a perfect backward spin, he slams his heel into the back of the Preppy One’s skull in the Shining Backspin Enzuigiri. “OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!” The crowd heats up as the kick connects. "...it also allows you to surprise your opponent by suddenly shifting that focus. Just like that!" King finishes, smiling. "That was a beautiful heel kick enzuigiri, I've got to admit," Mak nods. "And Alexander used some classic diversionary tactics there." "The best kind, Francis." Malibu collapses forward and both he and Alexander land on the mat simultaneously. Alexander smirks at Malibu’s fallen form as he regains his feet. He shakes his head disapprovingly at the Preppy One. He then stomps repeatedly on Malibu’s left leg, back, and head, in a sort of abbreviated Garvin stomp. "Alexander now goes back to work, concentrating again on the leg." Mak shakes his head. "But he still can't help but disrespect his opponent." "You act as if Malibu deserves respect in the first place." King quips. The Mad Scientist then grabs Malibu’s left ankle and pulls him towards the ropes. The Preppy One rolls himself over as he reaches the ropes and tries to grab or punch at Alexander, who viciously kicks him in the head. The Evil Genius then feeds the stunned Malibu’s left leg between the bottom and second ropes. Alexander then steps out onto the apron, placing his foot onto Malibu’s exposed calf, holding the Preppy One’s leg in place. "Oh, we've seen this before," Mak says. "He's going to do even more damage to that leg!" "That would be the idea." King gloats. With the left leg held in place, Alexander springs over the top rope for a double stomp onto the injured left leg of Malibu. The Franchise screams in pain, rolling away from Alexander and the ropes. “BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!” Alexander basks in the jeers as he approaches the fallen Franchise. Malibu tries to roll away and protect his left leg, but that just leaves him vulnerable to a series of kicks to his back and head. "And this time at least, Alexander doesn't get distracted by arguing with the ref or posing, and goes right back to work on his opponent." Mak seems slightly mollified by the lack of any mockery by Alexander. "We're getting to the point in the match where the best mockery will be when Alexander puts Malibu out of this tournament, and that's what we're about to see." King watches the display of brutality with open nostalgia. The Mad Scientist applies stomps and kicks liberally to Malibu. Alexander then turns to the crowd, pointing at Malibu as shaking his head in disdain. “BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!” "He's letting his guard down," Mak warns again. "His guard against what, Francis? Malibu hobbling at him?" While Alexander is mocking him, Malibu is able to force himself up to one knee, and scrambles to his feet in the far turnbuckle. Alexander sees this and builds up a head of steam, charging the turnbuckle for a diiving shoulder block, stinger splash style. Unfortunately for the Mad Scientist, Malibu half rolls, half collapses out of the way, sending Alexander crashing into the turnbuckle. “YEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHH!” "Maybe that, or maybe letting Malibu hobbling out of his way when he's doing something like that." Mak smiles with mocking benignity. "Even a blind man can find the ground once in a while, Francis." King grumbles. "Malibu just showed he was sapient enough to fall out of the way of an oncoming train. But unfortunately, he's still on the railroad tracks. Just wait." Malibu pulls himself back up to his feet as Alexander hangs limply over the top turnbuckle. Malibu then grabs Alexander’s tights, pulling him backward and rolling him into a schoolboy! Hall starts the count! "A schoolboy by Malibu! This could be it!" Mak shouts. "No!" King yells. ONE! TWO! NO! Alexander kicks out, but he remains seemingly stunned. Malibu again hauls himself back to his feet. The Preppy One, capitalizing on the opportunity, stomps on Alexander’s arm and shoulder, using the nearby ropes to help him balance himself on his injured leg. "Now we see Malibu capitalizing on a mistake by Alexander. The tide could be turning, King." King is disgusted. "Remember that tides go both ways, Francis. It all depends on how long you watch. And this match isn't done yet." The Mad Scientist howls in pain and rolls away from Malibu. This turns out to be surprisingly effective, as Malibu is still hobbling from the damage to his leg. "See, Francis, Alexander's game plan is still in effect; Malibu still can't move well enough to really take any serious advantage." The Evil Genius gets himself up to his feet just in time to receive a sharp series of forearms from Malibu. As Alexander is staggered, Malibu whips him into the ropes and connects with a high backdrop! “WOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!” King groans aloud as Mak observes wryly, "That wouldn't be Malibu taking advantage of Alexander, would it?" Alexander lands hitting his injured shoulder, writhing in pain. The Pissed-Off Prep is still nursing his left leg, but that doesn’t prevent him from following up this time. Seemingly energized, Malibu whoops to the crowd and hoists Alexander to his feet. "Whooping to the crowd is a waste of time," King snarks. Grabbing Alexander’s injured arm, the Franchise twists it into an arm bar position, wrenching it. "But it didn't seem to interfere with Malibu continuing to go after the arm and shoulder of Alexander," Mak snaps back. Alexander winces in pain, but before he can make any move to counter, Malibu, even though his balance is precarious, hits with a reverse crescent kick to the jaw. The Evil Genius collapses backwards in a heap from the kick. "A nasty kick from Malibu there," Mak rubs his own jaw in sympathy. "Alexander looks stunned here, King...he could be on his way out..." King mumbles something that probably contained four undiplomatically organized letters. The Preppy One stumbles a little, but quickly regains his balance. He raises his hand to the crowd and gets an answering pop. "Why don't you harp on Malibu for wasting his time with this ridiculous crowd-fawning?" King gripes. "Well, he doesn't seem to let it distract him from doing his job in the ring, but it does waste valuable time..." Alexander has meanwhile rolled over and made his way up to his knees. As the Evil Genius pushes himself to his feet, Malibu approaches him from behind, grabbing both his arms into a reverse double underhook, obviously preparing for one of his rolling suplex combinations, in this case tiger suplexes. "He's going for the rolling tigers!" Mak shouts. "If he starts one of those, it could be over!" Alexander however perceives this as well, and with surprising quickness shifts his weight, pitching himself forward and down, and hooking Malibu’s left leg with a drop toehold! Malibu yelps in pain as he falls forward. "Looks like Alexander was one step ahead of you there, Francis," King smirks. "They don't call him the 'Evil Genius' for nothing." "I never questioned his ring savvy or his intelligence, King, I just think he lets his attitude get in the way of wrestling the match the way it ought to be done." "The way it ought to be done is decided every time by whose hand is raised at the bell, Francis." King pronounces sagely. Alexander rubs his shoulder as he tries to get back up to take advantage of the momentary break in Malibu’s offense. The Mad Scientist gets to his feet just as Malibu starts to get to his feet. Snarling, Alexander rushes up to the rising Franchise, hitting him with a thunderous running knee lift which sends the Preppy One back down to the mat, flat on his back. "Running knee lift from Alexander," Mak grunts, wincing himself at the obvious impact. "What was that tide you were talking about, Francis?" The Evil Genius grabs Malibu’s left ankle, stepping in and spinning it around into a spinning toe hold. Alexander then drops down, locking the leg into that painful position between his own legs while he leans forward, lifting Malibu’s head up and hooking it into a front facelock, completing his signature Ouroboros hold. The Mad Scientist rolls over to his right, pulling his victim with him, putting even more pressure on both Malibu’s injured leg and on the front facelock. "I've seen that move in his match tapes! He calls that the 'Ouroboros,' and it looks even more effective live!" "That looks agonizing is how it looks." King grimaces, but smiles as well. "Maybe Malibu should have spent more time training instead of watching 'Saved by the Bell' reruns, letting himself get caught in that." The Pissed-Off Prep flails with his right arm, then begins to hammer on Alexander’s ribs with a series of short forearms. After about four shots, Alexander’s grip on the facelock is loosened just enough to allow Malibu to slip his head free. The Franchise then begins fire a series of elbows into Alexander’s head, and the Evil Genius takes the better part of valor and releases the hold, rolling away. "Malibu fights his way out of it, but is he too far gone to regain the momentum here?" King snorts. "The Preppy was too far gone before he got in the ring tonight..." Malibu is very slow getting to his feet in spite of his heroic efforts, as his left leg refuses to consistently cooperate. Alexander resumes his attack, hitting with a kick to Malibu’s left leg, causing him to stumble. "The Mad Scientist goes right back to work on the leg...!" Mak exclaims. "He's not letting up now!" "Good! It's time he put Prep Boy here back to changing oil." "That's the Pep Boys, King." "Maybe he can get a job with them too." Mak groans. Alexander then goes for a high roundhouse kick at the Franchise’s head, missing as Malibu ducks down, leaving Alexander to complete the spin, putting his back momentarily to Malibu. The Pissed-Off Prep steps over quickly, grabbing Alexander’s arm and hooking his near leg from behind, going for the Angle Slam! "Malibu's got it hooked!" Mak cries. "The Angle Slam!" “YEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA--OOOOOOOO!” The crowd’s joy is cut short as the Franchise’s injured leg gives way, causing him to stumble in the midst of the move! Alexander shifts his weight, rolling out of move as Malibu loses his grip. "You know what they say about chickens, Francis," King chortles. Wasting no time, the Mad Scientist, now behind his opponent, grabs him for a back suplex, lifting him into position and beginning the spin for his patented Event Horizon! "Now he's going for that spinning Blue Thunder Bomb of his!" Mak yells. "The Event Horizon!" "The microphone is there for a reason, Francis!" King reprimands him. "You don't have to scream for us to hear you." “OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!” But at the last second before the point of no return, Malibu kicks, shifting his weight and flipping backwards out of the move! “YEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!” "No!" King yells. "You don't have to yell, King," Mak admonishes him, smirking. Unfortunately, the Preppy One lands awkwardly on his injured leg, causing him to stagger, wincing in pain. This gives the Evil Genius time to turn around and grab Malibu again, this time lifting him into a shin breaker! "Malibu's leg started to give way on him twice now in rapid succession," Mak observes ruefully. "And Alexander's just doing more and more damage to it." Malibu howls in pain at the impact, seeming about to collapse…but the Mad Scientist holds onto the leg, and before the Franchise can fall, Alexander turns it into an inverted dragon screw, leaving the Preppy One face down on the mat! "He's just in the process of sticking the fork in Mr. Preppy, Francis, mark my words." King declares confidently. The Evil Genius instantly rolls himself back to his feet, folds the stunned Malibu’s legs into a reverse Indian deathlock position, placing the Franchise’s injured left leg as the focal point, and hooking his opponent’s foot behind his own calf, grinning cruelly at the crowd as he whips his body down to the mat, completing the Gordian Knot! "There's the Gordian Knot!" Mak shouts. "And Malibu should have stayed at the beach," King laughs cruelly at his pun as Mak moans. Malibu screams and flails for the ropes, but Alexander viciously rolls and shifts his weight, continuing to place terrific pressure on the Franchise’s injured left leg. Hall leans down to Malibu, putting the question to him. The Preppy One shakes his head, but his face reveals the agony he’s suffering. "He's still fighting it!" Mak says, amazed. "Malibu's showing no end of guts here tonight!" "Guts and stupidity are often confused," King remarks. "Especially by you, Francis." The Pissed-Off Prep hangs on, straining to reach the ropes, trying to pull himself toward the ropes on his hands! "No, King, this is guts plain and simple! He's reaching for it..." Malibu stretches to his limits… "There's no way...not out of that hold..." King shakes his head, but a sliver of doubt is audible in his voice. …only inches away… "...he's almost got it..." Mak leans forward. …he lifts himself up with one arm, his face contorted in terrible pain… "...he's going to get there, King!" NO! King yelps in joy. "Or not." He happily replies. Alexander wrenches back on the hold, yanking the Preppy One back from the ropes, causing him to miss the rope by scant inches as he flails toward it. Malibu, his visage distorted horrifically, collapses down again, laying face down on the mat, no longer moving. "Malibu looks like he's out, King. He's not moving at all..." "If only we could be so lucky..." Anthony Michael Hall lifts Malibu’s hand from the mat… ONCE…the Franchise’s hand collapses back to the mat… TWICE…Malibu’s hand falls again. He continues to lie unmoving. THREE…the hand falls again. Malibu has seemingly passed out from the pain, and Hall calls it! DING! DING! DING! Funyon gets on the microphone again and announces, "Here's your winner, the Mad Scientist of the Mat, Mmmmmmmmiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiichaelllllllllllllll Aaaaaaaaaaaaallllllllllexxxxxxxxxxxxxxaaaaaaaaaaaaaaander!" Alexander winces as the referee raises his injured arm, but he still smiles broadly and viciously. "Alexander has done it again, King. Malibu almost had him there for a while though. His disrespect for his opponents is going to cause him lots of problems here. Nobody in the SWF is here for fodder. Anyone on any given day can beat you if you don't recognize the threat." King wags his finger at Mak. "Everybody's a threat? You're forgetting about Landon." "He's a former World Heavyweight Champion, King." "Even David Arquette can say that, Francis." "Not in the SWF, he can't." "Whatever," King shifts the subject. "Mark my words...Alexander is winning this tournament! He's got the ability and the attitude to take him to the top of the SWF." "I don't necessarily disagree with you, King, but-" "Then it's settled," King cuts him off. "No further discussion necessary." The Evil Genius turns back to his fallen opponent, who is now being ministered to by Hall. Alexander shakes his head, turns his back on Malibu and Hall, and makes his way to the back.

Francis: We’re back ladies and gentleman! King: and it’s sure been a great show. Francis: the second match in the Inaugural Tournament is going to begin soon. King: now this Saintly C. seems like a heavy contender. Francis: Yes, but don’t count Arne out. “Pursuit of Vikings” Comes On Francis: So The Match Is About to Begin. Arne Stomps his way down, looking around, and enters the ring Funyon: Coming Down the Ring, ARNE ANDERSON King: maybe it’s just me, but do you think Arne might be worried a little. Seeing as his brother has his own match. Francis: Only if they end up facing each other. On the odd chance that happens. We’ll see! “Song 2” Comes On Francis: Here comes the fresh New blood! King: Odd song for an Odd person. Francis: We’ll just have to see. A Bright Flash & Killa steps out looking at the floor. Looks up and walks towards the ring. In the back the video shows him wrestling some hardcore matches. Climbs to the apron, steps in over the ropes and walks around the ring holding up his arms before taking his trench coat off. He tips his top hat towards his opponent. Thus, revealing his painted face. King: Oh great a clown. This one is in the bag for Arne. Francis: He looks like a serious clown though? Or is the frown a bit much? Ref. Chris Bacon orders the bell Saint and Arne lock arms Arne gets the first blow with a knee to the stomach Arne head BUTT’s him to the floor Picking him up, Arne attempts a scoop slam but fails Francis: looks like he is too heavy for Anderson. King: Not like it matters, Arne could pull this off with picking him up. Saint retaliates with left jabs & right hooks to Arne’s Stomach. He nails a running shoulder block making Arne fall. A standing legdrop seemed to take Arne for a trip Arne slowly shakes off the pain while on the floor on all fours. He Picks Arne up, and starts a Bearhug which looks overwhelming Arne yells in pain, but doesn’t give in. He starts trying to punch his way out of it. Saint lets go, while holding his head. Arne nails a DDT. He takes this to catch a short breath from that bearhug Saint gets up a bit dazed, but able to clear his head. Saint runs towards Arne as he turns around A BIG BOOT Straight to the Face. Francis: I think my heart just stopped King: did you hear that shit? Francis: did he just decapitate him? Arne hits the floor HARD and seems to be out. Saint drags him closer to the rope. He climbs to the top rope. Francis: No, That’s just not right. King: He must have all muscle weight. Francis: I fear Arne’s Health after this. King: Arne get out of There! Saint yells, “CLOWN LOVE” And Arne rolls out of the way while Saint went down hitting the mat with his knee, where Arne’s head should’ve been. King: That was close, and now you should kick his ass! Arne on the ground still seems to be seeing spots. Saint gets up after the drop not phased much at all. Saint slowly walks toward Arne. Arne starts Crawling away to the corner to pull himself up Saint quickly gets him by the head and does his own DDT Arne sat up yelling and Saint started bringing him up by the neck. Arne than kicked him in the stomach. King: this is his chance! Arne Short-arm clotheslined him to the floor. He started punching him on the floor. Saint grabbed him by the neck again, and this time brought him off the ground and a chokeslam planted him down to the mat. Francis: that was delivered with great authority. Saint picked him up and did his Martyr's Drop. King: Are you kidding me, ARNE GET UP. Francis: I believe that’s the end of Arne. Saint looks up. Arne rolling on the floor. He tries to get up Saint looks back at Arne, and walks around his body. Francis: what is he doing? King: I hope this fails him; he shouldn’t let his opponent rest. Arne is going to win this thanks to his lazy attitude. Francis: Question is if Arne can even get up. His head must still be spinning. Saint Sits on his back and bends his legs back under his arms while pulling his arms back. He is nailing the Necro Links! Arne starts to break in pain. Francis: He is going to break his back! King: Well, So much for Arne. Chris Bacon talks to Arne to see if he gives up, but doesn’t. Saint pulls tighter, and Arne starts to give in. Chris Bacon calls for the bell. Funyon: and the Winner, by Submission….. SAINTLY C. KILLA Song 2 Plays Chris raises Killa’s Arm. Francis: what about him going to win. King: he will….Next time. Francis: Will Arne even fight with this kind of head injury King: Don’t Exaggerate, it’ll just last a few days.

JRR vs Olaf Andersen to be edited in, I hope.

After that last enthralling happening, we're transported backstage to the office of the SWF's Commissioner, Tom Flesher. Or, "Mr. Thomas M. Flesher" to be more accurate. After a brief shot of the fancy nameplate on the door, for no real reason other than to make this tortured opening a little bit more fancy, the plaque is obscured by a hand. The hand of former World Champion Landon Maddix, entering the office. Stubbing out his cigar, "Mr. Thomas M. Flesher" motions for Landon to sit down with no hint of a greeting. "Landon, glad you could make it." Tom greets in his most sincerely insincere of voices. "Okay, but let's make this quick, shall we? I've got a photo shoot in an hour or so..." "Had a photo-shoot." corrects Flesher, surprising his visitor. "Change of circumstances, change of plans. I meant to get my secretary to... well, it's not important now. So, let's get down to business shall we? You're no longer the World Champion." Landon looks down at his vacant waist. "Gee, I thought I felt lighter this morning. That must explain it." "Now now, no need for sarcasm." drawls Tom. "I know you must be hung up on the fact that you're no longer the SWF World Heavyweight Champion, but that's no reason to take it out on me now, is it? Now, Landon, obviously we're entering a new chapter in the SWF's run, what with you no longer being the SWF World Heavyweight Champion and all. Times change. Trends fade. We executives have to keep moving with the times, to give the people something fresh and something exciting. Which is why, in the time honoured tradition of the business, we've decided to re-evalute your position within the company." "...so, in other words, you're 'phasing me out'?" "Phasing you out is one way of putting it," admits Tom with a smile, "infact, it's probably the best way of putting it. See, it's just like what happened with Toxxic. He rose quickly to the top of the card, stayed doggedly at the top of the card, beat a whole bunch of challengers while at the top of the card, grew stale at the top of the card..." "Pissed off the wrong people while at the top of the card?" "He became a law unto himself. Something which the board has been concerned about your good self doing, after you almost killed the buyrate for 13th Hour by insisting that Zyon of all people was your most viable challenger. But, that's besides the point. What I'm saying is, Alan Clark is the new World Champion. We've got plenty of fresh challengers on the horizon, guys coming back, guys making progress up the card. You've done a fine job as World Champion in the past few months. You've shifted plenty of merchandise, created interest in your matches. But, it's been decided that you can do that out of the World Title picture as well as you did in it." Not looking entirely surprised at this turn of events, a simple shrug is Landon's response. "Fine." For a moment there's silence. Tom's eyebrows peak, waiting for the rest of the sentence. But there's nothing coming. "I'm sorry, what?" "You wanna 'bump me down the card', to use that addage, that's fine. Not like it'd be the first time I was out of the main-event scene. Infact, I think you'll find last time, I did it of my own accord anyway. You can research it when I leave, not really in the mood for a history lesson right about now. Suffice to say, a few hundred dollars a week here or there and a little less spotlight on my face is something I'm sure I'll be able to live with for a while. Main event, curtain jerker... I'll make do. Sure, I've got a bit of an ego. You know it. I know it. But, I've got plenty of... shall we say, 'opportunities', elsewhere, which I'm sure the SWF head office have made you aware of, so I probably won't be able to devote myself to this company as much as I had been anyway. At least not at the top of the card." Suspecting that Landon might just be trying to cushion the blow a little too vehemently, Tom takes a swig of his whiskey with a wry smile. "Plus..." Leaning onto Tom's desk, Landon leans in, whispering the rest of the sentence for some reason. "...just between you and me, we both know sooner or later, I'll be right back on top. Just like Toxxic." "That's as maybe." smiles Tom curtly, as he brushes Landon's elbow off of his desk. "For now, I'm just glad we understand each other." "Oh, don't worry Tom, I understand. I understand perfectly well. You won't see me kicking up a fuss about being 'phased out' or 'diminished airtime', or whatever the official company line is you're using to justify yet another abuse of power. And by the by, I really didn't realise you had so many old grudges to bare." "That's the beauty of a long career in this business." "You don't say." sighs Landon, mentally recalling his laundry list of enemies. "Listen, this really has the makings of a poignant moment of bonding between us, but I've got three episodes of House I've recorded and Allison's cooking steak for me, so I'd really like to get through the rest of my paperwork before the show ends." "Oh, I hear you. There's a Krispy Kreme down the road and I've got the second season of 8 Simple Rules back at the hotel, which..." Noticing the completely uninterested look on Tom's face, Landon trails off. "Thank you." Tom sighs, happy not to hear the rest of that story. "Something is in the works for you in your new, 're-evaluated role'. I'll be in touch during the week." "Looking forward to it. I'm comfortable enough in myself to know that whether it's 5 minutes or 50 minutes, I'll still be the best damn thing on this show, week in and week out." With a sweep of the hair, Maddix tries to make a dramatic exit. He makes it only halfway through the door though, before feeling compelled to turn around again to the Commish. "Oh, by the way... the steak?" Landon smirks, looking in the direction of Tom's stomach. "May I suggest the salad with it?" *SLAM!* "Salad? What a jackass." Tom shiftily flattens out his shirt at the front as we... FADE OUT.

Adonis vs Calvin Szechstein to be edited in, I hope.

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=- The Smartmarks Wrestling Federation presents... SWF STOOOOORM! Live, Thursday, June 21st, from the Braehead Arena in Renfrewshire, Scotland! (6pm PST, 10pm EST; check local listings) (Send all promos/marked matches to chirs3) Dreary looking place, isn't it? -=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=- THE MAIN EVENT Zyon vs. "Hollywood" Spike Jenkins SPECIAL COMMENTATOR: SWF WORLD HEAVYWEIGHT CHAMPION, ALAN CLARK! --> As if these two needed any more history between them... the former number one contender and the future-hopeful number one contender collide, in a match that our World Champion Alan Clark will be watching very closely, whether he wants to or not! Rules: Standard singles match. Alan may write, if he chooses. -=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=- CONTENDERSHIP MATCH "Big Bully" Bruner vs. Johnny Dangerous --> We don't take kindly to setups around he-, oh who am I kidding. I'm sure Tom's added an extra 0 or two to Bruner's paycheck for what happened last Storm. Neverless, don't think it'll be enough to keep Johnny Dangerous down - especially considering what's on the line. The winner of this match will face Jay Hawke next week, to determine who will be the final SWF International Champion, who will head into the Unification Match at Ground Zero! Rules: Standard singles match. -=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=- SWF HARDCORE CHAMPIONSHIP - BEEKEEPER MATCH Jimmy the Doom vs. Insane Luchador --> It takes a twisted mind to come up with the idea that adding bees to anything makes it better - no surprise, then, that it was Jimmy's idea. And no surprise still that a guy like Insane Luchador was the one to answer the call! And to avoid potential lawsuits while still maintaining only the barest of low standards, front row patrons will get cans of bug spray to defend themselves. Rules: Basically the same as a tables match, but take out the tables and add in one of those crazy beekeeper boxes. And yes, it will be filled with bees. Just... you know, in case anyone was wondering. First person to slam/throw/etc. his opponent through the beebox wins. -=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=- SINGLES MATCH Chris Raynor vs. Michael Cross --> Question mark. Michael Cross. Each three syllables - coincidence? Hardly, when you consider that on last week's show, ??? = Michael Cross! How could we not have seen that! Stupid, stupid, stupid! In any event, one good returnee deserves another, as Chris Raynor welcomes Cross back into singles competition! Rules: Standard singles match. -=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=- SINGLES MATCH Fulminatus! vs. The Fabulous Jakey --> Bonus matches rule again! Rules: Standard singles match. -=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=- SINGLES MATCH Austin Sly vs. Nathaniel Kibagami --> Oh fuck me. I mean, usually returning stars get some quip that attempts to be humorous and fails in their returning match blurb, but seriously, Kibagami? I'm not messing with this one. Rules: Standard singles match. -=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=- SINGLES MATCH MANSON vs. Toxxic --> Bonus matches rule! Rules: Standard singles match. -=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=- NEW BLOOD TITLE INAUGURAL TOURNAMENT - FIRST ROUND MATCH Michael Alexander vs Zack Malibu --> The so-called "Mad Scientist of the Mat" doesn't even wear a labcoat, or have an Igor. What a letdown. Good thing his performance last Storm wasn't a letdown - now let's give him a slightly bigger fish to fry (or to perform horrible genetic experiments on, like a real mad scientist would do). Rules: Standard singles match. -=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=- NEW BLOOD TITLE INAUGURAL TOURNAMENT - FIRST ROUND MATCH Saintly C. Killa vs Arne Andersen --> I'm going to be honest with you guys - Saintly C. kinda freaks me out. Which I guess is the whole idea - in any event, we'll see if that gives him the edge he needs to make his SWF debut a successful one, as he takes on the third... wait, no the second... fuckit, one of The Four Norsemen, Arne Andersen. Rules: Standard singles match. -=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=- NEW BLOOD TITLE INAUGURAL TOURNAMENT - FIRST ROUND MATCH JRR vs Olaf Andersen --> JRR returns! After a brief hiatus he's ready to make his comeback, and it couldn't be more perfectly timed, as he squeaks into the first round of the New Blood Title Tournament! Rules: Standard singles match. -=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=- NEW BLOOD TITLE INAUGURAL TOURNAMENT - FIRST ROUND MATCH Adonis vs Calvin Szechstein --> Rules: Standard singles match. -=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=- The Smartmarks Wrestling Federation presents... SWF STOOOOORM! Live, Thursday, June 21st, from the Braehead Arena in Renfrewshire, Scotland! (6pm PST, 10pm EST; check local listings) (Send all promos/marked matches to chirs3) Dreary looking place, isn't it? Matches due at 10:00 PM Eastern Standard, unless extensions are approved. If you need one, ask your markaaah. -=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=- THE MAIN EVENT Zyon vs. "Hollywood" Spike Jenkins SPECIAL COMMENTATOR: SWF WORLD HEAVYWEIGHT CHAMPION, ALAN CLARK! --> As if these two needed any more history between them... the former number one contender and the future-hopeful number one contender collide, in a match that our World Champion Alan Clark will be watching very closely, whether he wants to or not! Rules: Standard singles match. Alan may write, if he chooses. Word Limit: 5000 Send to: Ace309 -=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=- CONTENDERSHIP MATCH "Big Bully" Bruner vs. Johnny Dangerous --> We don't take kindly to setups around he-, oh who am I kidding. I'm sure Tom's added an extra 0 or two to Bruner's paycheck for what happened last Storm. Neverless, don't think it'll be enough to keep Johnny Dangerous down - especially considering what's on the line. The winner of this match will face Jay Hawke next week, to determine who will be the final SWF International Champion, who will head into the Unification Match at Ground Zero! Rules: Standard singles match. Word Limit: 5000 Send to: chirs3 -=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=- SWF HARDCORE CHAMPIONSHIP - BEEKEEPER MATCH Jimmy the Doom vs. Insane Luchador --> It takes a twisted mind to come up with the idea that adding bees to anything makes it better - no surprise, then, that it was Jimmy's idea. And no surprise still that a guy like Insane Luchador was the one to answer the call! And to avoid potential lawsuits while still maintaining only the barest of low standards, front row patrons will get cans of bug spray to defend themselves. Rules: Basically the same as a tables match, but take out the tables and add in one of those crazy beekeeper boxes. And yes, it will be filled with bees. Just... you know, in case anyone was wondering. First person to slam/throw/etc. his opponent through the beebox wins. Word Limit: 5000 Send to: chirs3 -=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=- SINGLES MATCH Chris Raynor vs. Michael Cross --> Question mark. Michael Cross. Each three syllables - coincidence? Hardly, when you consider that on last week's show, ??? = Michael Cross! How could we not have seen that! Stupid, stupid, stupid! In any event, one good returnee deserves another, as Chris Raynor welcomes Cross back into singles competition! Rules: Standard singles match. Word Limit: 5000 Send to: Mr. S£im Citrus -=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=- SINGLES MATCH Fulminatus! vs. The Fabulous Jakey --> Bonus matches rule again! Rules: Standard singles match. Word Limit: 4500 Send to: Muzz -=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=- SINGLES MATCH Austin Sly vs. Nathaniel Kibagami --> Oh fuck me. I mean, usually returning stars get some quip that attempts to be humorous and fails in their returning match blurb, but seriously, Kibagami? I'm not messing with this one. Rules: Standard singles match. Word Limit: 5000 Send to: chirs3 -=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=- SINGLES MATCH MANSON vs. Toxxic --> Bonus matches rule! Rules: Standard singles match. Word Limit: 4000 Send to: Sly -=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=- NEW BLOOD TITLE INAUGURAL TOURNAMENT - FIRST ROUND MATCH Michael Alexander vs Zack Malibu --> The so-called "Mad Scientist of the Mat" doesn't even wear a labcoat, or have an Igor. What a letdown. Good thing his performance last Storm wasn't a letdown - now let's give him a slightly bigger fish to fry (or to perform horrible genetic experiments on, like a real mad scientist would do). Rules: Standard singles match. Word Limit: 4000 Send to: Ace309 -=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=- NEW BLOOD TITLE INAUGURAL TOURNAMENT - FIRST ROUND MATCH Saintly C. Killa vs Arne Andersen --> I'm going to be honest with you guys - Saintly C. kinda freaks me out. Which I guess is the whole idea - in any event, we'll see if that gives him the edge he needs to make his SWF debut a successful one, as he takes on the third... wait, no the second... fuckit, one of The Four Norsemen, Arne Andersen. Rules: Standard singles match. Word Limit: 4000 Send to: Ace309 -=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=- NEW BLOOD TITLE INAUGURAL TOURNAMENT - FIRST ROUND MATCH JRR vs Olaf Andersen --> JRR returns! After a brief hiatus he's ready to make his comeback, and it couldn't be more perfectly timed, as he squeaks into the first round of the New Blood Title Tournament! Rules: Standard singles match. Word Limit: 4000 Send to: chirs3 -=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=- NEW BLOOD TITLE INAUGURAL TOURNAMENT - FIRST ROUND MATCH Adonis vs Calvin Szechstein --> Rules: Standard singles match. Word Limit: 4000 Send to: chirs3 -=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=- Expect markers and tweaked descriptions in the near future. If you're off the card and want a match, gimme gimme. If you want a word limit change or stip change, gimme gimme. If you just want to take a moment to say something nice to the people you care about, take it outside.

Markers are up, though if anyone else wants to volunteer, feel free.

Late additions made to the card. Hooray for extra matches! Also, anyone who wants to volunteer to mark for this monster of a show, speak now. Or later.

I need to amend my statement. Clearly, not all cavemen are stupid..

If I used Word for anything other than word counting, I might. But I don't.

LANDON~! Congrats on making it halfway to your mid-life crisis.

SmarkBoards Name: chirs3 Wrestlers Name: Chris Raynor Nicknames: Rayn-man, and though it technically is OOC, go ahead and call him Caveman if you like. Height: 6 feet 4 inches Weight: 250 Hometown: Baton Rouge Age: 31 Face/Heel: Tweening, at the moment. Doesn't go out of his way in either direction, but the fans still don't remember him too fondly. Stable: None! Tag Partner (optional): None yet. Ring Escort: None. Weapon(s): Ladders. The situation rarely calls for them, but whenever possible, he enjoys finding new and creative uses for ladders. Looks Big bulky guy, Test-ish in appearance. Backstage, he's in just casual wear, whatever t-shirt and jeans happen to be closest to him in the morning. For entrances, he'll come out wearing a Genesis III t-shirt, which promptly gets ripped off and thrown aside, before heading down to the ring. Black boots and slightly baggy black pants fill out the rest. Ring Entrance Nothing too fancy this time around - Isle of Q's "Rubberneck" is the song. A brief lights-out-strobing-whites for the opening drums - as the song begins proper, the lights stay down but the stage becomes more clearly illuminated - strobing moves off the sides, while the main stage and ramp are clearly lit. Raynor appears just as the singing begins - he takes a moment at the top of the ramp to display his Genesis III shirt, then rips it off throws it aside (not into the crowd), then does the ole' all-business walk to the ring from there. Stats Strength: 5 - Still capable of most of his power-based offense, but it'll take a little extra oomph to get it done this time around. Speed: 3 - He can climb the ropes, but rarely sees a need to. Vitality: 4 - This is what happens when you get out of the game for a while. He can hold his own in a regular fight, but he'll go down to a finisher without much fuss. NOTE: If you're looking for a weakspot, go for the neck. It's in good enough shape to wrestle on it, but I'm told they rarely heal completely. Charisma: 4 - When he gets worked up, he can deliver on the mic, but he doesn't have much to get worked up about these days. Wrestling Style Raynor still relies on a mostly power-based offense, although he's going to be a little faster paced this time around. Hit 'em hard, hit 'em fast, get in and out as fast as possible - he wants to win decisively, in a bid to dispel any doubts people may still have about him, but he also knows that longer matches are not in his favor, given his lowered vitality. So starting a match, his general strategy will be to bum rush his opponent and beat them down as fast as possible, which means most of the moves on here he's going to try to transition into and out of very quickly. If he hits them, then great, but his emphasis on executing them quickly can make him prone to mistakes. Now, if he's on the recieving end of an asswhooping, and it's clear the end is near, he will most likely get really desperate, really fast. His lowered physical vitality means a finisher will put him down for the count, but if he knows one is coming, the odds of him pulling some crazy/desperate/suicidal/low-odds stunt to buy himself some time will increase exponentially. He will not outright cheat - no steel chairs and blatant lowblows - but he will skate very close to that line if he needs to. The closer he is to going down, the more like a wounded animal he will become - good for intensity, bad because when he gets worked up, he can get sloppy. Signature moves 1. "CHRIS SMASH" - From an Electric Chair Drop position, will lift his opponent up and drop him forward throat-first onto the top rope, then use the recoil to pull him back and drop him in a German Suplex. 2. "Raynfall" (credit: Alan Clark) - A Swinging Leghook Fireman Carry Slam. Yeah, I know, it's a mouthful. Click Here - it's the move at the 35 second mark. 3. "Rayn Drops Keep Fallin' On My Head" (I love you, Johnny) - A quick hop up to the second turnbuckle, into a flying elbow drop. Again, rather than waste time climbing the outside and making a big fuss, this will be quick and clean. 4. Tilt-a-whirl Slam / Tilt-a-whirl Backbreaker (which can transition into consecutive backbreakers) 5. Uranage - Description courtesy of Wiki. God bless the Wiki. Also known as a sambo suplex or side suplex. The wrestler stands face to face with the opponent, slightly to their side. The wrestler tucks his head under the opponent's near arm, and reaches across the opponent's chest and around their neck with his near arm. The wrestler then simultaneously lifts the opponent up, turns 180° and falls backwards, bringing the opponent over him and slamming them down to the mat back first. 6. Forward Legsweep (Jericho's short lived "Breakdown") 7. Scissor Kick 8. Tower of London - Raynor picks his foe up vertical suplex style, but places their feet on the top rope. He then turns, essentially in a stunner position with victim elevated, then drops down in a neckbreaker. As added insult to injury, the victim essentially falls from there right into a pinning position. 9. Any number of Irish Whip Into's - Big Boot, Elbow Smash, Flying Forearm Smash, take your pick. 10. Strikes - nothing wrong with just bashing a guy's face in. Prefers mostly forearms and European Uppercuts - if he's in the mood, he might throw a knife-edge chop or two. Rarely ever kicks, outside of the Big Boot and just general mudhole-stomping. Common Moves 1. Atomic/Inverted Atomic Drops 2. Gutbuster (backbreaker, but to their stomach, see...) 3. Pump Handle Slam 4. Good old fashioned Spinebuster 5. Basic DDT's (Nothing to flashy, not gonna do a float-over or anything) 6. Basic Suplexes (Again, nothing too fancy... Gutwrench, German, etc...) 7. Side Russian Legsweep 8. Samoan Drop Rare moves 1. Superplex (just when the opportunity arises, which isn't often) 2. Insiguri (again, only when there's an opportunity) 3. Iconoclasm (ditto). Finisher Acid Rayn, Version 3.0 - I pick the opponent up for a vertical suplex, lift him straight up and hold him. Then push him out forward, as if turning it into a powerbomb, but at the same time I kneel down and drive the opponent head-and-neck-first down onto my knee. (I'm being told that it's an "Orange Crusher" or something close to it) ADDITIONAL NOTE: As soon as I get a tag partner, one of our double-team moves is going to be named "It's Rayning Men". THIS IS NOT NEGOTIABLE. Thanks to Alan Clark and Johnny Dangerous for helping out with new moves, entrance music, and other details.

Silent, you don't know how tempted I was to use "boom, explosion, everyone dies except". Glad to see someone picked up the slack.

SMASH!

Kinda disappointed there wasn't a Peter/Sylar superbattle, but other than that it was a decent enough finale. And whoever said Hiro's father might be immortal, and might actually be Kensei - awesome. I hope that turns out to be right.

Raynor's back, with a sexy new Inspiron. I'm not sure why Adobe tries to launch every time I come to TSM, but other than that things are good. I'd volunteer to kick off my delayed return at the PPV against someone, but I get the feeling my ring-rust is going to mean everyone's going to be beating me silly for the next few weeks, so I want my obligatory win over Myers first.

The Smartmarks Wrestling Federation Presents... SWF STORM! Live, Wednesday, May 16th, from the Coliseo de Puerto Rico in San Juan, Puerto Rico! -=-=-=-=-=-=-=- THE MAIN EVENT - SWF WORLD HEAVYWEIGHT CHAMPIONSHIP MATCH Landon "La Cucaracha" Maddix vs. "The Dean of Professional Wrestling" Jay Hawke --> After having Landon sufficiently bloodied, battered, and beaten to a pulp, Tom Flesher thinks it's about time we got a real World Champion to lead the fed heading into 13th Hour. Jay Hawke scored a decisive victory over Maddix in their Pure Rules match - can he do the same with the title on the line? Rules: Standard singles match. Word Limit: 5500 Send to: Muzz SINGLES MATCH Zyon vs. Jimmy the Doom --> A little over two months ago, these two faced off for the Hardcore title - Zyon came up short, but tonight Jimmy's intimate knowledge of Doomtopian Hardcore Lore will be useless, as it's a standard singles rules! Rules: Standard singles. Word Limit: 4500. Please write. Send to: chirs3 TAG TEAM MATCH Wild and Dangerous vs. Team Faaabulooous! (The Fabulous Jakey and Austin Sly) --> That was too good a name not to use. Apologies to Rev-0. In any event, Jakey's Cruiserweight Title Reign came to an abrupt end last week, but that's hardly the end of this conflict - he insists that the Wildchild's win wasn't legit, and a rematch as been signed for 13th Hour! Until then, we thought we'd let Jake and his Revolution-0 mate get another crack at the Bomber, in an area where Rev-0 was successful last show - tag team style. Rules: Standard tag team match. Word Limit: 50000000000. Send to: Ace309 PLUS: I'm hoping to get something for Drake on here, but I'm not sure if the promos and not-edited-in-yet match are meant to lead to anything specific or not. Lemme know. Anyone else - additions, amendments, requests, enhancement matches, etc., gimme gimme.

Besides, there's only so many ways to imitate the K sound. I have good reason to believe both missing matches will be edited in by tomorrow, which is awesome. Full show~!

IBM Thinkpad. Hell if I remember what year, I think it's about 3 or 4 years old. It's been working fine since I got it, but just now it started clicking at me. Not sounds out of the speakers, but stuff moving around in there. Every time I turn it on, "click click click". And now it says no hard drive or OS has been installed. Any ideas how I can fix this?