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FADE IN “Another tremendous match is about to go down here tonight,” says Mak Francis, “as Wild and Dangerous vie to move up in the rankings for tag team contendership, as they take on the team of Akira Kaibatsu and Zyon! King, this should be a highly competitive match, as you’ve got four high-fliers, who have also proven their ability to be successful here in the SWF!” “Well, I think that an interesting subtext in this match is the fact that you’ve got two guys in Zyon and Akira that are, respectively, the last two individuals to beat Wildchild and Johnny Dangerous, albeit in singles competition!” “That’s right,” adds Mak. “Wildchild’s last loss in singles competition came while wrestling as Birdman, at the hands of the Unique Youth, in a match that named the number one contender for the title that Zyon now holds! And, of course, Akira defeated Johnny Dangerous just this past episode of Smarkdown, to become the new International Champion! With that in mind, you’ve got to think that Wild and Dangerous will be motivated to get a little payback against these two young lions!” “Of course, the flipside of that argument is that now these two guys will be coming into this match with a boatload of confidence,” counters King. “They’ve both had an opportunity to be matched up against two of the top stars in the SWF, two multiple-time title holders, and they’ve managed to come out on top!” “That may be true,” says Mak, “but you and I both know that having to compete against Wildchild and Johnny Dangerous in singles competition is a lot better than having to compete against Wild and Dangerous in tag team action! There’s just something about when these two team up that makes them greater than the sum of their parts! I mean, for all of the success that they’ve had as individuals, they’re still considered tag team specialists!” “They’ve definitely got their continuity down,” admits King, “but I can’t help but believe that there are still hard feelings between Wildchild and Johnny Dangerous. You know, Wildchild was pretty bent out of shape when Dangerous decided to go after the International Title… Not that I blame him: I mean, we both know that Dangerous has a reputation for putting himself ahead of his team!” “I think that Johnny’s changed,” replies Mak. “And maybe you’re right, maybe it took losing the International Title in order for him to realize that he was in danger of heading back down that path, but I think that his focus is on the team one hundred percent right now, King! I’m sure that he’s going to give Wildchild his best, and we know what Wild and Dangerous are capable of when they’re at their best!” “I guess it’s hard to argue with four championships,” concedes King, somewhat glumly. “Still, Dangerous has pretty much proven himself to be untrustworthy, and Wildchild would be ill-advised to put all his faith in the guy!” “I don’t think that he really HAS put all his faith in Johnny just yet,” replies Mak. “If you’ll recall from their last few matches together, they really aren’t doing all of the super-high risk stuff that they used to do. I wouldn’t be the least bit surprised if Wildchild still felt some reservations about teaming with him!” “Now that you mention it, they really haven’t tried any of the more dangerous stuff that they used to do,” King remarks idly. “Remember back when Dangerous used to take Wildchild and fling him into people? They don’t do stuff like that anymore!” “We’ve definitely seen Wildchild take it down a few notches from his first few years here in the SWF,” notes Mak. “It could very well be that he’s become a little more conservative as he’s gotten older.” “You’re right,” says King, “it could… or it could be that he doesn’t trust Dangerous with his well-being anymore. And, after everything that’s gone down between the two of them, it’s kind of hard to find fault with that!” “Oh, don’t start with this again, please!” whines Mak, as the sound of the timekeeper’s bell calls everyone’s attention to the center of the ring, where the inimitable Funyon stands tall with a microphone in his hand: DING! DING! DING! “The following tag team contest is scheduled for one fall,” booms Funyon, “with a thirty minute time limit!” Within seconds, the entire E-Center grows completely dark, save for a string of short sentences alternating across the SmarkTron: I’m Born… I’m Alive… I Breathe… Suddenly, “Vitamin” by Incubus begins playing, and the fans’ cheering begins anew as they wait for the Unique Youth to grace them with his presence. “Introducing first,” booms Funyon, as Zyon finally emerges from behind the curtain. “Making his way to the ring at this time, from Elkhart, Indiana, and weighing in at two hundred pounds… he is the SWF World Cruiserweight Champion… the Unique Youth: ZYYYYY-ON!” Zyon sprints down the ramp and leaps onto the apron before grabbing onto the top rope and flipping into the ring. “Zyon looks supremely confident!” says Mak. The Unique Youth brandishes his Cruiserweight Title for the appreciative crowd. He then hands it to referee Red Herrington as his music fades out, to be replaced by the sound of Wu-Tang Clan’s “Protect Ya Neck.” “His tag team partner,” continues Funyon, “From Sendai, Japan and weighing one hundred ninety-five pounds, here is the new IN-TER-NATIONAL Champion: Akira KAAII-BATSU!” The Divine Wind strolls down to the ring and pulls himself onto the apron; he then heads over to the corner and climbs up to the turnbuckles to display his newly won Championship. “Hell, if you thought that Zyon was confident; he’s got nothing on Kaibatsu!” remarks King. “No kidding,” replies Mak. “He looks like he thinks he can take on Flesher!” “Slow down,” admonishes King. “The kid has to learn to crawl before he learns to walk… still, you have to give him credit; he took it right to Johnny Dangerous, and came away with a major upset!” Kaibatsu presents his title belt to Herrington, who hands it through the ropes to the ring attendant as “Protect Ya Neck” fades into the ethereal. Suddenly, the fans in the E-Center start cheering with renewed vigor, as Gang Starr’s “Manifest” begins playing, and Wildchild and Johnny Dangerous make their way out towards the ring. “And, their opponents,” shouts Funyon, “at a total combined weight of four hundred thirty-nine pounds: WILD! AAAAAND DANGEROUS!” Wildchild and Johnny jog down the ramp, slapping hands with the fans at the edge of the barricade as they make their way to ringside. Johnny slides into the ring and scrambles to his feet, glaring at the young man standing across the ring whom had recently defeated him; WC removes his shin guards and hands them to his girlfriend Melissa Fasaki, before he follows Johnny into the ring. “I tell you what, King,” says Mak, “there sure are a lot of championship reigns between the four men in the ring right now!” “No question about it,” agrees King, as “Manifest” fades out. “And it looks like it’s going to be Wildchild starting the match, as usual for his team, against Zyon!” Red Herrington signals to the timekeeper to ring the bell, signifying the start of the match: DING! DING! DING! “Bell’s gone!” shouts Mak. “And we’re underway!” Zyon and Wildchild meet in the center of the ring for a collar-and-elbow tie-up, but Zyon pushes the Bahama Bomber away before he can go for one of those lightning-quick armdrags. “Nice anticipation by Zyon,” notes Mak. “Well, everything that I hear about this kid is that he studies his losing matches intensely to try and figure out where he makes his mistakes, and he’s something like 1-4 lifetime against Wildchild, counting his run as Birdman, so I’d guess that he went out of his way to prepare for this match.” Wildchild and Zyon meet once again in the center of the ring. This time, Zyon takes control with a side-headlock; Wildchild backs him against the ropes and pushes him across the ring. Zyon knocks him down as he rebounds and runs back towards the edge of the ring again, but this time, WC greets him as he bounces off the ropes with a Japanese-style armdrag! The Unique Youth pops back to his feet, only to get taken over in a hiptoss! Wildchild waits for Zyon to get back to his feet, before scooping him up off the canvas and planting him back down with a scoop slam! He immediately leaps off the canvas and extends his right leg to crash down into Zyon with a legdrop, and the rolls away from Zyon and onto his stomach, fluidly getting back to his feet as he hops back off the canvas, this time stretching out his left leg to hit a second straight legdrop! This time, Wildchild rolls atop Zyon and applies a lateral press, as Herrington dives into position to count: ONE! TWO! Zyon kicks out at two, and then rolls out to the arena floor, leaning against the ring barricade to gather himself. Fans surrounding the barricade give the Unique Youth encouraging pats on the back, as Wildchild salutes everyone else in the crowd by giving the sign for the Wild Ride! “Zyon made a couple of nice adjustments to start off this match,” notes Mak, “but the Wildchild showed that he can change it up as well!” Zyon climbs back into the ring and locks up with Wildchild. They lock up again, and the Zyon gets the better of it with a kneelift to the midsection. He tilts WC’s upper body upright, and then delivers a blistering open-hand slap to his chest! “There you go!” cheers King approvingly. “I had a feeling that Zyon would be the first to resort to the rough stuff!” Zyon backs Wildchild into the ropes, keeping him off-balance with another couple of kneelifts, and then grabs him by the wrist to whip him across the ring. The Unique Youth lowers his shoulder to lift Wildchild into the air as he bounces off the ropes with a back-body drop, but the Bahama Bomber adjusts himself in midair and lands on his feet behind his opponent; Zyon turns around just in time to get taken off his feet with a beautiful deep armdrag! “You know what I’ve noticed about Wildchild?” asks King. “He’s toned it down a lot here lately… I mean, REALLY toned it down!” “King, did you forget your ginko biloba again?” chides Mak. “We were just talking about that five minutes ago!” “Yeah, I know,” replies King, “but I never really though about just how drastic the change was, until now! I mean, the way he’s been mixing up his high-flying with very basic wrestling holds. Hell, he even keeps his aerial moves relatively subdued, compared to some other high-fliers… it’s almost like he’s not even the Wildchild anymore!” “Not the Wildchild?” “Yeah,” says King, pausing to chuckle at his own joke. “He’s more like the Mild Child!” Zyon negotiates his way back to his feet, and then backs Wildchild against the ropes; he grabs WC by the wrist and whips him across the ring. Zyon hooks his arm underneath Wildchild’s as he bounces off the ropes and sends him over in a hiptoss… but the Bahama Bomber lands on his feet and scoops the surprised Zyon into his arms! Wildchild slams Zyon down to the canvas, but the Unique Youth hooks his arm behind Wildchild’s legs as he comes down, and rolls him into an inside cradle! ONE! TWO! Wildchild kicks out at two! Zyon beats Wildchild to his feet and leaps into the air, locking his ankles behind WC’s head and taking him over with a standing rana! The Unique Youth beats his opponent to his feet a second time, and leaps into the air again, this time, to blast Wildchild in the chest with a standing dropkick that sends him through the ropes and out the arena floor! Zyon holds his arms skyward in his trademark pose, his elbows slightly bent, as the Bahama Bomber gets back to his feet outside the ring. ZY-ON! ZY-ON! ZY-ON! ZY-ON! “Beautiful sequence by the Unique Youth,” says Mak. “And King, it’s just like we were saying before, Zyon must have studied the tapes of his previous matches with Wildchild extensively; Wildchild had him with that hiptoss counter, and was going for the slam, but you had to think that Zyon was ready for him this time!” “Definitely,” agrees King. “It’s obvious that Zyon’s determined not to let this match end in defeat; let’s not forget that the last time these two met in tag team action, it was when Zyon and Spike Jenkins were screwed out of the Tag Team titles!” Herrington begins to administer a ten-count, but the Unique Youth suddenly charges towards the edge of the ring, sliding feet-first underneath the bottom rope to Wildchild with a baseball slide… … But the Bahama Bomber dives back into the ring through the second rope just as Zyon is diving out of the ring through the bottom rope! WC rolls quickly back to his feet and charges back towards the edge of the ring, diving feet-first through the ropes before the Unique Youth realizes what happened… WHAM! … And blasts him in the face with a baseball slide! Wildchild gets back to his feet and runs over to the nearby corner as Zyon stumbles backwards into the ring barricade! WC climbs up to the top turnbuckle and waits for Zyon to get back to his feet before leaping out of the ring, drilling the Unique Youth between the eyes with a flying double-axe handle! “There’s that double-axe handle that you were speaking so fondly of a minute ago, King,” remarks Francis. “As Wildchild waited until Zyon had committed to that baseball slide before moving out of the way, and then caught him flush with one of his own!” WC pulls Zyon to his feet and leads him over to the nearby corner, where he slams him face-first into the ringpost, watching as he falls to the padded arena floor. The Human Hurricane quickly slides back into the ring and runs towards the edge of the ring, leaping onto the top rope and springing backwards out of the ring… SPLASH! …Crashing into the Unique Youth with a death-defying springboard moonsault suicida! DUB-CEE! DUB-CEE! DUB-CEE! DUB-CEE! “Oh my GOD!” shrieks Mak. “Weren’t you just saying something about Wildchild becoming subdued, King?” “Yes I was,” replies King. “He made me look bad as a color man!” “Well,” teases Mak, “that’s not all that difficult anyway.” WC once again pulls Zyon to his feet, only for Akira to run over to his aid, knocking down the Bahama Bomber from behind with a running double-axe handle! Akira helps Zyon pull Wildchild to his feet, but the Caribbean Cruiser suddenly slips out of their grasp and dives out of the way… CRASH! … As the Barracuda flies across the ring and crashes into both men with a corkscrew plancha! JOHN-NY! JOHN-NY! JOHN-NY! JOHN-NY! “Wild and Dangerous are on fire!” shouts Mak. “They’re off to a tremendous start, and the Champions are discombobulated!” Wildchild rolls Zyon back underneath the bottom rope and then climbs on to the apron as Johnny heads back to their corner. “Wildchild rolls Zyon back into the ring,” says King, “and it looks like we may finally see some wrestling inside the ring!” “Well, King, we both know that Wild and Dangerous want to regain those tag team titles,” replies Mak, “and they have to get the Champions in the ring in order to make that happen!” Wildchild and Zyon engage in a collar-and-elbow tie-up, which Zyon controls with a kneelift to the midsection! Zyon hammers Wildchild’s upper back with a few clubbing forearm shots, and then tilts his head up, snapping Wildchild’s head back with a few jabs… BAP! BAP! BAP! But Wildchild turns the tables on him, snapping his head back with a series of quick right jabs of his own! “Zyon, with an error in judgment, trying to trade punches with the Wildchild,” says Mak, “and he came up on the short end of the stick!” Wildchild backs Zyon up against the ropes and grabs him by the wrist, whipping him across the ring, only for the Unique Youth to reverse it. Zyon lowers his shoulder as Wildchild rebounds and lifts him into the air with a back-body drop, but the Bahama Bomber floats through and lands on his feet behind Zyon, wrapping his arms around Zyon’s waist, pulling him backwards into a rolling cradle! ONE! TWO! Kickout at two! Zyon kicks Wildchild off and tries to take his head off with a left hook as both men get to their feet, but Wildchild ducks underneath and lifts Zyon into the air, before lowering him down onto his outstretched thigh with an atomic drop! Zyon clutches his tailbone as he slowly turns around… CRUNCH! … And steps into an inverted atomic drop! Wildchild challenges Zyon to get back to his feet, but the wily Unique Youth rolls to his corner instead, making the tag to his partner. “Inverted atomic drop,” says Mak, “and that’s chiropractic city! You know, Zyon is one of the quickest men in the SWF, King, but even he is about three steps slower than the Wildchild! We’ll have to see if Akira Kaibatsu has any more success against the challengers!” Kaibatsu steps into the ring to test his hand… CRUNCH! … But he gets scooped into an inverted atomic drop as well! Wildchild waits patiently for Kaibatsu to get to his feet before leaping off the canvas and knocking the Divine Wind down with a tremendous standing dropkick! He grabs Akira by the back of the head and leads him over to his corner, where he makes the tag to Johnny Dangerous! “Tag made,” says Mak, as Wildchild trips Kaibatsu with a double-leg takedown, “and here comes the Barracuda!” Wildchild locks both hands underneath Akira’s legs as Johnny steadies himself on the ring apron, and falls backwards… WHAM! … Launching the Divine Wind into a springboard clothesline by Johnny! “Slingshot into a flying clothesline; that’s vintage Wild and Dangerous right there!” shouts Mak. Johnny whips Kaibatsu into the ropes as Wildchild exits to the ring apron, stunning him as he rebounds with a Shotei to the chest, and then runs towards the edge of the ring himself to build up steam for a running attack… CRACK! … But Zyon slams a knee into his back as he bounces off the ropes, stunning the Barracuda long enough for Akira to level him with a tremendous European Uppercut! “Well, I think we saw right there that Zyon and Akira aren’t above bending the rules,” notes Mak, “as they turn the tables on the challengers, and look for an opportunity to take control of this match!” Akira whips Johnny into a neutral corner and rounds off into a cartwheel, before rolling into a backflip and then springing into the corner to deliver an elbow smash… WHAM! … But Johnny pulls himself out of the corner at the last second as Kaibatsu slams into it back-first, and then scoops him into a fireman’s carry as he dives towards his corner, grinding him into the canvas with a Spinal Explosion! “Johnny Dangerous with a tremendous counter to that handspring elbow attempt by Akira Kaibatsu,” says Mak, “and now he tags Wildchild back into the action!” Johnny whips Kaibatsu into the ropes and takes him down as he rebounds with a drop toehold! WHAM! … And Wildchild runs to the ropes, leaping into the air as he rebounds to slam Akira’s face into the canvas with his patented Whiplash neckbreaker! The Bahama Bomber drags Kaibatsu towards a neutral corner and quickly climbs to the top turnbuckle to deliver a senton splash, but the Divine Wind rolls out of the way! Kaibatsu uses the ropes to pull himself to his feet and waits for Wildchild to stand back up… WHACK! … Before knocking him loopy with a ferocious superkick! “I think that Wildchild may have gone for that senton a little too soon,” observes Mak. “Well, Akira knows that move well,” replies King. “He uses it himself, and he can sense when it’s coming; you’re not going to catch a guy like Kaibatsu with his own move like that!” Akira drags Wildchild towards his corner and makes the tag to Zyon. Kaibatsu keeps Wildchild trapped in the corner with a battery of stiff palm strikes, as Zyon steps into the ring and joins in with kicks to the midsection. Zyon pulls Wildchild out of the corner and drops him down to the canvas with a scoop slam! He steps over to Wildchild’s upper body and measures him as he hops off the mat and drives an kneedrop into the side if his face! He delivers several more kneedrops to Wildchild before he gets back to his feet and makes a quick tag. “Tag made back to Kaibatsu,” says Mak, as Zyon pulls Wildchild to his feet. “Zyon holds Wildchild’s arms behind his back as Kaibatsu comes off the top turnbuckle, drilling him between the eyes with a double-axe handle! “Well, the machinery is starting to smooth out, now,” says King. Kaibatsu whips Wildchild across the ring and runs to the ropes as he rebounds… WHAM! … Driving the air out of Wildchild’s body with his patented Yakuza Kick! Akira pulls Wildchild to his feet and drags him over to his corner, where he makes the tag to Zyon. Zyon pulls Wildchild into the corner and sits on the top turnbuckle as he positions the Bahama Bomber in front of him. “Look at this!” shrieks Mak, as Akira hoists WC onto his partner’s shoulders. Zyon stands up on the middle turnbuckle. “Samoan Gutbuster coming up!” Zyon locks Wildchild into position as he leaps off… WHAM! … Driving the Bahaman’s midsection into his knees as he falls to the canvas with a Samoan Gutbuster! “He got him!” yells King, as Zyon runs over to the neutral corner and leaps to the second turnbuckle, celebrating his big move with the crowd. “I think it’s over if he wants it!” “He’s making a mistake here, King!” screeches Mak. “He shouldn’t be worrying about patting himself on the back; he should definitely go for the pin!” Zyon hops back down into the ring and runs over to his corner, where he makes the tag to Akira Kaibatsu. Kaibatsu looks at him like he’s crazy, shouting at him to ask why he didn’t go for the cover, but eventually steps into the ring, running right over to Wildchild to make the cover himself: ONE! TWO! THR— KICKOUT! “Wildchild able to get the shoulder up,” reports Mak. “Like I said, King, Zyon made a critical error in judgment there; if he’d have gone for the cover, this match would be over!” “I’m inclined to agree,” concedes King, “but maybe they felt like they had to do some more damage to the four-time former champions…” Akira pulls Wildchild to his feet and traps him in a front facelock, spinning him around to deliver a hangman’s neckbreaker, but the Bahama Bomber wriggles out of his grasp, hooking both his arms from behind, and dropping to his knees to trap the Divine Wind in a backslide! ONE! TWO! KICKOUT! “Nice counter move by the Wildchild,” says Mak, “but he still needs to make a tag!” Akira kicks out and quickly rolls to his feet, hammering Wildchild in the side of the head with a series of kneelifts before laying the Bahaman back down with a lateral press: ONE! TWO! THR—NO! “Kaibatsu did a good job of keeping Wildchild down on the mat, and keeping the ring cut in half, but I can’t say enough how much Zyon blew a tremendous opportunity to end this match; I don’t care what kind of statement he felt like he had to make, King, when you’re dealing with the four-time former champions, the winningest team in SWF history, you don’t take stupid chances!” “Well, I gotta agree with you there, Mackenzie,” concedes King, “but sometimes you make decisions like that; you don’t always really have time to think about it in the heat of the moment! Sometimes you have to go with whatever your gut tells you!” Kaibatsu returns to his corner to tag Zyon back in. “King,” counters Mak, “when you hit somebody with your signature move, your patented hold, that has won you countless matches, why WOULDN’T you try to cover him?” Zyon whips Wildchild into the ropes, and raises his arm to deliver a clothesline, but the Bahama Bomber easily ducks underneath, continuing on to the other side. “Well, what would you know about it?” snipes King. “It’s not like that miserable Franchise Tag ever beat anybody!” Wildchild leaps into the air as he explodes off the ropes, extending his body as he crashes into Zyon with a cross-body block! ONE! TWO! THR— KICKOUT! “You think so, huh?” says Mak, as Zyon pulls Wildchild to his feet and drags him over to the corner. “King, if I ever hit you with the Franchise Tag, you wouldn’t be able to eat solid food right now!” “If you hit me with the Franchise Tag,” quips King, as Zyon tags Kaibatsu back in, “Jesus must have returned, because he’s the only guy that could make the lame walk!” “Oh please!” “And, let’s face it, Francis, you’re lame in every sense of the word!” “Will you stop!” Akira lifts Wildchild up to deliver a backdrop driver, but the Bahama Bomber rolls through, landing on his feet behind Kaibatsu and trapping him in a waistlock. Wildchild pushes Akira towards the edge of the ring and then pulls back as he slams against the ropes to catch him in a rolling cradle, only for the Divine Wind to hold onto the ropes to stop himself. Kaibatsu quickly turns around and thrusts his leg into the air to catch Wildchild with a superkick, but Wildchild dives underneath it and somersaults to his corner… SLAP! Where he makes the tag to Johnny Dangerous! RAAAAAAAAAAH! Johnny runs in and immediately levels Kaibatsu with a Johnny Kick! Zyon steps into the ring and catches one as well! Johnny runs back over to Kaibatsu and plants him with a scoop slam, before hitting Zyon with one as well! “Tag made to the Barracuda!” yelps Mak. “And he’s come in as a house of fire!” Johnny knocks Akira down with a Scorpion kick, and then traps Zyon in a front facelock, grabbing him by the leg with his free hand, popping his hips as he takes him up and then back down with a vertical suplex! “Rolling vertical suplexes by Johnny Dangerous!” exclaims Mak, as Johnny lifts Zyon up for the second vertical. “But he’d better concentrate on the legal man; putting Zyon down is not going to help him win this match!” Johnny lifts Zyon up to deliver a third vertical suplex… WHAM! … But Akira Kaibatsu slams a double-axe handle into his back to drop him! He rolls his partner to safety out of the ring, and then turns his attention back to Johnny Dangerous, hammering him with a battery of clubbing forearms to the back of the head! Akira pulls Johnny to his feet and whips him across the ring, but the Barracuda makes the tag on the fly and ducks a discus clothesline attempt as he bounces off the ropes. Kaibatsu, unaware of the tag, spins around to locate Johnny, who grabs onto the top rope to stop himself, and completely fails to notice Wildchild vault onto the top rope on the other side of the ring, and spring into action, catching Akira in the back with a springboard dropkick that sends him stumbling forward… WHACK! … Into a ferocious Western Lariat by Johnny! The fans erupt as the Divine Wind turns a full flip through the air and collapses to the canvas! “Tremendous lariat by Johnny that was all setup by the blind tag to Wildchild!” proclaims Mak. “Kaibatsu never saw it coming!” “Kaibatsu made a mistake in going for that discus clothesline,” explains King. “It forced him to take his eye off of Johnny Dangerous, he didn’t see the tag, and as a result, he wasn’t prepared for Wildchild to catch him with that springboard dropkick!” Wildchild raises his arms above his head and spins his hands around, eliciting another loud cheer from the crowd! “Wildchild just gave the sign for the Falling Star Press!” shouts Mak. “If he hits this, it’s all over!” Wildchild leaps over Kaibatsu onto the top rope, springing back into the ring as he turns a forward flip… SPLASH! … And crashing on top of the Divine Wind with the Falling Star Press! Wildchild hooks the leg as Herrington delivers the count: ONE! TWO! THREE! NO! KAIBATSU GETS THE SHOULDER UP! “A desperation kickout by Akira Kaibatsu,” says Mak. Wildchild pulls Akira up and pulls him into his corner, where he tags Johnny. The former champions force Kaibatsu into a neutral corner and then whip him across the ring, sending him hard into the turnbuckles. Wildchild then grabs Johnny by the wrist and whips him into the corner after Kaibatsu, only for the Barracuda to reverse it, rocketing Wildchild into the corner at breakneck speed! The Human Hurricane leaps off the canvas at the last second and twists around in midair, crashing into Kaibatsu with his patented Blue Crush splash! Wildchild pushes the Divine Wind out of the corner and towards Johnny… WHAM! … Who lifts him up off the canvas and plants him with the MI Slam! “MI Slam!” exclaims Mak. “This one’s over!” Johnny covers Kaibatsu for the three-count, but Zyon dives into the ring to make a desperation save, before Herrington can even get into position to count! “Zyon is in the ring!” shrieks Mak. “And he’s taking no chances! He’s going to break up the pin before the referee can even start!” Johnny trundles over to his corner, where he reaches up and makes the tag to Wildchild. The Bahama Bomber leaps over the top rope to enter the ring, flooring Zyon with a hard right hand! Flooring Kaibatsu with another hard right! Another right for Zyon! Another right for Akira! Wildchild takes Zyon over with a hiptoss, and then sidesteps a charging Kaibatsu, hooking his arm underneath Akira’s as he rebounds from the ropes to take him over in a hiptoss, but Kaibatsu blocks. Before he can retaliate, however, Wildchild reaches up with his free hand and locks it with the other, before flipping backwards to catch his feet on the top rope, and using it as a platform to spring back into the ring, taking the Divine Wind over with a tremendous armdrag! By this time, Johnny is back in the ring to help his partner out, and they each grab Kaibatsu by the arm, whipping him into the ropes, and sending him flying out of the ring as he rebounds with a double dropkick! “It’s breaking down in there!” says King. “We’ve got all four men in the ring!” “Well, we did,” replies Mak. “Now, we’re down to three!” CRACK! … Blasting the Unique Youth as he bounces off the rope with a double superkick! “Super Chicklet Buster!” screeches Mak. “Zyon’s out cold! And they just gave the sign for the Dangerous Drop! If they hit this, this one’s history!” Johnny hoists Zyon onto his shoulders, and the Bahama Bomber launches from the top turnbuckle, snaring Zyon by the head… WHAM! … AND SPLATTERING ZYON’S FACE AGAINST THE CANVAS WITH THE DANGEROUS DROP! “Dangerous Drop!” reports Mak. “That’s it; Zyon ain’t gonna get up from that!” Johnny dives out of the ring to keep Akira from interrupting the pin, as Red Herrington counts Zyon down: ONE! TWO! THREE! DING! DING! DING! The crowd erupts as “Manifest” begins to play once more! Johnny slides back into the ring and high-fives Wildchild as Red Herrington raises Johnny and Wildchild’s arms in victory. “Here are your winners,” booms Funyon, “WILD! AAAAAND DAAAAANGEROUS!” “Once again!” shouts Mak. “Wild and Dangerous show the pedigree that made them four-time Tag Team Champions, and you’ve got to believe that they’ve set their sights on that fifth title! We’ll be right back, ladies and gentlemen, with our main event!” Wild and Dangerous mug for the camera, getting the fans riled up by pantomiming imaginary title belts around their waists… As we: FADE OUT

“Fans, welcome back to SWF Storm,” Ben Hardy says, “I’m here backstage in search of the man whose eighteen-month undefeated streak came to an end last Monday on Smarkdown when he lost the SWF Cruiserweight Title to Zyon in a ladder match-” “Zyon? Ladder match?” a familiar British accent (more familiar than Hardy’s) cuts in, and into shot walks the man who still holds the World Title and one half of the Tag Titles, “I can only assume you’re talking about me, Ben.” “Well, yes I am,” the bespectacled interviewer confirms. “Michael Stephens, last Monday you lost the Cruiserweight Title under somewhat questionable circumstances when Gabriel Drake interfered in your match and allowed Zyon to climb the ladder and-” “Whoa whoa whoa, hold up there sec mate,” Stephens interrupts, holding up one black-nailed hand to cut Hardy off, “let’s get one thing straight. At no time has anyone suggested to me that Gabe interfered to allow Zyon to climb the ladder and win the title. No Ben, that was his one and only purpose; he came down and interjected himself to ensure that I lost the title. Well Gabe,” Stephens says, turning to address the camera, “I think what you might not have realised is that you’ve only made things worse for yourself sunshine. Any idea how hard it is to defend three titles that you’re holding all at once? How exhausting it is from one week to the next with barely a show off from title defences? Gabe, you don’t even know how hard it is to defend one title. So what you’ve done now is lighten my workload by a third, and you know what that means? It means that when I eventually get my hands on you I’m gonna be in tip-top condition to kick your sorry backside all over whichever world-renowned sporting arena we happen to be in at the time!” “I see,” Hardy nods, “but what about Zyon? It seemed at the time of the match that he was not aware of Drake’s involvement, but some have speculated that he was happy to take advantage of your misfortune after the events of the Elimination Chamber.” “Not that again,” Stephens sighs, “look, Ben, when Zyon comes up to me and tells me that he’s got a problem with what I did in the Elimination Chamber, then…” he pauses and thinks for a second, “…well, actually I’ll tell him he’s a bloody idiot because it was every man for himself, and he knew that. But that’s besides the point, because Zyon hasn’t come up to me and said anything of the sort.” “I see,” Hardy nods again, slightly slower this time. “Lastly Mike, I need to ask you about you your upcoming World Title defence against Jay Hawke. On Smarkdown the self-proclaimed Dean of Professional Wrestling had some words for you-” “Yes, he did,” Stephens interrupts, “and some rather bizarre words they were as well. For starters, he said that you don’t get called the Dean of Professional Wrestling because it sells t-shirts; I mean, personally I’d say that’s self-evident. If you were trying to sell t-shirts, the last thing you’d do is put that clunky, cumbersome nickname on them. He also said that he’d teach me a wrestling lesson I’d never forget,” the World Champion continues, “but I think that it’s Hawke’s memory that needs refreshing because on Lockdown it was me and Landon, his former tag team partner, who defeated him and Nighthawk to retain the Tag Titles. Not that that should have been that surprising, because Nighthawk sounds like he should be getting chopped to pieces by Conan the Barbarian or something but hey,” the Englishman shrugs, “I guess sooner or later the good names were all going to have been taken.” “And do you have any words of your own for Jay Hawke?” Ben Hardy asks, familiar enough with the World Champion’s moods by now to know when Stephens has some more to say. Sure enough, Stephens divests the interviewer of his microphone and changes from talking to Hardy to addressing the camera. “Right, Hawke, you better listen up cos I’ve got something to say,” Stephens begins, instinctively pausing slightly… “INNIT!” …sure enough, the crowd watching in the arena chooses to participate in a manner more usually associated with Mike’s sister. Stephens shrugs and continues. “…thank you. As I was saying Hawke, you had some big words to say on Smarkdown, but I’ve yet to see any evidence you can back them up. Sure, you were the longest-reigning International Champion of all time, in fact you’re the longest-reigning champion of any sort in the entire history of the SWF, and don’t get me wrong, that’s impressive. But,” Stephens continues, “you’ve also got to realise that you’re going to need to step up a gear to have any chance of competing for the World Title. You had your shot once before when you went up against Wes Davenport-” Ben Hardy shakes his head, appalled that Stephens has mentioned He Who Must Not Be Named. “-and you came up short. Sunshine, he ain’t got nothing on me. So you can strut down to the ring, you can learn to fly, you can put class into session and your backside into gear and the pedal to the metal, but you’re gonna have to face up to the basic truth that when it comes down to it the Sensation is going to be the one doing the teaching around here! As a result,” Stephens says, unbuckling the World Title and holding it up in front of the camera, “as the current rightful owner of the SWF World Heavyweight Title, Jay Hawke I strongly recommend you pay close attention when the referee shows you this belt before our match on the 30th! In fact I give you full licence and authority to touch it, to stroke it, to lick it, to kiss it, to fondle it, to tango with it, to use it as a loofah to go with that bloody bathrobe you wear down to the ring, and if you feel the need you can even get down on all fours in the middle of the squared circle and make sweet love to the damn thing, cos that’s the last you’ll see of it, cos come the end of that night it’ll be walking out the arena with me and Ben Hardy I know that a belt can’t walk of its own volition and I advise you not to call me down on a minor semantic point!!” Stephens finishes at full tilt, going rather red in the face with the effort of the run-on sentence. “…sure,” is all Ben can muster in response. “So Jay Hawke!” Stephens starts up again, “if you think that you’ve got what it takes to remove the World Title from my grasp! If you think that your time is now! If you think, above all else, that you can succeed where Zyon, Bruce, JJ Johnson, Jimmy The Doom, Thomas M. Flesher, Spike Jenkins, Gabriel Drake, Landon Maddix, Zyon again and Bruce again ALL failed then sunshine…” Oh, you know the fans are singing along. “…PREPARE TO BE PROVED WRONG-AH!” “Wrong-ah?” Hardy asks weakly, accepting his microphone back. “It’s Japanese,” Stephens tells him, slapping him on the back, “gotta run. Laters.” “Fans, this is Ben Hardy returning you to the Suicide King and Mak Francis,” Hardy says, then turns away. As the production crew fade the picture someone forgets to fade the sound for a second: “Don’t look at me Gus, maybe he’s had too much caffeine or something…” FADE OUT

IL vs. Cross... see above.

Clark vs. Trent to be edited in. In theory, anyway.

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=- SWF STORM Live, Saturday, November 25th, from The E-Center in Salt Lake City, Utah! (7pm PST, 10pm EST; check local listings) (Send all promos/marked matches to chirs3) -=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=- THE MAIN EVENT - TRIPLE THREAT(non-title) Michael Stephens ©© vs. Tom Flesher vs. "Hollywood" Spike Jenkins -> Absolutely GIDDY over the idea of Michael Stephens losing momentum before his title defense against Jay Hawke, Joseph Peters has decided to keep the onslaught coming! Two men who have advanced past the first round of the Cold Front Classic - who may be facing Stephens should he be lucky enough to get by Hawke - get an early Christmas present, a chance to get their hands on the current World Champ (in a mean sort of way, not... y'know, not like that)! Who wins, who loses, doesn't matter... as long as it softens up the champ, Peters is happy! Rules: First pin/submission wins. -=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=- TAG TEAM MATCH Wild and Dangerous vs. ALL YOUR TITLE ARE BELONG TO US~! (Zyon © and "The Divine Wind" Akira Kaibatsu ©) -> Zyon and Akira have tagged before, with mixed results - it always seemed to just be a problem of downward momentum. Well downward momentum can go fuck itself, because in the span of about 2 hours, Zyon snatched Cruiserweight Gold from Michael Stephens, and Akira Kaibatsu stole the International Championship from Johnny Dangerous! I'd say momentum is in their favor. But then I might be speaking too quickly, because one of their opponents tonight probably wants his belt back, and Wildchild's never really had a problem hanging with the top Cruisers in the SWF. Will AkirYon's momentum continue to bring them success, this time against one of our most dominant tag teams? Or is their awesomeness doomed to know only singles success? Rules: Standard tag team match. -=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=- Insane Luchador vs. Michael Cross -> Speaking of downward momentum (see above match), two triumphant returns end up being somewhat less than triumphant, and these two aren't gonna take it anymore! Someone's luck turns around TONIGHT~! Rules: Standard singles match. -=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=- COMEBACK IV: THIS TIME IT'S PERSONAL Alan Clark vs. Trent Hawk -> In what is apparently becoming a tradition, one recent come-backer welcomes another, as the now returned Trent Hawk plays welcoming committee to the now returning Alan Clark! Rules: Standard singles. -=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

Backstage, Gabriel Drake is walking toward the dressing room area when he hears a familiar voice calling at him from behind. "Drake, I need to talk to you." Drake turns around, and the camera pans over to Jay Hawke, looking snazzy in a blue pinstripe suit. Hawke: "I've got a proposition for you." Gabriel Drake starts to speak, but Jay Hawke interrupts. "Don't say a word, just hear me out. Look, I saw what you did to Michael Stephens in his match against Zyon last week, and I know the history between the two of you. And let's be honest. The reason you spent all those years in that jail cell isn't because he was worried about some random rube you met in a pub. It was all about furthering his own career." "BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!" Hawke: "He knew that if you were walking free, able to make a living for yourself, that under no circumstances would he ever have such a successful career. You'd be the one that won four World Titles, not him. You'd be the one getting all the accolades, all the money. Not him. The only person Michael Stephens cares about is himself. You know it, I know it, those idiots in the stands know it..." "TOXX-IC! TOXX-IC! TOXX-IC!" Hawke: "...Which is why you'll never get a shot at that World Title as long as he holds it. When you were eliminated from the Cold Front Classic battle royal, he celebrated because that meant he'd never have to put that title up against you. But you see, when I beat Michael Stephens next week for the World Championship, you'll get the first shot at the Christmas pay-per-view." Once again, Gabriel Drake opens his mouth, only for Hawke to cut him off. Hawke: "Just think about it. See you December 17." Jay Hawke walks away, leaving a befuddled Gabriel Drake to ponder over what the number one contender just said.

Eep. If you've gotta shoulder the whole thing, I'll take you off marking WC. Sorry about that.

Missing matches are being edited in. And I concur with Toxx - having now finally read it through, it was a fine show.

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=- SWF STORM Live, Saturday, November 25th, from The E-Center in Salt Lake City, Utah! (7pm PST, 10pm EST; check local listings) (Send all promos/marked matches to chirs3) -=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=- THE MAIN EVENT - TRIPLE THREAT(non-title) Michael Stephens ©© vs. Tom Flesher vs. "Hollywood" Spike Jenkins -> Absolutely GIDDY over the idea of Michael Stephens losing momentum before his title defense against Jay Hawke, Joseph Peters has decided to keep the onslaught coming! Two men who have advanced past the first round of the Cold Front Classic - who may be facing Stephens should he be lucky enough to get by Hawke - get an early Christmas present, a chance to get their hands on the current World Champ (in a mean sort of way, not... y'know, not like that)! Who wins, who loses, doesn't matter... as long as it softens up the champ, Peters is happy! Rules: First pin/submission wins. Word Limit: 5500 Send to: chirs3 -=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=- TAG TEAM MATCH Wild and Dangerous vs. ALL YOUR TITLE ARE BELONG TO US~! (Zyon © and "The Divine Wind" Akira Kaibatsu ©) -> Zyon and Akira have tagged before, with mixed results - it always seemed to just be a problem of downward momentum. Well downward momentum can go fuck itself, because in the span of about 2 hours, Zyon snatched Cruiserweight Gold from Michael Stephens, and Akira Kaibatsu stole the International Championship from Johnny Dangerous! I'd say momentum is in their favor. But then I might be speaking too quickly, because one of their opponents tonight probably wants his belt back, and Wildchild's never really had a problem hanging with the top Cruisers in the SWF. Will AkirYon's momentum continue to bring them success, this time against one of our most dominant tag teams? Or is their awesomeness doomed to know only singles success? Rules: Standard tag team match. Word Limit: 5000 Send to: Ace309 -=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=- Insane Luchador vs. Michael Cross -> Speaking of downward momentum (see above match), two triumphant returns end up being somewhat less than triumphant, and these two aren't gonna take it anymore! Someone's luck turns around TONIGHT~! Rules: Standard singles match. Word Limit: 5000 Send to: chirs3 -=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=- COMEBACK IV: THIS TIME IT'S PERSONAL Alan Clark vs. Trent Hawk -> In what is apparently becoming a tradition, one recent come-backer welcomes another, as the now returned Trent Hawk plays welcoming committee to the now returning Alan Clark! Rules: Standard singles. Word Limit: 4500 Send to: Ace309 -=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=- Opening Promo: -=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=- Got home uber-late, and I've got a doctor's appointment uber-early, so this was put together pretty quickly. If you were left off and want a match, request away - I'd be more than happy to add to the card.

The Mission Impossible theme plays over the PA in The Thomas And Mack Center, and the Las Vegas crowd erupts. Their hometown hero, and International Champion, Johnny Dangerous bursts through the curtain boasting his shiny gold belt as he walks down the aisle. YEEEEEEAAAAAAAHHHHH! “Boy, they love Johnny here, King.” “Yeah…almost as if he was born here,” King rolls his eyes. Dangerous slides into the ring, climbing the turnbuckle as Funyon shouts into his microphone, “And weighing in at Two Hundred Twnety Five pounds, the international champion from LAAASSS VEGAASSSS NEVADA,” Even Funyon deserves some cheap heat, “JOOHNNNYYYY DAAANGEERROOOUUUUSSS!!!!!!!” YEEEAAAHHHHHH WU-TANG CLAN COMIN’ ATCHA! “Protect Ya Neck” by Wu-Tang Clan, a slightly more urban song than the Mission Impossible Theme, blasts over the PA and out comes the young Akira Kaibatsu. “Now this kid just can’t catch a break,” Mak says. “He can’t catch anything. Have you ever seen a Japanese football player?” King laughs. “And his opponent, weighing in at one hundred ninety five pounds, from Sendai Japan…THE DIVIINEEE WIIINDDD…AKIRRAAAAAAA KAIIIBAAATSUUUUUUUUUU!!” The Divine Wind slides into the ring, and walks up to The Barracuda, staring him right in the eye, making motions towards his waist. The two mouth off, but nothing can be picked up by a microphone. Referee Ced Ordonez tells them to back off and sends them into their own corners. DING DING DING Johnny Dangerous and Akira Kaibatsu grapple collar and elbow style in the center of the ring, and begin to push each other all about, bouncing off ropes and spinning around the ring, eventually leading to Johnny shoving Akira into the turnbuckle. Referee Ced Ordonez makes Johnny let go of Akira, and Johnny breaks clean. They lock up one more time in the center of the ring, but this time Johnny gets the better of The Divine Wind, putting him in a side headlock. Kaibatsu shoves The Secret Agent off his head, into the ropes, and The Barracuda comes bouncing right back, skipping over Akira, who drops to the ground. Johnny comes flying into the adjacent ropes and bounces back as Akira rises to his feet, carrying his momentum with him as he leaps and nails Johnny in the head with a dropkick, sending The Barracuda out of the ring! “Good news for Akira,” Mak says, “45 seconds into this match and Johnny’s on his heels,” The International Champion slowly climbs into the ring, taking his time, before he meets Akira in the center of the ring once again with another collar and elbow tie up, leading to The Secret Agent locking Akira up in an arm bar. Dangerous spins the arm around, wrenching it, so he can thrust it down, applying a multitude of pressure on the arm. He wrenches it around one more time, but Akira flips over to his back, un-wrenching it. He kips up and throws The International Champion into the ropes, going once again to the air with a missile dropkick, but Dangerous clings onto the ropes and Akira dives into an empty pool, giving Johnny the opportunity to run up to Akira and sneak in a cradle! ONE! TWO! NO! “There certainly is a feeling out process in this one,” Mak says. “Or maybe it’s more along the lines of Akira not knowing how to actually hurt someone. What the hell is he doing? I did somersaults when I was six years old, Francis.” Both men get up at the same time, but Johnny is the first one to get back on offense, quickly grabbing Kaibatsu’s arm and heading right back to the arm wringing, putting Kaibatsu in another arm bar. Johnny continues to spin away, adding more pressure to the hold, but as soon as Akira gets a moment to work with, he slips behind Dangerous and locks him in a rear-waist lock, and takes him face-down by sweeping his feet. The Divine Wind leaps forward, diving on top of Dangerous and grabs a hold of his head for a grounded side headlock. Johnny gets to his feet in the side headlock, and pushes The Divine Wind to the side, spinning him around, only coming to a stop when The Barracuda locks him in a front facelock. Akira tries to take out Johnny’s legs from underneath him, but The Barracuda keeps his ground, so instead Akira spins out, grabs a hold of The International Champions arm and locks him in a grounded arm bar. Dangerous pushes his way to his feet, but Akira keeps the arm bar in, though not for long as The Secret Agent comes up throwing elbows at the chin of The Divine Wind. Johnny grabs Akira’s arm and whips him into the ropes, and bends down as Akira bounces off them, attempting a back body drop, but Kaibatsu rolls over his back. Dangerous turns around right away but is met with a toe kick to the gut, setting up It Came From Sendai, but Dangerous flips Kaibatsu over his back. “Wayyy to early for that move, King!” “Sometimes it’s sad to think that these two are the ones headlining our international division. Have we come to that point in the SWF?” Dangerous goes right on the offensive, picking up Kaibatsu by his long black hair. He doesn’t get to actually pick him up though, as Akira grabs The Barracudas head, tucks it in close to him, wraps his legs around, and rolls backwards for an inside cradle! ONEE! TWOOO! THREE! “What?!” King screams. BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO! “Johnny Dangerous was just upset in his own hometown in three minutes for the International Championship!” Mak says. “Oh my god…Akira really is the master of that flash pin. He won contendership with it…and now the title. Wow.” “It almost…cheapens the title…” “Here is your winner, and NEWWWWWWW ES DOUBLE YOU EFF INTERNATIONAL CHAMPION…THE DIVINE WIIINNND…AKIRRAAA KAIIIBATSUUUUUUU!” Funyon shouts into the microphone. Johnny sits in his corner stunned as Ced Ordonez hands Akira the international championship. Akira gives the belt a kiss, and holds it up in the air for a shocked Las Vegas crowd to see, as Smarkdown fades out.

The camera pans back into the Thomas & Mack Center, sweeping over such signs as “THIS IS JOHNNY’S HOUSE – AND THE HOUSE ALWAYS WINS,” “JJ’S STARE CAN SET YOUR SOUL ON FIRE,” and “LARRY JOHNSON IS THE ONLY NOTABLE ATHLETE TO COME OUT OF THIS SCHOOL, HOW SAD” letter-by-letter across the entire upper deck before coming down to the announce table, occupied by none other than The Franchise, Mak Francis, and the Suicide King! “Hello, ladies and gentlemen, and welcome back to Smarkdown!” beams The Franchise. “The match we have coming up next holds grand implications indeed; it’s our fourth and final Cold Front Classic first round match, between number one seed JJ Johnson and number eight seed Nighthawk! Let’s see if the self-proclaimed ‘Mr. Cold Front Classic’ can live up to his name, in the face of such a large size advantage.” “I can think of two things wrong with that statement immediately, Mak,” says King with his usual air of disdain. “First, JJ Johnson being ‘Mr. Cold Front Classic’ is not self-proclamatory, it is a mandate of heaven.” “Proclamatory?” asks the Franchise. “Don’t interrupt!” scolds the Gambling Man. “Why is size an advantage? JJ Johnson is a superior wrestler, and he’s going to prove it right now.” Right as King finishes his statement, the lights drop out, and Pink Floyd’s “Learning to Fly” kicks up, the gentle tones soaring over the crowd – with no pun intended – and providing a sharp contrast… *BA-BOOM!!* … to the massive wall of fire that erupts from the stage, a harbinger of Nighthawk’s arrival, striding through the last sparks of the grand conflagration. “Ladies and gentlemen,” roars Funyon from his position in the center of the ring, “the following contest is a Cold Front Classic first round match, and it is scheduled for ONE FALL! Introducing first, from Hawk Mountain, Pennsylvania, weighing in at 285 pounds, the number eight seed… NIIIIIIIGHT-HAAAAWK!!” The towering Pennsylvanian continues his long trudge to the ring, refusing to acknowledge the crowd’s heckling and occasional cheer as he strides up the steps, stepping over the ropes and into the ring. “See, I’ve never understood sacrificing your testicles to reinforce the fact that you’re tall,” ponders the Gambling Man aloud. “Well, King, if you’re tall enough, you don’t sacrifice your testicles,” sighs Mak. “Well, you can sacrifice your testicles at any height,” shrugs the Heartbreaker. “Isn’t that right, Wheels?” Mak draws his arm back; while his legs may be useless, his pimp hand remains strong. Fortunately for King, before the Franchise can line up his aim for maximum pain, the lights drop out again. Nergal begins his incomprehensible chant, and the volume in the arena begins to swell in expectation. *BOOM!* And then, chaos. Red-and-white pyro erupts from the stage, and through the smoke comes JJ Johnson, to a more than substantial ovation! “And his opponent!” shouts Funyon, forced to raise his voice, “From Toronto, Ontario, Canada, weighing 228 pounds... he is the number ONE seed in the Cold Front Classic… J! J! JOOOOOHNSOOOON!!” “Funyon, you tool!” snaps the Gambling Man. “You forgot ‘Mr. Cold Front Classic’!” Mak sighs as Johnson climbs up the steps. He pauses at the apron, only momentarily, and although one cannot see his eyes through his sunglasses, said sunglasses are pointed directly at Nighthawk. (Johnson is also scowling, but Johnson is always scowling.) Then, with no further ado, Johnson steps into the ring, not even bothering to do his typical corner taunt. The sunglasses go flying at David Blazenwing, the track jacket follows shortly after, and then the Canadian Murder Machine is in action, leaping high into the air and aiming his knee directly at the skull of the man from Hawk Mountain! *WHUMP!* Nighthawk reacts quickly, planting two hands on the Canadian’s leg and shoving him back down to Earth! Johnson is rolling back to his feet before Kivell can signal for the bell, and he wastes no time in charging back towards Nighthawk, elbow cocked and ready to fire! DING DING DING! *THWAP!* “OOF!” Unfortunately, doing so does nothing to prevent Nighthawk from burying a knee into Johnson’s stomach, and the big man wastes no time in doing so, doubling the Canadian over. Nighthawk gives himself just a moment to chuckle as the Ultimate Fighter gasps for breath before seizing Mr. Cold Front Classic’s throat, hauling him to full height, and then planting a hand on his back and lifting him for a chokeslam… *CRACK!* … but the Canadian is not willing to be driven through the mat quite so easily, and he slams his elbow right into the Pennsylvanian’s jaw! Something white goes sailing out of Nighthawk’s mouth, and he wisely drops Johnson and turns his body so that his face is well out of the Canadian’s reach. This deters elbows, but does nothing to deter Johnson from tucking his head beneath Nighthawk’s non-face-anguish-arm and planting his feet, taking a deep breath before lifting! “Backdrop coming up!” shouts Mak. But no! Nighthawk reaches out with one of his lengthy arms and grabs a firm hold of the top rope, having to literally pull himself back down to the ground against the force of the tenacious Canadian but preventing a very uncomfortable landing. That particular threat dealt with, Nighthawk clamps down his grip on Johnson’s head, tucks it a little lower, and then brings his knee up into the cranium of the Canadian! *CRUNCH!* “Coconut Crush!” says King. “What an appropriate move to counter a backdrop with, if I do say so myself.” “Nobody on this side of the Pacific will get that, King,” sighs Francis. Johnson stumbles away from Nighthawk, clutching his nose. However, he decides it would likely be prudent not to turn his back to the big man, and he whirls to face the Pennsylvanian… just as said Pennsylvanian rebounds off of the ropes and sends the Canadian Murder Machine spiraling through the air with a lariat! *THWOCK!* “That’s it?” asks King. “Just, ‘with a lariat’?” Mak groans as Nighthawk drops to his knees in the shattered pieces of the fourth wall and drapes himself across the prone form of the Ultimate Fighter for the first pin of the match! Kivell drops to count! ONE! T-Johnson muscles his shoulder up! Nighthawk cracks his neck before rising to his feet and taking a few steps back, waiting against the ropes for Johnson to rise. The Canadian Murder Machine does so quickly, shaking the cobwebs out of his head, and turns around to face his opponent… just in time to catch a second lariat! *WHIFF!* … in his line of sight, and duck under the arm before turning around, grabbing Nighthawk’s waist, and tugging the big man back into his body before tucking his head under the Pennsylvanian’s arm, lifting, leaping, and slamming Nighthawk right on his back with a thunderous backdrop suplex! *BANG!* “OOOHH!!” shouts the crowd, as if the entire audience is 20,000 Speed Racer cosplayers. “BAAAAACKDROPPUH!” shouts Mak. “What an incredible feat, Johnson lifting Nighthawk for that suplex!” “Not really,” shrugs King. “One has to take into account that while Nighthawk is very tall, he’s not particularly heavy; if Johnson can hurl Aecas clean over his head, I think a backdrop on Nighthawk is not a particularly tall order. If you’ll pardon the pun.” The booing from the crowd immediately behind the announce table suggests that they refuse, but they’re quickly silenced, as in the ring, Nighthawk pulls himself up into a sitting position, holding onto the back of his head. Unfortunately for him, he has minimized the effort needed for Johnson to seize a firm hold of his neck and pinion his arm behind his head, allowing the Canadian Murder Machine to sink in the dreaded Buffalo Sleeper, prompting the simultaneous seat-leap of the entire crowd! “YEEAAAAHH!!” “Buffalo Sleeper!” shouts King with glee. “This match is over early; the Buffalo Sleeper is a little out of even Nighthawk’s league.” The Buffalo Sleeper may very well be out of Nighthawk’s league; however, one must remind the reader at this juncture that Nighthawk is very tall. Thus, the ropes are not well out of Nighthawk’s reach, and he slumps just a little in order to get close enough to drape his foot across the bottom rope. “Break it, Johnson!” snaps Kivell, and JJ does so, begrudgingly, backing away from the big man and allowing him to get up. Nighthawk does so, rolling onto his stomach and rising to one knee… *CA-RAACK!!* … and eating a knee at the same time, as Johnson charges forward, steps up onto the Pennsylvanian’s outstretched knee, and swings his other leg around, driving it into the side of the big man’s head! Nighthawk’s eyes cross a little, and he decides it would probably be best to roll out of the ring, where he collapses onto the mats below, clutching his skull. “Shining Wizard!” says King gleefully. “See, Mak? Johnson’s handling himself just fine, regardless of size.” Nighthawk crawls towards the ramp, slightly unaware of the building crowd noise as he begins to shove himself to his feet. Once he rises, the roars are deafening, and the big man decides it would be a good idea to see what has everyone so excited, quickly whirling to face the ring. JJ Johnson dives between the middle and top ropes. The crowd is excited because it’s been too long. *CA-FUCKING-RAAAACKK!!* “ELBOW SUICIDAAAAAA!!” screeches King as Johnson sails the distance swiftly and drives his elbow cleanly into the jaw of Nighthawk. The Pennsylvanian goes down hard, and Johnson lands quite agilely on his feet. The Predator has barely hit the ground before JJ Johnson has a firm hold of his hair and is dragging him back to his feet. It takes a moment, but Nighthawk eventually stops resisting and Johnson is able to roll him back into the ring. Johnson slides in soon afterwards, and he tugs Nighthawk into a standing headscissors before bending over and grabbing him around the waist! “You’ve got to be shitting me,” says King, a blank look in his eyes. “I’m the biggest JJ Johnson fan ever, but a powerbomb?” “It doesn’t do much good for your size doesn’t matter theory to do a move you can’t lift the guy for, JJ,” smirks Mak. And indeed, Johnson doesn’t even get the chance to lift before Nighthawk rises to his full height, flipping Johnson over him! … and the agile Canadian Murder Machine turns himself in mid-air, landing behind The Predator before tucking his head under his arm, lifting, and jumping, hitting him with a second backdrop! *BANG!* “BAAAAAACKDROPPUH!” cries Mak again as Nighthawk’s head rebounds off of the canvas, the flat-backed landing not turning out too well for him. Johnson immediately rolls to his feet as Nighthawk grips at his skull and steps between the ropes before hauling himself to the top and waiting. “This is unlike Johnson,” frowns King. “A high-risk move isn’t usually on the menu for him.” Nighthawk recovers quickly from the backdrop and rises to his feet, shaking his head. Whereupon JJ puts his plan into action, taking flight from the top, sailing through the air… *CA-RAACK!* …and taking the big man off of his feet with a diving elbow! “Diving elbow!” shouts King. “Here’s the cover!” And indeed here is the cover, JJ hooking a leg as Matt Kivell slides in to count… ONE! T-NIGHTHAWK KICKS OUT, HARD! Johnson goes flying off of the Pennsylvanian, but rolls through and charges back at the big man that is up to one knee, probably looking for another Shining Wizard! *BA-BOOOM!!* Unfortunately for Johnson, Nighthawk explodes to his full height, taking the Canadian Murder Machine with him, spinning, and making him the Canadian Murdered Machine with a spinebuster! Johnson twitches, and Nighthawk is quick to flow from the spinebuster into a pin, hooking the leg as he floats over! ONE! T-Johnson kicks out! Undeterred, knowing full well his offense thus far has been insufficient to keep Johnson down, The Predator rises to his feet before tugging Mr. Cold Front Classic to his… and then shoving him into a standing headscissors! “Oh, man,” says Mak. “Big-time powerbomb, coming up. Johnson’s about to get flattened.” “Nonsense!” scoffs King. “It’ll be a jackknife powerbomb, so Johnson will merely flip through it and rock Nighthawk with an elbow.” “That’s oddly specific,” frowns Mak, but he has no further time to say anything, as Nighthawk reaches down, wraps his arms around the Canadian’s waist, and lifts him high before sending him sailing with a jackknife powerbomb! …but the Canadian flips through, just barely landing on his feet before charging Nighthawk and launching an elbow… …that the big man ducks before seizing Johnson by the throat, lifting him high, and driving him into the mat with a chokeslam! “Dammit!” swears King. “I forgot to mention the chokeslam.” Mak can only give him a slightly reverent look as Nighthawk hooks the leg of the yet-again-prone Ultimate Fighter. ONE! TWO! T-Johnson shoves his shoulder up! “It’s impressive for Johnson to be able to survive both that spinebuster and that chokeslam from Nighthawk,” says Mak, impressed. “Are you kidding?” asks the Gambling Man with a look of horror. “At last year’s Christmas PPV, TORU kneed JJ in the face for about a half an hour, and JJ still came out on top. I don’t think two big moves from Nighthawk are going to cut it.” This is fairly obvious from the fact that two big moves from Nighthawk have not cut it, but then again, the Suicide King is not one for allowing statements to be turned against him. Regardless, Nighthawk did not watch last year’s Christmas PPV, and thus is not used to such a relatively small person being quite so resilient; therefore, he is not happy when he hauls Johnson to his feet yet again, and he expresses his rage via a series of shots to the face! *BAM!* *BAM!* *THWAP!* JJ Johnson has had quite enough shots to the face for one day, and as soon as he recovers from the combined trauma of a vicious chokeslam and two solid haymakers to the face, he is very quick to put his arm in the way of the next one. Then, in a motion made unbelievably fluid by about 12 years of practice, Johnson turns, seizes the offending arm, and thrusts his hip into Nighthawk’s stomach while at the same time pulling very hard on the arm he has a solid grip on, hurling the big man to the ground with an ippon seoi! *BANG!* Nighthawk rolls to one knee swiftly, a look of shock in his eyes… that Johnson swiftly knocks out, charging forward and nailing him with a Yakuza Kick! *THWOCK!* Looks of shock can be deceiving; Nighthawk quickly gets his hands up and stymies the boot’s momentum, then uses his considerable might to muscle both the boot and the man laced into it backwards, sending the callous Canadian rolling! Where there is rolling with JJ Johnson, however, there is getting to his feet and charging the man who made him roll, and indeed, the Canadian Murder Machine is back on his feet in an instant, rushing the rapidly rising Nighthawk, who lashes out with a lariat! *WHOOSH!* Johnson ducks clean under it as King remarks something about Nighthawk probably having to swing harder, and as he has done thrice before, he whirls and sets up a backdrop, popping his hips as he lifts the heavy weight high and drops him clean on his shoulders! *CRACK!!* That’s how it turned out in Johnson’s head, anyway. Unfortunately for the Canadian, he is in fact not wrestling in his head but in real life, and in real life, Nighthawk doubles him over and nails him with another Coconut Crush, the knee slamming into his forehead with alarming velocity! “Ouch,” winces Mak. “That’s the second knee Johnson’s taken this match; surely, SURELY that could have some sort of effect?” “I once again direct you to Ramadomination,” sniffs King, but it seems that the Heartbreaker does not have as fair a point this time. Johnson is decidedly more wobbly than the last time he received a Coconut Crush from the Pennsylvanian, and don’t think that Nighthawk doesn’t notice. Indeed, he wastes little time striding across the ring and seizing a firm hold of the Canadian Murder Machine’s skull, doubling him over before pulling him… *CRACK!* … into another knee, THEN pulling him into a standing headscissors! Instead of wasting time, much as he did last time, Nighthawk instead doubles over quite quickly, seizing a firm hold of Johnson’s waist and flipping him up… before sending him crashing back down to the mat on his shoulders with a jackknife powerbomb! *BOOM!* Johnson bounces rather high before coming to a rest on his shoulders… … then rolling backwards… … up to his feet… … running… … in Nighthawk’s face before The Predator can see the whites of his glassy eyes… *CA-RAACKK!!* … and slamming his elbow clean into the big man’s jaw, two men collapsing as one as the crowd flies out of its seat! “Haha!” laughs the Gambling Man as Nighthawk lies spread-eagle, staring up at the lights with brief breaks to blink; a few feet away, JJ Johnson is face-down, not making any noticeable movements. “Foolish Nighthawk, there can only be ONE Highlander! Mere powerbombs cannot stop him!” “But how much did that take out of Johnson to take that powerbomb, and then defy his body’s natural instinct to stay down so he could hit that elbow?” asks Mak, fearing slightly for King’s sanity. “Nighthawk may get the pin yet.” “Haha!” laughs the Suicide King again, and Mak grows increasingly more uncomfortable. Meanwhile, in the ring, Matt Kivell has begun his double countout, neither man showing much that points to them getting up soon. “ONE!” Nighthawk spasms a little, and his arms begin to move some. JJ Johnson may or may not have coughed. “In all seriousness,” says King, much to Mak’s relief, “what Johnson did there was make it to where even if Nighthawk DID hit him with a big move, he wouldn’t be able to take the opportunity to shift the momentum firmly in his favor.” “TWO!” “I get it,” realizes Mak. “Johnson may be a bit slower to get up, but at least Nighthawk can’t capitalize on that!” “Exactly!” shouts the Gambling Man. “And then Johnson can slay The Kurgan and defend the honor of the MacLeod clan!” “THREE!” “What the fuck is wrong with you?!” asks The Franchise. “THERE CAN BE ONLY ONE!” roars the Heartbreaker in response as Nighthawk sits up, but is spending most of his time rubbing his jaw. JJ Johnson has stuck his head up, but he has wisely not rolled over onto his back; he’s conscious enough to realize that he could put himself in position to make an early exit from the tournament. “FOUR!” Nighthawk has recovered, however, and much to Johnson’s chagrin, the big man takes matters out of his hands, rolling him onto his back and going for a pin… only for Mr. Cold Front Classic to keep rolling, seizing a firm hold of The Predator’s head and tugging him over into a small package! “Small package!” shouts Mak. “Johnson could snatch victory right here!” “You can either talk about small packages or you can talk about snatches, Mak,” says King, rolling his eyes. “They’re completely different organs.” Mak can only roll his eyes again as Matt Kivell drops down to count. ONE! TWO! THR-But while Johnson rocked him with an elbow, and caught him by surprise, Nighthawk is too powerful for a half-assed rollup, and he muscles the Canadian off of him before the fatal third count can be delivered. Deciding that now the big man is more than a little angry, Johnson rolls to his stomach and begins pushing himself to his feet. Of course, if Johnson were thinking straight, he’d realize that this was a damn good opportunity for Nighthawk to punt him in the ribs. *WHOMP!* “OOOF!” Johnson is not thinking nearly as straight as Nighthawk’s boot, which jabs straight into the Canadian Murder Machine’s underbelly and sends him rolling into the ropes, hacking and wheezing for breath. Nighthawk, for what it’s worth, doesn’t really care how well Johnson is breathing, and he strides right up to the Ultimate Fighter. *WHOMP!* “OOOF!” Whereupon he boots him in the ribs a second time, Johnson struggling very hard to not fall out of the ring. Fortunately, Nighthawk helps him back into the squared circle, even pulling him to his feet. Unfortunately, Nighthawk helps him back into the squared circle, pulling him to his feet. Wasting no time, The Predator shoves him bodily into the ropes and, upon Johnson’s rebound, drives an elbow into his abdomen. Johnson doubles over again, but Nighthawk straightens him back up… and repeats the maneuver, Johnson beginning to turn an odd mix between green from being hit in the stomach so much and blue from lack of oxygen. Once again, Nighthawk could care less, and so he does it AGAIN! The Canadian Murder Machine drops to his knees and looks as if he’s about to vomit, but The Predator refuses to let Johnson off of the hook. Back up to his feet Mr. Cold Front Classic goes, but this time, instead of being shoved into the ropes, he’s whipped across the ring. JJ would almost be relieved, if not for the fact that almost as soon as he’s thrown he’s bouncing back, and as soon as he’s bouncing back, Nighthawk is charging forward, burying his knee into the Canadian’s stomach with a Kitchen Sink, sending JJ flipping to the ground and clutching his abdomen! “Good strategy on Nighthawk’s part, here,” says the Franchise, nodding in approval. “You can’t wrestle if you can’t breathe, and if your core muscles are wounded, you can’t do any heavy lifting. Say, another one of those backdrops, which have to be pissing Nighthawk off by now.” “Ah,” rebuts the Gambling Man, “but what move does Nighthawk have to capitalize on this weakened stomach? All of his moves are very much focused on the head and neck area.” “That’s a fair point,” Francis concedes, “but weakened core muscles also makes it harder to kick out.” “Know what else makes it hard to kick out?” snaps the Heartbreaker bitterly. “IF YOUR LEGS DON’T WORK.” *SMACK!!* “Ow!” Meanwhile, in the ring, Nighthawk has dragged Johnson back to his feet and whipped him into the ropes once more, and Johnson predictably rebounds… and eats another Kitchen Sink! This one hits a little lower, and the Canadian Murder Machine lets out the low moan every guy can associate with a man who has had a knee driven into his testicles. Matthew Kivell has apparently never been hit in the testicles, or perhaps he doesn’t have testicles. The more likely theory is that he was not looking very closely, and he doesn’t even admonish The Predator, who grins and waits a second before grabbing Johnson by the back of his tights, pulling him up, and sending him into the ropes! The Ultimate Fighter bounces back, Nighthawk charges forward… … and Johnson dives over the outstretched knee, turning and seizing a firm hold of Nighthawk’s legs, dragging him into a modified sunset flip! Kivell drops to count! “YEEAAAHH!!” “Nighthawk went to the well one time too many!” shouts Mak. ONE! TWO! THREE! NO! Nighthawk juts his shoulder up JUST BEFORE the count of three, recovering from his shock in time to prevent a loss! Johnson rolls backwards out of the pin up to his feet and takes a few steps back before crouching, favoring his groin while muttering what must be countless profanities as he waits for Nighthawk to get up. Nighthawk does so quickly, shaking his head as though trying to shake off what he can’t believe just happened. Still, he realizes that the match is not over, and so he turns around… JUST AS JOHNSON CHARGES FORWARD AND JACKS HIS JAW WITH A YAKUZA KICK! *CLUNK!* Now, let’s do some basic math. JJ Johnson stands 6’1”. Nighthawk stands 6’8”. A full-force Yakuza Kick typically hits around the orbital bone, about five inches up on the average face. Skilled as JJ Johnson is, he simply does not have the flexibility to throw his leg five inches above his head on a whim, and so the kick instead grazes Nighthawk’s jaw, enough to turn The Predator’s head but not enough to bring him down. Fortunately, the Pennsylvanian’s jaw is a bit of a sore spot from the roaring elbow earlier. Unfortunately, this only serves to piss him off, and Nighthawk snarls before running off the ropes, no doubt looking to score a lariat that NEVER MAKES IT, JJ JOHNSON LEAPING WITH EVERY MUSCLE IN HIS LEGS AND BLASTING HIM WITH A GAMENGIRI!! *CA-RAAACK!!* Sweat and a small stream of blood go sailing into the air as both men go crashing to the ground! Nighthawk stares at the lights once again, a dribble of plasma leaking out of his right nostril, while Johnson grabs at his stomach and winces. “YEEEAAAAHH!!” “What a leap!” shouts Mak. “If Johnson is going to make a comeback, this would be a great place to begin!” “Wah wah wah wah stomach blah blah let me play basketball oh right no legs mope mope mope,” says King in a very mocking voice. “What happened to your big core muscle rant? SOMEBODY is flip-flopping, although obviously not literally.” It looks as though Mak’s core muscle rant still applies, as Johnson moans and clutches at his stomach before struggling to his feet, where he does his best to drag the very dazed Nighthawk up to his feet, where he pops him with an elbow before turning him around and ducking down, looking for a backdrop! He bends at the knees, and he LIFTS! And then releases Nighthawk with one arm, using it to clutch at his stomach. Nighthawk begins to wriggle, so Johnson sucks the pain up and slams an elbow into his back before tucking his head under the arm once more. Johnson hesitates, but he sucks in a deep breath, jumps, slams his feet into the ground and uses that to LIFT… … taking Nighthawk up… … WAY up… … and then it becomes too much for JJ to keep his balance, and he topples backwards, dropping Nighthawk right on his neck! *CRUNCH!* “YEEEEAHH!!” “DAAAAAAAAAAAAAAANGEROUS BACKDROPPUH!!” roars King as Nighthawk bounces, rolling up to his knees for just a moment with a glazed look in his eyes before he topples forward again, likely dead to the world. Acting quickly, Johnson tugs him up to where it looks as though he’s crawling, then wraps one arm around his leg before he dives over with La Majistral, stacking the unconscious Predator on his shoulders! ONE! TWO! THREE! DING DING DING! “It’s over!” shouts Mak. “Dangerous Backdrop followed by a roll-up, and JJ Johnson advances!” “Ladies and gentlemen,” booms Funyon, “here is your winner, J! J! JOHNSON!” “Slaves Shall Serve” begins roaring out of the loudspeakers as Matt Kivell raises the arm of the number one seed. The other one Johnson devotes to squeezing his abdomen, attempting to crush the pain away. “I think that was a very wise strategy on Johnson’s part,” says King. “I’m willing to bet he simply overlifted, and didn’t mean to drop Nighthawk that high. However, if you’ve got the man KOed, and you’re hurt, you might as well just wrap the match up, and so JJ locked him in a pretty secure rollup to take the W here tonight.” “Jesus,” says Mak as Johnson rolls out of the ring, stalking back towards the entrance. “You sound like John Madden.” “Well, I don’t think that’s how the comment was drawn up, Pat!” says King, having suddenly developed jowls. “You know, I don’t even care,” says the Franchise, shaking his head. “It’s our main event next, ladies and gentlemen. International Champion and hometown hero Johnny Dangerous” – at mention of Johnny, the people behind the announce table cheer - ”defending his belt against Akira Kaibatsu. Don’t miss it.” FADE OUT

“Ladies and gentlemen, we’re back in Las Vegas a month after we last visited,” Mak Francis declares as the camera comes back from the break, “which means that my broadcast partner the Suicide King has been even more obnoxious than usual-” “I resent that remark,” King says without rancour, turning around from fleecing the three fans closest behind him at Texas Hold’em. “-however, what it also means is that we have a title match coming up,” Mak Francis continues. “Michael Stephens is still our Cruiserweight Champion, but tonight he has a stern test against a man he has some history with of late; the Unique Youth, Zyon!” “Oh please,” King scoffs, “don’t make me use the ‘beatable tool’ line yet again, Francis! Toxxic retained the World Title against Zyon on that ridiculous Fictional Worlds Tour, he retained the Cruiserweight Title against him between Genesis and Ashes 2 Ashes, and at Ashes 2 Ashes itself he ensured that he left with the World Title and Cruiserweight Titles, preventing Zyon from winning either of them! The fact is,” the Gambling Man continues, “that Zyon has about as much chance of taking the Cruiserweight Title tonight as you have of replacing Michael Flatley.” “And why are you singing Stephens’ praises so hard?” Mak asks archly. “I didn’t think you liked the man.” “I don’t, but if it comes to a choice between him and Zyon, well,” King chuckles, “at least Toxxic has the potential to be a suitably sneaky, underhanded bastard. His antics in the Elimination Chamber showed that.” “It’s true that Michael Stephens did seem to betray Zyon’s trust in the main event of Ashes 2 Ashes,” the Franchise admits, frowning as an SWF official hurries out from backstage towards the ring where Funyon is waiting to begin his ring announcements, “but despite that, and the accusations levelled at Stephens by Gabriel Drake on AftershoxXx, it was every man for himself in there. In addition to which,” he continues, “I have yet to hear Zyon make any critical remark of the champion… what’s going on here?” The official in the ring has spoken quietly to Funyon; the ring announcer’s face shows surprise for a moment, then he nods and straightens up before raising his microphone. “Ladies and gentlemen, there has been a change to the scheduled match in this position on the card,” Funyon announces, “which was due to be Zyon challenging Michael Stephens for the SWF Cruiserweight Title under Cruiserweight Rules.” “BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!” “Ladies and gentlemen, please remember that on your program and on your tickets it says that the card is subject to change,” the veteran ring announcer declares. “THIS IS BULL-SHIT!” “THIS IS BULL-SHIT!” “Peters is pushing his luck by announcing a change this late,” Francis grumbles, “what the hell’s he putting on instead? And why was this cancelled?” “Who cares?” King asks, “no spotmonkeys!” “In place of this match,” Funyon says, the faintest hint of a smile starting to creep around his mouth, “Michael Stephens will be defending the Cruiserweight Title against Zyon…” “Huh?” Mak says, confused. “…in a ladder match.” “YEEEEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!” “NO!” King protests as more SWF employees appear, carrying a selection of ladders which they start to distribute around the ringside area, “Lord have mercy, no! It’s bad enough I have to watch those two in a normal match, let alone some crazy stipulation like this! What happened to good ol’ wrestling?” “Yes King, we all know your speciality was Pure Rules,” Mak says sarcastically, “I swear, if they ever invent a Ironman Nutshot match you’ll be in the ring before it’s finished being announced.” ‘I’m born… I’m alive… I breathe…’ “YEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!” The familiar words flash up onto the screen as ‘Vitamin’ by Incubus kicks up over the PA system and the Las Vegas crowd responds by rising to their feet in support of the long-haired youth who makes his way out onto the soundstage. The familiar grin is absent from Zyon’s face, and the Unique Youth looks nothing but serious and focused as he stares down at the ring. “This is Zyon’s third one-on-one match with Michael Stephens,” Mak Francis notes, “will he go down fighting again, or will the third time be the charm? His great speed and agility could conceivably give him the edge in a match such as this, but Stephens has shown great adaptability and innovation in no-disqualification environments and he’s no slouch around the ring himself!” “The rubes will think that this match gives Zyon a better chance of winning,” King sighs as Zyon suddenly breaks into a run and sprints down to the ring, “but it’s clear that Toxxic will still come out on top. It’s just Peters’ way of spicing up a match with a certain outcome. Now, if JJ Johnson had been in this match…” “It’s entirely possible that Johnson and Stephens could go head-to-head again before too long,” Mak concedes as Zyon hops up to the apron, then vaults lightly over the top rope, “the Canadian Deathmachine is seeded first in the Cold Front Classic and has his first round match next; should he win the tournament he gets a shot at the World Title at Clusterfuck, and on the form he’s been in recently I wouldn’t necessarily bet against Stephens retaining the World Title until then!” “Are you a gambling man?” Zyon faces out towards the crowd, arms spread as he soaks in the support, but his face seems tense. The Unique Youth looks more than focused now; there is a hint of anger around the eyes, and the tight lips. The look is one of pure determination. “Introducing first, the challenger,” Funyon says, continuing on from his earlier announcement, “from Elkhart, Indiana, he weighs in at 200lbs; this is ‘The Unique Youth’… ZYYYYYYYYYYY-ONNNNNNNNNNNNNNN!!” “LET’S GO ZY-ON!” “LET’S GO ZY-ON!” Referee Anthony Michael Hall speaks with Zyon, making sure the young man is aware of the rules of the upcoming ladder match. The Unique Youth nods tersely, indicating that he’s well aware of what’s about to transpire. “COME AND HAVE A GO IF YOU THINK YER ‘ARD ENOUGH!” “COME AND HAVE A GO IF YOU THINK YER ‘ARD ENOUGH!” The rolling soccer chant crashes out of the speakers moments before the opening chord of ‘Rookie’ by Boy Sets Fire rings around the arena and every light hits full. Moments later the Smarktron, which had gone to a pure white screen, darkens quickly down to black and as it does so jagged white letters appear, flashing up a familiar slogan one word at a time: ‘PREPARE TO BE PROVED WRONG…’ The Smarktron changes again, now showing notable clips from famous matches; the All-Show Brawl with the Insane Luchador; the infamous Glass Jawbreaker on Aecas; the Caffeine Bomb on Nathaniel Kibagami; the Sunny In England on Tom Flesher at Genesis VII that won the Cruiserweight Title in the first place. Finally the shot changes one last time to a clip of Mike Van Siclen being taken off a balcony and through a table with the Stephens Shock Syndrome, the devastating landing time to coincide with the- *BOOOM!!* -explosion of red pyro that announces the arrival of the SWF’s most decorated Englishman! And through the flame and smoke… “TOXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX-IC…” …blue-black hair hanging down and hiding his face, with the World Title in his right hand, a Tag Title in his left and the Cruiserweight Title around his waist… “TOXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX-IC…” …his usual customised England shirt forsaken for an old design; a black T-shirt with barbed wire font on the front reading ‘HARDCORE PUNK’… “TOXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX-IC…” …comes the man formerly known as Toxxic. “AND HIS OPPONENT,” Funyon bellows over the crowd reaction, “from Nottingham, England! He weighs in tonight at 218lbs and is the SWF World Heavyweight Champion, one-half of the World Tag Team Champions and is the reigning and defending SWF Cruiserweight Champion; he is MIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII-CHAEL… STEEEEEEEEEEEEE-PHENS!!” “TOXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX-IC…” (“YOU SCREWED ZY-ON!”) “TOXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX-IC…” (“YOU SCREWED ZY-ON!”) The other chants are there, faint but audible. Most of the crowd in attendance are happy to cheer for the Englishman, although they might well cheer for Zyon as well depending on who looks the more impressive. However, as on AftershoxXx there is a small but vocal minority who seem determined to make their voices heard. Stephens looks around at the sound and a faint flicker of a grin crosses his lips while he walks down the ramp. Then he reaches the bottom and, looking Zyon straight in the eyes, crosses his arms briefly in the straight-edge ‘X’ sign before throwing them wide- *bap-bap* *BOOM!* -to ignite another blast of red pyro from the top of each turnbuckle! ‘I never thought this could be me I guess you never do until it’s happening to you Like all the fun turned into shame And all the “could-have-beens” rearrange…’ As the first verse of ‘Rookie’ rings out Stephens hands all three title belts to referee Hall, who passes the World and Tag Titles to the timekeeper before attaching the Cruiserweight Title to the halter that has descended from the rafters. Stephens strips off his trenchcoat but keeps his shirt on for the moment (to the disappointment of two girls in the second row). Hall turns and calls for the bell… *DING-DING-DING!* …and Zyon advances directly across the ring, getting into Stephens’ face! “Well, it looks like Zyon might have some critical remarks to make after all,” Mak admits as the two men square off; Zyon is keeping his anger under control but the Unique Youth is certainly not kindly disposed towards his opponent; Stephens seems prepared to laugh it off at first, but as the inaudible conversation between the two continues his eyes narrow and his head tilts to one side as he regards the young man in front of him. Then he extends one hand and shoves Zyon firmly in the chest. “YOU SCREWED ZY-ON!” “YOU SCREWED ZY-ON!” Zyon is knocked back a couple of steps and raises his fists, but Stephens simply starts circling, preparing for a lock-up or similar opening exchange. The Triple Champion beckons Zyon towards him before flapping one hand in imitation of a mouth, the message clear; stop talking and start wrestling. “Stephens inviting Zyon to try and work things out with actions rather than words,” Mak Francis noting, “he’s got a point, but I can’t help but feel that this encounter is not going to be contested under the same spirit as their previous ones.” “Yup, a clash of the egos alright. With any luck one of them might end up injured,” King says, sounding far too happy at the prospect. Zyon suddenly charges forward; Stephens shoots low, looking to sweep his opponent’s legs out from under him, but Zyon leapfrogs the Englishman at the last moment and leaves him clutching at thin air. He lands on his feet and takes two more steps, then jumps into the air again and lands on the second rope before moonsaulting off it to Stephens just as the champion straightens up and turns around! “LET’S GO ZY-ON!” Zyon lands on top of Stephens but hops straight back up again, then leaps high into the air from a standing start and brings a leg down across his opponent’s throat! *BANG!* “LET’S GO ZY-ON!” Stephens tries to roll away but Zyon grabs him by the head and brings him up to his feet, then hooks him up as if for a vertical suplex before rolling sideways with a snap swinging neckbreaker. Once more Stephens tries to roll away from his enemy to regroup and this time Zyon is obliging… to the extent that he puts the boots to the Triple Champion and forces him out under the bottom rope! “It’s been all Zyon in these opening seconds!” Mak Francis exclaims in some surprise, “whether he finally has the measure of Michael Stephens I don’t know, but the Unique Youth has just thrown an offensive flurry Stephens’ way and all of it has hit home!” Stephens is up on the outside, but he’s holding his head and not looking to be in the greatest shape. Zyon watches his opponent come to his feet from inside the ring, then jumps up and down a couple of times to limber up before turning and running for the far ropes. He rebounds and charges back across the ring towards Stephens… …who sees him coming and ducks… …and Zyon slows his momentum, jumping and grabbing the top rope but twisting to land on the apron facing away from his opponent. Stephens realises something is amiss when there isn’t a loud splatting sound from beyond him, and as he looks up to see Zyon on the apron he makes a grab for the Unique Youth’s leg only to get a kick in the head for his troubles. With the Englishman staggering backwards to an acceptable launch distance Zyon leaps up to the second rope and performs an Asai moonsault towards his opponent… …who leaps up and dropkicks him in the gut in midair! “TOXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX-IC…” “TOXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX-IC…” “What reactions!” Mak shouts, “and just like that Zyon’s momentum comes to a crashing halt!” The chants in the arena are changing as some of the crowd start to align themselves with the defending champion in deference to his quick-thinking. Stephens didn’t land well on the outside, but he landed better than Zyon who is clutching his stomach and lying in a foetal position. “Brains will win out over jumping ability every time,” King tells his commentary partner. “Granted Toxxic doesn’t have that many brains, but he’s got more than Zyon. One stupid leap, and Toxxic’s back in control.” Stephens starts to push himself back to his feet, then his eyes focus on Zyon and he grabs the Unique Youth and hauls him up to his feet. His eyes flicker around the arena and his eyes light on a ladder set up on the entranceway, and a moment later he jerks backwards to Irish whip Zyon into it! *CRASH!* The Unique Youth and the ladder go clattering to the floor in a chaotic mess of limbs and metal and Stephens punches the air in satisfaction. He then climbs over the guardrail into the crowd for a moment, causing several jovial and possibly inebriated fans in attendance to slap him on the back. However, their time in the exalted presence of the Triple Champion is short-lived as Stephens hops back up onto the top of the guardrail (facing the right way this time), balances precariously for a moment, then somersaults off to land the Hangover onto the unfortunate Zyon! “YEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!” Stephens managed to avoid landing on the ladder that lies on the floor near Zyon, and moments after the Hangover hits home he grabs the ladder and starts dragging it to the ring. The Triple Champion shoves it under the bottom rope and rolls in after it, then has to bring it upright and start to set it up underneath the title belt. “King, Stephens is looking for the early victory here after turning the tables on Zyon, but I’m not sure if his opponent is incapacitated enough for him to have a chance yet,” Francis observes. “Also, is that ladder tall enough?” “If he stands at the top and jumps, maybe,” the Gambling Man replies, “which would be kind of hazardous, but potentially amusing to watch if he misses.” Stephens begins to climb the ladder, but he looks to his left and sees Zyon back up on his feet and staggering down the ramp towards the ring. The champion realises that he doesn’t have the time to safely climb and retrieve the belt before the challenger reaches him, so he hops back down to the mat and starts to patrol the ring ropes, aiming a kick at Zyon the moment the younger man looks like he’s about to enter the squared circle. “Stephens can’t win the match unless he discombobulates Zyon for long enough to climb the ladder,” Mak observes. “Yeah, but right now he holds the high ground, and I’d be prepared to bet that he’s got more patience than Zyon,” Suicide King replies, “sometime soon the Unique Poof is going to lose his nerve and try to rush the ring, and then Toxxic can stomp seven kinds of crap out of him.” The Gambling Man’s prediction seems to hold some weight, as Zyon seems to be growing increasingly frustrated with his inability to re-enter the ring and come to grips with his opponent. He tries to grab one of Stephens’ feet as the Englishman kicks at him again, but as his hands close around Mike’s foot the champion places that foot firmly on the mat and grabs the ring ropes, then kicks at Zyon’s hands with his other boot to send the youth backing away and clutching his fingers. Finally Zyon can take no more and backs off, preparing himself for a rush… “LET’S GO ZY-ON!” “TOXXXXXXXXXXXXXX-IC…” …and charges forwards to dive down at the last moment and disappear under the ring! “What the hell!?” Mak asks in astonishment. However, this is not necessarily as bizarre a tactic as it first appears. Michael Stephens is left confused, turning around to try and keep a watch on all four sides of the ring at once. Then suddenly he shrugs, turns and makes for the ladder with no-one around to stop him! “Zyon might have outwitted himself here!” Francis calls. “Not difficult!” King shoots back. …but just as Stephens’ feet leave the mat and he starts to climb the apron lifts up on one side of the ring and Zyon emerges, then the Unique Youth rolls into the ring and charges for the ladder! Stephens is caught in mid-step and is a split-second too late to jump down as before - Zyon launches himself into the air with a front dropkick and kicks one side of the ladder with each boot, overbalancing it and sending Stephens crashing down to the mat as the ladder falls! *BANG!* “Lucky for Michael Stephens that he hadn’t climbed further, or he may have ended up tangled in the ropes or even falling to the arena floor!” Mak exclaims. “Tragic,” King replies. Zyon picks the ladder up and closes it again, then leans it against a turnbuckle to form a sloping surface at roughly 45 degrees to the vertical. With that done he grabs Stephens by the hair and starts to haul the defending champion upright, then grabs a front facelock and drags Stephens around until Zyon’s back is towards the ladder. He throws Stephens’ arm over his own shoulders and grabs the straight-edger’s baggy pants… “Suplex onto the ladder?” Mak asks, wincing. …but no, as Stephens suddenly hooks Zyon’s leg and rolls backwards into a small package! The pinning move is obviously useless in this match but it enables Stephens to escape the potential danger, and he immediately breaks it and rolls back to his feet. Zyon comes up a moment later and the Unique Youth charges at Stephens, but the champion ducks his head and grabs at Zyon’s legs at the last moment, straightening up to elevate the Indianan into the air and send him flying towards the ladder… …but in an amazing display of poise and balance Zyon lands on all fours on the tilted ladder and clings on! The ladder shifts a little but maintains its slope, and as Stephens turns around to view the results of his handiwork Zyon gets back to his feet on the ladder and runs up it to the point where it’s balanced against the top turnbuckle, then backflips off with a corkscrew and crashes into Stephens to send the Englishman down to the mat! “LET’S GO ZY-ON!” “LET’S GO ZY-ON!” “No Regard!” Mak shouts, “what athleticism from the challenger! He was able to turn defence into attack in an instant, and Michael Stephens ended up paying for it!” But Zyon isn’t done. The young man rolls out of the ring to the floor, then approaches the nearest crowd member and holds out his hands to implore the man to lend him his seating implement. A steel chair is quickly handed to Zyon, who re-enters the ring with the weapon but drops it on the mat before he gets back to Stephens. He hauls the World Champion up and scoops him up as if to slam him down, but instead carries Stephens towards the balanced ladder. He doesn’t slam him down on the ladder either, instead placing him almost delicately on it upside down, but makes sure to wedge one of Stephens’ legs firmly between two rungs of the ladder so the winded Englishman is trapped in his upside-down position. “Typical cowardly cruiserweight,” King snorts, “can’t face his opponent one-on-one.” “King, first of all both men in this match are cruiserweights,” Mak says, “secondly, the only reason you’re over the limit now is all the retirement weight you’ve put on. Beer and pizza do not a wrestling physique make.” “Shut up. At least I don’t get bedsores on my ass.” Zyon picks up the chair again and steps out to the apron. Stephens still seems to lack enough breath to sit up and try to start freeing his leg, and Zyon pauses for a moment to prepare and give the crowd a hint of what might be coming, then leaps to the top rope… “WHOOOOOOOOOAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!” …AND LEAPS ALL THE WAY ACROSS THE RING TO DROPKICK THE CHAIR INTO MICHAEL STEPHENS’ FACE! *CRACK!* “YEEEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!” “HO-LY SHIT!” “HO-LY SHIT!” “ZYON JUST WENT COAST TO COAST ON MICHAEL STEPHENS!” Mak Francis roars, “King, have you EVER seen anything like that done in an SWF ring?” “I’m not sure I have!” the Suicide King shouts back over the crowd noise, “Zyon is insane! I mean, he is legitimately nutso! He needs to be arrested right now for his own safety, and the safety of all those around him!” What with a chair coming at his head from one side and sandwiching it against the ladder currently positioned on the other, not the mention the fact that he’s already upside down and hanging by one leg, it’s fair to say that the defending champion is not in a very good way. Zyon landed hard after his little jaunt and as he gets to his feet it’s clear that he’s hurt his hip in some way; maybe not a long-term injury, but certainly something that’s giving him a little trouble at the moment. He seems to be thinking about trying to rescue the ladder that’s currently serving to imprison Stephens, but then decides against it and heads to the outside where he grabs another ladder, this one possibly slightly longer, and re-enters the ring with it. He progress is slowed by his newly-dodgy hip and it takes him several seconds to find enough balance to get the ladder back into the ring. Once there he starts to set it up underneath the suspended title belt before, rather slower than might normally be expected, starting to climb up towards the gold and towards victory. “LET’S GO ZY-ON!” “LET’S GO ZY-ON!” The Unique Youth is climbing as fast as he can without rocking the ladder too much but he can only go one step a time as his hip is still paining him… and suddenly he’s aware of movement from the corner of the ring. Michael Stephens has managed to disentangle his leg from the ladder and has rolled gently away from the ladder onto the canvas of the ring. The World Champion turns his attention towards the ladder which Zyon is currently occupying, and an agony of indecision grips the man from Elkhart. Should he continue climbing and hope to get to the top? Maybe he can grab the loop the belt hangs from and unhook it there even if Stephens takes the ladder out from under him. Or should he drop back down, throwing away this chance of glory to ensure a later victory? He takes too long to decide. Stephens doesn’t need to climb up the ladder after him; he just staggers to his feet to brace his shoulders against it, then pushes. Zyon suddenly finds the freedom of choice taken away from him as he plummets down towards the ropes; he jumps off the ladder to try and engineer and more controlled fall, but he lands on and in the ropes, loses his footing and crashes backfirst to the mat! *BANG!* Michael Stephens is bleeding from the forehead after that flying dropkick by Zyon, and now he’s the right way up again it’s starting to run down his face instead of into his hair. He puts one black-nailed hand up to wipe away what he presumably assumes is sweat, then stares at it for a moment as it comes away streaked with red. Then two steel-grey eyes focus on the Unique Youth as Zyon struggles to pull himself up on the ring ropes, and Michael Stephens strides forwards. “Oh man, I don’t think the champion is in a very good mood now,” Mak Francis ventures. “No shit Sherlock,” King sniffs, then laughs, “actually, you’re not good enough to be Sherlock. You might be Ironside though.” *SMACK!* “Ooowwwww!” Zyon finds himself picked up and turned around, then headbutted in the face. Once the stunning force of that blow has subsided the Unique Youth realises that his right arm has been twisted into the ring ropes by his opponent, who has now stepped around him and is working on his left. Zyon tries to struggle free or at least to stop his imprisonment from being completed, but to no avail; Stephens traps the other arm as well, then suddenly rolls out of the ring. Zyon cranes his neck around to see what the Englishman is doing and finds that the champion is taking a leaf out of his book by approaching the crowd for help. Someone is only too happy to give the SWF World Champion a chair to use and Stephens re-enters the ring with it clutched in his grasp. “What does he need a chair for?” Mak Francis asks in confusion, “there’s one already in the ring!” “Watch and learn Francis,” King chuckles, “watch and learn…” Stephens sets up the chair he has just acquired in the ring, the back facing towards Zyon. Then he goes over to the chair that split his forehead open and picks that up, before starting to beat a familiar rhythm on it. It’s a rhythm that the champion knows from the soccer terraces at home, but it has a definite international ring to it and the crowd picks it up… “OLE, OLE OLE OLE! OLEEEEE! OO-OOLEEEEEEEEE!” “OLE, OLE OLE OLE! OLEEEEE! OO-OOLEEEEEEEEE!” With the chant in full swing Stephens backs off to the ropes opposite the increasingly nervous Zyon and starts to prepare himself… “Get ready for take-off Mak,” King advises, “British Airways is about to go airborne!” Stephens starts to run forward, then vaults up off the chair… “And Zyon’s about to sample-” …the defending champion swings his feet forward, holding the chair in front of them as he flies on a direct collision course with Zyon’s head… *CRACK!* “-THE IN-FLIGHT MEAL!” King finishes with considerable satisfaction as Stephens drives the steel chair into his opponent’s head with a dropkick! “HO-LY SHIT!” “HO-LY SHIT!” Zyon’s head snaps backwards, and as the groggy cruiserweight’s neck returns it to a more normal position a trickle of blood can be seen emerging from the Unique Youth’s forehead, mirroring that on Stephens’. The Triple Champion drops the chair with a satisfied expression on his face, then turns and grabs the ladder that Zyon was climbing up a minute before. Stephens quickly starts setting it up, pleased to note that it was not damaged by its fall, then begins to climb. He’s still a bit dizzy from Zyon’s attack and it was probably more by luck than judgement that he hit the In-Flight Meal at all, but he’s able to start climbing towards the prize. Not as fast as he would normally, be he’s on his way. “LET’S GO ZY-ON!” “TOXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX-IC…” “LET’S GO ZY-ON!” “TOXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX-IC…” Stephens looks up, still several feet below the Cruiserweight Title, but then realises that something is wrong. The impact of the In-Flight Meal may have busted Zyon open, but it also knocked his arms nearly clear of the trapping ropes, something Stephens didn’t notice until now. Zyon is wrenching backwards and forwards to try and free himself and finally does so, then lurches to his feet. Stephens scurries upwards as quickly as possible even as Zyon sets his shoulder against the ladder and pushes, trying to return the favour on Stephens… …the ladder starts to fall away… …and Stephens remains suspended in mid-air, hanging from the loop that also holds the Cruiserweight Title! “YEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!” “He’s there! He’s there!” Mak yells, “all he’s got to do is unhook the belt!” But Zyon isn’t beaten yet. The Unique Youth grabs the ladder as it bounces on the top rope on the other side of the ring and hoists the entire thing up, then aims the top of it at Michael Stephens and swings! As a weapon it’s slow and cumbersome. *WHUMP!* But when you’re hanging fifteen feet or so above the ring, it’s also damn effective. *WHUMP!* Zyon swings again and catches Stephens another blow, and suddenly the defending champion has gone from lifting himself up to tear the belt off to clinging desperately to the loop, trying to keep enough strength to prevent himself from falling to the ring below. Zyon tries to make another swing with the ladder but it’s proving an incredibly tiring weapon to use. He has another idea and sets the ladder up again; not beneath the belt, but a few feet to one side. Stephens tries to swing himself over to get a foot on it but has no success. Zyon, on the other hand, is quickly able to scale the ladder until he’s more or less on a level with his opponent. “This could get ugly…” Mak Francis predicts. …and Zyon launches himself into the air, pasting Stephens in the head with what can only be described as a Super-Superman Forearm! “YEEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!” Mike isn’t holding on after that; he and Zyon tumble towards the ring together. *BANG!* “HO-LY SHIT!” “HO-LY SHIT!” “What dedication to the match and to his cause!” Mak Francis yells, “Zyon just sacrificed himself to stop Michael Stephens from winning!” “He’s desperate, he knows he can’t win!” King shoots back, “face it Mak, Toxxic’s got two other belts to look after and be content with, and he’s still come closer to winning this match than Zyon - Zyon’s got nothing to lose and it looks like he’s going to lose it anyway!” Anthony Michael Hall can only look on in horror at the scene of carnage in front of him, and not the big masked monster that used to be managed by Frisco. Neither Zyon or Michael Stephens seem able to move under their own power, and even without a double count-out being available to him Hall considers calling the match off with neither man being able to continue to compete. However, then Zyon emits a groan and rolls over onto his front! “LET’S GO ZY-ON!” “LET’S GO ZY-ON!” Wearily, the two-time former Cruiserweight Champion starts to push himself up. It takes him several seconds but he gradually becomes vertical, then staggers sideways into the ring ropes. “YEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!” “LET’S GO ZY-ON!” “LET’S GO ZY-ON!” Michael Stephens is still down on his back, not moving. Zyon stares at him for a moment… then something seems to click inside his head, and he steps out to the apron before starting to slowly, oh so slowly climb towards the top rope… “Come on Zyon, haven’t you had enough of high places for one night?” Mak asks, “you can go and take the belt now!” “I think Mr. Owens here wants to put an exclamation point on things,” King surmises. “The only problem with that is…” Suddenly Michael Stephens moves; the World Champion’s legs coil up almost under his chin, then he explodes up off the mat and kips up to his feet! Zyon is caught unawares and unprepared, unbalanced halfway between the middle and top ropes. Stephens takes a step towards the corner and jumps into the air, lands on the second rope and springboards up… …Zyon desperately raises his arms to try and protect himself… *KER-RACK!* “…we all know his punctuation’s SHIT!” King finishes his bad joke as Stephens lands a springboard enzuigiri to the back of Zyon’s head and sends the Unique Youth toppling from his lofty perch! Zyon tries to grab at the ring ropes to break his fall and succeeds in that he lands on the ring apron before crashing off onto the floor rather than taking the ten-foot fall straight down to the thinly-padded concrete. *WHUMP!* “TOXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX-IC…” “TOXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX-IC…” Michael Stephens lands hard on his front on the ring, knocking the breath from his body again. He really, really regrets that kip-up. Worth it to surprise Zyon, but he should have known better. He’s going to hurt like hell in the morning from this match anyway, let alone trying to get his body to do things it shouldn’t be doing at this stage. “TOXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX-IC…” “TOXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX-IC…” The chants still ring out around the arena, and very slowly Michael Stephens starts to force himself up. All he needs to do is set that bloody ladder up, then he can climb it, grab his belt and leave. Zyon shouldn’t be around to bother him now, and if he is he won’t be able to walk straight. “King, I think we might just see the champion retain here,” Mak speculates, “it’s been a long hard haul for both men, but that last surprise move from Stephens may just have tipped the balance!” The Suicide King opens his mouth to reply… and shuts it again as a figure suddenly appears at ringside in jeans and a T-shirt, vaulting the guardrail to land in the ringside area! A nearby cameraman shies back in shock and the figure slides into the ring behind Michael Stephens, entering across the ring from where Zyon lies on the outside. The crowd’s reaction is instantaneous, not to mention predictable. “BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!” You see, the man is Gabriel Drake. “What the- get him out of there!” Mak yells, “Drake’s going to interfere!” King’s earlier comparison of his partner to famous detectives was essentially accurate, as is Mak’s call. Stephens hears the boos and works out something must be wrong; he starts to turn to look- *CHING!* -and Gabriel Drake drops to one knee before slamming his arm up between the straight-edger’s legs. Stephens doubles over and drops to the mat, motionless. “YOU SUCK!” “YOU SUCK!” “YOU SUCK!” Drake pays no mind to the crowd. He studies his long-time enemy for a couple of seconds with a weird smile on his face, then turns and exits the ring the way he came before hopping over the guardrail again. A few nearby fans shout some disapproving comments, but everyone knows better than to actually get in the way of The Beast. “What the hell is going on here?” Mak asks in bewilderment, “Gabriel Drake just turned up to attack Michael Stephens, but now he’s gone again! It wasn’t that long ago that Drake and Spike Jenkins teamed up to beat Stephens and Zyon down after a Cruiserweight Title match, and now- wait, Zyon’s up! Zyon’s up!” Zyon is indeed up. The Unique Youth is on his feet and pulling himself up onto the apron. He looks wearily into the ring, surely expecting to see Stephens holding the Cruiserweight belt, or just in the process of unhooking it from the top… …but no. There his opponent is, on his back on the mat. Lying, as far as he can tell, more or less where he would have landed after that springboard enzuigiri. “LET’S GO ZY-ON!” “TOXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX-IC…” The confusion is plain to see on Zyon’s face. Stephens kicked him off the top, but did he maybe knock himself out on the landing? Has he hurt himself in some other way, ruptured something perhaps? Why is the crowd buzzing so much? Is it his imagination that he heard a massive boo just now, or was that simply a result of being kicked very hard in the head? In the end, speculation is pointless. Zyon can see what the situation is, and he knows what he has to do. He turns, takes hold of the top rope, and starts climbing. “King, who are you cheering for now?” Mak asks quickly, “the man you consider to be the smarter of these two, or the man you consider a moron who’s just been aided, presumably inadvertently, by a wrestler you’re a big fan of?” “Mak, I am totally confused,” the Gambling Man admits, “I just hope Zyon falls off and breaks something and I’ll be happy.” Zyon’s not going to do that, and this time Stephens makes no sudden moves. The Unique Youth straightens atop the top turnbuckle and stretches his arms out to the side. He’s waited for this moment for months. Then he leaps off. It’s not as high as sometimes, maybe. Not quite as picture-perfect. *CRUNCH!* But the important point is, this time it hits. “ZYON! ZYON! ZYON! ZYON! ZYON!” “FINAL FLASH!” Mak yells, “Zyon hit it on Michael Stephens! All he has to do now is climb the ladder, surely!” Zyon forces himself up to his feet, running on adrenaline fumes. Over to the side of the ring is the ladder that he flew off a few minutes previously to hit Stephens in the face with a forearm smash. He grabs it and tugs it, towing it to the middle of the ring, then starts to climb. One step, two steps, three steps towards the title belt. “LET’S GO ZY-ON!” Four steps, five steps, six steps towards victory. “LET’S GO ZY-ON!” Seven steps, eight steps, nine steps towards becoming the SWF’s first ever three-time Cruiserweight Champion… “LET’S GO ZY-ON!” Ten steps and he stretches upwards… “LET’S GO ZY-ON!” On the canvas, Michael Stephens finally starts to move. The Englishman opens his steel-grey eyes and stares up to see Zyon far, far above him, one hand reaching out towards the belt. Zyon looks down for a second and locks eyes with his opponent, then reaches back up again. He knows Stephens can’t stop him now. …but as his eyes raise he sees something else. In among the crowd a figure stands watching, stood apart not just by the presence of SWF Security on each side to keep the crowd at a safe distance, but also by his height and build. Zyon frowns as he recognises Gabriel Drake. It’s hard to tell from here, but The Beast seems to be grinning at him. “LET’S GO ZYON…” Zyon looks up once more, reaches up and grips the Cruiserweight Title. Then he pulls on it. It comes away in his hand. *DING-DING-DING!* “YEEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!” “LADIES AND GENTLEMEN!” Funyon booms as ‘Vitamin’ kicks up around the arena, “here is your winner, AND NEEEEEEWWWWWWWWW SWF Cruiserweight Champion, the first three-time Cruiserweight Champion in SWF history… the ‘Unique Youth’, ZYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYY-ONNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNN!” “LET’S GO ZY-ON!” “LET’S GO ZY-ON!” “King, do you realise what’s just happened!?” Mak Francis asks, incredulous, “not only has Zyon won the title, not only has he become the first-ever three-time Cruiserweight Champion, but he’s just beaten Michael Stephens! Stephens hasn’t been beaten in about eighteen months! He hasn’t lost since the Submission Match against Scott Pretzler back in the summer of 2005 where the Critic made him give up in the Snowflake Clutch!” “He couldn’t have done it without Drake!” King shoots back, “Drake has shown that neither one of these men are anything compared to him!” “Bullshit!” the Franchise declares, “Stephens didn’t have Zyon beat with that enzuigiri! Zyon could still have got up in time to prevent him climbing the ladder! I can’t deny that The Beast had an impact on the match, but although Stephens had the stronger position it was far from being a forgone conclusion when Drake interfered!” Zyon slowly descends the ladder back to the mat, where Anthony Michael Hall raises his arm in victory. The Unique Youth looks over at Michael Stephens who hasn’t yet got up off the mat. Then he turns away and raises his belt in the air, facing out towards the crowd. Finally, he’s beaten Stephens. Finally, he has his belt back again. However, in amongst the frenzied cheers that echo around as Smarkdown careers towards a commercial break, there is one faint murmur of discontent. Far off in a distant corner of the building there’s a small but vocal minority of fans who are determined to make themselves heard. (“YOU SCREWED TOXX-IC…”) (“YOU SCREWED TOXX-IC…”) FADE OUT

"Coming up next here on Lockdown, the Cold Front Classic continues with match number three of four in the first round. And we're going to see one of the two former winners in action, as the inaugural Cold Front Champion Landon Maddix takes on the number 7 seed Michael Cross, looking to become the first-ever two time winner of our Winter tradition tournament. And I'm sure King has plenty of reasons why he's 'wasting his time', so I'll just let him get on with it." "Mighty kind of you, Mak!" "Well, it's easier this way." sighs Mak, fluffing up his pillow. "Wake me when you're done." "Mak, there's four simple reasons why Landon isn't going to become Cold Front Classic 2006 Winner. Number one is Michael Cross. Assuming he makes it past tonight, reason number two is Tom Flesher waiting for him in the semis. Heaven forbid he makes it past that, but reason number three would then be JJ Johnson, who's also aiming to become two-time Cold Front Classic winner... or Spike Jenkins, who's got plenty of motive to go all the way. And reason number four, most importantly, is why the hell would Landon WANT to win anyway?" "Isn't that obvious?" "I thought you were supposed to be sleeping?" snipes King, before continuing. "If Landon wins the Cold Front, his reward is a World Title shot at Clusterfuck, unless they've changed the format again while I wasn't looking. And the World Champion right now is his new, bestest buddy Michael Stephens. So, either Landon is expecting him to lose the belt in the meantime, or he's planning on wrestling his tag partner." "Nothing wrong with that. A nice, fair, friendly match..." "Between those two!? No chance! It'd be the end of the ceasefire and the continuation of Battle Of The Spot Monkeys and NOBODY wants that!" No disagreement is forthcoming from Mak, even with the cueing up of "The Show Must Go On" by Queen to signal the entrance of the number seven seed. Stoicly as you would expect, "Iron" Mike Cross emerges through the flickering red lights, head down as he blatantly ignores the reaction of the crowd. He's all business. "Ladies and gentlemen, the following contest is scheduled for one fall and it is a Quarter Final Match in the 2006 Cold Front Classic Tournament, with the winner to face Tom Flesher in the next round." clears up Funyon. "Introducing first. Hailing from Detroit, Michigan and weighing in at two hundred, twenty eight pounds. He is the former SWF Cruiserweight Champion and the number seven seed in the Cold Front Classic... "IIRRROOON!"... MMIIIKKEE... CCCRRROOOOOOOOOOOOOOSSSSSSSSSSSS!!!!" "BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!" Cross slides into the ring and disposes of the hoodie sweatshirt, referee Sexton Hardcastle putting him through the traditional inspection for weapons. All with little reaction from Cross, as he coldly looks past the official and down the aisleway. "Now here's a guy I like." King notes, without a hint of anything BUT bias. "I'd like to see him and Tom go at it, that'd be a good match-up of two similar workers. Cross has got a lot of the qualities Tom has." "Except, he dropped the annoying manager." "Somebody like James Matheson is exactly what Cross needs to go to the next level." "I agree. Having to climb out of the ring and walk ALL the way over to the timekeeper's table to grab a weapon is such a drag. But with Matheson around, no problem!" says Mak, sarcastically. Which, of course, doesn't fly with his partner. "Smartest thing you've said all night." "Tell me exactly, what am I supposed to do Now that I have allowed you, to beat me! Do you think that we could play another game Maybe I could win this ti-ime." "I kinda like the misery you put me through Darling you can trust me, completely! If you even try to look the other way I think that I could kill this ti-ime!" The roaring nu-metal stylings of "The Game" by Disturbed penetrate through the Thomas & Mack Center, begging two very important questions. One, who are Thomas and Mack anyway (:cue canned laughter:)? And more importantly, why is Landon "La Cucaracha" Maddix cheered so warmly as he glides out through the entrance way in all his trenchcoat coated glory? Despite not knowing the answer to either of these questions, Landon doesn't seem to mind, extending his hands sideways to soak up the crowd reaction. "And his opponent! Accompanied to the ring by his 'Perfect 10' MEGAN SKYE! He hails from Huron, South Dakota by way of Madrid, Spain... weighing in tonight at two hundred and twenty four pounds. The former two-time SWF World Heavyweight Champion and one half of the current SWF World Tag Team Champions... the number TWO seed in the Cold Front Classic... LANDON... "LA CUCARACHA"... MMMMAAAAAAADDIIIIIIIIIXXXXXXXXXXXXXX!!!" "YYEEEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!" Maddix warmly smiles away as he walks down to the ring, flanked by Megan Skye, who's also smiling warmly. "Somebody must have hit it big at the casinos." presumes Mak. "The men's room at the casino, at least." The number two seed makes full mention of that on the apron, indicating that he would eventually become number one. Maddix then spins into the ring with arms outstretched and trenchcoat wide open to show off his half of the Tag Titles. *DINGDINGDING!* The bell sounds and Cross comes out of his corner, low and looking for an opening. Landon's reaction to this is to simply duck his head out through the top and middle ropes, telling referee Hardcastle to 'give me a second', which Cross patiently complies with. "LAN - DON!" "LAN - DON!" "LAN - DON!" "LAN - DON!" "Why are they chanting!?" snaps King angrily. "He hasn't done anything yet!" "He's charismatic." "Baloney." Ducking back inside, Landon maintains his air of caution as he approaches the powerhouse that is 'Iron' Mike. And after ensuring that his opponent isn't going to do anything too hasty, Landon offers up a greco-roman knucklelock. Understandably Cross doesn't look like he's buying it, even with Maddix's crossing of the heart and flashing of the old-fashioned peace sign. Landon continues to offer it up though, until Cross eventually bites... ...and gets jabbed in the eyes! "YYEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHH!" "Oh come ON!" "Who the hell does he think he is, Tom Flesher?" Mak slyly asks over the grumbles of his grumpy partner. As Cross blindly stumbles backwards, Maddix goes on the attack with his strike of choice, the forearm. A quick succession of four back Cross into the ropes and set up an irish whip, sending Iron Mike shooting across the ring and back into a high, spinning back elbow! Sneer, pose, soak up Megan's applause, all patented Landon. Eventually, Landon then makes the patent of any wrestler worth their salt, the pin... ONE! Not a chance. Looking to take the focus off of his measly one count, Landon quickly applies a side headlock as Cross pulls himself up and looks to keep the pocket powerhouse under control. Going to the gut with an elbow, Cross simply powers Maddix off into the ropes though. Building up a head of steam, the confident Champion barrels right back with a shoulderblock...and goes down! Hard! Up clambers Landon with a hold of the back of his head, turning to meet Cross as he comes off the ropes, connecting with his own shoulderblock, which again sees Landon bounced off the canvas like a rubber ball! Maddix is already hoping for a timeout now, but Cross is having none of it. Pulling Maddix up by the arm, Cross sends The Next Generation shooting across the ring and into the turnbuckles in one corner with a hard irish whip! "No match in the power stakes tonight." notes Mak. And sure enough he's right, as when Landon stumbles out of the corner and tries to deadweight on a follow-up whip from Cross, he only blocks momentarily and ends up being pulled upright... *SLAP!* "WHOOOOOOOO!" ...and hit with a knifedge chop from Cross' free arm. A wring of the arm from Cross resets the whip again and sends Landon flying, finding his way into the opposite corner anyway. Cross then lines Landon up and charges him in the corner... ...but up goes the foot from Landon! "Speed advantage, however, lies in Landon's corner." "Boy, you're full of insightful information tonight Mak." Stumbling away from the corner, Cross quickly shakes off the effects of the boot and charges in again. Which makes his last move utterly pointless, as he eats a boot to the face. Shaking off the effects of the boot to the face again, Cross charges in again. And eats another boot, giving him a sense of dejá vu (which by the way would make a GREAT idea for a movie script. I hope nobody steals it after this gets out there.) that can only be erased... *SLAP!* "WHOOOOOOOO!" ...with a knifedge chop, giving him a sense of REALLY HOT CHEST! *SLAP!* "WHOOOOOOOO!" ...and a second! *SLAP!* "WHOOOOOOOO!" ...make it three! Picking up the pace, Landon looks to send Cross off the ropes with an irish whip, only to find it reversed and himself the one on the run. As Landon rebounds off the other side, Cross brushes off his chest and crouches low, setting for a counter. Maddix puts pay to that however as he shoots out with his feet, twisting with his back to Cross. Cross catches Landon in a wheelbarrow and hoists him back up, but Landon falls from his grasp and catches Iron Mike on the way down with a modified armdrag! "Quesadora, lucha armdrag variation from Landon!" cheers Mak. "He's Spanish, remember!" "He IS!?" "Si!" Cross rolls through some of the landing and as such is right back to his feet, waiting on Maddix as he charges. A swing and a miss is all the answer Cross has for the charge however as Landon sweeps underneath, using Cross' body as a makeshift jungle gym, before pulling said jungle gym down with a crucifix pin... ONE! TWO! Kickout! Both men scramble back to their feet and Cross stupidly tries the same tactic as last time. This time the crucifix is expected and in turn not going to work. Maddix has other ideas though and just as Cross is preparing to block the crucifix, he finds himself pulled down into a sunset flip by the twisting and turning La Cucaracha... ONE! TWO! Kickout again! It's another scramble to the feet and this time, Iron Mike isn't losing his head. Neither is Landon though and he drops down onto all fours, crawling through the legs of Cross and coming up the other side. Maddix threads the arms under those of the bemused Cross, looking for a backslide. He has neither the leverage or the power to muscle Mike over though and a quick squat from Cross flips Landon up and over the front. Landon struggles to keep his balance as he lands on his feet. And his momentary stumbling allows Cross to capitalise, ducking low and cutting Landon down with a desperation Spear! "BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!" Landon's head whiplashes off the canvas on impact as Cross takes advantage of his well-earned breathing time, by... breathing. "And that may just turn the tide in the number seven seed's favour," predicts Francis, "at least momentarily. Michael Cross is 2-0 against his opponent tonight and just hasn't been able to figure out a way to vanquish him." "You said the same thing about Tom with Johnny and look what happened there." "Technically not the exact same. And why do we have to keep mentioning Tom Flesher?" "Eh. Makes it all tolerable." Not wanting another run around, Cross looks to slow the pace of the match down, wrapping Landon up in a front facelock. *Inappropriately placed commercial break!* "Since when did we have commericals?" Back from the commercial and in the best TV wrestling tradition, the resthold is firmly applied, still! Clamping onto the front facelock, Cross rolls over onto his knees, bringing Landon around with him onto all fours in front. Cross then begins to bottom out to force Landon's chest against the canvas. Sensing trouble, Maddix starts to squirm and struggle. Cross' priority is now just to hang onto the headlock (someone should tell him the commercial is over) rather than go to the mat with it and that allows Maddix to get his feet underneath him, forcing up with every ounce of strength that he's got...and get kneed in the chest for his trouble! Maintaining the headlock, Mike drags the re-subdued La Cucaracha across to the ropes now, throwing the arm overhead and lifting him as if for a simple vertical suplex. But as Cross holds Landon in the air for a few seconds, it's clear his ideas have changed, as he takes a step forward and throws Landon off, dropping him gut first across the top rope!! "OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!" "That outta keep him quiet." King smirks. Leaving his opponent hanging over the ropes, Cross takes a brief walk to show his disinterest with the warning Sexton Hardcastle is trying to give him. "LAN - DON!" "LAN - DON!" "LAN - DON!" "LAN - DON!" By the time Cross goes back on the offense, the slightly-less-winded than a second ago Landon is in a position to shock him. Reaching out, Landon snatches hold of Cross' head and traps him in his own front headlock, wrapping his legs through the ropes and around Iron Mike's waist with a variation of the Wet Cement!! "YYEEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!" "ILLEGAL! ILLEGAL!" cries King, as Hardcastle agrees and rushes over... "ONE!" "TWO!" "THREE!" "FOUR!" "FI..." Landon breaks the hanging front guillotine before the dreaded five, falling to the apron as the choking Cross stumbles away searching for air. Pulling himself up on the apron, Landon holds a hand to his ribs and one to his neck as he waits. Cross turns around and suddenly the hands transfer to the top rope, Maddix springboarding off the top and soars in... ...forearm cocked and loaded... ...but Cross sidesteps, guiding Landon down across his knee with a gutbuster!! "OOOOOOOOOOOHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!" "Dip anyone?" smiles King. "I smell guacamole, I don't know about anyone else." "High-risk move from Landon and it doesn't pay off." Mak calls, trying to steer the conversation back to the wrestling. Pushing Landon from off his knee, Cross makes a lateral press... ONE! TWO! KICKOUT! Not bothering to question the count, the focused Cross brings Maddix back up to his feet by the hair. Cross then drills the knee into the gut to double Landon up, re-applying the front facelock from earlier and quickly sweeping La Cucaracha overhead with a crisp snap suplex! With his trademark tenacity, Cross hangs onto the head and twists onto his front, bringing Landon up with him as he comes back to his feet, executing a second snap suplex. Megan watches on despairingly, knowing she can do little more to come to her man's aid than simply pound the canvas in support, while Cross executes a third straight snap suplex, this time rolling onto a cover... ONE! TWO! KICKOUT... ...but Cross stays on Maddix and pins him down onto his front, rearing back with the leg... *WHAM!* ...and landing a knee strike across the ear! *WHAM!* ...and another, with the left leg! *WHAM!* ...before alternating back onto the right! "Look at the intensity from Iron Mike, raining down with those knees!" gasps Mak. "The referee needs to get in there..." "Why!?" "For Landon's safety!" "Oh. That. Ah well, I'm sure the paramedics are well trained, don't sweat it Mak." The kneedrops have weakened Landon up, but Mike's focus remains split between neck and ribs. So, he decides to kill two birds with one stone and switches the other side of Landon's prone body, locking up the leg and grabbing a headlock, applying the SDS! "Entrapment!" "Something I'm very familiar with." blurts King from out of nowhere. "The crazy chicks dig the King, that's for sure." Cross wrenches back with gritted teeth as Hardcastle moves in to check on Landon, having to lean in close to hear over the rallying crowd and the rallier, Megan Skye. Landon's head is arched back in as awkward of an angle as Cross can manipulate it into, thing looking very bleak for the number two seed. Which prompts the Vegas crowd, under Megan's continuing encouragement, to increase in voice. Fueled on by this, Maddix plants his hands and crawls... ...and crawls... ...Cross unable to keep Maddix pinned down as he follows the voice of his trusty manager like the light at the end of the proverbial tunnel, starts reaching out and... ...GRABS THE ROPES!! "YYYEEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!" "He got the ropes!" cheers Mak, going with the commentary mantra of 'when in doubt, state the obvious'. Under duress, Cross relinquishes the hold. "LAN - DON!" "LAN - DON!" "LAN - DON!" "LAN - DON!" "Nope." shrugs King, shaking his head. "Still don't get it." Iron Mike has decided to strike while the iron is still hot, or some other such pun, as he hauls Maddix up by his fancy red and yellow shorts. Oh, and a handful of hair. Hardcastle makes a complaint about that but it falls on deaf ears as Cross is in a zone, zoning in on the neck as he wraps on an inverted front facelock. "Uh-oh, Landon could be about to experience a bout of Silent Rage Syndrome!" "I've got a bad feeling about this..." Obviously homework and scouting is Megan's fortay and as soon as she sees the facelock go on, she freaks out and starts to motion something to Landon. Pity he can't see her. His head is tilted for a perfect view of the lights and he's heading further that way in a second as Cross grabs the waistband of the shorts, lifting Landon up and... ...losing control, as Maddix's frantic kicking of the legs ends with one foot pushing off the top rope, allowing him to float over the top... ...AND BRING CROSS DOWN WITH A LUNGBLOWER!! "YYEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!" It isn't textbook by any stretch of the imagination but it does culminate in two knees driven into Cross' kidneys. And that's no pleasurable experience. "I told you I had a bad feeling." King groans. "Maddix has always been a slippery little basta..." "UhmWHATACOUNTER!" interjects Mak quickly, covering up King's little freudian slip as best possible. "I don't think Landon got all of it though, because Cross is getting back up." Albeit by the ropes, Cross is indeed getting back up. Back stiffened, Iron Mike cringes a little as he tries to straighten back out. Across the ring Landon seems oddly prone on one knee, to the frustration of Megan who is willing her man to get back to his feet. Especially with Cross approaching, unable to run with the discomfort in his back but able to advance looking for an attack... ...but Landon ducks, catching him under the arm and pulling Cross down with the Complete Shot!! "YYEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!" "Like I said, slippery." Still dazed in his own right, Maddix takes a moment to roll Iron Mike's dazed frame over, hooking the leg on the pin... ONE! TWO! NO! Megan yells at her man not to panic as he climbs back up, cracking his neck in a movement not too dissimilar to one his tag team partner regularly uses and stalking behind Cross waiting for him to get back up. "I'm not sure what Landon's waiting for here," muses Mak, "he can't give Cross this sort of time to recover." Slowly Cross starts to clamber back up. But he's still dazed. And as he gets halfway up he has to stop to try and collect his thought, unfortunately having fed one knee out and enticing Landon in to spring off the leg... "SHINING WIZAAA..." ...NO, BLOCKED!! Cross defensively throws up his forearms and sheilds his face, Landon's knee bouncing harmlessly off the arms and leaving him to crash back to the canvas. Scrambling back up, Landon tries to make up for the failure with a forearm strike. Cross ducks underneath though, grabbing a full nelson and preparing to throw the Tag Team Champion over with an instictive Devil's Soul Snare... ...NO! Maddix wraps the legs around the waist with a body-scissors and manages to tumble forward, bringing Cross over with a rolling prawn hold... ONE! ...Maddix reaches forward and crosses the legs like a Cloverleaf, giving him an easier handle on which to pull the legs... TWO! ...thus keeping Cross stacked on his shoulders... THREEEEE!!! "YYEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!" ...AND EARNING HIM THE WIN!! "Wha...WHA!?" "Maddix got him!" cries Mak, his surprise matched by the crowd who erupt in a sudden cheer. "He got him, out of nowhere!" *DINGDINGDING!* Landon quickly scrambles out of the ring and into the arms of Megan, for the first time able to relax as her man has pulled the win out of the bag. "Your winner of the match, advancing to the Semi Finals... LANDON... "LA CUCARACHA"... MMMMAAAAAAADDIIIIIIXXXXXXXXXXXXX!!" "YYEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!" "And that means Landon Maddix advances on to face Tom Flesher, a man he's become pretty familiar with in the past few months, in the semi-finals of this Cold Front Classic Tournament!" Mak again clarifies, for anyone dumb enough not to know how the seedings work. Cough. "That should be one to remember, that's for sure!" "Hopefully it's more satisfying than this match was." grumbles King. "I'd say these fans are satisfied King. Pity about that commercial in the middle though." "Yeah. I fancy a Burger King." "Me too." "Okay, but you're buying." "You're pushing." "Deal." "But first, more wrestling!!"

“Mike,” Joseph Peters says, opening the door of Michael Stephens’ dressing room without bothering to knock. “Joe,” Stephens nods in acknowledgement without looking up, tugging on one of his boots. “I sent you a message, oh…” Peters looks at his watch, “…half an hour ago that I wanted to see you in my office.” “Yup,” Stephens agrees, pulling on his other boot. “As you might have noticed, I ignored it.” “I had noticed, as a matter of fact,” the SWF’s Generalissimo replies, taking a few more steps into the room and positioning himself in front of the World, Cruiserweight and Tag Team Champion, “which is why I’m here now. Why did you ignore it, Mike?” “Cos I can’t be arsed to come running every time you snap your fingers,” Stephens tells him, attending to the laces on the first boot. “I’m not interested in anything you have to say, Joe. Not until you tell me when I can have that one-on-one match with Gabe, and as soon as that’s common knowledge I know that Gabe will find a way to let me know himself.” He finishes the laces on one boot and turns to the second. “So really, I don’t care. Got some news about the match with Hawke? Not interested. Want to bawl me out for not smiling wide enough in the promo shots for the new SWF video game? Not interested. Got some tips on which slot machines are paying out in the MGM Grand? Not interested.” “How about if I tell you you’re getting suspended without pay?” Peters bites out. Stephens looks up at him for the first time, then in a second is on his feet and glaring down his nose at his boss. “Then I’d say you’re a remarkably stupid man Joe,” he growls, “because you know damn well that I’ll be taking these title belts with me onto my suspension, which leaves you with the International and Hardcore Titles for you to build the company around. I mean, you can try making Johnny Dangerous the centrepiece for the SWF if you want,” he shrugs, “but it’s been tried before and it failed both times.” He narrows his eyes. “And if you wanted to strip me of the titles, well, you know as well as I do that would devalue them immensely in the eyes of the average fan. Not to mention the fact that I hear my merchandise is shifting quite well at the moment.” He rubs two fingers and his thumb together. “Bling-bling, Joe. You ain’t getting rid of me sunshine, not while I’m making you this much money. Not quiet like that. No, you’d throw me into some sort of overblown match to end all matches, stack the odds against me and make as much money as you could on one last hurrah. So to continue,” he says, tilting his head to one side, “since you and I both know damn well that even if you were suspending me for not coming to your office you wouldn’t have the balls to say it to my face, d’you wanna get on with what you were actually gonna say and stop wasting my time?” Peters glowers at the Englishman. The fact that Stephens retained in the Elimination Chamber meant that not only did they make good money from Ashes 2 Ashes but the SWF still has a strong, marketable champion to get butts in seats. The only problem is, Peters can’t stand him and he seems to overcome every obstacle put in his way. And right now, he’s right; there’s no way Peters can fire, suspend or do anything to limit the appearances of someone who holds three of his championship belts. So the only thing to do is to try and remove some of those belts… which brings him around to the real reason why he’d wanted to see Stephens in the first place. “Your Cruiserweight defence against Zyon tonight has changed,” he informs Stephens shortly. “It’s now a ladder match. I’d wish you good luck, but that’d be a lie.” He turns his back to leave. “A ladder match?” Stephens chuckles, his aggressive manner gone, “why the hell did you do that?” “Because my statisticians inform me that you have never won a ladder match,” Peters answers, turning back around and glaring at Stephens again, “and I’m hoping that trend will continue tonight.” “Yeah, well that’s true enough as far as it goes,” Mike admits, “but did your statisticians tell you that I’ve only ever been in one ladder match? And that the main reason I lost it was because Kibagami half-killed me beforehand by throwing me through the plate glass doors of the General Motors Place?” It’s clear from the look on Joe Peters face that no, he was not aware of that. The light catches the faint scars from that very incident as Stephens shakes his head in mild amusement. “One match ain’t really enough to call a ‘trend’, not in my book,” the Triple Champion informs him. “Now, Zyon’s nippy enough I’ll grant you, but he’s not really a hardcore type of guy, is he? So while he might be quicker up that ladder, I’ll bet you he hasn’t got half as many ideas as I have of how to hit people with one.” The straight-edger grins at Peters. “But hey, you might have actually done something positive for the quality of the show, so there you are. There’s a first time for everything.” Joe Peters turns on his heel and stalks out, pursued by the mocking laughter of the SWF World Champion.

Smarkdown returns from a commercial for Memphis Eel's "Hunka, Hunka, Burnin' Love" Home Syphillis Test, and either the Eel himself or some random Fat Elvis impersonator pans around the Thomas & Mack Center before stopping in front of Mak Francis and the Suicide King. "Welcome back to Smarkdown, live, from Las Vegas. Coming up is a replay from Lockdown. Jimmy the Doom and Gabriel Drake went toe to toe in a nontitle hardcore match, but sadly, technical difficulties prevented anyone but the fans in attendance from viewing the bout," Mak says. "Couldn't...couldn't I just say what happens so we can move on to something good, like Michael Cross thumping Landon Maddix in the Coldfront Classic?" King asks. "Sorry, King, but people were pissed, and we don't want upset fans, so the replay must be shown," Francis says. "Then explain why you're still in the broadcast booth? I mean, is there anyone that actually delights in hearing your inane comments night after night?" King questions. "Well, your mom has always been a big fan," Mak shoots back. "Hey, can we do the Mystery Science Theater Three Thousand thing with the replay? I'd like to mock some of the stuff you said," King says. "Sure, you've had plenty of time to think of quips, I suppose," Mak replies. With that, the Smarktron crackles to life, showing the inside of the Arco Arena. The lights shift to a deep blue as Rob Zombie's "The Devil's Rejects" plays. White lights strobe in time with the beat as Drake appears at the top of the stage, dragging a chair behind him. "Ladies and gentlemen, the following match is scheduled for one fall and will take place under hardcore rules! Introducing first, from Athens, Georgia, he weighs two hundred, fifty-eight pounds, the Beast, Gabriel Drake!" Funyon shouts. "Doesn't that useless lump of flesh, Bob Sapp, hold claim to that name?" King asks. "Considering Drake's spent time in the joint and Sapp hasn't, I think Gabe gets it," Mak says. Drake saunters down the ramp, shoves the chair inside the ring, and rolls in after it. Gabe props the chair up in the middle of the ring and takes a seat, staring at the stage. "Gabriel Drake looks very focused, King. He's got to be upset that his time in the Cold Front Classic battle royal didn't last very long, and let's not forget that his bid to become World champion at Ashes to Ashes fell short in the Elimination Chamber," Mak says. "Nice run-on sentence, Francis. Have you ever taken an English class?" King asks. "Very true, Mak, but now Gabriel gets to vent his frustrations on Jimmy the Doom. Granted, he won't be able to walk out with the belt, but the beating we're about to see should make an impression on Joe Peters," King says. The lights go out completley, and the sound of marching feet and chanting voices fills the arena. "Doom!" "Doom!" "Doom!" "Doom!" The lights return to reveal a gaggle of druids surrounding the ring, when suddenly, Boots Randolph's "Yakety Sax" blares over the speakers. Jimmy the Doom walks out, Lois the Unethical directly behind and carrying the Hardcore title. "And his opponent, being accompanied by Lois the Unethical. From Doomopolis, Doomtopia, he weighs two hundred, thirty pounds, the current Hardcore champion, the Straight-Bread Sensation, Jimmy the Doom!" Funyon yells. The Doomtopians head down the aisle, and Jimmy slides inside the ring while Lois walks around to sit next to Funyon. Doom rises and makes his way towards Drake and referee Matt Kivell. In a flash, the Beast explodes forward, driving a knee into Doom's groin. Gabriel snaps the chair up and belts Jimmy in the head with it. DESIDERATUM! The Straight-Bread Sensation drops to his knees and Drake blasts him with the chair a second time. ULSTER! Due to the hardcore nature of the match, Kivell can only officially signal the start of the match. Ding! Ding! Ding! "And this match is underway with Drake gaining an early upperhand," Mak says. "Well, a prematch nutshot and a chair will do that," King says. "Wow, I'm impressed, King. That one came to you pretty quickly," Mak says." Drake hefts the chair once more, but decides to simply punt Jimmy in the head. The Beast tosses his weapon aside and kicks Doom in the skull a second time before reaching down and grabbing hold of the Straight-Breader's shirt. Drake hauls Doom off the mat, only to knock Jimmy back down with a right cross. Gabe pulls Doom up again, but once more smacks him back to the canvas. "Drake is really going to town on Jimmy the Doom. I know it's not uncommon for Doom to take a hellacious beating, but come back thanks to his unmatched toughness, but Gabriel Drake doesn't look to be interested in winning this match as much as simply inflicting a lot of pain on Jimmy," Mak says. "Well, Nemesis was looking to do the same thing, but Doom doesn't have his idiotic Doomopolis Street Fight rules to save him this time," King says. Just as Drake was about to exert his utter dominance, A SOMETHING HAPPENED BECAUSE THERE IS PRECIOUS LITTLE TIME LEFT! HAMBURGEROLOGY! "Holy shit! A sandbag fell from the rafters and totally wanged Drake on the head!" shouts Mak. "Why the hell are there sandbags? This isn't some high school auditorium, is it?" King asks. Luckily for Drake's brain parts, the sandbag wasn't all that heavy, but still, it probably hurt like a motherfucker. Doom clambers to his feet, hits Gabe with the Hand of Doom and whips him into the corner. Jimmy kicks Drake into a seated position, wedges the chair between the middle and top ropes so it's flush against Drake's head, and Doom backs away to the opposite corner. Doom runs full tilt towards Gabriel and mashes the chair into the Beast's head with a flying front kick. "FRONT KICK!" screams Bas Rutten. He's allowed to do this because he's awesome and possibly Dutch, maybe. Norweegish? Anyway, it was screamed by Bas. He then delivered a "LIVER SHOT!" to everyone in the front row, free of charge. Doom pulls Drake away from the turnbuckles and makes a lateral press. One! Two! Three! Ding! Ding! Ding! "Winner, Jimmy the Doom!" Funyon shouts. The Smarktron fades out as the replay is super over (Well, Jimmy and Lois might have done a super run away, but that's not super important). "We had to waste time showing that?" King asks. "And I never got an answer about that damn sand bag." "I think it was actually a bag of pudding in case one of the wrestlers gets peckish during a rant," Mak explains. "Next up, stuff!" Smarkdown fades to black, yay!

"Benjamin Hardy, here backstage," opens the SWF's trusty reporter from his trusty post in the halls of the Thomas & Mack Center, "where the buzz here is firmly fixed on the Cold Front Classic. In it's third year, tonight we're going to be seeing it's two former winners in action and the money is flying around from the boys in the back. Rumour is a lot of the money, aside from the $1000 Tom Flesher apparantly placed on himself, is going on the man being called 'Mr Cold Front Classic' by some experts, JJ Johnson, who returned to form with his battl..." "Hey Benny boy, can I BUTT in for a moment?" Sure enough, the slight (veeery slight) Spanish twang in the off-screen voice is from who you would expect. Landon "La Cucaracha" Maddix, chugging down a Pepsi Max which he makes sure gets it's product placement as he steps into camera shot, has acquired an impromptu interview. "Sure you can BUTT in... like I could ever stop you." "Hehehe... yeeeaahh. Not a chance." chuckles Landon, patting Benjamin on the shoulder. A little too forcefully. "Now, what was that you were saying a second ago?" "About the Cold Front Classic? And how JJ Johnson is the favourite with the boys in the back?" Landon resumes his rather forceful patting. "Yeah. That part. That and the whole 'Mr Cold Front Classic' moniker. You know, I've been hearing that very same buzz and if you don't mind, maybe I can give you my opinion, what with me being the only other former Cold Front Classic winner in SWF history and all. The first winner, by the way. Something which no-one else can say, ever, no matter how many time machine prototypes they draw up, because let's face it that's nothing but science fiction mumbo-jumbo." "You can't prove that." Hardy snaps defensively, apparantly ignored. "Now, as a former Cold Front Classic Champion in my own right, it does catch my attention when I hear this 'Mr Cold Front Classic' tag getting thrown around. And it's everywhere. From the ring crew to the refs, to the boys in the back, to the commentators, to the announcers... to my own tag team partner, although I get the feeling he's doing it just to mess with me. Everybody's picked up on this nickname and it does bug me. Just a little." "Evidently." "I mean, it's no big deal or anything. It's just, I'm unbeaten in this Cold Front Classic format. Aside from the battle royal, but lets be fair, we can't really count that as a defeat now can we? The only thing that seperates me and JJ Johnson is that battle royal. One seeding. So, everybody's going on past history and because JJ won last year, it's all 'Oh, he's Mr Cold Front'. People seem to forget that winning the Cold Front Classic earns you a World Title shot. How many times has 'Mr Cold Front Classic' won the SWF World Title, Ben?" It doesn't seem Benjamin wants to be drawn into this arguement. Especially because of the likelihood of it getting JJ's back up. But, still... "Well... none." "And, when I won the Cold Front Classic, I won the World Title, right?" "Right." "So, who's Mr Cold Front Classic on that information?" Landon toasts himself with his Pepsi Max bottle. "Mmm, gassy..." smiles Landon, before realising he's digressing. "That would be me, Benny boy. Infact, you might even say the only reason he won it last year was because I wasn't even entered into the tournament! We'll never know, I guess. But what I do know is, tonight, the real Mr Cold Front is going to do what he does best. That being win in the Cold Front Classic. Michael Cross will go by the wayside, leaving me Tom Flesher to go through. And then, fingers crossed, that'll leave me and JJ to decide who's really King Of The Cold Front Classic. Cheers!" Landon takes another blatant swig of the Pepsi Max and walks off, as Benjy just sighs. "Don't worry Ben. When you get that time machine working, that will never have happened."

Cue the pyro! Cue the signs! Cue the apathetic crowd that is only here because they got complimentary tickets for winning tons of money at the tables! Well, maybe not, but you know that’s how WCW used to draw 10,000 to Halloween Havoc every year. Francis: “Hello, wrestling fans, and welcome to SWF Lockdown! We are live tonight from the sold out Thomas & Mack Center in Las Vegas, Nevada! Mak Francis here along with the Suicide King, and tonight, two huge title matches! Michael Stephens defends the Cruiserweight Title against Zyon, and Johnny Dangerous defends the International Championship against Charlie Matthews!” King: “And Don’t forget! Landon Maddix’s World Title aspirations go up in smoke tonight during one of our two cold front classic matches!” As the opening theme music dies down, we hear some children with British accents shout “We don’t need no education…” before the opening strains of Pink Floyd’s “Learning to Fly” comes on the PA. Funyon: “Ladies and gentlemen, please welcome the number one contender to the SWF World Heavyweight Championship…JAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAY HAWWWWWWWWWWWWWKE!” Jay Hawke emerges from the curtain, wearing a blue pinstripe suit. Snazzy. As he walks to the ring, the crowd begins its familiar chant: “JAY HAWKE SUCKS! JAY HAWKE SUCKS! JAY HAWKE SUCKS!” King: “Is that any way to show respect for the future World Heavyweight Champion?” Francis: “He hasn’t won anything yet, King!” King: “It’s only a matter of ten days, Mak.” Francis: “Indeed, Jay Hawke will get his chance at the World Heavyweight Championship on Smarkdown coming up on November 30. But this past Thursday, he and Nighthawk fell short in their bid to win the World Tag Team Championship from Landon Maddix and Michael Stephens.” King: “A fluke, Mak. Plain and simple.” The music dies down as Jay Hawke grabs the ring microphone from Funyon. However, the crowd continues to disrespect the Dean of Professional Wrestling: “JAY HAWKE SUCKS! JAY HAWKE SUCKS! JAY HAWKE SUCKS!” Hawke: “You know, if you want that sort of service provided to you, just go down to the strip and drop a little bit of that casino money on some cheap prostitute!” “BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!” Hawke: “But you see, I should expect that from a bunch of people who cheer at a fruity Englishman saying “Hey up.” You’d think being cheered by you morons was actually something worth happening. But all of your applause … all of your chants … all of your catcalls mean absolutely nothing. See, in less than two weeks, your hero, the man you used to call Toxxic, will lose his World Heavyweight Championship to me!” “BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!” Hawke: “See, unlike some of the men that have been granted title shots as of late, I am not some Johnny Come Lately that can’t wrestle his way out of a paper bag. I am the Dean of Professional Wrestling. And as the Dean of Professional Wrestling, I can say without a doubt that Michael Stephens isn’t even in my league.” “BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!” Hawke: “That belt he has around his waist is the most important piece of gold in this company. By wearing it, it signifies that you are the very best in the sport of professional wrestling. And so, I have to admit -- reluctantly -- that yes, Michael Stephens is largely considered the best wrestler in the world today!” “TOXXXXX-IC! TOXXXXX-IC! TOXXXXX-IC!” Hawke: “But that’s only because he hasn’t wrestled me yet.” “BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!” Hawke: “Everything I have ever done in this business is legendary, right down to my record-breaking International Championship reign. A reign nobody has even come close to since I chose to move on to bigger and better things. And a reign I plan to top when I meet Michael Stephens next Friday night with the gold on the line.” Francis: “He’s got to win the championship in order for that to happen.” King: “Not a problem. It won’t even take him the full hour.” Hawke: “Because you see, you don’t get to be called the Dean of Professional Wrestling because it sells T-shirts. You don’t get to be called the best in the world because it’s a desperate marketing ploy to make people think you’re a big time promo--well, OK, bad example. But no matter what I’ve accomplished in this business, I’ve still got that one monkey on my back. I still have people that come up to me and say, “All your accolades over the last ten years are impressive, but you’ve never been the SWF World Heavyweight Champion.” To some, my legacy isn’t complete until I win that championship belt. Well, Michael Stephens, the only thing standing between me and my legacy is you. So good luck against Zyon tonight. Sleep well the next ten days. Because on November 30...I’m going to teach you a wrestling lesson you’ll never forget, and there’s not a damn thing you can do about it.” Jay Hawke drops the mic and leaves the ring, the fans still showering him with boos as he does so. Francis: “A lot of confidence emanating from the number one contender here tonight, King.” King: “He is ten days away from the biggest match of his life, Mak. And his track record speaks for itself. As long as he comes in fully-prepared, I think we will see a new champion.” Francis: “Only time will tell. And only time will tell who will win these fantastic matches we have on tap tonight. We’ll be right back!”

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=- SWF SMARKDOWN? Live, Monday, November 20th, from The Thomas & Mack Center in Las Vegas, Nevada! (7pm PST, 10pm EST; check local listings) (Send all promos/marked matches to chirs3) -=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=- THE MAIN EVENT - SWF INTERNATIONAL CHAMPIONSHIP MATCH Johnny Dangerous © vs. Akira Kaibatsu -> Akira Kaibatsu may be eliminated from the Cold Front Classic after a hell of a match with Spike Jenkins, but it only took him thirty seconds to beat Charlie Matthews! Yeah, I feel sorry for Grappler too. REGARDLESS. Johnny Dangerous comes HOME tonight, and you can be damn sure he's not going to relinquish his hard-earned title in front of his people. Or is he? Rules: Standard singles. Word Limit: 6000 Send to: Chuck Woolery -=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=- COLD FRONT CLASSIC - FIRST ROUND MATCH JJ Johnson (1) vs. Nighthawk (8) -> Nighthawk may have been ousted rather quickly from the Cold Front Classic battle royale, but with seven guys shoving at you - well, five, Landon Maddix and Gabriel Drake abstaining - you'd go over the top rope too. Anyway, tonight he gets the opportunity to redeem himself. On the other side of the ring? JJ Johnson, the self-proclaimed "Mr. Cold Front Classic," and one bad mother- SHUT YO MOUTH! Just talkin' about JJ Johnson! Well, we can dig it! But I digress. JJ Johnson. Nighthawk. Cold Front Classic round 1. Don't miss it. Rules: Standard singles match. Word Limit: 5000 Send to: chirs3 -=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=- SWF CRUISERWEIGHT CHAMPIONSHIP MATCH Michael Stephens ©©© vs. Zyon -> Michael Stephens has more belts than a Celine Dion album. Before leaving, Zyon's win-loss record was also a lot like a Celine Dion album: painful. Both men are riding high off of recent victories, and although the last time these two met, Zyon was unsuccessful, will the infamous Comeback Momentum™ come into play? Or will Zyon be just another 5-year-old that gets shoved off the jungle gym by the King of the Mountain? Rules: Standard singles match. Word Limit: 5000 Send to: Mr. S£im Citrus -=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=- COLD FRONT CLASSIC - FIRST ROUND MATCH Landon Maddix (2) vs. Michael Cross (7) -> These two men faced long, long ago, and Michael Cross ended up squashed by a man nicknamed 'The Cockroach'. Iron Mike is stronger now, but is he strong enough? Or will the 2004 Cold Front Classic winner roll on to the next round? Rules: Standard singles. Word Limit: 5000 Send to: Ace309 -=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=- HARDCORE MATCH (non title) "The Beast" Gabriel Drake vs. Jimmy the Doom © ->The people at the networks really, really hate to lose at electric football. Unfortunately, Joseph Peters is quite skilled, and in their rage at having been defeated so handily, The Network cut off their connection just before Drake vs. Doom was set to get underway. Several apologies were given out, and they turned it back on just in time for Akira vs. Spike, but the damage was done. Here's the replay! Rules: HRADCROE Word Limit: 5000 Send to: chirs3 -=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=- Opening Promo: Monsieur 'awke. -=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

The starting brackets were: 1 vs. 8 2 vs. 7 3 vs. 6 4 vs. 5 There was some confusion as to whether or not the second round would be re-seeded to follow High/Low again - it will not be. The brackets continue as they are set there. So the winner of 4 vs. 5 (you) faces the winner of 3 vs. 6 (Tom).

Akira won the shot at the PPV, remember?

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=- SWF SMARKDOWN? Live, Monday, November 20th, from The Thomas & Mack Center in Las Vegas, Nevada! (7pm PST, 10pm EST; check local listings) (Send all promos/marked matches to chirs3) -=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=- THE MAIN EVENT - SWF INTERNATIONAL CHAMPIONSHIP MATCH Johnny Dangerous © vs. Akira Kaibatsu -> Akira Kaibatsu may be eliminated from the Cold Front Classic after a hell of a match with Spike Jenkins, but it only took him thirty seconds to beat Charlie Matthews! Yeah, I feel sorry for Grappler too. REGARDLESS. Johnny Dangerous comes HOME tonight, and you can be damn sure he's not going to relinquish his hard-earned title in front of his people. Or is he? Rules: Standard singles. Word Limit: 6000 Send to: Chuck Woolery -=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=- COLD FRONT CLASSIC - FIRST ROUND MATCH JJ Johnson (1) vs. Nighthawk (8) -> Nighthawk may have been ousted rather quickly from the Cold Front Classic battle royale, but with seven guys shoving at you - well, five, Landon Maddix and Gabriel Drake abstaining - you'd go over the top rope too. Anyway, tonight he gets the opportunity to redeem himself. On the other side of the ring? JJ Johnson, the self-proclaimed "Mr. Cold Front Classic," and one bad mother- SHUT YO MOUTH! Just talkin' about JJ Johnson! Well, we can dig it! But I digress. JJ Johnson. Nighthawk. Cold Front Classic round 1. Don't miss it. Rules: Standard singles match. Word Limit: 5000 Send to: chirs3 -=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=- SWF CRUISERWEIGHT CHAMPIONSHIP MATCH Michael Stephens ©©© vs. Zyon -> Michael Stephens has more belts than a Celine Dion album. Before leaving, Zyon's win-loss record was also a lot like a Celine Dion album: painful. Both men are riding high off of recent victories, and although the last time these two met, Zyon was unsuccessful, will the infamous Comeback Momentum™ come into play? Or will Zyon be just another 5-year-old that gets shoved off the jungle gym by the King of the Mountain? Rules: Standard singles match. Word Limit: 5000 Send to: Mr. S£im Citrus -=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=- COLD FRONT CLASSIC - FIRST ROUND MATCH Landon Maddix (2) vs. Michael Cross (7) -> These two men faced long, long ago, and Michael Cross ended up squashed by a man nicknamed 'The Cockroach'. Iron Mike is stronger now, but is he strong enough? Or will the 2004 Cold Front Classic winner roll on to the next round? Rules: Standard singles. Word Limit: 5000 Send to: Ace309 -=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=- HARDCORE MATCH (non title) "The Beast" Gabriel Drake vs. Jimmy the Doom © ->The people at the networks really, really hate to lose at electric football. Unfortunately, Joseph Peters is quite skilled, and in their rage at having been defeated so handily, The Network cut off their connection just before Drake vs. Doom was set to get underway. Several apologies were given out, and they turned it back on just in time for Akira vs. Spike, but the damage was done. Here's the replay! Rules: HRADCROE Word Limit: 5000 Send to: chirs3 -=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=- CLASH OF THE COMEBACK AND THAT OTHER GUY Trent Hawk vs. Devin Benson -> Devin Benson may or may not have upset the number one seed in the Cold Front Classic. Trent Hawk is making his return. Will Hawk be facing what may have become a force to be reckoned wtih overnight, or will he be facing plain ol' Devin Benson? Only TIME will tell. Rules: Standard singles match. Word Limit: 4250. Isn't that quaint? Send to: Ace309 -=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=- Opening Promo: Monsieur 'awke. -=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=- As per usual, if you want a match against somebody, bug them for it, then let me know and I'll slap that mother onto the card. Oh, and current CFC brackets: JJ Johnson (1) Nighthawk (8) Landon Maddix (2) Michael Cross (7) Tom Flesher (3) Johnny Dangerous (6) - Tom Flesher (3) Akira Kaibatsu (4) "Hollywood" Spike Jenkins (5) - "Hollywood" Spike Jenkins (5) FOR THE NEXT ROUND: IF Cross beats Maddix, Johnson beats Nighthawk, then Johnson faces Cross and Flesher faces Jenkins. IF Maddix beats Cross, Johnson beats Nighthawk, then Johnson faces Jenkins, Maddix faces Flesher. IF Cross beats Maddix, Nighthawk beats Johnson, then Flesher faces Nighthawk, Jenkins faces Cross. IF Maddix beats Cross, Nighthawk beats Johnson, then Maddix faces Nighthawk, Flesher faces Jenkins. Ignore that. Miscommunication and all that. Winner of JJ vs. Nighthawk meets winner of Landon vs. Cross And Tom Flesher meets Spike Jenkins.

Aside from the no-show - Benson and Johnson got sent in, trust me - this show was iller than Kim Jong. If Raynor hasn't come back to life by the time I get home from school, I'll put the card up myself.

"And we come to main event time here on Lockdown, as the World Tag Team Championships are put up for grabs on this, the first available opportunity since this match was finalised. With Michael Stephens holding three titles, it's a juggling game for our esteemed head honcho Joseph Peters to get all the contenders all the shots and keep everyone happy. But finally, it's the Tag Titles' time. And it's time for The Predators, Jay Hawke and Nighthawk to receive their title shot." "Wait... Hawke and Hawk. The Predators." muses King, as if coming to a sudden realisation. "Oooohhhh! Hehe. I get jokes!" "Evidently. A big chance for Jay Hawke here, on the run-in to his shot at Michael Stephens' World Title on November 30th, to get a one-up on the Champ and to take one of his belts in the process." "And how I hope he does." King butts in, not impartial in the least. And proud of it. "Not just because of my strong loathing of both of the Champions you understand, oh no. But because it'd be nice to see a belt around someone else's waist, besides that quasi-heterosexual spot monkey for a change. Holding three belts at once, it just seems... greedy." "Maybe he should give his Cruiserweight Title to Landon. Would that placate you?" "Oh God no! I meant around the waist of someone good!" "Of course." The typical pre-match banter is brought to end by the dimming of the lights in the Arco Arena. Apparantly the sale of those SWF programmes has been good tonight as the crowd boo right from the off, even before "Learning To Fly" by Pink Floyd begins to play. Lightning strikes hit the top of the stage before the robed Jay Hawke and his larger partner Nighthawk, with manageress Falcon, step into the spotlight which follows them down to the ring. "Ladies and gentlemen, this is your main event of SWF Lockdown, scheduled for one fall and for the SWF World Tag Team Championships!" booms Funyon in a typically overstated way. "Introducing first, coming down the aisle are the challengers. Accompanied to the ring by FALCON. At a total combined weight of five hundred and fifteen pounds... they are the team of NIGHTHAWK and "THE DEAN OF PROFESSIONAL WRESTLING" JAY HAWKE... TTHHHHEEE PPRRRRREEEEDDAAAAATTOOOORRRRSSSS!!!" "BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!" "Now here's a real team." announces King. "Two contrasting but complimentary styles, vast team experience, veterans of the game. Would you not be proud to call these men Tag Team Champions, Mak?" "Well, sure." Mak replies, wondering why he's being rounded on. "Probably not as proud as you, but still. I'm sure The Predators would make fine Tag Team Champions." Hawke hands off his robe to the ring attendant while Nighthawk stands in centre ring, surveying the crowd. In enters Hawke and he gives his partner an encouraging pat on the back efore going through some pre-match stretches in his team's corner. "Woo - ooaahh woo - ooaahh! Woo - ooaahh woo - ooaahh! Vengabus is back in town" "What the he - " "Boom Boom Boom" by The Vengaboys pumps through the arena and like any human beings alive, the crowd can't help but bop and jive along. Apparantly Michael Stephens is unlike any other human being though as he trudges through the curtains, glaring up at the arena's speakers and shaking his head. Amy Stephens doesn't seem enamoured with the selection of theme music either, but at least one half of the foursome is, as Landon Maddix and Megan Skye follow out with beaming smiles. "And, their opponents. Accompanied by MEGAN SKYE and AMY STEPHENS respectively... at a total combined weight of four hundred, fourty two pounds. The team of LANDON "LA CUCARACHA" MADDIX and the SWF Cruiserweight and World Heavyweight Champion MICHAEL STEPHENS... the reigning and defending SWF WORLD Tag Team Champions... TTHHHEEEE GGAAAAAALLLAAAAACCTTIIIIIICCOOOOOSSSSSSS!!!" "YYYEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!" "When you're alone and you need a friend Someone to make you forget your problems Just come along baby take my hand I'll be your lover tonight" Leading the way, the Stephens clan don't waste time with posing and posturing. Amy takes her station in The Galacticos corner while Mike rolls into the ring, tossing his customised England shirt out in the direction of those darned heavy eyeliner wearing girls who are at every SWF show, who promptly fight over it. Meanwhile Landon trails behind, singing along with the "BOOM BOOM BOOM BOOM" of the song before jogging up the steps. Megan follows and holds the ropes open for Landon, who spins into the ring in typically grandious manner. "Well, if there's any hard feelings left over from the Elimination Chamber then it's not showing as Landon Maddix is in high spirits as ever." "I guess a requirement for being a part of this team is a testicular bypass, because Landon's obviously lost what little balls he had when he cared about being World Champion. All because of his newfound friendship for the guy who damn near broke his neck a year and a half ago. At least when he was chasing singles titles, you could maybe understand his motives, no matter how dumb or misguided. Now? I don't know, he's turned into Toxxic's lackey." "I thought that was Spike's job?" "You're a bitter man Mak, you know that?" Entrances out of the way, it's down to business. Jay Hawke has elected to start for the challengers as The Galacticos talk things over in their corner. Eventually, the champions decide the only fair way to pick a starter is the time-tested rock, paper, scissors. On three the hands come down and Landon confidently plumps for rock, giving Megan the thumbs up with his free hand before looking down. Paper. "Typical." Out onto the apron exits Stephens, leaving Landon to start, turning around to be confronted by 'The Dean Of Professional Wrestling'. "How about this for a face-off," Mak enthuses, as a stand-off ensues. "Former stable-mates in Cucaracha Internacional and former World Tag Team Champions together, their reign ending one week short of a year ago. Former training buddies too, Jay Hawke, responsible for re-inventing Landon's wrestling style from the ground up... at least briefly." "Exactly. Jay taught Maddix everything Maddix knew. And nevermind that he didn't teach Maddix everything Jay knows, but everything he DID teach Maddix is now forgotten anyway!" *DING-DING-DING!* The bell sounds and just like that, the Arco Arena turns into training camp for Landon Maddix, facing off with his one-time sparring partner and mentor of sorts. Hawke drops into a crouch as he waits on Landon, The Next Generation stalling for time in his corner as he discusses the outcome of England's friendly international with Holland last night. But, annoyed by his partner (and his national team, miserable 1-1 draw that they managed) Stephens encourages him to "bloody well get on with it". "LAN - DON!" "LAN - DON!" "LAN - DON!" "LAN - DON!" "Well, the fans are clearly right behind Landon here in Sacramento." "Like that ever makes a difference," scoffs King, "especially when you're as hopelessly outclassed as Landon is right now." Finally Landon cautiously makes an approach towards Hawke who remains crouched in the middle of the ring, keeping his centre of gravity low as he anticipates an attack from Landon. Which is exactly what's coming. Sure enough, Hawke is ready and sweeps out the legs of the rushing Maddix, diving across an grabbing a front facelock as Maddix tries to come back up. Getting an up close view of the ring canvas, Landon pushes up onto all fours ready for an escape but Hawke quickly drops the hold, capturing the arms and twisting him over with a modified crucifix pin... ONE! TWO! No. Landon is able to kick out, but he finds himself right back in the front facelock just a second or so later. From the apron Stephens tries to coach his partner into an escape. But his partner's former coach just shoots him a look... before shooting the half on Landon, turning him into another pinning predicament... ONE! TWO! No. Maintaining the front facelock, Hawke comes up to his feet with Maddix in tow and cranks away on the neck a little, knowing how easily flustered his former 'student' can get. For now he's keeping his cool though and looks for an fair escape, twisting out of the facelock and levering Hawke's arm up towards his head, looking for a top wristlock. But power is on Jay's side. And he quickly pulls back down, right into a headlock, taking Landon over with it for another cover... ONE! TWO! Shoulder up! Hawke quickly tightens up on the headlock, as Landon tries to keep his shoulders out of danger, shuffling over onto his front a little more. Which prompts Hawke to bridge up, pulling back on the head with a more obtuse angle of pressure. "This is a wrestling exhibition from The Dean," enthuses King, "and Michael Stephens is getting a firsthand look of what to expect, November 30th." "To be fair, Hawke isn't really doing anything extraordinary here." "He doesn't need to! Not with the likes of Toxxic and Maddix. He can school them with the simplest of holds and because he's so technically sound, even the simplest of holds is a weapon in his arsenal. He's not just throwing on a headlock to catch his breath or buy time." Climbing back to his feet, despite the headlock still tightly applied around his ears, Maddix goes with the tried and tested method of firing the point of his elbow into the ribs of Hawke to try and weaken the grip of his opponent. And after the fourth elbow it seems to have worked, as Landon backs into the ropes and shoots Hawke off for the ride. Maddix ducks his head as Hawke then shoots back. But he ducks too early, allowing Jay time to slow a little before leapfrogging over top! A moment of confusion halts Landon before he realises what's happened and where Hawke must be, not waiting around any longer than he has to as he hits the ropes himself. Hawke is waiting on him though and quickly closes the gap as Landon rebounds, taking the surprised La Cucaracha up and around with the tilt-a-whirl, DOWN into the backbreaker to the despair of his World Champion partner. "BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!" "Jay Hawke staying one step ahead on that exchange," Mak admits. "That's the crucial thing, Mak. Jay can do everything Toxxic and Maddix can do, but they can't do what he can. That's why they're so outmatched." With Maddix down and hurting, Hawke quickly laces fingers with the grounded Spaniard and pins his arms down to the mat... ONE! TWO! Up comes the right arm! Being pinned down on the canvas doesn't give Landon much leverage to work with though and after some brief resistance, his arm and therefore shoulder is powered right back down... ONE! TWO! No, left arm up this time, Hawke putting a little too much focus on the other side. Hawke angrily pins the arm back down though, demanding the count again... ONE! TWO! Landon BRIDGES up this time! Hawke is tired of playing around now though and keeps the hands pinned down before springing off the canvas, looking to take out Landon's bridge. Landon bridge ain't falling down though. Not by Jay Hawke's doing anyway, as Maddix puts his feet up and plants them on Hawke's thighs, pushing him off and using the knucklelocks to soar to his feet in the lucha catapult! Again Landon's feet land on the thighs of The Dean Of Professional Wrestling and he falls back, executing a monkey flip to send Hawke soaring. The knucklelocks stay locked too, allowing Landon to float back and pin down the shoulders with his knees for the pin... ONE! TWO! No! With Landon posturing, Hawke throws his feet up and hooks under the arms, pulling Landon down into a sunset pin... ONE! TWO! Kickout by Landon, both men scrambling back to their feet... ...where Hawke applies the cravat! "BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!" "Haha!" King laughs as the crowd around him groan. "You know, I really wish Jay hadn't taught Maddix this damn hold at all. But I've no problem with him teaching him how it SHOULD be applied, firsthand, like this!" Amongst the groans, one of the loudest is from Michael Stephens' direction. I'm sure he's not a fan of the cravats, but it's mainly because his teammate's brief window of opportunity to tag out was wasted. And now The Predators are in control, Hawke dragging Landon by the 3/4 headlock as he moves towards his corner. With his hands all tied up, Hawke reaches out a foot, which Nighthawk quickly tags. "Perfectly legal." King is quick to point out. In comes the big man, measuring Maddix... "ONE!" ...still trapped in the cravat... "TWO!" ...which Hawke isn't going to release... "THREE!" ...until he's good and ready. "FOUR!" Finally Nighthawk goes to the ribs with a kick and Hawke scuttles out of the ring before the referee can reach his count of five. Another kick finds the mark from Nighthawk meanwhile, before a clubbing blow across the back knocks Maddix down to the canvas with ease. "Maddix giving up a lot of weight to Nighthawk here." points out Mak. "So too, for that matter, is Michael Stephens, although we've seen in the past that that won't bother our World Champion in the slightest." “It’s nothing to do with weight,” King argues, “it’s the fact that Hawke and Nighthawk are simply a better tag team than Two Skinny White Guys.” Although that assessment may seem doubtful at the moment Nighthawk is intent on proving it correct. He drags Landon up from the mat and grabs La Cucaracha’s right arm by the wrist, then starts to Irish whip Maddix one way before stopping and hauling him back in to deliver a brutal short clothesline! Landon hits the mat again with a good deal of force, but Nighthawk still has a hold of him and uses his grip on the Tag Champion’s arm to bring him upright once more, then twists Landon around and applies a Cobra Clutch! “BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!” “Nighthawk locked that in with astonishing ease,” Mak Francis notes, “I can tell you that the Cobra Clutch is a devastating hold, one both myself and Tom Flesher have had occasion to use before-” “-and Nighthawk is continuing that proud tradition,” King finishes. “The one of it being used by high-class athletes,” he continues after a momentary pause, “not paraplegics.” Landon Maddix doesn’t need anyone to tell him it’s a devastating hold - if he didn’t know it before, he’s experiencing it firsthand now. The thing about Landon though, is it’s never a good idea to get him in a submission hold where he has one arm free. The damn thing might look like it’s waving about desperately, but what it’s actually doing is heading- ‘YAAARRRGH!’ -right for Nighthawk’s eyes. “King, how much practice do you need to be able to poke someone in the eye with deadly accuracy when they’re behind you and you’re locked in a Cobra Clutch?” Mak asks the Gambling Man in a spirit of pure enquiry. “Took me, oh, a month to get it so I could do it eight times out of ten?” King responds, “and that was with a good hour dedicated to it on every day of training, mind you.” “You spent an hour a day training on eyepokes?” Mak asks, surprised despite himself. “Nah, of course not.” Mak grins, realising he’s been made a fool of, and gets ready to return to calling the action. “It was a good four hours a day. The one hour was for that specific scenario which, let me tell you, is damn tricky,” King continues conversationally, “leading me to believe that Maddix managed it by purest accident.” Regardless of Landon’s proficiency in this area, it didn’t actually have the desired effect. Nighthawk’s eyes are screwed up against further attack and are visibly watering but the big man still has the Cobra Clutch locked in, having managed to tighten his grip again just as Landon was about to escape. Maddix is doing a fair impersonation of a freshly-landed fish what with all the puffing and flailing, and with his usual go-to of dirty tactics having failed him he has to resort to desperate measures. Actually doing a damn counter. “Is Landon going for the eyes again?” Mak asks as Landon reaches back again, “if so he’s missed…” “Told you it was a fluke!” King exclaims triumphantly. However, Landon’s grip tightens on Nighthawk’s hair. The big man grins nastily even as referee Brian Warner moves in to admonish Landon, Nighthawk well aware that it’s going to take more than a painful tug on his hair to make him let go… *CRUNCH!* Sitout jawbreaker though? That’ll do it. “YEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!” Nighthawk’s arms have indeed become disentangled from Landon’s after that move, mainly so the big man can clutch his jaw with an agonised expression on his face. Maddix, on the other hand, is rolling around on the mat clutching the top of his head, and overall doesn’t seem to have come off any better from the exchange than his larger opponent. In the Galacticos’ corner Michael Stephens rubs one black-nailed hand over his eyes in an expression of worry, or possibly frustration. “Maddix needs to get back up and make the tag here,” Francis explains, “otherwise he’s going to be… ah, what the hell. You’re smart enough to work it out.” “You get paid for that?” King snorts. Landon Maddix starts to push himself up, dizzy and in pain and overall not quite with all his wits about him. This may explain why, when confronted with Nighthawk’s large form he doesn’t try to dive, sneak or otherwise get past the big man to his own corner where Michael Stephens is waiting to tag in, but instead attacks with knife-edge chops! *CRACK!* “WHOOOOO!” “Yeah, like that’s gonna work,” Suicide King laughs. *CRACK!* “WHOOOOO!” Well… it is working, to a given degree of ‘working’. As in, Nighthawk is driven slowly back by the chops and winces in pain when they strike home, but they’re far from being a debilitating attack. Landon quickly realises that the moment he stops chopping he’s going to get pasted into the canvas, so all he can do is keep chopping desperately… *CRACK!* “WHOOOOO!” *CRACK!* “WHOOOOO!” *CRACK!* “WHOOOOO!” *CRACK!* “WHOOOOO!” But Maddix isn’t Kenta Kobashi (so, SO not Kenta Kobashi) and he has limits - as his right arm starts to go numb he’s forced to resort to other measures, so he leaps up and plants his feet into Nighthawk’s chest with a Dropsault… and the big man goes over! ‘C’mon!’ Stephens yells from the Galacticos corner, and Landon makes to go and tag… but is cut off as Nighthawk rolls back up to his feet! The larger Predator is a bit winded but in a position to block Maddix’s escape route, so Landon turns and runs for the ropes behind him to rebound with a flying forearm to send the big man down for a longer duration- *WHAM!* -or he would have done, if that pesky spinebuster hadn’t happened. Honestly, some people have no consideration. ONE! TWO!! TH- -but Landon fires a shoulder off the canvas! Nighthawk growls in irritation and clamps one hand around his opponent’s throat to choke the life out of him, prompting Brian Warner to step in and intervene… ‘ONE!’ ‘TWO!’ ‘THREE!’ ‘FOUR!’ ‘FI-’ …and predictably, Nighthawk can count just as well as the referee. He lets go at the last moment and gets back to his feet, then raises his arms to invite applause from the crowd- “BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!” -well, that went well. Not deterred, the big man turns towards the vaguely forlorn figure of Michael Stephens on the apron and flips him the bird! Stephens snarls in response and starts to climb through the ropes, prompting Brian Warner to rush over and restrain the irate Triple Champion. This of course means he has his back turned to the rest of the ring and allows Nighthawk to advance on Maddix as La Cucaracha gets up to his knees, the Predator able to do whatever dastardly deed he has in mind without fear of retribution… *CHING!* …although granted, it seems unlikely that plan included taking a low blow from Maddix. “YEEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!” “CHEAT!” King roars as Nighthawk doubles over in pain. “Uh, Maddix,” Mak points out. “Duh.” “But Toxxic was in on it!” King spits, “he distracted the referee!” “Actually I think that was Nighthawk’s plan, and it just backfired on him…” Mak surmises. Nighthawk is stationary in the middle of the ring as Brian Warner turns back around. It looks suspicious as hell but he never saw Landon do anything and so can’t prove it; Maddix responds by taking a deep breath and rising back to his feet, then wrapping his arms around Nighthawk’s shoulders before dropping backwards with a Complete Shot to drive the bigger man’s face right into the canvas! *BANG!* “LAN-DON!” “LAN-DON!” “LAN-DON!” Disorientated and in pain, Maddix looks around for his tag team partner to tag out to. He sees Jay Hawke leaning over the top rope with hand outstretched and instinctively starts to crawl towards his Cucaracha Internacional team-mate… ‘LANDON YER BLOODY IDIOT, GET YER ARSE OVER ‘ERE!’ …scratch that. Maddix blinks, remembers where and more importantly when he is, and turns around. He comes face-to-face with Nighthawk, also making his way towards the Predators’ corner. …and both men poke each other in the eyes simultaneously. “It’s like a smorgasboard of cheating in there,” Mak Francis says in wonder. Landon and Nighthawk are rolling on the mat in pain; however, both still have a good idea of where their respective partners are and they start crawling again, reaching out blindly ahead of them to try and tag out. Nighthawk has the greater reach but Landon is moving a bit quicker… *smak* *smak* “YEEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!” “It’s Hawke vs. Stephens, and it’s breaking down!” Mak Francis shouts as Hawke steps through the ropes and the World Champion vaults clean over them, then both men head for each other at a dead run. Stephens takes off from the mat and spirals through the air to deliver a spinning wheel kick that flattens his soon-to-be challenger, then pops back up to his feet and hits a dropkick to send Nighthawk (who has just got back to his feet) into the corner. Stephens is back up in a moment, but so is Hawke; with both men to deal with the Englishman positions himself between the Predators and lashes out with a RIGHT! (to Hawke) LEFT! (to Nighthawk) RIGHT! (to Hawke) LEFT! (to Nighthawk) With the crowd roaring their support Stephens flips a v-sign to both men… …DISCUS CLOTHESLINE TO HAWKE! “TOXXXXXXXXXXXXXX-IC…” “TOXXXXXXXXXXXXXX-IC…” The World Champion ended up on the mat as well from the momentum of his own move; Nighthawk is slightly dazed but realises that his opponent is in a vulnerable position and starts to lumber forwards… *whump-CRACK!* “Kip-up enzuigiri!” Mak Francis shouts as Stephens explodes off the mat and leaps into the air to kick the larger Predator in the back of the head, “it gets them every time!” Nighthawk topples forward and lands on top of his own partner, crushing Jay Hawke beneath him; Stephens kicks him in the head to knock him off the Dean of Professional Wrestling, then rolls Nighthawk towards the ropes and drops to make a cover on Hawke… ONE! TWO!! TH- -but Jay Hawke kicks out! “Typical Toxxic,” King spits, “he waits until Hawke is worn out by the match before bothering to step into the ring!” “Uh, I think Stephens would have got in earlier if he’d had his way,” Francis points out mildly, “only the Predators seemed to want to keep Maddix in there…” Stephens drags Hawke back to his feet and places him in a front facelock, then holds his right arm out to the side to signal for the Unfinished Business. He swings his arm around and down, looking to drive Hawke’s face into the mat, but the Dean of Professional Wrestling slips out of his opponent’s grasp and as Stephens’s momentum carries him around the man from Cleveland reaches up… “Wing Span!” King shouts, “that’s it! New Tag Champions!” Not yet. Hawke has the World Champion trapped in his signature submission move, but he hasn’t yet dragged Stephens down to the mat where he can scissor the Englishman’s other arm, and before he does so Stephens sees something and ducks… *CRACK!* …it’s difficult to duck while in a Crossface Chickenwing; all Stephens manages to do is lean forward and down a bit. However, this pulls Jay Hawke’s head right into the line of fire of the flying forearm that Landon has just launched! “YEEEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHH!” Stephens glares up at Landon as if to ask him what would have happened if he hadn’t managed to get out of the way; Landon returns the look with one that suggests hey, he did get out of the way, what’s the problem? It’s at this point that Nighthawk announces his return to the fray with a roar and a charge and a lariat swung full tilt at Landon’s head, but La Cucaracha manages to duck in his turn and the big man comes lumbering to a halt. He turns back to focus on Maddix but the plucky(?) South Dakotan pops him in the jaw with a right hand. Nighthawk wobbles away slightly and turns around to find Michael Stephens waiting for him. The World Champion delivers a right hand of his own that sends Nighthawk stumbling back in the direction of Landon… and a wide grin splits Maddix’s face. ‘PEPSI!’ The shout accompanies another punch to the jaw. As Nighthawk spins around Stephens’ brow creases in confusion for a moment, then as realisation dawns he evidently figures ‘what the hell’. ‘COKE!’ Nighthawk goes back… ‘PEPSI!’ …and forth… ‘COKE!’ …between the two… ‘PEPSI!’ …Tag Team Champions… ‘COKE!’ …until Landon gets bored and makes a throat-cutting gesture. This time as Nighthawk wobbles back in his direction La Cucaracha adjusts his stance slightly as Stephens does the same… *KER-RACK!* …and Nighthawk gets pasted by superkicks from the front AND behind! ‘SLICE OF LEMON?!’ Landon bawls as Nighthawk topples to the mat. Stephens just looks at him for a long second, then shakes his head in quiet despair. Unfortunately, this means he misses Jay Hawke behind him until the Dean grabs him in a rear waistlock and starts to heave him over for a German suplex… …but Landon dashes forwards and grabs his partner’s hands and hauls him back down to the mat! Stephens ducks again and Landon, with the most delicate of touches, pokes Jay Hawke in the eyes! “This is outrageous!” King splutters. “This is actually pretty funny,” Mak argues, chuckling. Hawke is staggering around blinded; Maddix and Stephens look at each other for a second, nod, then each one charges off for different sets of ropes. They rebound at the same time with Landon heading for the front while Stephens approaches from the rear, and take Hawke out with a Cucaracha Kick/rear soccer tackle combo! “YEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!” “Professional Foul!” Mak hollers, “this could be it!” Stephens covers Jay Hawke as Landon finally succumbs to the orders of Brian Warner and turns to head for the arpon… ONE! TWO!! THRRRRRRRRRRRRR- -broken up by Nighthawk! “NIGHT-HAWK SUCKS!” “NIGHT-HAWK SUCKS!” Landon, who had been ready to celebrate, turns around to find that his team has not only not won the match yet, but his partner has just been kicked in the head. La Cucaracha prepares to re-enter the ring, but as Nighthawk starts to bring Stephens up the World Champion grabs his opponent’s head and sits out with a jawbreaker to send the big man staggering away, then turns and scrambles for his own corner. Landon extends his hand to take the tag and as Stephens rolls under the bottom rope and, indeed, onto the arena floor the Next Generation prepares to return to the match completely legally by climbing to the top rope; once there he leaps off, stomping the doubled-over Nighthawk on the back of the head as he passes over and mashing the big man’s face into the canvas! *BANG!* The crowd rise in applause and Landon spreads his arms to soak in it; this leaves him completely open to Jay Hawke appearing behind him and snaring him in a reverse facelock, then dropping down to one knee and driving the other up into the back of Maddix’s neck! With Landon momentarily incapacitated Hawke starts trying to roll his larger partner out of the ring; the reasoning behind it becomes clear when Nighthawk gets under the ropes and Hawke slaps him a couple of times to bring him round; although dizzy, the big man gets back up to his feet and stretches out a hand to let himself be legally tagged in. *smak* Nighthawk steps back into the ring and helps his partner bring Landon up to his feet, then bends down and squats. Hawke shoves Landon into position, making La Cucaracha straddle Nighthawk’s shoulders, then delivers a stunning palm strike to the head that causes Maddix to wobble crazily. Nighthawk stands and elevates Maddix into the air, while Jay Hawke steps out to the apron and begins to climb to the top rope! “This could be the Crash Landing,” Mak calls, “many a team has fallen to this over the years!” Hawke is indeed setting up for the hurricanrana off the top to Landon… but just as he’s about to leap Michael Stephens comes tearing past the towering form of Maddix-on-Nighthawk and jumps to the second rope, then springboards off and up to deliver a mighty enzuigiri to Hawke! The Dean topples forward off his perch, and as Nighthawk gapes in amazement Landon hammers a double axe-handle down into the big man’s face, then grips with his legs and snaps backwards. It’s not as clean or as crisp as it might be, but the big man comes over into a reverse hurricanrana, and the crowd leaps up in delight! “LAN-DON!” “LAN-DON!” Stephens grabs Maddix and hauls him up, checks his partner is OK (or as well as can be expected), and then turns his attention to Nighthawk. Maddix joins him a second later and the two haul their large opponent up, then turn to face the nearest turnbuckle… and both grab a ¾ headlock. “Oh no, not this,” King moans, “someone stop this!” Too late. Maddix and Stephens charge forwards with Nighthawk in tow, and run up the turnbuckles before flipping backwards at the top. Stephens comes down ribs-first while Landon opts to land on his ass… *BANG!* “YEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!” “LABERINTO’S SUNNY REVENGE IN ENGLAND!” Mak shouts as the back of Nighthawk’s skull gets driven into the canvas, “that’s got to be it!” Maddix makes the cover. Stephens sees Hawke about to re-enter the ring from where he rolled outside to regroup, and elects to grab the top rope and fly over to deliver a plancha to the hapless Dean. ONE! TWO!! THREE!!! *DING-DING-DING!* “Ladies and gentlemen, here are your winners,” Funyon booms, “and STILL~ SWF World Tag Team Champions… the team of Landon ‘La Cucaracha’ Maddix and Michael Stephens… THE GA-LAC-TICOOOOOOOOOSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS!!” “YEEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!” “What a match!” Mak says with appreciation, “the experienced team of the Predators put in a good showing, but Stephens and Maddix were just too good. Jay Hawke will be hoping that this doesn’t herald events to come on November 30th-” “-there’s no reason why it should!” King cuts in quickly, “did you see Hawke and Toxxic in the ring at the same time, Mak? For one thing they hardly got any one-on-one action at all, due to Toxxic’s reluctance to enter the match; for another, Hawke kept getting the upper hand and Toxxic had to rely on Landon Maddix to bail him out!” “Personally King, I saw enough to whet my appetite for the World Title match without enough to give me any clue which way it might go,” Mak replies sagely, “but before we even get to November 30th we’ve got lots more action in the SWF; I’d expect a Cruiserweight Title defence at some point, and don’t forget the Cold Front Classic which Landon Maddix is involved in again!” “Everything will be fine; Tom will win, Tom will win,” King repeats like a calming mantra. “Or hey, JJ might win. As long as it’s not Landon everything will be fine, and I won’t have to go apeshit and start screaming in Old Norse.” “…I’d like to see that.” In the ring Hawke tries to bring Nighthawk around; outside the ring Landon and Stephens exchange a casual high-five, then turn to make their way up the ramp. Everything’s OK… …for now.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” says Funyon, “the following non-title matchup is scheduled for one fall, and is the second match in the 2006 Cold Front Classic!” The crowd pops, and Funyon continues, “The winner of this match will face either Landon Maddix or Michael Cross in the semifinals for a chance to advance to the Cold Front Classic Finals!” The fans continue cheering as the lights dim, and Funyon says, “The first competitor...” The SmarkTron shows the familiar fuse to a stick of dynamite burning down as the crowd cheers, with the stick finally exploding as the “Mission Impossible” theme starts to play over the speakers! Johnny steps through the curtain, his black trench coat flowing behind him. The fans continue cheering as the Barracuda makes his way down the aisle, his sunglasses mirroring the enormous crowd and his International Title belt shining from around his waist. “What you have here is an oddity,” says the Suicide King, as Johnny stops by a particularly attractive female fan. He lifts his sunglasses up just far enough to show his eyes, and with a wink, dazzles her with his smile. “Ordinarily, any champion will be introduced last, as a show of respect for his accomplishments. However, given that we’re within a tournament framework, the entrances are deferring to seed order. Since Johnny Dangerous is the number-six seed, he’s coming out first, and the number-three seed, Tom Flesher, will be introduced second.” Johnny grins at his admirer, then quickly turns back toward the ring. He sprints toward it, sliding under the bottom rope and rolling effortlessly to his feet. The Mission Impossible theme fades out as Johnny shakes his trench coat off. “Currently in the ring,” announces Funyon, “hailing from Las Vegas, Nevada, and weighing in at 225 pounds... the reigning International Champion, and the number-six seed in the Cold Front Classic... ‘The Barracuda,’ JOHNNY DANGEROUS!!!!” The crowd cheers as Johnny acknowledges them, holding his belt high in the air before setting it in the corner. Senior official Eddy Long approaches him, and as they converse, Johnny removes his sunglasses. This, of course, allows us to see him cringe when he hears... “AND... HIS... OPPONENT...” Instinctively, the crowd boos as James Matheson’s grating voice rings out over the speakers. “You know something,” he begins at his standard machine-gun pace, “they call this thing the Cold Front Classic, but have you ever thought about what that means? In Las Vegas, a cold front’s an inconvenient rainstorm. In Sacramento, if it snows, the whole damn town shuts down! But do you know what you’ll see in Buffalo, New York, in the middle of winter? You’ll see guys like this man pushing cars out of seven-foot drifts single-handedly. Why? Because they just breed the boys better in Buffalo, and if you’ve got beef with that, begone, you bastard! Now get up off your seats and give it up for the man who knows cold fronts better than anyone else, the man who’s held more belts than you can count, and the NEXT Cold Front Classic Champion... TOM FLESHER!” With the crowd suitably warmed up, the lights go dark, and the concussive opening of Led Zeppelin’s “Kashmir” rings out through the ARCO Arena, the blue pyro lighting the stadium and the accompanying smoke rolling through the seats. Tom Flesher steps through the curtain and, with a quiet confidence, struts past the fans and to the ring. “You have to admire that,” says King, “that sort of cockiness that pervades everything Tom Flesher does. You remember training with him, back when you could walk, and how he’d just get in there and run through his drills like no one could stop anything he does.” “I’ll tell you who can stop him,” says the Franchise. “Johnny Dangerous. I don’t even know if Tom’s beaten him since the first time they met, when the result was... uh...” “Shoe-phone related,” says King. “Yep. A shoe phone.” With that, Flesher strips off his warm-up suit and steps to the center of the ring. Being just as careful as he was with Johnny, Eddy Long drops to one knee as “Kashmir” fades and begins checking Flesher’s kickpads. Flesher rolls his eyes, but lets Long check each kickpad, his entire singlet, and both bands of wrist tape. Long eyes Flesher’s heavily taped left thumb suspiciously. (“I’ve got a doctor’s note,” Flesher says. “Chris Belcourt’s not a doctor.” “No, no, a real one this time. It’s on file in Peters’ office.”) Finally satisfied that Flesher would have had to hide any foreign objects in a place where carrying them would be punishment enough, Long steps away and calls for the bell. DING DING DING!!!! As the two circle around each other in the center as they have so many times before, the ARCO Arena goes almost silent. What can these two perennial foes do that they haven’t before? How can one gain an advantage that he hasn’t tried to gain before? Tom thinks he has an idea. “AUGH! DAMMIT~!” shouts Johnny Dangerous, reaching up to cover his right eye socket. Oh, right. The thumb to the eye. BOOOOOOO! “Flesher hits an absolutely thrilling move to start the match,” says the Suicide King, as Tom drops down and shoots past Eddy Long, mid-admonition, and snags Johnny’s left leg with a low single-leg takedown. As Johnny spills to the mat, Flesher hooks his head and tries to cradle him for a quick pin. As Long rolls his eyes, Johnny quickly kicks free and rolls to his stomach. Flesher, having predicted just this development, applies a half-nelson and moves to Johnny’s side. The Barracuda gets to his knees, trying to build a base and get out of a mat-wrestling predicament with Tom Freaking Flesher. This is, however, Tom Freaking Flesher we’re talking about, and so he quickly slides a hand around Johnny’s waist and uses the half-nelson to pull his head forward, breaking him down with a variant on the American sprial ride! Flesher keeps his tight-waist grip and uses the half-nelson to grind Johnny’s face into the mat as the fans continue booing him. “Technically brilliant opening to the match,” says King, “and Tom Flesher is demonstrating dominance over an opponent who’s had his number lately.” “Well, sure,” says Francis, “poking someone in the eye is going to distract them long enough to get the jump on them, but what’s Taamo going to do when Johnny gets his bearings again? Tom’s lost almost every time these two have met. The last time he won was almost three years ago!” “Quiet, you!” hisses King. “Flesher said earlier tonight that he’s back and he’s better than ever. Who are you to question him?” As Dangerous tries to free himself from the vise-like half-nelson, Flesher slides back a few inches and tightens the arm he has around Johnny’s waist. The Barracuda reaches up and peels Flesher’s hand off his head, then slaps it down onto the mat as he tries to escape. Flesher, though, slides the arm that had been applying the nelson down Johnny’s side and locks his hands together around his waist. Flesher leans back into a catcher’s crouch, then stands up, and before Johnny Dangerous even knows what hit him, Flesher throws him over his head and slams him to the mat with a German suplex! He releases Johnny as they hit the mat, knowing he won’t get a pin this early in the match, and Johnny rolls over and comes to rest on his stomach as Flesher gets to his feet. “There’s that positional awareness that got Tom Flesher everywhere he wants to be,” says King. “He’ll fight with you and make you wrestle anywhere you are on the mat, whether it’s in the corner, on the mat or in mid-air.” Flesher grabs Johnny by the head as he tries to get up. As he tries to pull the International Champion into a front headlock, Johnny quickly grabs his wrist and twists Flesher’s arm, spinning out to the side and extending the arm. He throws a stiff kick, hammering Flesher’s left biceps, and then pulls Tom toward him to nail him with a short-arm chop to the throat! The crowd cheers as Flesher staggers backwards, disoriented by the throat attack. Johnny steps toward Tom, throwing a stiff palm strike that nails him in the chest and thrusts him back into the corner. As Flesher steps forward out of the corner, Johnny grabs his wrist and pivots, taking his attacker to the mat aikido-style and following up with a boot to the back of the head! Flesher collapses to his back, and Johnny drops down onto him for the cover... but not before Flesher rolls out to the apron, and then to the floor. “Johnny Dangerous changes the momentum of the match,” says Francis, “and he’s taking it where we’re more used to seeing it. He’s got that speed advantage, and if he keeps the match in the neutral position where Tom has a harder time grappling with him, he’s going to come out the winner just like he has over and over again.” On the outside, Flesher confers with James Matheson, apparently about match strategy, as Eddy Long counts. ONE! TWO! THREE! FOUR! FIVE! SIX! SEVEN! Matheson pats Flesher on the back and sends him back into the ring, with the Superior One looking much more confident as he returns to the squared circle. He reaches around, adjusting his singlet, and then motions for a lock-up with Dangerous. Johnny leans in, and immediately, Flesher ducks to the side and slides by him. The fans boo as Johnny turns around, trying to get his lockup back, and walks straight into a bitchslap to the face! The crowd boos Flesher’s antics as he steps forward, following the smack up with a stepping palm strike of his own. The shotei sends Johnny back on his heels, and Tom takes advantage by stepping in and grabbing the International Champion around the waist, then arching back with a standing railgun suplex! Johnny falls to the mat, and Flesher rolls over onto him for ONE! Johnny kicks out, and as he sits up, Flesher grabs his head and applies a reverse chinlock. “Here’s something we haven’t seen in a while,” says Francis dryly. “Don’t roll your eyes, kid,” says King. “I’d think you of all people would be sick of rolling things.” Before Flesher can get the chinlock sunk in, though, Johnny Dangerous grabs him by the wrist and starts to spin out the same way he escaped from Flesher’s attempt at a front headlock. Instead of letting him escape, Flesher stands up behind him, as Dangerous twists out with his arm extended, and boots Johnny stiffly in the stomach! As Johnny doubles over in pain, Flesher grabs his head and a handful of his tights, then tosses him back with a vertical suplex. He rolls through, letting Johnny go and getting back to his feet as the Dangerous One grabs the ropes to pull himself up. With Dangerous’ back turned, Flesher takes the easy pickings and charges at him, hammering the spy with a Yakuza kick to the back of the head! “That’s like getting hit by a truck,” says the Suicide King, as Johnny collapses to the mat. “Weren’t you listening?” asks Mak facetiously. “He said it’s not a truck, it’s a series of tubes.” “I’ve got a series of tubes for you,” grumbles King as Flesher grabs Johnny by the shirt and lifts him to his feet, with one hand holding the collar of the shirt and the other grabbing Johnny by the waistband of his tights. With his opponent under his control, Flesher walks Johnny toward the corner and throws him head-first into the buckles! The crowd boos Flesher mercilessly, but Tom merely pulls Johnny back out of the corner and throws him right into the turnbuckles again! Johnny tries to stagger backwards out of the corner, but Flesher just sighs heavily, clearly tired of Dangerous putting up any sort of fight whatsoever, and headbutts him at the base of the skull. Johnny, understandably, slumps down and stops fighting. “Well, that was effective,” says Suicide King chipperly. Flesher grabs Johnny by the tights and rolls him over onto his back, then grabs the top rope and slowly, deliberately place his Asics wrestling shoe on Johnny’s trachea. Immediately, Eddy Long orders Flesher to stop chocking the International Champion, but Flesher looks at him as if he had just asked permission to pick his nose. The banter continues for a few moments (“GET OFF HIS NECK!!” “Zuh?” “STOP CHOKING YOUR OPPONENT!” “Silly girl, why would I want to do something like that?”) before Long decides he has to begin his count. ONE! Flesher holds up one finger. TWO! Flesher holds up another finger, nodding. THREE! A third finger, and Flesher looks Long squarely in the eye. FOUR! Flesher holds up four fingers, then raises an eyebrow. Enraged, Long starts to make the fifth count, but Flesher quickly steps off Johnny’s neck. Johnny, though he can’t participate in the discussion, is clearly relieved simply to be a fly on the wall. (“If you do that again, I’m going to disqualify you!” “Do what?”) Exasperated, Long backs away as Flesher grabs Dangerous by the leg and pulls him to the center of the ring. Relieved to be returning to his natural coloration, Johnny allows Flesher to relocate him, but begins fighting as soon as Tom starts trying to pull him into a half-crab. Johnny kicks his legs back and forth, trying to free himself, and finally Flesher decides the hold isn’t worth his trouble and frees Johnny’s leg. The Dangerous One backs away and gets to his feet, making sure to keep an eye on Flesher to avoid having his brains scrambled by another Yakuza kick. Instead, Flesher backs into his corner, still watching Johnny, and James Matheson hops up onto the apron to talk with his charge. “There’s a sign of a good manager,” says King. “After Johnny Dangerous was able to gain some ground on Tom, James Matheson is right up there on the apron to help guide him back into the match. He’s giving him advice, I’m sure, and helping him find a plan of attack.” As King says that, Eddy Long drops down to check on Johnny and make sure he’s still in the match. With Long’s back turned, Matheson reaches into his pants pocket and pulls out a chain. Flesher quickly grabs the chain and stuffs it into his kickpad, drawing a round of boos from the crowd before Eddy Long turns back around. “What do you call that?” snaps Mak Francis. “Management.” Once Johnny gets back to his feet, Flesher meets him in the center of the ring, shuffling around in an amateur-style stance. Johnny steps back, and Flesher follows him, trying to keep the pressure on. Johnny, however, sidesteps, allowing the off-balanced Flesher to overshoot and stumble forward. With Tom staggering, Johnny grabs him by the collar and pivots on one foot, slamming him to the mat with a Sambo suplex! Tom hits the mat hard, and Johnny quickly makes the cover for ONE!!! TWO!!!! but no more, as Flesher kicks out and bellies down to avoid being covered again. Dangerous stays on top of him, throwing a stiff palm strike down onto the back of Flesher’s head. Tom covers up, trying to crawl toward the ropes and force a break. Johnny continues pummeling him with strikes, but before he can do any serious damage, Flesher manages to grasp the bottom cable. Eddy Long begins his mandatory count. ONE! TWO! THREE! FOUR! Obligingly, the spy releases Flesher and backs away to the center of the ring. Flesher takes his time getting back to his feet, and when he manages to get up, a loop of tape on his right wrist is visibly loose. “What’s happening with Tom’s wrist tape?” cajoles Francis. “Nothing,” King snaps. “Eyes on your own paper.” Flesher reaches out, grabbing Johnny in a collar-and-elbow tie. As Johnny backs away, Flesher grips his wrist and steps back, then sends Johnny to the ropes with an Irish whip! As Johnny rebounds, Flesher drops to the mat. Johnny hurtles over Flesher and hits the opposite ropes, only to taste canvas when he mysteriously trips and falls flat on his face! (I say ‘mysteriously,’ of course, because surely James Matheson had nothing to do with it and certainly didn’t trip Johnny. That’s made clear by his immediate and forceful protestations of innocence.) “Oh, come on!” shouts Francis. “James Matheson can’t be allowed to interfere in the match like that!” “Like what?” asks King innocently. “He just tripped Johnny Dangerous, and now Flesher’s moving in for the kill!” “Listen, Mak, James Matheson didn’t trip Johnny Dangerous. Johnny Dangerous tripped Johnny Dangerous.” Mak rolls his eyes. “And don’t you forget it!” Flesher dives in and nails Johnny with a falling elbowdrop, keeping him on the mat for the time being. Tom then mounts Johnny, reaching down and trying to apply a camel clutch. The fans immediately begin booing, but, curiously, Matheson shouts, “His foot’s on the ropes!” Eddy Long walks around, checking to make sure that Johnny’s foot is not actually on the ropes. When he does, Flesher unravels the loose end of his wrist tape and pulls it taut across Johnny’s neck, choking him mercilessly! Matheson hops up on the apron, talking to Long for a few seconds (“Eddy, is this match being conducted under cruiserweight rules?” “Of course not. Why would you even bother asking?” “Well, both guys, they’re under 230, so I just figured it might be cruiser rules.” “It’s a tournament in the heavyweight division, coach. Heavyweight rules.) with Flesher choking Johnny the whole time! Finally, Matheson hops down off the apron and shouts “THANK YOU!” at the top of his lungs. Frantically, Flesher pulls the tape off Johnny’s throat and resumes his camel clutch grip, the end of the tape now suspiciously dangling almost a foot lower than it was. As he walks back to the front, Long sees the dangling tape and says, dryly, “His foot’s on. Break.” “Oh, come on!” shouts Suicide King. “Long just established that Johnny’s foot’s nowhere near the ropes!” “Give him some leeway,” says Mak. “Sounds like a judgment call to me.” “Oh, you’re so full of shit,” says Flesher, as he stands up. He starts to set up another elbowdrop, but Eddy Long stops him. “Loose tape’s gotta come off,” he says, and he reaches out to grab the dangling end of the tape. Flesher pulls away, allowing Long to unravel the rest of the tape around his wrist. Scowling, Flesher turns back toward his opponent... only to take a Johnny Kick straight in the chops! The crowd bursts into cheers as Flesher hits the ropes, then staggers forward. Tom collapses to the mat, and Johnny sprints over to the nearest cornerpost! “And here comes the money!” shouts Francis. Johnny leaps off the top rope, soaring through the air with flashbulbs popping, and finally landing on Flesher with a flying guillotine legdrop! The fans scream their approval as Johnny rolls over onto Flesher, and the referee counts ONE!!! TWO!!!! THREE!!!! NO! Long points toward Flesher’s foot, which is draped over the bottom rope! BOOOOOOOO! “Johnny Dangerous is ROBBED!” Mak says, as Flesher rolls to the outside to collect his thoughts. “Tom Flesher has barely done one thing tonight that’s within the rules of wrestling, and he’s getting away with all of it! I can’t believe Eddy Long’s letting this kind of crap go!” “Letting what go? If you ask him what he saw, he’ll probably tell you the same thing I will... nothing.” Dangerous, frustrated, sprints toward the ropes. Matheson shouts, “WATCH OUT! YOU’RE GONNA HAVE TO CATCH HIM!” as Johnny charges back toward Tom. Flesher extends his arms and yells, “I’VE GOT HIM!” as Johnny launches himself over the top rope. He floats toward Flesher, who shuffles around, trying to position himself to catch his adversary... ... and then sidesteps, letting the International Champion fall impotently to the concrete floor. BOOOOOOOO! “And that, ladies and gentlemen,” says King, “is why you never trust your opponent.” Flesher quickly rolls back into the ring, and Eddy Long obligingly begins to count Johnny out of the ring. ONE! Johnny doesn’t move. TWO! THREE! He raises his head, and comes to the realization that he needs to get back into the ring. FOUR! He reaches up, trying to pull himself to his feet using the apron. FIVE! “I bet Johnny wishes this was a cruiserweight match with its 20-count,” says King spitefully. “And Long wondered why Matheson asked.” SIX! Johnny’s head pokes up over the mat, and Eddy Long uses his body to block Flesher from attacking the Barracuda before he makes it back into the ring. SEVEN! The Dangerous One strains to get into the ring, heaving as he tries to pull his aching body up onto the canvas. EIGHT! He pulls on the bottom rope for leverage, trying to do everything in his power to beat the count back in! NINE! Finally, Johnny Dangerous makes it back into the ring, his chest rising heavily as he only barely avoids being counted out and eliminated from the Cold Front Classic! Small comfort, though, as Tom Flesher dives onto him like a shark in a feeding frenzy, hammering him with a falling elbowdrop before grabbing his head and pulling him into a front headlock on the mat. Still, Johnny is able to avoid being tied up in the potentially deadly hold by rolling onto his stomach and keeping his chest glued to the mat. Flesher tries to pull him up, but to no avail. Getting visibly frustrated, he reaches into his kickpad and pulls out the chain that he stashed in it earlier in the match! Though he tries to hide it in his fist, the chain is clearly visible to the official. The crowd begins booing Flesher, and Eddy Long quickly charges over to him to stop the imminent illegality. “I can’t believe he’s injecting himself into this match!” fumes King. “This is unacceptable!” “I agree,” Mak says. “He should just let Tom get himself disqualified and get it over with.” Pregnant pause. “Come on, Long, do your job!” shouts King. Long grabs at the chain, and Flesher sighs and lets him take it, but continues arguing with him. (“I have done NOTHING WRONG.” “You know this isn’t a hardcore match, right?” “What on earth are you talking about? I’m as clean as a Mike Stephens piss test!”) As Flesher continues his debate, Johnny gets to his feet, and then suddenly slams into him with a dropkick! The fans burst into cheers as Flesher staggers backwards, and Johnny hits him with a shotei, then another, and then another, hammering him backwards into the corner as he goes! Flesher tries to fight back, but the angry International Champion continues hammering him with shoteis, adding in an occasional chop or closed fist for flavor. “That’s a closed fist!” protests King. “Disqualify him! TAKE HIM OUT OF THIS TOURNAMENT!” Faced with no other option, Flesher tries to protect himself by ducking down and covering his head with his hands. This brings another cheer from the crowd, but Johnny doesn’t pause to drink in the adulation. Instead, he grabs Tom’s head and pulls him off the mat, throwing him back with a vertical suplex! The crowd continues cheering as Johnny rolls over, pulling Flesher with him, and hoists the two-time World Champion off the mat once again! He pulls Flesher into the air and throws him backwards, slamming him down with a second vertical suplex! With the crowd going absolutely crazy, Johnny rolls through one more time, and one more time he pulls Tom off the mat! The third suplex is the hardest drop, and Flesher’s back arches noticeably when he hits the mat. Johnny rolls with the momentum and floats over, covering Tom! Eddy Long counts ONE!!! TWO!!!!! THREENO!!!!!!!!!! Flesher gets a shoulder up, narrowly avoiding elimination! “So close,” cringes Francis. “And yet completely not a fall,” gloats King. Flesher rolls through to his stomach, then to his knees. Johnny Dangerous steps back, knowing better than to grapple with Tom Flesher while he’s still conscious. As Tom stands up, however, Johnny sees an opening and dives in, hooking Tom by the head and the thigh, then standing up with a fireman’s carry! The fans cheer wildly as Johnny struggles to get Tom placed on his shoulders and Tom struggles to free himself. Before Tom can slide off, though, Johnny jumps and rolls forward, slamming Tom back-first to the mat with the Spinal Explosion! The crowd, simply put, explodes! “SPINAL EXPLOSION!” shouts Mak, completely devoid of any sense of irony. Flesher writhes in pain on the mat, and Johnny seems to be debating how best to proceed. He decides to reach down, grabbing Flesher by the leg and trying to wrangle him into a half-crab just as Tom tried earlier. “Johnny’s going for the Barracuda crab,” says Mak, “now that he’s got Flesher’s back all blown to hell. He’s been lumbar-jacking, King, and Tom’s back’s about to go Tim-BER!” “Lumbar-jack?” King asks, incredulous. “Are you serious? That’s got to be the worst pun I’ve ever heard.” Flesher wriggles, trying to free himself before Johnny can flip him over into the over-the-shoulder crab that just doesn’t seem very comfortable. He sits up, grabbing at Johnny’s shirt to try to pull him into a small package, but the Secret Agent sees the pinning combination coming and quickly releases his heel hook to let Flesher escape. As Tom gets up to his knees, though, Johnny jumps up and hammers him in him in the chest with a basement dropkick! “Johnny’s not about to let this one go,” beams Francis. “He may be the number-six seed, but he’s been wrestling like it’s in it to win it.” “‘Like he’s in it to win it?’ Christ, Mak, didn’t they ever send you to Commentator School? Everyone’s in it to win it! That’s like saying one of the teams at the Super Bowl wants to score more points than its opponent. This is the Cold Front Classic! Up your game, would you?!” And up his game is what Johnny’s about to do. He grabs the recovering Flesher by the arm and pulls him to his feet, then slips a half-nelson in before sliding behind him. The fans scream their approval as Johnny snakes in the other arm, trying to sink in the full nelson that bodes the arrival of the Dangerous Driver! Immediately, Flesher drops to one knee to sandbag it, bringing a groan from the crowd, but Johnny drives a knee into Flesher’s tender lower back and pulls him back up to his feet! Tom struggles, reaching up to try to peel Johnny’s hands apart, and Johnny fights to keep his grip! Suddenly, Tom reaches up and grabs Johnny’s head with both hands, using Johnny’s slight height advantage to tuck his own head in under the Barracuda’s chin, and again drops to one knee! Dangerous, his bell rung, loosens his grip. Tom senses an opening and clamps down on the full nelson, then executes a picture-perfect go-behind into a waistlock. He struggles, trying to lift Dangerous off the mat for a German suplex, only to have Johnny block by hooking his thigh! Flesher sets Dangerous down again, and then almost immediately tries to lift him again, but the Barracuda is ready and hooks the leg again to avoid being thrown! This time, Flesher sets him down hard enough to jar him, and then drives him forward into the ropes. Tom keeps his waistlock and rolls backwards, gripping Johnny’s shirt hard enough to pull him back into a reverse rollup! “Flesher adapts, and Johnny doesn’t know what to do!” shouts King. Tom comes out on top, pinning Johnny down with a rolling prawn hold and both hands pulling on his tights to keep him in place! Long counts ONE!!! “He’s got a handful of tights!” shouts Mak, as Johnny kicks and convulses to try to push Flesher off. TWO!!!! “TWO handfuls!” corrects King. THREE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Johnny finally succeeds in kicking Tom off after the Number 3 Seed releases his grip on his adversary’s tights and finds himself propelled to the ropes. DING DING DING!!!! BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO! Flesher throws his arms into the air as Johnny, visibly enraged, complains to Long that the pin was illegal. Nevertheless, Funyon makes the announcement: “The winner of this match, and advancing to the Cold Front Classic semi-finals.... TOM FLESHER!!!!!!” James Matheson jumps up onto the apron, applauding his protege’s work, as Johnny looks on with anger. Tom pumps his arms in the air, celebrating his victory even as the crowd showers him with insults and garbage. “Well, Johnny should have known not to try to grapple with him,” says King. “Grappling isn’t a handful of tights,” Francis says, “and it’s not choking a guy with wrist tape or standing on his neck. Tom’s a great wrestler, but when he has to start with the cheap crap, you know he’s up against a guy who’s got his number.” “So what? Right now his number’s 3, and he’s going to have either 2 or 7 come next week, when we’ll find out whether he has to face Landon Maddix or Michael Cross in the semis. I’ll tell you, Mak, this is one classic tournament!” As King makes the obvious pun, the show fades out to commercial.

SWF Lockdown returns live to the ARCO Arena in Sacramento, California! The crowd comes alive as the television cameras light up. “Welcome back, live, to SWF Lockdown!” shouts the Franchise. “We have had an eventful night so far, but we are about to pick up the action!” “If you mean that we are starting the Cold Front Classic tournament by saying that we are about to ‘pick up the action’, then yes, the action will be brought up!” “I’m so confused.” “You’re also in a wheel chair!” “The Suicide King, folks,” Francis mockingly applauds. “He’ll be here all week.” “I need a drink of the alcoholic kind.” “Anyway, lets go to the ring!” Funyon stands in the middle of the ring, microphone in hand as he prepares his introductions. “The following contest is a first round match in the Cold Front Classic Tournament! First, making his way to the ring…” “Protect Ya Neck” by the Wu-Tang Clan hits and “The Divine Wind” Akira Kaibatsu strolls through the curtains, onto the stage. “From Sendai, Japan,” bellows Funyon. “Weighing in at one hundred-ninety five pounds; he is ‘THE DIVINE WIND’ AKIRAAAAAAAAA KAAAAAIBATSUUUUUUU!” Akira charges down to the ring and slides in under the bottom rope. Jumping to his feet, he poses for the crowd. “AND HIS OPPONENT!” Every light in the arena goes to full power as the Smarktron whites out. For a moment the only sound is that of a needle scratching over vinyl... And then *BAM* The heavy drumming of Norma Jean’s “Creating Something Out of Nothing, Only to Destroy It” blasts through the arena as the lyrics pierce the ears of everyone listening. “Like bringing a knife to a gun fight… Like Bringing A Knife To A Gun Fight… LIKE BRINGING A KNIFE TO A GUN FIGHT!” Bright white lights begin flashing at the entranceway. As the growls hit the crowd, Spike walks out wearing a black “POSH” hoodie, the hood covering most of his face. Spike drops down to one knee, leaving one arm to hang to the ground, while the other is firmly placed on his knee. After a few moments, Spike raises both arms into an “X”, symbolizing his Straight Edge life style. Spike rises to his feet and begins to make his way down the isle towards the ring. “Making his way to the ring,” begins Funyon. “Weighing in at a total of Two Hundred and Twenty-five pounds…hailing from Hollywood, California and representing the Kingdom of Cambodia…he is “HOLLYWOOD” SPIIIIIIIIIIIKE JEEEEEEEEEEENKINSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS!!!!” Spike makes his way completely around the ring and rolls underneath the bottom rope. He continues rolling until he hits dead center in the middle of the ring. Spike rises to one knee and resumes the position he was in at the top of the entranceway. One arm hanging to the ground, the other placed on his knee. Finally, Spike rises to his feet. He quickly peels off the hood, releasing his blonde, dyed hair free. He puts his arms together, forming an “X” across his chest, again promoting his Straight Edge life style. “A rematch from this years Genesis where Spike Jenkins not only defeated Akira Kaibatsu by reversing a top rope hurricanrana into a powerbomb…but humiliating Akira’s father and family name!” “Yeah…that was a funny couple of weeks.” “Jackass.” The referee checks with both men and when satisfied, calls for the bell. *Ding Ding Ding* “The first match of round one of the Cold Front Classic has officially gone underway!” “Yippie?” Jenkins and Akira both enter the center of the ring, ready for combat. Akira immediately charges at his rival…but Jenkins drops down with a go behind and grab a waist lock. Akira tries to shake Spike off, but the bigger cruiserweight is able to pull Kaibatsu into a side headlock and then roll over into a cravate! "Oh God…here come the cravats," moans King. "How are you not use to this yet, King?” “How come you still can’t walk?” “I’m paralyzed.” “So am I…of cravats!” Spike wrenches at the neck, twisting the spine of the Divine Wind. Akira yelps in pain, but is quick to attack. He places his foot on the back of Spike's knee, bringing the Hollywood Superstar down to one knee. Akira glides his body over the back of Jenkins, forcing Spike to break the cravate and allowing Akira to grab a front face lock! Spike rolls through to his side, bringing Akira down to the mat chest first and grabbing his arm for an armbar! Akira climbs up to his feet, not giving Jenkins a moment to use. He drops down, bringing Jenkins over with an arm drag! Pulling himself up to one knee, Akira holds onto Spike's arm for an armbar of his own! Spike grabs at his arm, but isn't able to break free. He rolls backwards onto his feet, reversing the armbar into one of his own and dragging Akira down to the mat with his own arm drag! Both men immediately get to their feet and stare off, getting the approval from the crowd inside the ARCO Arena around them! "And a stare off between the two enemies," remarks Francis. "Akira Kaibatsu has a lot going into this match. Not only a shot at the World Title and advancing in the Cold Front Classic, but also to gain a measure of revenge against the man that defeated him at Genesis and disgraced his family name!" Jenkins backs up into a corner, displeased that he let the youngster get some shots in on him, but keeps his cool. Akira seems more excited then usual, obviously revenge is one of his intentions going into this match. Both men circle the ring and enter the center. Spike shoots low once again with the go behind, and grabbing a waist lock. Akira struggles to break free, but realizes he is at the disadvantage in the strength department and instead opts to drop down, bringing Spike over onto his back with a takedown. Akira puts all his weight down on Spike's arm and locking it in an armbar. Akira climbs up to his feet, pulling Spike up with him. Akira wrenches on the arm, twisting Spike's shoulder into the wrong direction. Spike kneels over, patting at his arm to try and fight it off, but Akira has a firm grip. Spike, a master of chain wrestling and a true veteran inside the ring, knows he can counter this move into another maneuver…but instead just opts for… *SMACK* …Smacks Akira across the face! "YEE-OUCH!" Stunned from the strike, Akira doubles over clutching his face. Spike takes the opportunity to drive his forearm into the back of the neck of the Divine Wind! The force of the blow knocks Akira down to one knee, but Spike pulls him back up for a second forearm to the back of the neck! Akira pushes himself away from his attacker, trying to work through the pain. Jenkins proceeds to follow Akira, not wanting to let the damaged cruiserweight get away, but Akira shoots up to a full stance and… *CHOP* [ "WOOOOOOO!" …Knife-edge chops Spike! Spike stumbles back, but goes to return with a chop of his own, that Akira waits for… …but instead grabs Akira around the neck with a cravate! "Spike seems to enjoy boring us to death with this move!" "It looks to me like Spike's strategy is to upset the youngster to take him off his game," notes Mak. Spike drops down to one knee, adding more pressure to the back of Akira's neck with the cravate. The youth begins to get frustrated, as he drives an elbow into the sternum of Jenkins. Spike rises to his feet, giving Akira the opportunity to go lower with his strikes, driving an elbow into the gut. Once again, using the same strategy as before, Akira drops down to the mat, throwing Spike forward out of the cravate with an arm drag! Spike rolls onto his feet and quickly turns around… *CHOP* …To receive a knife-edge chop by Akira! Jenkins falls to the mat and quickly crawls off into a corner. He gets to his feet, doubled over and still holding his chest, ducking in between the middle and top rope to keep Kaibatsu away from him! "Big chop by Akira!" Akira follows Spike into the corner, pulling him out from in between the ropes and pushing him up against the turnbuckles. Akira leans back and crushes Spikes jaw in with a solid left jab! Akira pulls back; ready to continue his strike…when Spike rakes him across the eyes! Akira stumbles out of the corner, doubled over as Spike charges out, grabbing Akira by the neck and slamming him into the mat with a swinging neckbreaker! Akira clutches the back of his head as Spike covers him with a lateral press and hooks the leg. Referee Harry turns around and drops down to make the count. ONE! TWO! TH---No! Akira kicks out! "Jenkins raking the eyes and almost scoring the win!” Spike stands on his knees, allowing Akira to roll over onto his stomach, still holding onto the back of his head. Spike lifts both of his arms into the air and begins clubbing at the back of the neck of Akira, keeping the smaller cruiserweight on the mat! "Spike with those clubbing forearms to the back of the head, really trying to wear down the neck!" "Well, King. One of Akira's strong points is his speed, so keeping him grounded and using the cravate to frustrate him only gives Spike the advantage." Spike grabs the back of Akira's head and pulls him up to his feet. Locking his arms around the neck for another cravate, Spike pulls him over with a snapmare. With Kaibatsu sitting prone in the middle of the ring, Spike drives his elbow into the neck of his opponent, sending a sting straight down his spinal cord! Spike stands up and quickly drops the elbow back into the neck again, causing Akira to roll over onto his stomach and shout in pain. He climbs up to his feet, reaches down and pulls Akira up, as well. He grabs a front face lock, turns his and Akira's body around and drops to the mat with a neckbreaker! Kaibatsu spasms as Jenkins floats over for the cover! ONE! TWO! THR---No! Akira gets a shoulder up! Spike jumps to his knees and figuratively down the referee's throat as he slaps his hands together fast, saying that it was a three count. "Spike Jenkins desperately trying to put away Akira," says Francis. "He continues to target the neck which has drastically slowed down Akira!" Spike climbs up to his feet, confidentially walks back into the ropes, bounces off, leaps up, and drives his knee into the throat of Kaibatsu! Akira begins coughing as he tries to roll away, but Jenkins pulls him back and gets the lateral press! ONE! TWO! THR---NO! Akira kicks out! "Spike is throwing out everything he has against the youngster!" Spike stands on his knees, catching his breathe from the punishment he has been dealing out. Slowly rising to his feet, he grabs Akira by the back of the head and lifts him off the mat. But as Akira peels off the ground, he grabs his second wind and elbows Jenkins square in the gut! Jenkins stumbles back and receives a second elbow to the gut! Akira, now free from the clutches of Spike, charges into the ropes. He bounces off and comes full speed towards Spike, ready to get some revenge on his opponent… …when he gets caught right in the jaw with a back elbow! Akira fumbles back, doubled over and holding his jaw. Spike stands straight up; staring straight into the camera with his back turned from Akira, and pulls his elbow pad off, throwing it to the side. "Spike Jenkins is going to go for the lariat!" shouts King, "If he hits this on the already injured neck of Akira, it'll be the end of the match!" Spike shoots off into the ropes, bouncing into them as hard as he can to get the most amount of momentum behind him. He blasts off, charging at Akira with full speed… …His arm extended out… …Ready to take Akira's head off… ……… *SMACK* …But Spike doesn't get a chance to hit the lariat, as Akira bursts forward with a quick-as-lightning roundhouse kick to the gut, that echoes throughout the ARCO Arena! "WHAT A KICK!" shouts Mak. Jenkins doubles over, coughing as he tries to get oxygen back into his lungs. Akira now has his back to Jenkins, points into the crowd and up into the air, posing for the California fans! "AKIRA! AKIRA! AKIRA!" Ready to take off into the ropes, Akira gets ready to sprint… …only to be knocked to the ground by a HEY-YOU-DON'T-YOU-GOD-DAMN-TURN-YOUR-BACK-ON-ME-LARRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRIATTOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO-TO-THE-BACK-OF-THE-NECK!!!!! "LARIAT! " Akira crumples to the mat, following behind by Jenkins. Both men lie on the mat, exhausted from the battle with the other. The referee checks on both competitors, realizing what he has to do. ONE! TWO! THREE! FOUR! "The referee is going to count both men out!" cries Francis. "And disqualify both men? And send the crowd home in an uproar? I'm all for it!" laughs King. FIVE! SIX! SEVEN! "AKIRA! AKIRA! AKIRA!" Spike is the first of the two men to show movement, as he pushes himself up and crawls over to Akira, placing his arm over his opponents chest! "It's all over after that lariat!" ONE! TWO! THRE---NO! AKIRA GETS A SHOULDER UP! AND THE CROWD GOES NUTS! "AKIRA! AKIRA! AKIRA!" "Akira kicked out of the lariat to the back of the neck!" says Mak. Spike rolls off of Akira, still having trouble breathing after the massive kick to the gut. Kaibatsu also rolls over, holding the back of his head as he turns onto his stomach and lifts himself up onto his hands and knees. Spike, seeing the perfect opportunity to continue with his strategy, crawls over to Akira once again, this time, locking his hands around the neck for another cravate! "Again with the cravats?" The Suicide King asks. Spike wrenches at the neck, continually twisting it into shambles. Akira fights up to his feet, with Spike following right behind him, refusing to let go of the hold. Akira pulls back and slams his elbow into the gut of Jenkins once again! Spike, still feeling the effects of the kick to the gut before, releases the hold and doubles over. Both men exhausted, Akira is the first to move as he grabs Spike by the wrist and Irish whips him across the ring into the ropes. Spike hits the ropes and bounces back…into a dropkick! Spike crashes to the mat, as does Akira. Spike immediately rolls over to the ropes, holding his jaw. Akira uses his arms to push himself up and both men begin to climb to their feet! "Both men are up to their feet," cries Mak, "It looks like we are about to have a face off!" Both Akira and Spike make it to their feet at the same time. Spike, still dazed off the dropkick, doesn't want to lose his advantage in the match. He charges at Akira, ready to strike… …But Akira grabs him by the arm and brings him back down to the mat with a Fujiwara Armbar! "Fujiwara Armbar!" "Desperation submission move by the young Japanese superstar!” notes Mak. Spike hits the mat with a thud, as Akira attacks the arm like a wounded animal. Tearing back at the shoulder, Jenkins screams in pain as he tries to move himself over towards the ropes. The referee jumps into position, asking Spike if he gives up! Spike just yells out in pain, using his free arm to rotate his body over towards the ropes! "Akira is trying to rip Spike's arm off!" shouts Mak. "Then use it to smack Spike around, ha!" Akira keeps pulling back on it, literally trying to rip it off. Spike rotates his body towards the ropes…reaches back with both of his feet… …and gets a foot on the bottom rope! The referee calls for Akira to break the hold, who immediately does. He smacks the mat in frustration, as Spike rolls towards the ropes and onto the ring apron. "Akira almost got the submission with the fujiwara armbar! Spike Jenkins just barely got to the ropes!" Akira struggles up to his feet, but lets loose a war cry as he catches his third wind of the match. He is the Divine Wind, after all. Akira walks over towards where Spike is laying on the apron, pulls him back into the ring and lifts him up to his feet. Jenkins holds onto his now damaged shoulder as Akira backs him up into the ropes, grabbing him by the wrist of the bad arm and Irish whipping him across the ring…except Spike stops in mid-motion, holding onto the hand of Kaibatsu. Before Akira can do anything, Spike pulls him into a knee to the gut. Using his left arm, (the arm that wasn't locked in the fujiwara armbar) he grabs Akira in a front face lock and drops backwards, driving Akira head first into the mat with a DDT! Akira's body ricochets off the mat and he lands in a heap. Spike quickly turns over, still holding his shoulder, but covers Kaibatsu to the mat! ONE! TWO! THRE---NO! AKIRA GETS A SHOULDER UP! "Akira kicks out of the DDT! The youngster is all heart, let me tell you!" "Yeah, but soon enough, he'll be all heart with no neck." Spike rises to his knees, grimacing as he holds his right shoulder. He grabs Akira by the back of the head and lifts him into a sitting position. Grabbing Akira's right wrist with his left hand and the left wrist with his right hand, Spike forms an X over Akira's throat with his own arms and pulls back, trying to choke out the Divine Wind! "A Japanese stranglehold on the Japanese sensation!” "He has the Japanese kid in a Japanese stranglehold? How ironic?" Spike pulls back on the stranglehold, but Akira isn't just going to sit there and take it. After a few seconds of suffering in the hold, Akira pulls his left arm away from Spike's weaker right arm. To make up for the loss of one arm, Spike uses both of his to choke Akira with his right arm. Having his left arm free gives Kaibatsu the ability to push himself up to his feet, which Spike follows right behind, not letting go of the half Japanese stranglehold. Now on his own two feet and having more balance than a graceful cat, Akira slips under his own arm and breaks away from the hold. Still holding onto the right wrist, Spike tries to not let Akira follow up. He pulls Kaibatsu towards him, looking for a clothesline…but Akira ducks underneath! As he ducks underneath of Jenkins, he is able to free his captured hand and is now in the motion of charging towards the ropes. He leaps up, jumping onto the middle rope and springboarding back… …just as Jenkins turns around… …and connects with a springboard gamenguri!!! "A springboard gamenguri! A kick to the face of Jenkins! Akira might be able to pull the upset off and advance in the tournament!" Jenkins crashed to the mat, dazed from the kick to the head. Akira lands on the mat, grabs at his neck, but doesn't want to miss the opportunity and quickly crawls over and covers Spike! ONE! TWO! THREE---NO! SPIKE GETS A SHOULDER UP! Spike pushes Akira off of him and quickly rolls over onto his stomach. Akira rolls over onto his stomach and pushes himself up to his feet, feeling the energy of the crowd flow through him. "AKIRA! AKIRA! AKIRA!" "The crowd is clearly behind Akira Kaibatsu!" Akira gets to his feet, balling his hands up into fists and waving them around. Spike Jenkins climbs to his feet as well, still clutching his face. Akira moves in on Jenkins… *CRACK* *CRACK* *CRACK* …and connects with three forearm shots to the face~! Spike stumbles back as Akira backs up a foot, slapping his elbow as he spins around, looking to connect with Spike's jaw with a roaring elbow! …But as he spins around, Spike steps forward and grabs another cravate! " He stopped Akira dead in his tracks with ANOTHER cravate," laughs King. But Akira has had enough of the cravats. He grabs Spike's right arm and with all his strength, breaks the cravate! "Akira broke the cravate by going after Spike's weak arm! That must be why he went for the arm! He realized Spike's strategy and is trying to stop him from using it!" Akira spins out of Spike's grasp and to his opponent's side. He grabs Spike's left arm and hooks Spike up for a Russian Legsweep…but instead, rolls forward! He pulls Spike forward to the mat, locking both of his legs around Spike's left leg! Spike turns over onto his stomach, not sure of where to go as he frantically reaches for the ropes! "CROSS KNEELOCK! The same move that won him the Cruiserweight title!” Spike knows where he is and what is capable of happening. He digs his fingernails into the mat as he claws his way towards the ropes… …But Akira plans on making him work for it! Akira sandbags himself to the mat, forcing Spike to carry not only himself but also Kaibatsu himself towards the ropes! Spike scrapes towards the ropes, trying to hold on for dear life. Spike holds his hand out, reaching for the bottom rope as Akira tries to pull his leg out. Just inches away, Spike literally dives for the ropes… …AND MISSES! …But his hand ends up underneath the rope, which technically is a rope break! Referee Harry calls for Akira to break the hold, which he does. "Spike Jenkins BARELY making it to the ropes and breaking free!” says Francis. “Akira almost advanced to the second round of the Cold Front Classic right there!” Akira rolls backwards onto his feet and stands up. Spike uses the bottom rope to pull himself towards the outside of the ring, but Akira grabs him by the ankle and pulls him into the center! "Akira looks ready to finish Spike off!" He grabs Spike by his long hair and pulls him up onto his feet, quickly kneeing Jenkins in the gut to double him over. Grabbing a front face lock, Akira uses his thumb to cut across his throat, signaling for the Brainbuster! "How is Akira going to hit the brainbuster with a bad neck?" asks King. "I don't know if this is a smart move, but if he hits it, it may be the end of this match!" Akira hooks Spike up for a suplex and lifts the Hollywood Superstar up into the air for the Brainbuster! …But Akira's neck quickly gives out and Jenkins falls to his feet behind the Divine Wind. Collapsing to one knee, Spike instantly grabs Akira with a rear waistlock, pulls himself up to a full stance and lifts Kaibatsu up into the air… …AND DROPS HIM ONTO THE BACK OF HIS HEAD WITH A BELLY-TO-BACK SUPLEX! "DANGEROUSSSSSAHHHHHHH!" shouts Mak Francis. The crowd groans in unison as Spike holds onto a bridge for dear life, hoping his leg won't give out from under him…like it did when he first won the Cruiserweight Title from Austin Sly. ONE!!!!! TWO!!!! THREE!!!! NO!!! AKIRA KICKS OUT! "Akira kicks out of that HUGE suplex by half a second!" Akira kicks out, rolling backwards and onto his stomach…but Spike is not going to let it end there. He quickly floats over, tying up Akira's arm behind his neck; he locks his fingers around Akira’s face and pulls back with the modified Crossface! "Strong Island Stretch! Spike has been working on Akira's neck the whole match and now has him locked in the Strong Island Stretch!" shouts Francis. "But he is near the ropes! Damn it, Spike! You've been a ring general all night with staying near the ropes when Akira hits his big moves and now you put him in a submission NEAR the ropes?" shouts the King. "Spike is just trying to do anything to put Akira away." Akira shrieks in agony, as he now begins to claw towards the ropes. Shifting his body around, his feet just barely reach the ropes…not quite, but he is able to graze them. Akira uses his free hand to tear at Spike's…and he is able to break the grip Spike has by tearing at the bad arm of Jenkins! But Spike refuses to break the hold and with his good arm that is still gripping the mask, he sticks his fingers through the slit in Akira's mask and fishhooks the Divine Wind! "Fishhooks are illegal, damn it!" cries Francis. Akira, now in even more pain, pushes himself back, getting his foot on the bottom rope and forcing Spike to break the hold! Spike releases the hold and crawls away, grabbing at his arm. "Both men are throwing everything they have at the other! Spike Jenkins is going to limitless bounds to advance in this tournament!" Spike forces himself to his feet, trying to work the kinks out of his shoulder. He limps over towards Akira, who also begins to show weakness as he clutches the back of his neck. Spike grabs him by his mask and pulls him up to his feet… …But Akira has a burst of energy and pushes Spike backwards… …spins around… …AND FINALLY CONNECTS WITH THE ROARING ELBOW! "Roaring Elbow by Akira!" Spike, stunned by the blow, stumbles back. Before he can fall to the mat, Akira grabs him in a ¾ headlock and turn towards the corner. "Akira is going for The Divine Wind! If he hits this, the match will be over for sure!" Akira, with Spike locked behind him, charges towards the ropes…but before they make it a quarter of the way, Spike pushes Akira off of him and into the corner… …But Akira leaps up onto the middle ropes! The crowd awes at the momentum and cat-like reflexes of the Divine Wind as he springboards back towards Jenkins… …Who is waiting for him and catches him underneath the jaw with a European Uppercut!! "European Uppercut, catching Akira coming off the middle rope!" shouts Mak. Akira, stunned by the strike, stumbles back, but is quickly pulled into a front face lock. Spike yells out for the Brainbuster, planning to hit his and finish Akira for good! "Spike is going for his own brainbuster," says King, "Maybe he'll have better luck than Akira!" Spike hooks Akira for a suplex, lifting him straight into the air…but Akira moves his body around and falls behind Jenkins, landing on his feet. Startled, Spike goes to turn around, but Akira cuts him off…but chopping down on Spike's injured right arm! Spike yelps in pain, as Akira steps in front of him, grabs him in a ¾ headlock, charges towards the ropes, springboards off the top rope and flips in mid-air… …DRIVING SPIKE JENKINS INTO THE MAT WITH THE DIVINE WIND! "AKIRA HIT THE DIVINE WIND! IT'S ALL OVER!" shouts Mak in excitement! The crowd buzzes as Akira floats over into a lateral press, hooking the leg for the cover! ONE!!!!!!! TWO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! THREE!!!!!!!!!!!! NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!! SPIKE JENKINS GRABS THE BOTTOM ROPE!!!!!! "Spike grabbed the bottom rope?" questions King whose mouth just hit the ground. "I…WOW!" "I don't know how he did it, but Spike Jenkins is still in this thing!" Akira sits up, looking at the referee and questions the call. Spike crawls towards the ropes. Akira gets to his feet, grabs Spike by the ankle and tries to pull him towards the center of the ring…but Spike refuses to let go of the bottom rope! "He is holding onto it for dear life!" Akira is finally able to pull Spike off of the ropes and drags him into the center of the ring. He grabs Jenkins by the hair and pulls him up to his feet. With Spike nearly out on his feet, Akira grabs the right arm and tries to bring Spike down with another Fujiwara! Spike tries to push Kaibatsu off, but Akira refuses to let go. Both men doubled over, they fight for control of the armbar. "If Akira gets Spike in the fujiwara armbar again, this match will be over!” "Spike has been using his ring awareness to dominate this match…there has to be something he can do!" Instead of falling onto his face, Spike rolls forward onto his back. Still holding onto Akira's arm, he twists his body around underneath his standing opponent. Finally in position, Spike lifts his legs into the air, locking them around Akira's arm and bringing him to the mat with an arm scissors! "What the…" Not sure of what to do, Akira tries to pull away towards the ropes, but he gets caught in the one thing Spike has been catching him with all night… …a cravate! "HANGMAN'S CLUTCH! THE CRAVATE WITH THE ARMBAR!" "ANOTHER cravate?" Akira now realizes he is in trouble as Spike pulls back on the neck. He tries to struggle to get to the ropes, but with his arm trapped underneath both his and Jenkins' body weight, he doesn't have the option of moving around much. His neck is already on the verge of snapping… And he knows his opponent won't stop until it does snap… *TAP TAP TAP* "SPIKE JENKINS ADVANCES IN THE COLD FRONT CLASSIC!" *DING DING DING* Spike releases the hold and rolls over onto his stomach. The referee raises his arm in the air, as SWF Lockdown goes to a commercial break.