chirs3

Jakeykins vs. Hawkeypoo TBEI.

FIVE… FOUR… THREE… TWO… ONE… *BOOM! BOOM! BOOM! BANG! BANG! BUH-BUH-BUH-BOOOM!* “YEEEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!” “Welcome to SWF Storm, coming to you from New Orleans, Louisiana!” Mak Francis hollers above the crowd noise, “it’s Thursday night and we have not just a Tag Title match but a World Heavyweight Title match tonight!” “The outcome of one is predictable, the outcome of the other unimportant,” King sighs. “There’s no way Revolution Zero are walking out of here without the Tag Titles, and really, out of Dangerous and Clark… well, Clark’s probably the lesser of two evils,” he concludes, “but that’s a hell of a thing to say.” “Be that as it may,” Francis says with long-suffering patience, “first up tonight we have-” Every light in the arena hits full. The Smarktron whites out. “…ah, shit.” “COME AND HAVE A GO IF YOU THINK YER ‘ARD ENOUGH!” “COME AND HAVE A GO IF YOU THINK YER ‘ARD ENOUGH!” The rolling bassline of ‘The Gush’ by Raging Speedhorns starts to ooze out of the speakers, and the Smarktron quickly fades down to black. As it does so jagged white letters flash up a familiar slogan, one word at a time: ‘PREPARE TO BE PROVED WRONG…’ The chords rings out; the Smarktron shows Toxxic get knocked from the top rope to the floor by a Nathaniel Kibagami springboard enzuigiri… get taken from the top rope to the mat with a Super Mark Of The Beast by Gabriel Drake… get chokeslammed out of the Clusterfuck by Janus… then it changes to show him taking Mike Van Siclen off a balcony and through a table with the Stephens Shock Syndrome, the shot starting to strobe and intercut with a picture of his own grinning face, the devastating landing timed to coincide with the- *BOOOM!* -stagewide explosion of red pyro that announces the arrival of the SWF’s premier straight-edger just as the main riff kicks in! And through the flame and smoke… “TOXX-IC SUCKS!” …Stables Title in one hand… “TOXX-IC SUCKS!” …Tag Belt fasted over the red England away shirt in honour of his country’s upcoming European Championship qualifiers which they’d better bloody win… “TOXX-IC SUCKS!” …come the leader of the Revolution. “Ladies and gentlemen, making his way to the ring at this time,” Funyon booms, “he is one-half of the SWF Tag Team Champions and the leader of SWF Stable Champions Revolution Zero; he is the ‘Straight-Edge Sensation’… TOXXXXXXXXXXXX-IIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIC!!” “BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!” Toxxic rolls into the ring, comes up to his feet and beckons to Funyon for the microphone. The veteran ring announcer hands it over, then departs at the gesture of a black-nailed thumb. “TOXX-IC SUCKS!” “TOXX-IC SUCKS!” “OK, it seems to me that we have a small problem,” Toxxic says. “Yeah, you’re in the ring and you have a microphone,” Mak snipes uncharitably. “You see people, a couple of weeks ago I came out here and I threw down a challenge,” Toxxic says, unaware of the Franchise’s comment, “a challenge to be in the biggest main event of the greatest show in the history of this company. A main event that would rock the world, potentially redefine the state of the company, and save us all from having to watch some two-bit World Title match between a couple of jackmonkeys. A challenge to compete in WarGames.” “TOXX-IC SUCKS!” “TOXX-IC SUCKS!” “I was very clear,” Toxxic continues, “I stated that we just needed five men or women to step up and sign up, and we’d be ready to rumble. Anyone from the company, at all. I have to say,” the straight-edger remarks, “my reputation being what it is, I was anticipating a good response. Now, after that I came out to this very ring and beat the tar out of Jay Hawke, simply for the hell of it…” “I think you’ll find it was closer than that!” Mak snaps. “You’re right, but don’t interrupt,” King chides him. “…and last week, myself and my companions took the Stables titles from Chris Raynor.” “BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!” “Yes,” Toxxic confirms, raising his voice above the din, “we beat him down, pinned him in about three seconds of actual competition and in doing so pissed over the last vestiges of the Midnight Carnival and their legacy, a stable apparently dear to the hearts of so many of you. And after all that, I haven’t had a name signed on that contract, I haven’t had a challenge, hell,” the Englishman laughs in disbelief, “I haven’t so much as received an abusive text message!” “WHAT’S YOUR NUM-BER?” “WHAT’S YOUR NUM-BER?” “Cute,” Toxxic grins at the crowd, “but here’s the point that you rednecks need to be considering; after all we’ve said and done not one person wanted to step up against us, from which I can only draw two conclusions. A) everyone in the company actually really likes us and don’t have a problem with anything we’re doing, or B) everyone in the company is a complete wuss and no-one’s got the balls to stand up to us.” “BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!” “Take your pick,” Toxxic shrugs, “but when it comes down to it the end result is the same. I’ve got no takers for WarGames, and I’m not going to sit around and twiddle my thumbs on the biggest Pay-Per-View event in history. “Sorry folks, but WarGames is off.” “…BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!” “It’s off!?” Mak Francis exclaims in disbelief, “that’s… surely not!” “Well, do you want to step up?” King asks. “If no-one’s brave enough to get into the ring with Toxxic, Sly and Jakey then there can’t be a match, can there?” “But that’s not the problem,” Toxxic says, having let the boos die down a little, “the problem is that now my plan to actually give Genesis some self-esteem has gone the way of Karl Rove, we’re left with the unpalatable prospect of Genesis being main-evented by Alan Clark. Now I’ll admit I was hoping that the mid-term shot might relieve us of that inconvenience… but instead, it just gave us the alternative of Johnny Dangerous,” the Englishman finishes with a sigh. “YEEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!” “JOHN-NY!” “JOHN-NY!” “Folks, barring a sudden suspension or an extremely fortuitous meteor strike, one way or the other Alan Clark or Johnny Dangerous will be wrestling for the World Title at Genesis VIII,” Toxxic says sadly. “I don’t like it anymore than you do, but what can I do?” A familiar lopsided grin appears on his face. “…well, what I can do is make sure that at least one person in that match is worthy of being there.” “TOXX-IC SUCKS!” “TOXX-IC SUCKS!” “Ah hell,” Mak says, being as quick on the uptake as the crowd, “here we go. I knew it’d come down to this in the end!” “The SWF has not seen me in a World Title match since December last year,” Toxxic states, “I haven’t even put myself in a position to get a World Title match since Clusterfuck! But desperate times call for desperate measures, so to give all of you a main event worth watching,” he continues, whirling around and jabbing a black-nailed finger at the crowd, “to give you a chance to see me compete and win in my third World Title match at Genesis, to give you the chance to see the first-ever five-time World Champion crowned…” he slows for a second, and the grin widens. “…and, depending on the outcome of tonight’s main event, to give thoroughly embarrass Johnny Dangerous on the biggest show of the year for the second time in his life… yes, I’m throwing my name into the hat again.” “BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!” “Because you see,” Toxxic declares, “I just beat Jay Hawke, again. And I’ve beaten Spike Jenkins more times than I care to remember, and Johnny Dangerous has basically taken over from Dace Night-” “YEEEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!” “-as my personal bitch.” “BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!” “Clark? Now Clark I’ll admit, we’re even,” Toxxic concedes, “but the important thing to remember is that unlike earlier this year sunshine, if we meet at Genesis you’ve got something I actually want, so if you try some fancy-schmancy submission again I’ll rip yer arms out their bloody sockets mate. In fact the only person whom I cannot claim to have regularly humiliated is Michael Alexander,” the Englishman concludes. “You seem like a pretty decent wrestler… if a little full of yourself…” “I can’t believe he can say that with a straight face,” Mak grunts, “shouldn’t he drown in that much irony?” “…but if you honestly believe that the fact you can use long words will help you beat me, go talk to Scott Pretzler,” Toxxic advises. “End of the day people, you’ve got a bunch of jumped-up journeymen hanging around the World Title like the DEA around Paris Hilton, and thinking that just because there’s nobody better around it makes them good. “Well, uh-uh.” “TOXX-IC SUCKS!” “TOXX-IC SUCKS!” “Time’s up, boys,” Toxxic grins easily, “I’m afraid that party is most definitely over. Alan, Johnny; sort it out amongst yourselves tonight. Take that title belt home, coo over the nameplate, shine it up real nice and put it on your mantlepiece because I don’t care which one of you buggers wins, you’ve only got until Genesis to enjoy it, and if you think you’ve got a hope of walking out of there with that belt around your waist…” Toxxic pauses for a moment to take a deep and gleeful breath. “…PREPARE TO BE PROVED WRONG!” “BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!” “TOXX-IC SUCKS!” “TOXX-IC SUCKS!” And as the crowd noise rises around him Toxxic drops the microphone to the mat and rolls out under the bottom rope, heading up the entrance ramp towards the back. FADE OUT

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=- The Smartmarks Wrestling Federation presents... SWF STOOOOORM! Live, Thursday, September 6th, from the New Orleans Arena in New Orleans, Looooweeezeiana! (7pm PST, 10pm EST; check local listings) (Send all promos/marked matches to chirs3) -=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=- THE MAIN EVENT - SWF WORLD CHAMPIONSHIP MATCH Alan Clark vs. Johnny Dangerous --> I could go on and on about the history between these two, but the fact of the matter is something slightly larger is at stake this time around. There's pride, and yes, there's even the World Title, but even then, there's something arguably greater than that: The winner of this match is Main Eventing Genesis. May the best man win. One exceptionally talented rookie and one incredibly determined vet do battle for the right to face our World Champion in one week's time! Rules: Singles. -=-=-=- SWF TAG TEAM CHAMPIONSHIP MATCH Revolution Zero (Toxxic and Austin Sly) vs. The Winston Churchill Experience (Jimmy the Doom and Fulminatus) --> The members of Revolution Zero have taken so much from the fed - the Cruiserweight Title, the Tag Team Titles, the Stables Titles, even the joy of Christmas. Tonight, whether through charity or fine print in the contract, they've decided (or been compelled) to give back to the fed, in the form of a shot at their tag team gold! Winston Churchillmon` - I choose you! Rules: Standard tag. -=-=-=- SINGLES MATCH The Fabulous Jakey vs. "The Dean of Professional Wrestling" Jay Hawke --> Must not say Big Battel... must not say Big Battel... Rules: Singles. -=-=-=-

RING! RING! RING! Sir Marvelous flips open his cell phone. “You got Anderson.” “…” “Well,” Marvelous drawls with a sinister grin, “if it isn’t my favorite ex-client! How can I help you, Mister LeCroix?” “…” “You want to do what?” “…” “Why sure, Dominic,” replies Anderson, “I’ll be happy to represent you interests in this matter… but it’s going to cost you.” “…” “Well, I’ve been looking to enhance Mister Bruner’s visibility within the fed,” says Marvelous. “You know, a few high profile opponents, maybe a title shot…” “…” “Don’t you worry about that, young man,” says Anderson. “Just let me do what I do best; I’ll call you with the good news.” With that, he turns to look at his bodyguard and smiles. “I told you this was going to be a good day.” *** TEN MINUTES LATER *** “He wants to do what?” asks an incredulous Tom Flesher. “I said that he wants to…” “No, no,” interrupts Flesher wearily, “I heard you the first time… But why?” “My client feels that he should be allowed to compete with his shin guards on,” explains Anderson, “and he cites several examples of previous wrestlers that have competed with shin guards on.” “Yeah,” replies Flesher, “but none of those guys used their legs as much as Wildchild does… I really don’t think it’s a good idea to allow him to wrestle with those things on.” “Mister Flesher, I’d like for you to reconsider,” says Anderson. “You’ve got too much on your plate to worry about something like this.” Tom rolls his eyes. “Like what?” “Oh, I don’t know… Genesis, perhaps?” Flesher’s eyes narrow. “What the hell are you getting at, Anderson?” “Well, as you know, as a result of the actions of your little English terrorist, Toxxic, my client suffered a Grade-2 concussion at the last pay-per-view, and has been at home convalescing since then,” says Anderson slyly. “I may want to advise my client to continue to convalesce until after Genesis… you know, for health reasons… And I’d hate to think of how hard it will be to promote your biggest show of the year without your number two face being there.” “Okay, let’s get one thing straight, you little worm,” snarls Tom. “I don’t respond well to extortion. You really don’t want to get on my bad side.” “Why, Mister Flesher,” says Marvelous appeasingly, “I would never presume to do such a thing; I’m just doing my part to help ensure that you’re able to put on the best show possible here at Genesis.” “Yeah right,” replies Flesher. “I’ll think it over, alright… I’ll be in touch.” As soon as Flesher hears Anderson hangs up, he throws his phone across the room. “SON OF A BITCH!”

We needs us a Genesis poster. Fifty gold dabloons to the winner!

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=- The Smartmarks Wrestling Federation presents... SWF STOOOOORM! Live, Thursday, September 6th, from the New Orleans Arena in New Orleans, Looooweeezeiana! (7pm PST, 10pm EST; check local listings) (Send all promos/marked matches to chirs3) -=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=- THE MAIN EVENT - SWF WORLD CHAMPIONSHIP MATCH Alan Clark vs. Johnny Dangerous --> I could go on and on about the history between these two, but the fact of the matter is something slightly larger is at stake this time around. There's pride, and yes, there's even the World Title, but even then, there's something arguably greater than that: The winner of this match is Main Eventing Genesis. May the best man win. One exceptionally talented rookie and one incredibly determined vet do battle for the right to face our World Champion in one week's time! Rules: Singles. Word Limit: 6000 Send to: chirs3 -=-=-=- SWF TAG TEAM CHAMPIONSHIP MATCH Revolution Zero (Toxxic and Austin Sly) vs. The Winston Churchill Experience (Jimmy the Doom and Fulminatus) --> The members of Revolution Zero have taken so much from the fed - the Cruiserweight Title, the Tag Team Titles, the Stables Titles, even the joy of Christmas. Tonight, whether through charity or fine print in the contract, they've decided (or been compelled) to give back to the fed, in the form of a shot at their tag team gold! Winston Churchillmon` - I choose you! Rules: Standard tag. Word Limit: 5500 Send to: Ace309 -=-=-=- SINGLES MATCH The Fabulous Jakey vs. "The Dean of Professional Wrestling" Jay Hawke --> Must not say Big Battel... must not say Big Battel... Rules: Singles. Word Limit: 5000 Send to: chirs3 -=-=-=- Some requests off and unsure statuses (statii?) = small card, HOWEVER: certain writers should check their PM boxes, as one to two matches may yet appear relatively soon once details get worked out. And if those with unsure statuses (statii?) wish to request additions, please do. Stay tuned for partial excitement!

The Sommet Center lights up as SWF Storm returns from its final commercial break, and the Nashville fans are literally buzzing with anticipation for tonight’s main event! “Finally,” Mak Francis begins as the cameras settle on the two announcers, “it’s just about time for the match we’ve been waiting for all evening. Not only is this match a first time encounter between Johnny Dangerous and Michael Alexander, but for the winner it’s a guaranteed shot at the World Heavyweight Championship on next weeks edition of Storm! Are you ready for this one, King?” “Most definitely,” Suicide King confirms. “Under normal circumstances we’d be hailing this as a classic David versus Goliath story – an upstart rookie with early success taking on an experienced man of the squared circle.” “How is this one any different?” Mak asks. “Because this Goliath—Johnny Dangerous—isn’t the Goliath of old,” the Gambling Man explains. “Dangerous is a shell of his former self and his lack of success in recent times confirms that theory. Now he’s nothing more than a washed up, has been with no chance of even defeating a new comer to the SWF.” *DING DING DING!!!* The sounding of the timekeeper’s bell draws all eyes to the ring. Inside the ring announcer waits patiently for the noise of the fans to subside some, and then he begins. “Ladies and gentlemen,” Funyon bellows over the anxious crowd. “The following match is your MAIN EVENT~ and it is scheduled for one fall to crown the number one contender to the SWF World Heavyweight Championship!” “YEEEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHH!!” The fans pop magnificently for the announcement. When they finally settle down, leaving the ring announcer just enough room to be heard, he continues; “Introducing first… ” he says, before letting his voice trail off as “Dread Rock” by Paul Oakenfold comes over the speakers and the crowd sounds off with an substantial jeer for the South Carolina native! “BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!” On the giant screen, a video montage of Michael Alexander’s previous in-ring exploits interspersed with Da Vinci’s “Vitruvian Man” highlighting the areas that the various moves depicted injured on his opponents. “From Greenville, South Carolina,” Funyon continues, “and weighing in tonight at two hundred-twenty one pounds; he is the Mad Scientist of the Mat… MIIIIICHAAAAAEEEEEEL AAAAAALEXAAAAAAANDEEEEEERRR!!” Michael Alexander leisurely strolls out onto the stage and makes his way to ringside. “Michael Alexander doesn’t look too worried about this match or his opponent for tonight,” observes Francis. “Hopefully he’s not buying into your nonsense and overlooking his opponent.” “That’s because the man is self-confidence in his abilities,” King answers. “A million years ago David fearlessly headed into battle to challenge a great giant. Alexander broadcasts that same type of confidence on his way to the fight.” Alexander heads into the ring and takes to a corner for a last minute stretch as he waits for the arrival of his next victim. “Dread Rock” fades out and then the lights dim the Mission Impossible theme starts ringing out around the arena! Through all the vibrant lights and the cloud of smoke comes the Barracuda, silhouetted by the strobes with occasional flashes reflecting off his high-tech shades as he turns his head from side-to-side, looking out at his crowd! “YEEEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHH!!” “And his opponent,” bellows Funyon. “From Las Vegas, Nevada, and weighing in tonight at two hundred and twenty five pounds; he is… JOHNNY ‘THE BARRACUDAAAA’ DAAAAAAANNGEEEERROOOOUUUUSSSS!” “After months of waiting and a failed attempt to make it back to the main event,” Mak notes as the Barracuda heads down the walkway, towards the ring. “He won’t let a Cinderella story unfold under his watch.” Johnny slides into the ring and then heads right towards Alexander! “Someone seems to be a little anxious to get this one started,” says Francis. Ronald ‘Red’ Herrington, the official for this bout, is quick to call for the bell. There won’t be a chance for these two to men to turn their smack-talk into a smack-down before the start of this match! *DING DING DING!!* Alexander and Dangerous stand nose-to-nose, exchanging words that are only allowed in rated ‘R’ features, while the noise of the crowd swells in anticipation for the first blows. “Right now the tension between these two superstars is so thick you could cut it with a knife,” the Franchise says. “Though they haven’t had any previous altercations, the chance for one of these two superstars to become World Champion is the reason for the hostility between them.” Taking some initiative, Alexander shoves both hands into the Barracuda’s chest, knocking the secret agent several steps back! “OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOHH!!” The fans hum at the boldness of the Mad Scientist of the Mat while Dangerous narrows his eyes. Finally, Dangerous reaches out, looking to begin this match with a textbook collar-and-elbow, which is like music to Alexander’s ears. He eagerly reaches out to accept the offer, half beside himself over the fact that Dangerous would so willingly play to his game- “It’s a bait and switch!” King shouts. “Look out!” -but Dangerous suddenly switches gears and sends a quick roundhouse kick into Alexander’s gut and then drops down to fluidly move into a Russian leg sweep to put the Mad Scientist flat on his back! “YEEEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHH!!” Moving quickly, Johnny floats over Alexander and applies a lateral press as Herrington drops down to count for: ONE! …and nothing more as Alexander easily raises the shoulder up, and then moves up to his feet. Johnny meets him at a vertical base and all the Mad Scientist can do is glare at his reflection on the Barracuda’s shades before getting hammered in the jaw with a right hook! *CRACK!* Alexander stumbles back as Johnny steps in and delivers a second shot, this time knocking the Mad Scientist into a corner post. Dangerous grabs his opponent by the arm and whips him diagonally across the ring, into the opposite post! Michael crunches into the steel structure and then staggers out of the corner, gingerly rubbing his chest as Johnny races towards him with a lariat- “I was expecting Dangerous to have some success against this relative rookie,” says Mak, “but right now the Barracuda is dominating.” -but Michael quickly ducks Dangerous’ arm, rolls behind the Barracuda, and when Johnny spins around to find his opponent is when Alexander lights up his face with a plain old bitch slap! *SMACK!* “I don’t think I’ve ever witnessed someone’s domination put to a halt by a bitch slap before,” King snorts. Mak folds his arms and glares at his cackling announcing partner. The fans are taken back once more by Alexander’s boldness and the secret agent’s high-tech shades go skidding across the mat! As expected, the bitch slap only infuriates the Barracuda, and when he snaps his head back towards Alexander you can just see the fireballs igniting in his eyes! Likewise, Alexander’s eyes get a new look as well - they widen with surprise while he mouths “Ut-oh”… and then he tucks his tail and heads out of dodge! “The Mad Scientist is running for his life! I don’t think this is how David defeated Goliath,” Mak suggests as King rolls his eyes in response. However, Johnny’s just not going to let Alexander head outside and grab a quick breather; Johnny grabs Alexander by his leg, preventing him from leaving the ring and he drags the Mad Scientist back in. Dangerous grabs around the Evil Genius’ waist to drag him to his feet, but Alexander starts wildly swinging his elbow back! One shot connects right with Johnny’s temple, but he answers back with a clubbing fist to the back of Alexander’s spine! Having subdued Michael for at least one second is more than enough time to execute a German suplex, and the Barracuda sends him overhead then down to the mat! Wisely, Dangerous covers - ONE! - but that’s all Alexander will give up just yet. Johnny rolls up to his knees and Alexander greets him with a boot to the face to send Johnny tumbling backwards! “No that’s how you show someone their offense is weak,” King says. Dangerous rolls to his feet but is still too stunned to stop Alexander from grabbing his head from behind, walking him towards the corner turnbuckle, and then slamming his face into the top of the post! “BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!” Johnny’s head bounces off the turnbuckle like a tennis ball. He stumbles away from the corner, turning around on one foot before Alexander grabs Johnny by his arm and whips him across the ring, into the opposite corner, and then chases after Dangerous. Johnny slams into the steel post back-first and then Alexander follows in a second afterwards, sandwiching the Barracuda between himself and the turnbuckle. Michael peels himself off his opponent and then begins stomping Johnny anywhere and everywhere that his boot can find an opening. “I’d like to point out this moment for the next time you decide to whine about Dangerous unfairly getting passed over for a title shot,” says King. “Here he is, a former two-time World Champion, a veteran of the SWF, and he can’t even get the duke over a man who is by all accounts still a rookie.” Mak holds up his finger like a man of great intuition and says; “On any given Wednesday-” “Shut up!” snaps King. “You know I don’t subscribe to that bullshit! Like I was saying, Johnny being the experienced vet that he is should have this match wrapped up, but it’s exactly the opposite. Now I’m not saying Alexander isn’t good; he is obviously better than 90% of our talent but this just proves the point that Johnny Dangerous is nothing more than a washed up, has been.” “It’s still early,” Francis argues as the Mad Scientist continues to pummel Johnny with stomps, forcing Dangerous into a seated position against the post. Herrington is forced to start a count to disqualify the rookie while the Franchise continues his thoughts; “Alexander is far from having won against the Barracuda just yet. Besides, I didn’t see you making the same comparisons when Alexander was beating Spike Jenkins?” “That’s because Spike is a never was,” King solemnly answers. “In fact, it’d be who of him to replace that ‘heartless’ slogan on his sweatshirt with one that reads ‘worthless’.” “ONE!” “TWO!” “THREE!” “FOUR!” Slightly short of getting himself disqualified, Alexander ceases his attack and moves away from Johnny, leaving the secret agent slumped in the corner in a world of hurt. The fans rise up with a solid boo for the Mad Scientist, which only seems to make him even more proud of his progress. Alexander stops as he comes across Johnny’s shades lying on the mat, picks them up, and puts them on. “Oh, Lord,” Francis mutters. As one would expect, the crowd decides to let Alexander know exactly how much he sucks with this action, and it only gets worse when he decides to strike a quick martial arts pose. “Ha! It’s a spitting image of Dangerous,” King snickers. It gets worse though; Alexander puts his back against the ropes like he were trying to conceal himself against a wall and then he looks to his left, and then his right and then deftly moves back towards his opponent, picking up some steam as he looks to put another boot into his opponent- *CRACK!* “YEEEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHH!!” -but Johnny quickly raises his foot up and Alexander charges head-first into it! Once more the shades go flying, this time completely out of the ring, and Michael is knocked down to his hands a knees. “This is exactly what separates these two,” Mak explains. “Alexander is taking way too much time to try and insult the Barracuda when he should have continued his attack. A veteran like Johnny would never engage in such acts, especially when there is so much at stake here.” “Like Johnny has never squandered an opportunity by playing to the crowd,” King responds. “Alexander knows exactly what’s at stake and when he has the match in hand as well as he did he can take the time to mock someone so easy to mock like Dangerous.” “But now he doesn’t have the match in hand,” Mak returns. King just waves him off. Johnny gets on his feet and grabs his opponent then steps forward, whipping Alexander across the ring… but the Mad Scientist digs his feet into the canvas and reverses, sending the Barracuda across the ring instead! Johnny hits the ropes and rebounds towards Michael, who quickly snatches Dangerous off the mat then puts him back down into the canvas with a powerslam! Michael covers for: ONE! TWO! …and Johnny kicks! Alexander leaves Dangerous face up on the mat and heads for the ropes, hits them, rockets back towards Johnny and then leaps up for a body press. At the apex of Michael’s jump Johnny suddenly pulls his legs up. All Alexander can do is widen his eyes in horror as he comes crashing down, chest-first into the Barracuda’s knees! “YEEEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHH!!” “Alexander was trying to squeeze too much in there and it cost him,” Mak notes. “Another rookie mistake.” “What are you going to do? Point out every mishap and blame it on Alexander’s lack of experience?” “Would you rather I just blame it on his lack of ability?” “Are you kidding me, Mak? Alexander has all the talent in the world!” “Than it’s a rookie mistake,” Mak responds. King sits in disgust but he knows that his partner is right… for once. Alexander sits on his knees with his head down in the mat as he cradles his chest, clearly in pain. Dangerous finally has enough time to gather up his bearings and pulls himself up. Alexander gets to a vertical base as well, showing Dangerous that he can more than take a licking and keep on going. Michael stumbles towards Johnny and that’s when Dangerous slams a fist into the side of Alexander’s jaw! Alexander is knocked back but then he quickly charges back in with a wild swing, which is easily ducked by Johnny before he drills Michael with another punch to the face! “Dangerous is starting to come alive!” Mak shouts as the crowd starts to get riled up for the Barracuda. Again, Alexander refuses to go down and he comes back with another swing. Like before Johnny ducks down to avoid the blast, but this time he fluidly moves into a roundhouse kick, catching his opponent in the gut with it for the second time tonight! “Doesn’t he have any more tricks up his sleeve than that!?” King hollers. The wind is forced out of Alexander’s lungs and he doubles over, clenching his abdomen as Johnny backs into the ropes and charges forward- *CRACK!* -and Dangerous sends a sharp kick into Michael’s lowered head. It doesn’t knock the mad Scientist out like have the fan base would have hoped, or even down to the canvas, but it does knock his senses right out of his skull! Alexander staggers a few loopy steps to one side, and then back the other way before Dangerous rushes to the ropes near Michael. Johnny leaps to the middle rope and then springboards off, back towards Alexander and crashes into Michael with a springboard body press! “YEEEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHH!!” Johnny stays right on top of the Evil Genius, hooking the leg as he rolls Michael onto his shoulders for the pin. Herrington quickly drops down and counts: ONE! TWO! NO!! Alexander kicks out after two! Johnny pulls Alexander up by his arm and then whips him across the ring. He ducks down in anticipation of the Evil Genius’ return off the ropes, but he might as well have just drawn a huge target on top of his dome because that’s exactly what it looks like to the Mad Scientist. Alexander suddenly kicks Johnny right in his head, putting a damper on whatever the Barracuda was planning, and knocking Johnny is a stunned upright position. Johnny retreats, dazedly stumbling away from Alexander but the Evil Genius isn’t about to just let his opponent off the hook. He swoops in from behind with a chop block to the back of Dangerous’ knee to send Johnny spilling to the mat. “And there you have it,” King says. “Alexander must feel like he has this match in full control as he’s now starting to drill down on Johnny’s leg for his Gordian Knot submission.” Alexander grabs Johnny by his leg to try and roll him over with a spinning toe hold and tear Dangerous’ knee to pieces, but Johnny resist and fights to stay on his back. Suddenly, Dangerous reaches out and grabs Alexander in a front face lock and then rolls back with a modified small package, grabbing onto Michael’s legs to secure the pin! “YEEEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHH!!” “He’s got him!” shouts Mak. Herrington dives to count as Alexander frantically kicks to try and escape. ONE! TWO! NO!! Alexander escapes just after the two-count! He rolls himself away from Dangerous, rather frustrated after letting someone with far inferior mat skills to his almost beat him with it. “Close call for Alexander,” Francis repeats. “It was almost like he forgot that he’s not the only one in the SWF with any wrestling knowledge; he can’t expect to just have his way with everyone.” “Johnny knows nothing outside of punch, kick and MI Slam,” King refutes. “I’d be surprised if Johnny even knows the difference between a wristlock and a wristwatch.” Alexander pounds his fist into the canvas before getting up to his feet. He knows it’s time to get serious if he wants to have a shot at the World Championship and so he stands back up with a little more determination than beforehand – a little more focus. “If the point of Johnny’s feeble roll up was to send a wake up call to Alexander than it looks like that did the trick,” says King. “It’s time to show the world that the Mad Scientist is for real!” “I think you might be seriously underestimating what Johnny’s capable of. He’s faced some of the best ring technicians in the SWF before and won.” “Maybe so, but he’s never faced this ring technician!” Alexander scrambles to his feet and charges his now standing opponent, but like Francis noted Johnny’s faced these types before and a good way to knock the starch out of these charges is with a well placed spinning heel kick to the face. Dangerous does just that but the Mad Scientist ducks down to avoid it and Johnny’s momentum carries him off balance. *WHACK!* *WHACK!* Alexander sends some quick kicks into Dangerous’ leg, “-and right now Alexander is utilizing some of that extensive mixed martial arts background on the Barracuda’s leg,” Francis notes. “Dangerous is going to need to play it a little bit safer than this.” Johnny howls in pain as he reaches down at his leg, which only enticed Alexander to deliver some more kicks to that very same leg! *WHACK!* *WHACK!* Michael nails Johnny twice more before grabbing Dangerous and whipping him towards the ropes. Johnny rebounds and Alexander drops down and catches Johnny with a quick drop toe hold to send Johnny face first into the mat. “BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!” “MICH-AEL SUCKS!” “MICH-AEL SUCKS!” The crowd voices their disapproval, but when Alexander hears this kind of reaction he knows he’s doing his job, and doing it well. “Now this is the kind of work I was expecting to see out of Alexander,” beams King. Michael quickly grabs the same leg of Johnny’s that he was previously kicking and drapes it over his neck, and then forces down on Johnny’s shin to lock in a stretch muffler. Johnny howls in agony while the crowd continues to verbally assault the Evil Genius. “I don’t believe I’ve seen Alexander use a stretch muffler before,” Mak says astoundingly. “Well now you’ve seen it,” King hisses, “and you’re seeing the end of Dangerous’ 85659509th attempt at a World title shot – thank God!” Herrington drops down and asks Johnny if he submits but that’s the last thing Dangerous wants to do right now. He answers with a profanity laced refusal and begins to reach out for the ropes, which are a good stretch away from him actually grabbing hold of them… “This might not be over,” Mak reports. “If Johnny can grab those ropes he’ll force a break!” “Who the hell do you think he is, Plastic Man?” Plastic Man or just an ordinary Barracuda; neither matters as much as Johnny reaching for safety. Seeing the determination on the secret agent’s face, the crowd starts to chant in support of Johnny: “LET’S GO JOHNNY!” “LET’S GO JOHNNY!” Dangerous reaches out for the ropes, his fingers lightly grazing the twill fibers of the red rope… “LET’S GO JOHNNY!” “LET’S GO JOHNNY!” Finally, Dangerous uses his free foot and digs his toe into the canvas and with a mighty effort he manages to push himself just a little bit closer… “He’s got it!” Mak exclaims as Dangerous grabs hold of the rope! “YEEEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHH!!” Herrington barks at Alexander for the break, but the Mad Scientist refuses to let go, forcing the referee to begin a count: ONE! TWO! THREE! FOUR! …and Alexander lets go right after four, but his effort still gets him a heated round of boos! “We saw Alexander milking every penny against Jimmy last week,” Mak recalls, “and he follows that up here tonight.” “That’s called good strategy,” King replies. “If he can cause four more seconds of pain to Johnny than it’s four seconds spent worthwhile.” Alexander isn’t so keen on just walking away at this point, so after releasing Johnny he reaches back down and grabs Dangerous leg once more! “LET’S GO JOHNNY!” “LET’S GO JOHNNY!” However, Johnny isn’t going to simply give up his leg again and he rolls onto his back to avoid it, but the Mad Scientist simply won’t let go! He’s hell bent on getting the muffler locked back in and he fights with Johnny’s leg to try and roll him back onto his stomach! “The only problem with this is Alexander is straddling directly over Johnny’s midsection, leaving his back exposed to Johnny’s upper body and his front exposed to the Barracuda’s lower half with the way he’s stooped over like that,” Mak reports. “He might be unintentionally leaving himself wide open.” “Will you just shut up!?” King shouts, cocking his hand back. “Quit trying to coach him!” “Stop getting so defensive! It’s not like he can here me!” However, Mak’s thoughts are the same as the one’s running through Johnny’s mind. Moving quickly, Johnny reaches around Alexander’s legs and grabs on, and when Michael suddenly stops fighting with Dangerous you can almost see the light bulb of realization going off over his head. Unfortunately, Johnny moves quick enough to still catch the rookie; Dangerous reaches up with his legs and hooks underneath Alexander’s arms and then pulls him down with his legs. The momentum of Alexander rolling forward pulls Dangerous up, and suddenly- “YEEEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHH!!” -Johnny has Alexander pinned to the mat with the strangest form of a victory roll possible! “Dangerous has him again!” shouts Francis. “Talk about some improvisational skills – this might be over!” Herrington drops to count as the crowd counts along with him for: ONE!! TWO!!! THHHHHHHHHRRRRRRRRRRRRREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!!!!!!!!!!!!! NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! “BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!” The entire building is stunned when Herrington jumps up and waves off the fall. Having plainly seen Alexander unable to escape the pin nobody can believe it until Herrington points towards Alexander’s hand grabbing hold of the rope. “Excellent thinking by Michael Alexander,” King praises, wiping the beads of sweat from his forehead. “He knew he couldn’t kick out—Dangerous had too much leverage—so he wisely grabbed the rope to stop it!” “I can’t argue that,” Francis adds. “However, it was another very close call for Alexander.” Johnny is obviously angered by this outcome and he slings Alexander’s legs to the mat like they were some kind of rag doll as he stands up, opting to try and grab some momentum away from his opponent. He limps towards Alexander, and even though the Mad Scientist is down on all fours he sees the Barracuda coming… and also sees the limp. A sick smile creeps across his face; he now knows without a shadow of a doubt that this so called vet is about to fall. “Alexander better stop watching Johnny and make a move,” Mak warns as the Mad Scientist seems to be lost in a world of thought. Nonetheless, Alexander seems to snap out of his trance when Dangerous approaches and he reaches for that leg again, which Johnny is quite protective of and so he jumps up with his good leg and then comes down, knee-first across the back of Alexander’s head! *BAM!* Alexander is seeing stars when the Barracuda mounts him from behind and starts wailing away with his fist! Herrington barks at him to stop and then starts a count out on the Barracuda! ONE! TWO! THREE! FOUR! Finally, Johnny stops his assault. He might be mad as hell but he’s not going to let it ruin his shot at gold. “Oh, what was that!?” cries King. “Apparently Dangerous isn’t too good to push the limits as well.” “When push comes to shove…” Francis begins and then trails off. Shaking his head he realizes it’s not worth the argument. Johnny gets up to a thunderous cheer from the Tennessee crowd and drags Alexander up to a vertical base with him… and then spins around and drills Michael with an absolutely brutal spinning back fist! *SMACK!* Michael is sent reeling and falls into the ropes. Before he can pull himself off under his own power, Dangerous grabs Alexander by the arm and sends him across the ring with an Irish whip! Alexander hits the far ropes and bounces back towards Johnny, who quickly sends a stiff kick into Michael’s ribs on the return, doubling the Mad Scientist over! The crowd moves to the edge of their seats as Dangerous moves in under Alexander and drags him onto his shoulders in a fireman’s carry, they know where this is leading and they howl in excitement! “Spinal Explosion~!” Mak calls in anticipation. “But will he be able to get it off!?” As Dangerous lifts up a sharp pain shoots through his wounded leg, causing him to cry out in pain. He’s not about to let it put a stop in his plan though; wisely shifting all his weight and the weight of Michael Alexander onto his good leg gives a momentary reprieve of pain, hopefully it’ll be enough to execute his move. Apparently it is, all it takes is a good push off for Johnny to somersault forward—the weight of Alexander carries him over for the most part – *BAM!* - and Dangerous drills Alexander, back-first into the canvas! “YEEEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHH!!” Johnny leans back into a cover, not out of over confidence, but because right now it’s the least painful to do. He’s hoping it’ll be enough. ONE!! TWO!! THR-NO!!! Alexander just barely gets a shoulder off the canvas before three! “He’s not out of the running yet,” says King. “All he has to do is get the momentum back and it’ll be an easy grab for victory. You saw how difficult it was for Dangerous to get the Spinal Explosion off. I-I-I think it’s a safe bet to say Alexander has effectively eliminated most off Johnny’s offense.” “You sure seem to be sweating the washed up Barracuda more than expected,” Mak returns, which gets a glare from King. Johnny pulls Alexander up again. Backing Michael into the ropes, Johnny then whips Alexander to the opposite end of the ring. Johnny readies himself for the return but when the Mad Scientist goes into the ropes he frantically hooks his arms around the top rope to keep himself from going anywhere! Alexander quickly charges towards Dangerous looking for a running elbow, but the Barracuda manages to dodge out of the way! Michael stops himself and turns back around – *THHH-WACK!* - right into Shotei palmstrike, right between the eyes from the Barracuda! Alexander shudders from the hit and stumbles a few steps to the side when Johnny spins around on his good leg and lifts his other foot into the Mad Scientist’s gut, but Alexander catches the secret agent’s foot! Johnny realizes his mistake but it’s already too late – Alexander slings Dangerous’ leg around, “-and there’s Alexander’s inverted Dragon Screw!” Mak shouts as Johnny spirals into the canvas. “This usually leads into one of Alexander’s favorite holds – the Gordian Knot!” “Damn right! I told you this wasn’t over!” The fans rise up in shock – they know exactly where this one is headed and they can’t bear the thought of actually seeing it take place! Alexander reaches down and grabs at the Barracuda’s leg, but Johnny isn’t so keen to just letting the Evil Genius wrap him up and end this match. Johnny bucks and jerks his leg back causing more of a struggle to lock in the Gordian Knot than what Alexander had hoped for, and the struggle gets the fans roaring! “LET’S GO, JOHN-NY!” “LET’S GO, JOHN-NY!” “The Barracuda is fighting for his survival here,” Francis says. “He knows the match will be over if Alexander locks in that move – Dangerous has taken too much abuse to that leg!” Johnny claws his way to the ropes and grabs on. Even if Alexander can get the move locked in the Barracuda has secured a rope break, but the Evil Genius doesn’t give a damn if Johnny has the ropes – he came for a Gordian Knot and he’s going to get one! Alexander completes the move and with Johnny clinging to the ropes for dear life he has the Gordian Knot locked in! “BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!” “What’s he doing!?” Herrington calls for the break even before the move is completed, so when Alexander pays him no mind and continues he goes for yet another count! ONE! TWO! THREE! FOUR! FI- - Alexander releases the hold at the last possible moment, “-and he’s really trying to see how far he can test this referee,” Mak says heatedly. Herrington pushes past Alexander to check on Dangerous’ condition, but Alexander can’t afford such courteous notions right now. He has Johnny where he want’s him and he intends to end this! Alexander pulls Johnny up to his feet by his head, but Dangerous shoves the Mad Scientist away! Desperate to fend off his attacker, Johnny fires off a shot into Alexander’s head – *CRACK!* “YEEEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHH!!” - but Alexander is just as quick to return fire! *CRACK!* “BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!” *CRACK-CRACK!* Two more shots to the head has Dangerous apparently reeling – one good, stiff shot should end any fight the Barracuda has left inside him, so Alexander takes off across the ring to make it happen! “Alexander’s looking for something big here – something to finish off the Barracuda with,” King says happily. “But he nearly had him already!” Mak returns. “There’s no need to try and do something fancy, especially when he really doesn’t have a foothold on the match right now!” “All he needs is a little bit!” Hitting the far ropes, Alexander rockets back off of them, picking up some serious steam as he rushes back towards his opponent, but Johnny drops to the mat forcing the Mad Scientist to float over him! Alexander continues to the opposite end of the ring, hitting those ropes and bouncing back, but before he can get off whatever move he’s planning the Barracuda springs up and snatches the Evil Genius right off the mat, using Alexander’s own momentum against him and the strength of his uninjured leg to carry the Mad Scientist over head and down into the mat with a- “EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEM-IIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII-” Mak shouts. *SLAM!* “OUT OF NOWHERE!” hollers Mak, and the crowd explodes as Alexander is drilled into the mat! Moving quickly, Johnny scrambles back over his opponent and covers as Herrington drops down. Dangerous knows this rookie nearly had his number – Goliath nearly fell tonight, Cinderella nearly rode away in her pumpkin carriage - ONE!! That’s one less fairytale to be told - TWO!!! And now it’s time to end the second one - THHHHHHHHHRRRRRRRRRRRRREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!!!!!!!!!!!!! *DING DING DING!!* “It’s over!” shouts Mak. “Johnny Dangerous has won and now he’ll have a shot at Alan Clark next week!” Johnny’s theme pounds from pillar to post and the crowd roars in delight. Herrington helps Johnny up and then raises his arm triumphantly. “The winner of this match by pinfall,” bellows Funyon, “and the number one contender to the SWF World Heavyweight Championship; JOHNNY ‘THE BARRACUDA’ DAAAAAAAANNGGGEEEEEEEERROOOUUUSSSSS!!” After a little effort, Johnny climbs the corner post and raises his arm to the crowd. Finally, he can feel proud that he’s secured a shot at Alan Clark and the World Heavyweight Championship. Now all he has to do is win it, and he calls attention to that moment as he pantomimes the title belt around his waist… As we: FADE OUT.

Clark vs. GM

“Ladies and gentlemen, the following contest is a handicap match,” Funyon booms, looking down at the index card he holds with some disbelief, “and is for the SWF Stables Titles! Introducing first…” Abruptly every light in the arena hits full, and the Smarktron whites out. For a few seconds there is only the sound of a needle on vinyl. Then: “WEL-WEL-W-W-WELCOME TO THE REVOLUTION!” The skittering, epileptic riff of Rage Against The Machine’s ‘Know Your Enemy’ starts to ring out around the Sommet Center to a chorus of boos, as the Smarktron is filled with a rotating ‘REV-0’ logo interspersed with clips of the members in action, while spotlights sweep the crowd. The song starts to build up until without warning the main riff kicks in… and three blasts of red pyro rip up from the soundstage! *BAM!* *BAM!* *BAM!* ‘KNOW YOUR ENEMY!’ Zack de la Rocha’s voice roars out and out come four familiar figures as Funyon takes up the introduction once more: “…accompanied to the ring by ‘The Punk-Rock Princess’ Amy Stephens, at a combined weight of 518lbs; the team of the SWF Cruiserweight Champion The Fabulous Jakey and the SWF Tag Team Champions Austin Sly and Toxxic… REVOLUUUUUUUUUUUUU-TION… ZERRRRRRRRRRRRR-OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!” “BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!” Toxxic leads the way, trenchcoat flapping behind him as the light glints off the Tag Team gold at his waist. Austin Sly comes next, rolling his shoulders in preparation, while the Fabulous Jakey pauses to exchange a few pleasantries with a couple of girls who are standing at the barriers on the entrance ramp, even allowing one to reach over and stroke his… title. Meanwhile Amy Stephens brings up the rear, swallowing lager as usual. “King, what we’re about to see is in all likelihood going to be a massacre,” Mak Francis says, “are you really happy with seeing the last vestige of the Midnight Carnival having the Stables Titles taken from him by this gang of thugs?” “Eh, the Carnival wasn’t worth a spit without me in it anyway,” King shrugs, “don’t get me wrong, Raynor’s a nice guy as long as you haven’t previously broken his neck or anything, but he’s been a bit pathetic since he came back.” Revolution Zero are now approaching the ring… and suddenly turn around and start to head back up the ramp as Isle of Q’s ‘Rubberneck’ hits. The brief strobe lighting for the opening drums shows the quartet starting to position themselves around the entrance position, and then as the stage gets fully illuminated it shows them clearly poised to attack. “Oh what, three-on-one isn’t enough?” Mak asks despairingly, “they’ve got to ambush him as well?” “They haven’t got to,” King corrects him, “they choose to.” The singing comes in… and Chris Raynor comes out, at full speed, and slams his fist into Toxxic’s face! “YEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!” “Old habits die hard Mak!” King shouts, “Raynor used to be a booker, he got used to watching the monitors backstage - it’s dollars to donuts he snuck a peak before coming out and saw Revolution Zero waiting for him!” Toxxic goes down (easy tiger) as the big man puts all his power into the punch, and Raynor then turns around and clotheslines Jakey nearly out of his boots! “LET’S GO RAY-NOR!” “LET’S GO RAY-NOR!” *CRUNCH!* “BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!” …but Austin Sly puts a stop to proceedings by delivering a chop block to the Baton Rouge native that takes his vertical base out, and then the Sly One and Amy Stephens simply start stomping a mudhole in the one remaining Stables Champion! “YOU ALL SUCK!” “YOU ALL SUCK!” Toxxic gets back to his feet, nursing his jaw and with a face like thunder, and joins in! Jakey is a little slower to get back up, but soon enough The Fabulous One is ready to go as well and between then the four Revolutionaries haul the battered Chris Raynor up to his feet and start to drag him towards the ring. “YOU ALL SUCK!” “YOU ALL SUCK!” Raynor tries once more; with a desperate surge he manages to shrug his assailants off, then grabs Sly and Jakey by the head and bangs their skulls together! *CRACK!* “YEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!” …but Toxxic is ready this time, and whips out a small black canister that he sprays into Raynor’s face. “BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!” “AEROSOL EQUALISER!” Mak shouts, “although how the hell Toxxic thought anything needed equalising here, I don’t know!” Raynor staggers back, only to find Amy Stephens’ foot coming the other way but heading for his groin. The big man doubles over and the Stephens siblings grabs him and propel him the rest of the way to the ring, while Sly and Jakey start to pick themselves up and follow. “YOU ALL SUCK!” “YOU ALL SUCK!” The Stephenses roll Raynor under the ropes, then Toxxic calls to Sly who shakes his head to clear it and heads for the ring. Amy stays outside but the other three enter the ring… *DING-DING-DING!* …and Brian Warner, with no other option, calls for the bell to officially start the match. Revolution Zero bring Raynor up to something approaching a vertical base, then Sly hooks him up for a suplex. The Sly One hoists, lifting Raynor into the air, and brings his feet down onto Toxxic’s shoulders; then he snaps sideways and Toxxic drops down as they whirl Raynor to the mat with the Welcome To The Revolution. *BANG!* Austin Sly makes the cover. One. Two. Three. *DING-DING-DING!* “BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!” “Ladies and gentlemen, here are your winners,” Funyon declares, hardly having even needed to leave the ring, and never having had the time to do a proper introduction for Raynor, “and NEW~ SWF Stables Champions… REVOLUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUU-TION… ZERRRRRRRRRRRR-OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!” “Well, that was pointless,” Mak says in disgust, “Toxxic and company didn’t even want to give us a match to watch!” “Pathetic, more like,” King sniffs, “Tom won’t be pleased, Raynor just can’t do it anymore.” The Stables Titles are handed to Revolution Zero by a reluctant Brian Warner; the quartet don’t even bother to celebrate but instead exit the ring and head back up the entrance ramp, as we FADE OUT

Spike vs. Kibs TBEI.

"Ladies and gentlemen, this contest is the..." Funyon checks his cards, "...'Oh the Whiskey Ain't Workin' Anymore Match' for the SWF Hardcore Gamers Championship! And the rules are as follow..." Funyon checks his cards. "You know, when Funyon is this confused over rules, it's always a bad sign." sighs Mak. "There will be no disqualifications, no count-outs, traditional hardcore rules. However, after either champion or challenger records a nearfall, they must BOTH take a shot of this bottle of 100 proof Southern Comfort, proudly supplied from the mobile drinks cabinet of Mr. Tom Flesher." Referee Mark Hebner displays the bottle like a Price Is Right prize. As he does so, “Aneurysm” by Nirvana (instrumental only) begins and blue pyro sparks rain down before a burst goes off along the outside of the entrance ramp. Danny Dagda steps through the sparks, absorbing the jeers from the crowd with a big smile on his face. Pointing to his shirt, which simply reads 'BEER' on the front, Dagda struts down towards the ring. "Introducing first, the challenger! From Newark, New Jersey... he weighs in tonight at two hundred and ninety eight pounds... DDAAAAAAAAAANNYYYYYYYYYY... DDAAAAAAAAAAAAAAGGDDAAAAAAAAAA!!!!" "BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!" Rolling into the ring, Dagda snatches the bottle away from referee Hebner and raises it in the air like his own personal trophy and a definat cry of "LET'S GET WASTED!" A few of the already half-cut fans cheer in agreement, most just boo Dagda for being such an ass. "Well, the rules may not but at least the crux of this match explains itself. Landon Maddix has been put into this match by Commissioner Tom Flesher, after trying to have a little too much fun at his expence last week. And by coincidence, it happens to be a match that favours the challenger heavily." "No kidding." smirks King. "I mean, come on, Dagda drinks with Amy Stephens all the time. I doubt there's many guys who could keep up with them, Landon Maddix being the absolute least likely. And I include women, referees, backstage announcers, ring crew, any young children the guys may have brought with them to the show..." "Their own children." "It's worrying you felt the need to clarify that." Dagda is convinced to give the booze back and goes to his corner... "REACH OUT AND TOUCH FAITH!" The lights dim, alternating between complete blackout and really frikkin' bright as "Personal Jesus" by Marilyn Manson hits and brings the fans to their feet. From behind the curtain steps Megan Skye, heralding the arrival of Landon who stops at the top of the ramp and thrusting his hands out to his side to cheers. The lights stop alternating but stay dimmed as Landon walks down the aisle, head held high in spite of the situation he's in. "And, introducing his opponent! Accompanied to the ring by MEGAN SKYE! From Huron, South Dakota by way of Madrid, Spain... weighing in at two hundred, eight pounds... he is the reigning SWF HARDCORE GAMERS CHAMPION... LANDON "LA CUCARACHA" MMMMMAAAAAAAAAAAADDIIIIIIXXXXXXXX!!!!" "YYYEEEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!" Landon leaps to the apron, looking out at the crowd as Megan climbs the steps. Megan holds open the ropes and Landon bounds into the ring, spinning himself into the centre of the ring HBK style and posing with Megan. "Oh, he's all smiles now, but I give it four... no, three nearfalls before Landon's over here professing his love for you while he takes a whizz up against our desk. And trust me Mak, when that happens, I will be a mere memory my friend." Producing a milk carton from an inside pocket of his jacket, Maddix downs it before getting himself ready for action. The attempts to line his stomach earn Landon an amused look from Dagda, the resulting milk moustache amusement from... well, everyone. "Got moron?" "Oh, you're a riot." groans Mak, wishing he had a shot in front of him right now. It might not knock King out, but a glass to the face might quiet him down a little. *DINGDINGDING!* As Mak drifts off into that daydream, the bell sounds and we are ready to go. Maddix wipes the milk from his upper lip and skips out of the corner, offering a lock-up to Dagda. Inexplicably, he lets Danny initiate contact... and gets thrown straight on his ass. Maddix looks a little embarrassed, even though being thrown down by a 6'7, 298 pounder is no real shame. He loses his focus though, allowing Dagda to quickly dive on top with a cover... ONE! Quick kickout by Landon. Rushing back to his feet, Landon prepares to throw a kick at the bigman... as Mark Hebner steps in, seperating the two and calling for the shotglasses. "You know, the idea of the shots is to be a punishment in this match," Mak thinks aloud, awaking from his dream, "but I think that aspect is lost on Dagda. He just wants a drink!" Landon tries to protest the loose usage of the term 'nearfall' but the letter of the law stats that it's time to down-in-one. The process is a little too slow for Dagda and he wrenches the bottle away from Hebner, pouring himself the shot and throwing it down his neck gladly. The next shot is then presented to Maddix, who looks decidedly unsure. "Not sure Landon is a shots kinda guy." "He seems more the Appletini type to me." sneers King. Finally, the Champion accepts his fate and takes the shot from referee Hebner. Landon prepares to down it... but stops as Dagda starts to make a move for him. Hebner quickly moves Dagda away... ...allowing Landon to throw the shot over his shoulder! "YYEEEEEEAAAAAHHHHHHH!" "Hey..." King says, before the anger has a chance to set in. "HEY! Come on!" "I think Landon missed the target..." Or not. As Hebner turns back around, Landon sucks through his teeth and passes the empty shotglass back, bullshitting away about it being "good stuff". Landon then catches Dagda napping a jumps up, popping him with a forearm strike. And another. A third... fourth... five forearms it takes to back Dagda into the ropes, Landon setting him up with an irish whip. However, the larger Dagda is able to reverse the momentum pretty easily, sending The Next Generation for the ride and knocking him into the middle of next week with a heavy shoulder tackle on the rebound! Cover... ONE! Kickout by Landon again... but again, Hebner sees this as the signal to get the drinks. "You can see Dagda's tactic here," points out Mak, "string together a bunch of nearfalls and force Landon into taking more shots than he can handle as quickly as possible. But, that only works if Landon is actually drinking the shots..." "Which is what he SHOULD be doing! Those are the rules." "And if he doesn't follow them? Can he even be disqualified?" Dagda again wastes no time downing his shot, while Landon stalls for time waiting for a distraction to arise. This time the challenger is making no moves though and Maddix's attempts to get Megan to run interference with just 'subtle' body language aren't working either. "CHUG!" "CHUG!" "CHUG!" "CHUG!" "Why are they chanting 'chug'?" asks King. "They do realise they're supposed to be on Maddix's side, right?" "Hey, it's a party, whatthefuckever!" With no other option, Landon finally throws the shot... most of it ending up down his front rather than in his mouth. The best he can muster is a "my bad" to Hebner, who contemplates making him taking the shot again. But the impatient Dagda takes the decision out of his hands by charging at La Cucaracha, throwing up his boot and LEVELLING Maddix in the face with a hard Yakuza Kick!! "See, given the choice, I'd have taken the shot. Maybe that's just me." Dagda makes another lateral press... ONE! TWO! Kickout! No extra prompting needed, Dagda motions for Hebner to hurry it up with the pouring and downs his third shot in quick succession. So far he doesn't seem to be showing too many ill effects, a seasoned drinked for sure. The same can't be said for Landon who, while not drunk is certainly punch drunk. Beginning to sit up, Landon tries to pull himself up... ...and is stopped by Dagda, who grabs Landon's shot and FORCES it down his throat! "BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!" "Reminds me of my date last night." King thinks aloud. "What?" "I mean, now the fun begins! Which also reminds me of my date last night come to think of it." Pulling Landon back up, Dagda grabs hold of the wrist and draws in La Cucaracha, burying the knee to the abdomen. Potent alcoholic shot + knee in gut does not = good times. Maddix keels over in pain, allowing Dagda to club him in the spine with a forearm, the force of which drops the Hardcore Champion to the mat in one fair swoop. Turning away from the action, Dagda sleazily gives Megan 'the eye' and invits her into the ring, although whether that could be classed as a side-effect of the shots or not is debatable. "Well, there's one positive for Megan. Apparantly alcohol makes her more attractive. Mak, got any booze on you?" With Maddix busy trying to wipe the taste of 100 proof from his mouth, the smiling Dagda backs off the ropes and tries to drop a big knee. He's a little too relaxed in doing so though, giving Maddix time to slide out of the way! Dagda's knee jams into the canvas and he rolls over in pain, while Landon makes a cover... "NO!" cries Megan... ONE! ...but it's too late. Dagda kicks out and Maddix realises his mistake. "One shot and already Landon's judgement is impaired. That doesn't bode well." "That's not the alcohol Mak, that's just Maddix being Maddix. God knows what he'll be like once it actually does kick in..." We may be about to find out, as Hardcastle watches the fourth shot of the match all the way down Landon's throat. Hilarity ensues as Maddix's throat suddenly burns red hot and his eyes bug out of his head. Dagda, holding his knee, quickly downs his shot too, but decides not to take the opportunity to attack from behind, instead pausing to enjoy the show Landon is making of himself. "You don't think he'll actually urinate on us, do you?" Mak begins to worry. "Well, in that chair he might mistake you for a toilet. I can't rule that possibility out entirely." Once Landon's throat cools down he shakes away the cobwebs, feeling a little drowsy all of a sudden. So he tries to shake the feeling away again... and stumbles a little bit, quickly grabbing the top rope and smiling sheepishly as he indicates he's okay. On the outside, Megan hides her face in shame. Maddix carefully walks himself away from the ropes now, Dagda waiting on him and throwing out a hand to goozle the Champion. But with only two of the four shots actually downed, the Champion still has enough about him to reach up and catch Double D with a quick Jawbreaker! "YYEEEEEAAAAAAHHHHHH!" Hope is raised for the Champion's fans, as he again attacks his towering challenger with a series of forearms. Four connects before Landon gets adventurous and runs off the ropes, looking for a final Flying Forearm. Dagda steps in though and catches Maddix in his arms with ease! Turning Maddix around, Dagda plants him with a slam, following it up with a kneedrop. "Oh, I think Dagda forgot about the knee for a second there." despairs King. Sure enough, Dagda limps back up and shakes out the knee which he jammed moments earlier. "The challenger, maybe not thinking too straight after four shots in a short period of time. I don't care how much of a heavyweight he is in the drinking stakes, under these hot lights and in a competitive environment like this, alcohol will take it's toll." "You know, we should book Toxxic and Spike in one of these matches." King interrupts, completely ignoring his partner's point. Dagda pulls Maddix to his feet, a little pre-occupied with his knee which allows Landon to fire off a quick kick to the hamstring. He wobbles a little after executing it, his base not so steady as usual. Landon connects with another forearm next, but gets shoved away by Dagda. Another wobble, but the ropes keep La Cucaracha standing and he rebounds... only to get Gorilla Pressed high overhead by Dagda... ...but he slips free and schoolboys the challenger up... ONE! TWO! NO! Landon curses the nearfall and in his eagerness to keep the momentum going, he downs the shot in a flash. Forgetting all about Dagda's requirement to drink to he then walks over, drags Dagda up by the head... and falls on his BUTT, giggling. "Uh-oh." "He's gone. Now the only question is, what kind of drunk is Maddix? Because if he's a sleepy drunk, this could be over pretty quick. Of course, if he's an amorous drunk... may God have mercy on us all." Back up, Dagda takes his fifth shot of the match, having to shake that one off a little bit. Back up too now is Maddix and he's recovered from his little stumble, throwing another forearm. Unfortunately, he throws it like a haymaker in round 10 of a boxing match and barely connects with Dagda what-so-ever. Dagda brushes it off and pushes Landon's arms away, giving him a base to grab one wrist and yank La Cucaracha forward into a Short Arm Lariat! Cover by Dagda... ONE! TWO! SHOULDER UP! "Dagda might want to start going easy on the pin attempts here." critiques Mak, as yet another shot is required. It's the sixth shot for Dagda which he takes like a man. Surprisingly, the same can be said for Landon now, the alcohol drawing out a sense of bravado to the surface. He downs the shot and throws up his dukes, ready for a fist-fight with Dagda... until of course he collapses in an unflattering heap. "Somewhere, Tom is loving this I'm sure." Mak says with just a hint of bitterness. "And you know the ironic thing? Tom's probably drunk more than Landon has in the course of this match and I bet he's still barely drowsy." Dagda collects Maddix back up to his feet, trying to do something with the unco-operative Champion who mumbles something under his breath about not wanting to get up for school. Which is kinda odd. But not really that much of a concern to Dagda, until Landon lets slip the word "Mommy" and gets kneed in the crotch for his trouble. "OOOOOOOOOOOOOHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!" Showing some effects of the alcohol now, Dagda mazes to the left a little on his way over to the right, where the timekeeper's table is. Dagda drunkenly yells at Funyon to move and grabs his chair, throwing it in the ring before threatening the timeless ring announcer. Just 'cause. In the ring, Maddix shimmies over to the ropes and pulls himself up with their assistance, resting in the corner. And when I mean resting, I mean on the verge of falling asleep. Infact Megan has to come over and start shaking him by the ankle as his head begins to rest on the top turnbuckle... ...into which Danny Dagda slams the steel chair, seconds after Maddix has stumbled out of the way!! Still holding his nether regions, Landon stumbles into the far ropes. They divert him back to Dagda, who has prepared another chairshot. But again Landon, by more luck than judgement, moves clear... *CLANG!* ..and Dagda strikes the ring ropes with the chair, REBOUNDING THE CHAIR INTO HIS OWN FACE!!! "YYYYYEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!" "Drunk or sober, that's gonna hurt." Mak helpfully points out. As Dagda goes down, Megan waves Maddix away from her and over to Dagda, telling him in no uncertain terms to go after the leg Dagda had injured earlier. But for once, Landon isn't listening. "Ya know... you... you are one boootifoo' woman, you know that?" Landon smiles, slurring his words and giving Megan a very lopsided wink. "I mean you... you juss... juss... you juss LA... LALALALALAAA, LALALAAALALAAA HEY! LALALAAAA..." Drunkenly breaking into a rendition of... well, God knows what to be honest, Landon tries to encourage everybody in the crowd to sing along. A few of the drunker fans who had stupidly decided to play along by downing beers when the wrestlers downed their shots, perhaps forgetting there's still like five matches on the show that they'll now be drunk as a newt during, try to join in. The rest just watch on, stunned. "This is... beyond words." struggles Mak, trying to say something. Thankfully, Landon ends his little ditty and motions for Megan to 'call him sometime' before stumbling his way back over to Dagda. The bigman is still down but beginning to sit up. At least, he was. Maddix picks up the dented steel chair and just lazily throws it right at Dagda's head... *CLANG!* ...and now, he's not beginning to sit up. "That could do it right there!" Mak calls. "But, I don't know if Maddix wants to risk another nearfall, he's on his last legs as it is." "Well, if he was smart, he'd..." King trails off mid-thought, watching confused as everyone does as Landon exits the ring and slowly starts to climb to the top rope. "...you know what, nevermind." Despairing of her man, Megan asks him (very sharply) what in the hell he's thinking. Landon just blows her a kiss though before steadying himself on the middle rope, re-steadying himself on the middle rope, then giving the signal for some sort of flip!? I dunno. It's something unwise though and Megan can barely watch as Maddix takes what seems an enternity to get his footing on the top rope. Once he finally does, he slowly stands. Before, with dozens of flashbulbs going off and necks craned up towards him, the Hardcore Champion steps off the top... ...does the laziest front flip in professional wrestling history... ...and misses Dagda by about four feet with a Somersault Legdrop!! "GGRRRRRRROOOOOOAAAAAANN!" "Uh, nobody home on the... uh, somersault attempt. That was... awkward." "Wait, did the fans actually just say 'GROAN'?" "...." Maddix lies flat on his back as Dagda begins to stir. Rolling over, he notices Landon down and looking for all the world like he's catching forty winks. And after clearing his head, the bigman crawls over and drapes an arm over the Hardcore Champ... ONE! TWO! "New Champ!" THR- NO!! LANDON'S FOOT FINDS IT'S WAY ONTO THE BOTTOM ROPE!! "YYYEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHH!!" "Damnit! Megan put his foot on the rope!" snaps King. "She had to have done!" Both men are struggling now, which makes the next step all the more unwelcome. Hebner pours out the next two shots from the nearing empty bottle of Southern Comfort and tries to hand them to the competitors. Only Dagda is compus mensus(??) enough to take his, downing shot number seven. Technically it's Landon's seventh too. And although he only really drank five and a half, he's got no idea what's going on, trying to hand the drink to the nearest cameraman. With the help of Hebner, Landon is brought to his feet and rested in the corner where he takes the shot. Hebner then signals for the match to continue, which is Dagda's cue to finish his run-up and charge from across the ring at Landon for an Avalanche... ...MISSES! Maddix stumbles out of the corner... *WHAM!* "OOOOOOOOOHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!" ...AND DRUNKENLY KOes HEBNER WITH A CRASH LANDON '05!!! "There goes the referee!" wails King. "What sort of a cheap move is that!?" "You really think Landon meant that?" Apparantely not, as he actually flips Hebner over and tries to make the cover on the referee. Over staggers Dagda, encouraged by Landon to make the count. And sure enough, Dagda drops down... ONE! "What the hell..." TWO! ... "Wait, I ain't a ref..." Realising his mistake, Dagda reaches out and punches Landon in the head! Dagda drags himself to his feet and forces Landon up with him too, now firmly back in wrestler mode as he gutwrenches the Champion and hoists him over his shoulder. Holding him for a second, Danny gains his balance and his bearings, before turning... ...AND DECIMATING LA CUCARACHA!!!! "BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!" "DECIMATION! Dagda with that sickening Piledriver variation, this one is over..." Dagda makes the cover... ...and looks confused to hear the sounds of cheering and not the sounds of counting. "...if not for the referee being knocked out, of course." Looking over, the blurry vision of Mark Hebner's facedown body comes into view and Dagda finally realises what's going on. Dagda crawls off of Landon and over to the referee, trying to wake him up. Surprisingly, shaking him violently doesn't do the trick. Who knew! "Dagda had the match won!" bemoans King, audibly punching the table. "See, this is why I hate wrestling!" "Oh pull yourself together. Dagda, trying to wake up Hebner here, he may be beginning to stir a little bit, I'm not sure. The opportunity may have gone for the challenger though, for the time being at least." With shaking not working, Dagda suddenly happens upon the bottle of Southern Comfort. With seemingly enough alcohol left in the bottle to pour over someone and wake them up, at least in Dagda's drunken mind, the challenger quickly unscrews the cap and pour... NO. Dagda stops short of actually dumping the contents on Hebner and instead, turns back to Landon. "BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!" "Oh boy..." "No disqualifications, referee down or not, which means Danny Dagda can do whatever he wants with that bottle. And that's not a comforting look in his eye King." "If that was supposed to be a pun, for shame." The only sober person around the ring at the moment, Megan realises she has to act and quickly jumps onto the apron to try and distract the Dagda. Unfortunately, she gets a little more than she bargained for. Because, after seven shots and a chair to the head, Danny Dagda is feeling frisky. Dagda swaggers over towards Megan, licking his finger and RUNNING A RING AROUND HIS NIPPLE, which Megan does her best to look un-disgusted by. "Oh yeah, lay it on her Danny! She wants you! We all do!" King encourages, before realising what he just said and shuddering. Dagda continues to put the moves on Ms. Skye and seems to be getting all the right signals back from her. So he chances his luck and PUCKERS UP, leaning in to plant a smacker on her lips... *SLAP!* "YYYYEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHH!!" ...AND GETS A SLAP PLANTED RIGHT ACROSS HIS JAW!! Dagda staggers and drops the bottle, perilously close to Landon. He's lucky that Maddix isn't totally with it though and nothing comes of it, to Megan's dismay. Shaking off the slap, Dagda points a threatening finger at Megan, throwing some drunken abuse her way before turning around to pull Landon back up... *SMAAAASH!!* ...ONLY TO FIND LANDON IS NOW 'WITH IT', ENOUGH AT LEAST TO SMASH THE BOTTLE OF SOUTHERN COMFORT OVER HIS CRANIUM!!!!! "YYYYEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!" Both men collapse in a heap, Landon on top of the pile... ...and staying there, as Hebner starts to come to his senses and sees the cover... ONE! TWO! "Oh come on, not like this..." THREEEE!!!! "YYYYEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHH!!" *DINGDINGDING!* "I hate wrestling." sulks King, as the fans behind and around him erupt. "Ladies and gentlemen, your winner of the match... and STILL SWF Hardcore Gamers Champion... LLLAAANDON... "LA CUCARACHA"... MMMMMMAAAAAADDIIIIIIXXXXXXXX!!!" As "Personal Jesus" strikes up again Megan rolls into the ring, dragging her sozzled man off of Dagda and out of the ring. Two hundred and eight pounds of deadweight is hard for even Megan to carry though and she lets Landon collapse in a heap on the arena floor while she collects his Hardcore Title. "Landon Maddix, still Hardcore Gamers Champion! I'll drink to that!" "How long have you been waiti..." "About a day and a half. Danny Dagda ended up paying the price for his love of the demon drink in the end and although he's destined for one hell of a hangover tommorrow morning, I'm sure Landon will be happy to endure it in the knowledge he's still Champion." Drunkenly or not, Landon palms off the title as Megan tries to hand it to him, using her to get back to his feet and as a crutch to stagger off to the back, mumbling that he's about to be sick any second. "You were saying." "...uh, well, I'm sure Landon is happy in the knowledge he got the last laugh on Tom Flesher." "For now, maybe. But we'll see. We'll all see." "Well said." As Landon pauses in the aisleway for a spot of dry-heaving, we thankfully... FADE OUT.

“Raynor.” Chris Raynor looks around. Four figures are approaching down the corridor, and old instincts make him casually rest his bag on the ground to free up both hands. This won’t be the last time he meets this crowd tonight. “Toxxic,” he nods cautiously to the man who’s spoken. “What can I do for you?” “Chris, it’s three-on-one tonight,” Toxxic says without any preamble. “I mean, I was half hoping that one or two of your old Carnie mates would show up, make it a bit of a fight… well, old Carnies, anyway,” he corrects himself, the realisation that maybe Raynor doesn’t have any old Carnie mates anymore beginning to dawn. Either that, or it was a cheap jibe, take your pick. “Anyway,” the Englishman continues, “I probably don’t need to tell you that you’re up against the Tag Champs and the Cruiserweight Champ, and you haven’t exactly made a splash since you’ve come back. Odds are, one of us could beat you by himself.” Raynor eyes Toxxic as the straight-edger smiles faintly. “Two of us would take you down, fast. Three? You’re gonna be mincemeat, sunshine. But that’s no fun, that’s not a challenge, there’s no point to it. Flesher can’t even be thinking to get a decent match out of this, he’s just set it up out of spite. So,” the grin widens, “I’ve never liked the bugger, so maybe we should spite him.” “What did you have in mind?” Raynor asks warily. “Simple,” Toxxic tells him, “hand over the Stables Titles. We won’t lay a finger on you. Same outcome, but it saves everyone a lot of hassle… well, it saves us a little hassle, and you a lot of pain,” he amends. “I’ve got no interest in beating you up just because the Superior Arse thinks it’s a good idea, but if the titles are on offer I don’t see why we shouldn’t have them since you’re not doing anything with them.” Raynor looks at him thoughtfully for a few seconds. Then he speaks. “Go to hell.” “I told you he’d say that,” Austin Sly mutters. “Actually, you said he’d tell us to go fuck ourselves,” the Fabulous Jakey puts in. “Well, it’s the same difference isn’t it?” “No way! You can’t say that you said he’d say something when he’s said something different!” the Cruiserweight Champion argues. “That’s totally…” “Are you sure?” Toxxic asks Raynor as Amy weighs into the debate behind him, “last chance.” “I’ll see you out there,” Chris says, picking up his bag and turning his back on the Englishman. Behind him the voice of Austin Sly rises above the hubbub. “Look, leaving aside the semantic niceties, it’s pretty fucking clear that…”

As Storm returns, the house lights dim across the board, and the blues-rock sounds of 'Blue on Black' by Kenny Wayne Shepard begins… "Welcome back to Storm, we have a big night, including the Hardcore Championship being defended against Danny Dagda and a World Heavyweight Championship Contender's Match, but we're gonna get things started with Jesse James Sanders versus Manson!" "I'm not one go give baseless rumors any play, especially where it concerns the Messiah, but where was he last week? I'm not one to give this any credibility, but there is talk of a falling out with his partner in Slaughterhouse/Five, Michael Alexander... not that I believe any of that, of course." "Well, Alexander did pin Landon Maddix and was chosen for this opportunity tonight, and with the way Manson holds a grudge, who knows." "If there is any truth to it, I'm sure Manson will take it upon himself to soothe things over." "Yeah, right." "Ladies and Gentlemen, the following is a singles bout scheduled for one fall! Introducing first, hailing from Lawrence, Kansas, and weighing in at two hundred and sixty-eight pounds… JESSE JAMES SAAAAAAAANNNDERS!" booms Funyon, as the crowd comes to their feet. "RRRRAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHH!" Sanders come out to a good response from the Nashville crowd, and with a small smile on his face, he heads to the ring, slapping hands along the way. He slides in and immediately the arena lights drop, cueing a guttural, distorted warbling from the speakers, as images of the cosmos interspersed with shots of Manson begin on the SmarkTron. "BBBBOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!" Then a final growl kicks 'Scientific Remote Viewing' by Cephalic Carnage into gear, as flashing strobes begin to pulse and spotlights roam the arena, while smoke pours out over the stage. Scenes of violence, wanton destruction, and Manson, whose eyes glow red with a maddening fury, as lightning crackles around his person, obviously due to edits, continue on the big screen. The curtain parts and out comes the disguised form of the Messiah, who begins making his way down to the ring amidst the jeer of the fans. "And his opponent, hailing from Denver, Colorado, and weighing in at two hundred and thirty pounds… MMMAAAAANNNNSOOOONNNNN!" He strides down the aisle in silence, the occasional clang and rattle of steel chains being the only sound coming from his person, as he keeps his eyes fixed on the ring. He slides into the ring, pulling out the crooked bat from beneath his cloak as he stands, but he's immediately halted by the referee, who forces him to discard the instrument. He steps back into his corner, dropping the bat over the top, then shedding the mask and cloak, placing both over the post, as Manson bolts from his corner. *DING DING!* "It should be a competitive one, and the question has to be, will Manson find some way to deal with Jesse's strength," speculates Mak, as Manson catches the unaware Sanders with a right hand. "AAAAAAAAH!" "YEEEEAARGH!" "AAAAAAAAH!" Yes, then Sanders drops to his knees, covering his face and screaming in terror. His eyes rolling back into his head, he suddenly stops yelping, as his arms drop and he looks up at the sky. Suddenly, the atmosphere around his person shatters, as an endless void appears! "What?!" "You know what this is, Mak! It's the return of... MANSONOSITY! "It... It looks like he's ripped open a hole in space... time, as it were. It's the very fabric of reality and all that we know that he's punched through!" "It's all he knows, Mak, and only he, for you can't comprehend it! Is he awesome, or what?!" In the blink of an eye, Sanders disappears into that infinitesimal nothingness... all that he ever was, gone in an instant. As quickly as it was pierced, that hole into the unknown closes, and it's over! Oh, God, is it ever over! *DING DING!* Manson ascends into the air, hovering for a moment before flying toward the back. Everyone bows their heads, praising his deed and offering reverence out of respect and fear, as we fade.

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=- The Smartmarks Wrestling Federation presents... SWF STOOOOORM! Live, Wednesday, August 29th, from the Sommet Center in Nashville, Tennessee! (7pm PST, 10pm EST; check local listings) (Send all promos/marked matches to chirs3) -=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=- THE MAIN EVENT - SWF WORLD CHAMPIONSHIP CONTENDERS MATCH Michael Alexander vs. Johnny Dangerous --> In recent weeks, Michael Alexander has beaten... oh, let's see here... something like EVERYONE EVER. Spike Jenkins, Landon Maddix, Jimmy the Doom - all top tier contenders in the SWF, and all of them have fallen before the Mad Scientist of the Mat. We've been searching for an opponent for Alan Clark's midterm defense, and Michael Alexander just may be it. If he can overcome one last hurdle. On the other side of this match is Johnny Dangerous - he fell short of his goal in the final International Championship match, and has been chomping at the bit ever since - in recent weeks, both his words and his actions have shown he won't be satisfied until he has Alan Clark's head on a platter! One exceptionally talented rookie and one incredibly determined vet do battle for the right to face our World Champion in one week's time! Rules: Singles. -=-=-=- SINGLES MATCH Alan Clark © vs. Ghost Machine --> I wonder - did Disney have anything to do with The Iron Giant? That guy wasn't a ghost, but he was definitely a machine, so that would be kind of a neat coincidence. To have the Disney Guy and... and a machine, you know... if... er... ... yeah. Rules: Singles. -=-=-=- SWF STABLES CHAMPIONSHIP MATCH - HANDICAP MATCH Revolution Zero (Toxxic, Austin Sly, The Fabulous Jakey) ©© vs. Chris Raynor © --> Tom Flesher is an asshole. Nevertheless, he claims Raynor renegged on the agreement made upon his return! And according to stupid technicalities and long forgotten fine print, Chris Raynor was - and still is - a holder of the long since retired Stables Title! As such, Tom is now forcing Raynor to put his one legit claim to fame on the line, against the single most dominant stable the SWF has seen in some time! Is Raynor's final entry in the record books about to be overwritten, or can he somewhow pull off a miracle win? Rules: Handicapzzzz. One man in for Rev-0 at a time. Be gentle. -=-=-=- SINGLES MATCH "Hollywood" Spike Jenkins vs. Nathaniel Kibagami --> Requestified. Rules: Singles. -=-=-=- Oh the Whiskey Ain't Workin' Anymore Match - Hardcore Championship Landon "La Cucaracha" Maddix © vs. Danny Dagda --> Landon Maddix had a little fun at Tom Flesher's expense last show, and while I think we can all agree that it was worth it now, I'm not sure if Landon will still think it was worth it after this match. Especially when you consider that Dagda outweighs Landon by a decent amount, and can therefore probably hold his liquor a little better. Rules: Hardcore, with a twist - after every near fall, both competitors must drink a shot of Southern Comfort (100 proof). -=-=-=- SINGLES MATCH MANSON vs. Jesse James Sanders © --> Editified. Rules: Singles. -=-=-=-

Some are extensions, some are not. So the show goes up tomorrow night. All writers have an additional 24 hours. If the suspense is killing you, I apologize, but the SWF won't be held liable for your untimely demise.

Make it so. Oh wait, that's my job.

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=- The Smartmarks Wrestling Federation presents... SWF STOOOOORM! Live, Wednesday, August 29th, from the Sommet Center in Nashville, Tennessee! (7pm PST, 10pm EST; check local listings) (Send all promos/marked matches to chirs3) -=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=- THE MAIN EVENT - SWF WORLD CHAMPIONSHIP CONTENDERS MATCH Michael Alexander vs. Johnny Dangerous --> In recent weeks, Michael Alexander has beaten... oh, let's see here... something like EVERYONE EVER. Spike Jenkins, Landon Maddix, Jimmy the Doom - all top tier contenders in the SWF, and all of them have fallen before the Mad Scientist of the Mat. We've been searching for an opponent for Alan Clark's midterm defense, and Michael Alexander just may be it. If he can overcome one last hurdle. On the other side of this match is Johnny Dangerous - he fell short of his goal in the final International Championship match, and has been chomping at the bit ever since - in recent weeks, both his words and his actions have shown he won't be satisfied until he has Alan Clark's head on a platter! One exceptionally talented rookie and one incredibly determined vet do battle for the right to face our World Champion in one week's time! Rules: Singles. Word Limit: 5500 Send to: chirs3 -=-=-=- SINGLES MATCH Alan Clark © vs. Ghost Machine --> I wonder - did Disney have anything to do with The Iron Giant? That guy wasn't a ghost, but he was definitely a machine, so that would be kind of a neat coincidence. To have the Disney Guy and... and a machine, you know... if... er... ... yeah. Rules: Singles. Word Limit: 5000 Send to: Sly -=-=-=- SWF STABLES CHAMPIONSHIP MATCH - HANDICAP MATCH Revolution Zero (Toxxic, Austin Sly, The Fabulous Jakey) ©© vs. Chris Raynor © --> Tom Flesher is an asshole. Nevertheless, he claims Raynor renegged on the agreement made upon his return! And according to stupid technicalities and long forgotten fine print, Chris Raynor was - and still is - a holder of the long since retired Stables Title! As such, Tom is now forcing Raynor to put his one legit claim to fame on the line, against the single most dominant stable the SWF has seen in some time! Is Raynor's final entry in the record books about to be overwritten, or can he somewhow pull off a miracle win? Rules: Handicapzzzz. One man in for Rev-0 at a time. Be gentle. Word Limit: 5000 Send to: Ace309 -=-=-=- SINGLES MATCH "Hollywood" Spike Jenkins vs. Nathaniel Kibagami --> Requestified. Rules: Singles. Word Limit: 5000 Send to: Ace309 -=-=-=- Oh the Whiskey Ain't Workin' Anymore Match - Hardcore Championship Landon "La Cucaracha" Maddix © vs. Danny Dagda --> Landon Maddix had a little fun at Tom Flesher's expense last show, and while I think we can all agree that it was worth it now, I'm not sure if Landon will still think it was worth it after this match. Especially when you consider that Dagda outweighs Landon by a decent amount, and can therefore probably hold his liquor a little better. Rules: Hardcore, with a twist - after every near fall, both competitors must drink a shot of Southern Comfort (100 proof). Word Limit: 5000 Send to: chirs3 -=-=-=- SINGLES MATCH MANSON vs. Jesse James Sanders © --> Editified. Rules: Singles. Word Limit: 4500 Send to: chirs3 -=-=-=- Looking for volunteer markers. Apply within. As usual, modifications/stips/blind adoration should be directed this way.

Give. I don't wanna accidentally book something that's supposed to wait, so lemme know whatcha got. If you've got nothing, let me know that too, and we can try to figger something out.

It's quiet... ... too quiet. Storm is off the air - has been for a little while - but usually the commish's work continues long after. Having gotten so used to working in six second bursts between one wrestler leaving his office and another one enterting, Tom Flesher finds himself at a loss at this thirty six minute stretch of silence. This calls for a drink. *knock knock knock* God damn it. "Come in." The door swings open to reveal Chris Raynor, looking somewhat less than pleased, holding a crumpled up piece of paper in his hands. A decent toss lands it in Tom's lap. "Explain." "Pretty pisspoor attempt at paper football, Chris." "What the hell did I do to deserve a handicap match next show?" "Oh, that?" Tom asks innocently as he unfolds the paper, to see the tentative card for the next show that had been posted. "That's easy," he says as he heads for the bar, deciding to have that drink after all. "You lied to me." "Excuse me?" "When I brought you back in, it was on the condition that you would make something happen in the tag team division. Have you?" "Come on, I-" "So you lied to me." "Who the hell do you expect me to tag with around here, Tom? Everyone who's not taken is either Doomtopian or crazy." "Redundant." "Cute." "And their being Doomtopian and or crazy isn't sufficient reason for you to break your obligation to me." A cold silence follows... granted, Tom's is only cold because of the nearby icebucket, but still... "Fine," Chris says, throwing his hands up. "Whatever." He turns to leave, but just as he reaches the door he turns back. "By the way, there's a typo on the card." "Hm?" "You added a Champion's © next to my name." "Oh, that's not a typo." "Sure thi-" Raynor starts to leave before it sinks in. "Wait, what?" "It's not a typo. You'll be defending your title in that Handicap match." "Uh... Tom? If you're starting to hallucinate, you may want to lay off the booze..." Tom leans down, digging around in one of his desk's drawers for a moment, before removing an old, tarnished, but still very recognizable belt from his desk, and tossing it to Raynor, whose eyes go wide. "... you've gotta be fucking kidding me." FADE OUT.

The crowd in the Charlotte Bobcats Arena roars as the cameras pan around the arena in anticipation of tonight’s main event. Mak Francis and the Suicide King are already getting into gear as the cameras focus on the ring containing the official for tonight’s main event, Sexton Hardcastle, awaits the start of the match. “Tonight’s main event will be the first singles contest between the longest reigning hardcore champion in the history of the SWF, Jimmy the Doom, and Michael Alexander, the arrogant technical savant trying to make a name for himself,” Mak explains. “You say that like it’s a bad thing, Francis…Michael Alexander has done nothing but impress since his first match. He’s taken down a former world champion and a current hardcore champion. And I can’t wait for him to continue his winning ways tonight, and put Jimmy out once and for all. I am sick of not being able to have sandwiches on the snack tables backstage, dammit!” Funyon enters the ring, microphone in hand, to earn his meager, yet somehow still overblown, paycheck. “Ladies and Gentlemen, welcome to tonight’s MMMMMMMMMMMMMAAAAAAAAAAAIN EEEEEVVENT!” The crowd roars in response, and Funyon milks this tiny bit of acclaim for all he’s worth. “First, now entering the ring, from Doomopolis, Doomtopia…” The lights in the arena drop except for minor accent lights along the ramp, and druids march out to line the stage and upper ramp. A chant drones out from them… “DOOM…DOOM…DOOM…” Funyon blares, “..weighing in at 230 pounds, JIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIMMMMMMMMMMYYY…the…DOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO !” They all raise their hands in seeming adoration and the chanting cuts off, to be replaced by Boots Randolph’s rendition of “Yakety Sax,” and the crowd explodes as Jimmy the Doom and Lois the Unethical march down to the ring. “YYYYYYYYYEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!” King snorts. “I still can’t believe this guy gets cheers! I know the fans are mostly idiots, but for MANSON’s sake, this guy can barely speak even the gibberish English he spouts and his claim to fame so far has been holding onto the hardcore title for about a year, then he lost it to Landon Maddix! What exactly is there to cheer about? Laughter I could understand…” “King, Jimmy is one-half of the most oddball yet entertaining tag team in the SWF right now, he always goes out there and gives 110%, and none of his matches are ever, ever boring. That’s what the fans are cheering for,” Mak declares. “The recent immigrant taking his part in the American Dream is a classic part of the wrestling business, from Ivan Putski to Antonino ‘Argentina’ Rocca…” King cuts him off. “Francis, what the heck does any of that have to do with Dusty Rhodes?” “King, I…” Mak gives up. “Absolutely nothing. Never mind. The point is the fans like what they like.” Jimmy climbs into the ring and Lois the Unethical takes a chair near the announce table, pulling out a half-knitted sweater and a set of knitting needles. The sax fades as Jimmy nods to referee and raises his hands to the crowd. “Dread Rock” by Paul Oakenfold begins to play, and the a video montage of Michael Alexander’s previous in-ring exploits interspersed with Da Vinci’s “Vitruvian Man” highlighting the areas that the various moves depicted injure on his opponents. The lights in the arena flicker in time with the Smarktron. Funyon pipes up with his introduction of Jimmy’s opponent. “And the opponent, from Greenville, South Carolina…weighing in at 221 pounds…the Mad Scientist of the Mat…MMMMMMMMMMMIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIICHAELLLLLLLL AAAAAAAAAAAAALLLLLLLLLLLLLLLEXXXXXXXXXAAAAAANDER!” Alexander steps out onto the stage, and the flicker lighting stops dead. He gazes out over the crowd, smirks, and makes his way to the ring, trash-talking to the crowd. The crowd responds in kind. “BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!” The Evil Genius rolls into the ring, taking up a position in his corner and stretching, now pointedly ignoring both the crowd and Jimmy. He smirks to himself as the music dies down. “They cheer for Jimmy the Doom and boo the best technical wrestler to come along in years…I don’t understand these people at all.” King throws up his hands in frustration. “Well, King, you can’t expect them to react any better to him than he does to them. Honestly, I think he enjoys jerking everyone’s chains a little,” Mak muses. “He goes out of his way to show contempt for just about everyone he encounters.” “Well, most of the people are cheering for Jimmy, so they’re obviously contemptible,” King replies smugly. Sexton Hardcastle calls for the bell! DING! DING! DING! Jimmy and Alexander collide in a collar and elbow tieup in the center of the ring. The Mad Scientist grabs Jimmy’s right wrist, shoots underneath and twists Jimmy into a hammerlock. Growling in frustration, Jimmy tries to reverse the hammerlock, but Alexander clips him with a drop toehold, and floats over into a grounded headlock. Jimmy pushes himself up to his knees, then to his feet, in an attempt to escape the hold. Michael Alexander then surprisingly releases the hold completely, leaving Jimmy more than a little perplexed. “Michael Alexander is showcasing his technical prowess right off the bat,” Mak observes. “I’m a little puzzled that he broke off the exchange like that…” The Evil Genius then shoots in low, taking Jimmy over his shoulders and down to the mat again in a fireman’s carry. “Well, it doesn’t take much to showcase actual wrestling against Jimmy,” King snarks. “It’s like Picasso showing off to a kindergarten, really.” Jimmy starts to sit up, but Alexander catches his arms in a double chicken wing, rolling him over into a backslide-style pinning position! “Alexander’s going for the pin with an unorthodox, but effective, rollup!” Mak masters the obvious with his usual flair. Hardcastle goes for the count! “BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!” ONE! NO! “YEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!” Jimmy rolls and squirms his way out of the pin. Alexander lets him go, standing and smirking at the Straight-Breader. He is fuming now, and he hops to his feet. “Jimmy was able to escape the pin pretty easily, but he doesn’t look all that happy about it,” Mak remarks. “Nobody’s ever happy with having their shoulders on the mat within the first five minutes of the match, Francis. Even when you escape, it doesn’t look good. Of course, that’s enough to get these losers to whoop, but these are the same people that chant for Spike Jenkins, after all.” The two look like they’re about to join up another collar-and-elbow, but this time Jimmy takes quick advantage with a quick kick to the gut! Jimmy roars something indecipherable, grabs his opponent’s head, and delivers a brutal headbutt. Alexander drops like a stone, lying face down on the mat. “YEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!” “Alexander was taken aback by Jimmy’s quick change of tactics there,” Mak points out. “He was looking to put on another wrestling clinic, but Jimmy opted to take a more direct route.” “It just goes to show you that Jimmy knew that he was outclassed,” King growls. “He knew he was out of his league, wrestling-wise, so he decided to try to turn the match into a brawl instead.” “No surprise there, King. Jimmy’s element is the all-out slugfest, not catch-as-catch-can.” “And of course the only way Jimmy knows how to use that ugly rock on top of his neck is with a headbutt,” King snipes. Jimmy bounces of the ropes and leaps up, dropping onto Alexander with a splash right to Alexander’s back. He grunts in pain, gasping for the air that just rushed from his lungs. The Straight-Breader rolls him over and goes for a quick pin! “Jimmy’s going for the pin! Alexander’s had the wind knocked out of him! This could be it!” Mak yells into his microphone. “No!” King shrieks. The referee goes for the count! ONE! TWO! NO! The Evil Genius kicks out, and Jimmy hauls him back to his feet roughly. “HA! There was no way he could pin Michael Alexander this early! Jimmy was just wasting his time.” King’s voice gradually returns to his normal, less shrieky octave. Mak smiles. “Need some water, King?” King growls in reply. The Straight-Bread Sensation fires off alternating kicks to the ribs of his opponent, drawing gasps and snarls of pain from Alexander. He then whips Alexander into the corner. Jimmy then charges in and catches Alexander in a headlock, snapping him to the ground with a headlock takedown! “YEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!” “The 73.5267.1094Q80.16!” Mak shouts. “That’s the…” King cuts him off sharply. “Who cares what he calls it?! It’s the dumbest move ever! How do you name that? It’s like naming a drop toehold!” “Well, call it what you want, it has Alexander down on the mat with Jimmy in control. Dumb? Maybe. Effective, yes.” Mak smugly folds his arms. Jimmy grinds away on the headlock. The application of a legitimate wrestling maneuver seems to jar Alexander out of the daze Jimmy’s headbutt left him in. Alexander rolls himself over and begins to push himself up to his knees. Jimmy, however, takes maximum advantage of his size, well, his height mostly. Sprawling himself out, he makes it impossible for the Mad Scientist to gain enough leverage to get back to his feet. Noting this, the Evil Genius drops back down, rolling Jimmy over into a pin, bridging his body to hold Jimmy down for the pin! “Alexander’s got it bridged! Even with that, I don’t think he can hold him down…” Mak says. Sexton Hardcastle is slightly out of position, but drops to count nonetheless! ONE! NO! Jimmy escapes, but is forced to release the headlock to do so. King snarls at the ring. “Get into position, Ref! Alexander could have had him!” “He wasn’t that far out of position, King,” Mak begins. “Even a second counts in a pin, Francis! If that referee would have been where he was supposed to be, Jimmy would have been pinned!” “King, all Jimmy had to do to get out was let go of the headlock and push off to escape. There was no way that was going to get him…it was only a one count…” “Because Hardcastle wasn’t in position!” King gripes. “Even if he would have been in perfect position, it would have only been a two count,” Mak snaps. “King, we can replay the footage with a timer.” King grumbles, but demurs. Both men scramble up to their feet. Alexander snarls something at the referee. Jimmy wastes no time, however, and rushes in to fire off two straight palm strikes, and follows it up with a double palm thrust, pummeling Alexander back into the corner. Jimmy hits with a crisp chop across the chest of the Mad Scientist, then grabs his wrist and whips him across the ring into the opposite turnbuckle. Jimmy steps back, yells to the crowd in more foreign gibberish, and charges at Alexander, going for a driving shoulder block…but Alexander dives out of the corner just in time, leaving him to drive his right shoulder into the ringpost with a sickening crunch! “BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!” “Jimmy took too much time playing to the crowd, and it let Alexander anticipate his attack,” Mak laments. “That’s what he gets from playing to these idiots. They really deserve each other, you know, Jimmy and these chumps.” King gloats. “I wonder what ‘I give up!’ is in Doomtopian?” “Don’t count him out yet,” Mak warns. “Jimmy is incredibly tough…we’ve seen him take much worse hits than that and still go on to win the match.” The Mad Scientist rises slowly, smirking as he looks at Jimmy slumped across the middle turnbuckle. Alexander measures briefly before delivering a vicious kick to Jimmy’s injured shoulder. The Straight-Breader grunts in pain and collapses out of the corner, holding his right shoulder as he lies face down on the mat. Alexander continues his assault with repeated stomps to the shoulder and upper body of his opponent. He then grabs Jimmy’s right wrist and pull the arm to full extension, twists it into a chickenwing around his leg, and drops down, into a modified inverted short-arm scissors, which wrenches the injured shoulder as well as extending the arm. “Alexander making use of some sort of inverted short-arm scissors, working on Jimmy’s shoulder,” Mak observes. “This is exactly the sort of situation where Michael Alexander is most dangerous…he smells the blood in the water.” “Yes, and we’ve got the best seats in the house for it, Francis!” King beams. “We can see and hear every grimace and groan of pain.” “You enjoy others’ pain way too much, King.” “This is Art. Art sometimes requires suffering, Francis, and Michael Alexander’s art specifically requires Jimmy’s suffering. I don’t know about you, but I support the arts.” “King, an artist is supposed to suffer for his own art, not make other people suffer!” “I beg to differ, Francis. Last time I attended a modern art exhibition, it wasn’t the artists that suffered…it was me.” Mak’s face contorts in utter bewilderment. “King…I…don’t know what to say. You actually made sort of a good point.” King growls. “You say that like it’s something unusual, Francis.” “Yes, I did. Hunh.” Mak smiles. Jimmy howls with pain as the Mad Scientist applies pressure to the hold. The referee gets into position on the side opposite Alexander to ask if Jimmy can continue. The Evil Genius takes advantage of the fortuitous relative position of the referee and the ropes, pulling himself up to put extra force on the hold. As he does this, Jimmy screams, and crowd jeers in concert with him! “BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!” “Now this is totally illegal! Come on!” Mak complains. “Not until the referee catches you,” King remarks matter-of-factly, smiling. Unfortunately for Alexander’s machinations, the referee looks up just in time to see Alexander’s hand on the ropes, and tells him to break it. Alexander grins wickedly and grabs the ropes again, holding them as Hardcastle counts and Jimmy yells in anguish! One! Two! Three! Four! Hardcastle draws in breath to give voice to the disqualifying count…but Alexander releases the hold just in time. “Finally…it takes the threat of disqualification, but Alexander breaks the illegal hold,” Mak shakes his head sadly. “You have until the five-count to break it…Alexander is using the rules to his advantage, as any good competitor will, Francis.” “What Alexander is doing is called ‘abusing,’ King, not ‘using.’” The referee dresses the Mad Scientist down for the illegal maneuver, but Alexander shrugs it off nonchalantly. Jimmy rolls away, cradling his right arm. The Evil Genius points at the injured Doom, laughing evilly. He then mockingly roars out quasienglish gibberish, punctuating it by screaming “DOOM!” at the end. “BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!” “And once again, Alexander can’t help but waste time mocking his opponent,” Mak says disgustedly. “This never fails to get him into trouble; I really don’t understand why he keeps letting himself fall into this trap.” “Francis, you know that half of what goes on in that ring is psychological. Michael Alexander is showing Jimmy that he doesn’t consider him a threat, and that can’t help but shake the confidence of even a nut like Jimmy.” “But Jimmy is a threat, King. And by wasting time like this, Alexander is allowing Jimmy to recover, which is not something you want to allow him to do.” Meanwhile, Jimmy is pushing himself back up to his feet, his Doomtopian constitution asserting itself. Seeing this, Alexander rushes over to fire a tetrology of forearm shots, putting an exclamation point on the series with a spinning back elbow that staggers Jimmy into the ropes. The Evil Genius grins wickedly as he grabs Jimmy’s right arm, twisting it into a standing wristlock. Then, his grin expanding into a rictus smile, he leaps over the nearby top rope to the floor, taking Jimmy’s right arm with him, and the Straight-Breader’s shoulder snaps across the top rope. Jimmy howls and collapses back to the mat. “BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!” “Yes, he’s a huge threat, Francis. Lying on the mat, groaning like that.” King leans back in his seat smugly. “We’ll see, King. Meanwhile, it looks like Alexander is wasting time with the ringside crowd, while Jimmy is left in the ring to recover.” The Mad Scientist laughs at the jeers of the crowd. He notices Lois sitting at ringside with her knitting, seemingly oblivious. Raising an eyebrow in puzzlement, Alexander shrugs and climbs up onto the ring apron, Cheshire grin prominent. He is poised for a springboard as Jimmy is slowly getting back up. The Doomtopian staggers around for a moment, his weight balanced strangely on one foot, finally turning toward Alexander, who leaps up to go for some sort of springboard maneuver. However, Alexander has failed to note the strange balance is exactly what is required for Jimmy to deliver a crisp Yak Kick, bicycling his legs to bring his right foot up to intersect with the face of the Mad Scientist! Alexander lies stunned on the mat after the kick, but Jimmy’s ability to capitalize is hampered by the forward momentum of Alexander, the force of which sending Jimmy backwards into the ropes, where he hangs for a moment, panting, his right arm still dangling a little too loosely. “YEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!” “Wha…?” King gapes in astonishment. “Jimmy hits with the Yak Kick!” Mak yells. “It looks like he was waiting for Alexander, and Alexander literally threw himself right into that kick!” “DOOM! DOOM! DOOM!” Jimmy looks at the crowd quizzically, shrugs, and goes after the stunned Alexander with a series of kicks to the back and ribs, rolling him into the corner. Jimmy stomps after his opponent, but Alexander manages to roll out of the ring underneath the bottom turnbuckle. “Alexander scrambles away from a resurgent Jimmy the Doom,” Mak observes smartly. “He left Jimmy an opening, and Jimmy took advantage of it!” “Opening? He’s just luring him in, Francis…any great ring strategist like Alexander knows how to make use of a strategic withdrawal, and that’s what he’s doing.” Jimmy fumes at his escape, and the crowd voices its disapproval as well. Referee Sexton Hardcastle barks out the count. “BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!” One… Two… Three… Alexander stalks around outside the ring, regaining his equilibrium and berating the ringside fans. It seems that the Evil Genius has reckoned without the lack of patience that is a common failing among Doomtopians, as he is completely surprised when leaps out through the ropes with a flying corkscrew elbow suicida! The sheer power of the impact bounces Alexander off the guardrail and leaves him lying facedown on the floor. Jimmy hits the floor as well, but he gets back up quickly roaring to the crowd, which responds in kind! “YEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!” “HOLY SHIT! HOLY SHIT!” “Yep, King,” Francis quips, “Michael Alexander lured Jimmy into cracking him in the head with flying corkscrew elbow. Brilliant strategy.” “Come on, Ref!” King screams hoarsely. “You’re supposed to keep the action in the ring! Get that crazy foreigner off of Alexander!” Five… Six… Seven… Jimmy hauls Alexander up and shoves him back into the ring roughly, just beating the count himself. The Straight-Breader wastes no time, lifting his opponent into a standing front facelock, and planting him with a quick DDT. Jimmy grunts as the move jars his injured right shoulder, but his Doomtopian hardiness allows him to shrug off the pain. “Well, it looks like Jimmy listened to you, King. He brought Alexander back into the ring in spite of himself.” Mak smiles. “The only reason Jimmy’s able to do this is that completely illegal assault outside the ring! It would figure you’d support that kind of thing, Francis! And you’re supposed to be impartial!” He gets back to his feet, hauls Alexander to his feet, knees him twice in the head, and shoves him into the corner. Jimmy follows up with two echoing palm strikes to the chest of Alexander, and he crumples into the corner. The Straight-Bread Sensation grabs the Mad Scientist by the head, pulls him up and turns him to smash him face first into the turnbuckle. “Jimmy is relentlessly pummeling Alexander in the corner,” Mak remarks. “Alexander can’t stay in this match if Jimmy is able to control him like this; Jimmy’s at his most dangerous when he’s got free reign to pound on his opponent.” “And you love it, don’t you, Francis? You complain about the artistic masterpiece of wrestling Alexander has put on, but you are perfectly happy to talk up Jimmy’s boring brawlfest?” King bemoans. Jimmy hoists Alexander up to seat him on the turnbuckle facing outside, and climbs up after him. Jimmy grabs for Alexander’s arm, beginning to pull and twist him around into a Majistral cradle position. “Jimmy’s going for the Majestic Cradle! There’s a wrestling move for you, King!” “No! Look out, Michael!” King squeals in horror. The Evil Genius has other ideas, as he escapes Jimmy’s attempt to hook one of his arms with the leg scissors, and instead uses Jimmy’s momentum turn Jimmy’s attempt into an improvised armbreaker, basically dropping to the mat with his full weight on Jimmy’s right shoulder! “BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!” “Alexander with an incredible reversal! He turned that attempted Majestic Cradle into a brutal armbreaker! Even if Jimmy’s shoulder hadn’t already been injured, that could put him out of the match!” Mak bemoans. “Yes! And that’s what he gets for trying a wrestling move against Michael Alexander! It’s like an rat trying to outfly an eagle!” King says, recovering his breath in hoarse gasps. Alexander rolls up to his knees, using the ropes to regain his feet as Jimmy grimaces in pain from his right shoulder, the drop and roll from the top rope leaving him almost dead center of the ring. The Evil Genius, a snarl of determination etched across his face, grabs Jimmy’s right arm, using it to force Jimmy up into a seated position. Alexander then twists Jimmy’s arm into a chickenwing around his leg, pinioning the arm by scissoring his legs around it. He then reaches over, grabbing Jimmy’s other arm in a classic armbar position, then drops to the left, forcing Jimmy down onto his right shoulder and levering him into a position where the armbar on the left arm is used to put even more pressure on Jimmy’s right shoulder, which is being twisted between the legscissors and the mat. “This is not good for Jimmy…Michael Alexander has locked in another unorthodox submission hold…it’s like a modified Rings of Saturn hold,” Mak says. “I don’t know what it is, but it looks like it’s hurting Jimmy, so I like it,” King smiles. The Straight-Breader howls in pain, and strains with his long legs to reach the ropes to break the hold…but even his long-shanked frame can’t stretch far enough, leaving his feet kicking the mat in frustration and futility. “Change that,” King pipes up. “I love this hold!” “He can’t get to the ropes; he’s got to figure out an actual counter to this hold to get out of it!” Mak exclaims. “Jimmy? Counter? Ha!” King snorts derisively. Jimmy tries to roll over, snarling at the pain it causing him, but knowing that it is his only hope to relieve the pressure. “JIM-MY! JIM-MY!” “This is a very unorthodox counter, but it looks like it could be effective,” Mak points out. “If he can push himself all the way back up, it will force Alexander’s shoulders to the mat unless he lets go of the hold…he’d have to release it or be pinned.” “IF Jimmy can do that,” King guffaws, “Then I can convince Amy Stephens to go out with Fulminatus!” The crow chants in time with Jimmy’s attempt to roll Alexander over into what would be a pinning position. Jimmy reaches the point where perhaps one more step would put Alexander’s shoulder’s on the mat…but this is also, by design by Alexander most likely, the point where the most pressure from both Jimmy’s weight and the hold itself is placed on his right shoulder. His legs quiver… Jimmy pushes up… “JIM-MY! JIM-MY!” Up… “JIM-MY! JIM-MY!” Up… “JIM-MY! JIM-MY!” “He’s almost there…!” Mak crescendos. “Just a little more…!” “No…” King whispers, aghast. Then Alexander wrenches sharply, both on the arm bar and on the chickenwing scissors, and not even Jimmy’s incredible toughness is able to keep his legs from buckling, dropping him solidly back into the Mad Scientist’s latest experiment in Submission Theory! Sexton Hardcastle drops to ask the damning question, and Jimmy gives the barest of nods, pain wracking his body, and Hardcastle call for the bell. DING! DING! DING! “BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!” “YES! Alexander wins!” King leaps from his seat. “Alexander’s focus and wrestling acumen allowed him to get past Jimmy this time,” Mak says. “But he nearly gave the match away because of his ego. If he wants to be part of the main event, he’s going to have to get past that.” “Come on, Francis, don’t be a sore loser! Your weird foreigner lost to the superior wrestler, just accept it and move on.” “King, Jimmy’s not ‘mine.’ I’m not against Alexander, I just think how much greater he could be if he could avoid wasting so much time mocking his opponent and the fans. It distracts him, and gives everyone openings that wouldn’t be there if Alexander could stay focused on wrestling the match.” Alexander releases the hold, his own exhaustion showing as he slumps seated in the ring, Jimmy the Doom lying nearby, cradling his right arm with a grimace of pain. Lois the Unethical is staring at the ring in utter disbelief, her knitting stopped mid-pearl. Funyon’s voice booms out across the arena as Alexander stumbles back to his feet as Hardcastle raises his hand. “Here is your winner,” the big man blares, “the ‘Mad Scientist of the Mat’ MMMMMMMMMIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIICHAELLLL AAAAAAAAAALLLLLEXAAAAAAAAANNNNNNDER!” “BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!” “Blah, blah, blah, Francis,” King smirks. “We see Alexander’s hand raised one more time, and you’re still here at the announce table. I’ll go with the winning team’s game plan, thank you.” Alexander grimly regards Jimmy the Doom, who is amazingly able to move his right arm gingerly. He rolls over the top rope and out of the ring, staggering up the ramp, an evil grin slowly spreading across his face as he returns to the back. Mak just shakes his head. “Whatever, King. Ladies and Gentlemen, from Charlotte, North Carolina, this is Mak Francis and the Suicide King signing off for this week’s SWF Storm!” King cackles happily as Jimmy and Lois prepare to leave the ring. The Evil Genius turns back towards the ring and the crowd, gazing out over them. He once again raises his hands over his head in victory, basking in the jeers of the crowd as we… FADE OUT.

“King, are you ready for this next match?” Mak Francis asks. “Uh, yeah, I guess so,” the Gambling Man answers, “why?” “Well, we have two of your favourites out next,” Francis says with a note of resignation in his voice, “Toxxic and Jay Hawke. Doing BIG BATTEL~!” “Mak, don’t try and pronounce tildebangs, they don’t sound good in a Philly accent,” King sniffs. “But you’re right, Tom Flesher has brought the booking goodness with this match-up, as this is the sort of match that should be headlining a Pay-Per-View!” “Instead we get it on free TV for the second time,” Mak adds, “as Toxxic and Hawke last clashed for the World Title that was at that point in the grasp of the then-Michael Stephens towards the end of last year. Stephens came out the winner despite the appearance of Zyon and the interference of Gabriel Drake; what will go down tonight?” The lights dim down and Funyon adjusts his bowtie, then raises his microphone. “Ladies and gentlemen, the following contest is scheduled for one fall… introducing first, from the Hall of Fame city of Cleveland, Ohio…” …and music strikes up. But not the synth-heavy meanderings of ‘Learning To Fly’ by Pink Floyd, no. Instead there’s a quick pick slide and tuneful guitars crash in, shocking many members of the audience. “uh… at a weight of 215lbs, the Dean of Professional Wrestling… JAY HAWKE!(?)” Funyon finishes, confused himself. Because the music that’s pumping out of the speakers is definitely not the Dean of Professional Wrestling’s usual entrance. And as Jay Hawke himself appears in his signature spotlight at the top of the ramp, it’s clear that he’s both confused and extraordinarily pissed off. ‘Run and tell all of the angels This could take all night Think I need a devil to help me get things right…’ “King, this isn’t Pink Floyd,” Mak tells his commentary partner. “No Mak, it’s not,” the Gambling Man agrees. “In fact,” The Franchise continues, “I think it’s ‘Learn To Fly’ by the Foo Fighters.” “Mak, I believe you are correct.” “Toxxic’s handiwork, do you think?” Mak postulates. “Hmm, let me see,” King muses, “replacing his opponent’s entrance music with a similarly-titled track for the purposes of annoying said opponent?” He snorts. “Yeah, I reckon.” Jay Hawke’s usual majestic progress to the ring has been rather interrupted by the fact that his entrance has been unmistakeably tampered with, and the self-professed Dean of Professional Wrestling neglects to do his normal showboating. Instead he pulls off his robe with a bad grace and more throws it than hands it to the ring attendant. He doesn’t even climb up the turnbuckles to pose for (or at) the fans, instead simply pointing a finger at a few who are laughing at his obvious displeasure and yells at them to ‘shut the hell up!’ “Well King, I’ve never known Toxxic be able to get into his opponent’s head during their own entrance before,” Mak says, “I guess he’s branching out into new and unexplored ways of being a total dickwad.” “It’s all part of a master plan,” King says, “don’t be fooled Mak, Toxxic knows he needs to take Jay Hawke out of his game as early as possible. This isn’t just an immature prank.” “Yeah, right.” Jay Hawke is now arguing with Funyon, who is protesting his innocence and complete ignorance of any foul play. The Dean is still fuming however, and his mood is unlikely to improve as a raucous, roaring chorus rolls around the arena and the Smarktron whites out. “COME AND HAVE A GO IF YOU THINK YER ‘ARD ENOUGH!” “COME AND HAVE A GO IF YOU THINK YER ‘ARD ENOUGH!” The oozing bassline of ‘The Gush’ by Raging Speedhorn arrives as the Smarktron starts to fade swiftly down to black, and as it does so a familiar slogan is flashed up in jagged white letters, one word at a time: ‘PREPARE TO BE PROVED WRONG…’ Three chords ring out; on the first we see Michael Stephens knocked off the top buckle to the floor by a Nathaniel Kibagami springboard enzuigiri; on the second we see him taken off the top rope with the Mark of the Beast by Gabriel Drake; on the third we see him chokeslammed out of the Clusterfuck by Janus onto the floor below. Then, as the bass solo hits the shot changes to show him taking Mike Van Siclen off a balcony and through a table, the shot starting to strobe and intercut with an image of Toxxic’s grinning face, the devastating landing timed to coincide with- *BOOOM!!* -the moment the song kicks in, and the stagewide eruption of red pyro that signals the arrival of the SWF’s most decorated Englishman! And through the flame and smoke… “TOXX-IC SUCKS!” …with an SWF Tag Team Title around his waist… “TOXX-IC SUCKS!” …red-and-black trenchcoat flapping behind him as he strides down to the ring… “TOXX-IC SUCKS!” …the right side of his face creased up into a mocking grin as he stares at his fuming opponent… “TOXX-IC SUCKS!” …comes the man known as Toxxic. “And his opponent,” Funyon booms, “from Nottingham, England; he weighs in tonight at 218lbs, is the leader of Revolution Zero and is one-half of the SWF Tag Team Champions; this is ‘The Straight-Edge Sensation’… TOXXXXXXXXXX-IIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIC!!” “BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!” ‘Dysfunction is my game These thoughts drive me insane Tell me the price Of which I have to pay… Toxxic stops at the bottom of the ramp, then crosses his arms in the straight-edge ‘X’ for a moment before throwing them wide, palms flat to ignite another blast of red pyro from each ring post as the chorus comes in! *BOOOM!* The Straight-Edge Sensation rolls into the ring… and Jay Hawke leaps to the attack! *DING-DING-DING!* “It looks like Toxxic’s tactics backfired on him!” Mak shouts as The Dean lays into his opponent with boots as referee Brian Warner tries to hold him back, “he infuriated Jay Hawke so much he wasn’t willing to wait for the start of the match!” “Mak, you could be right,” King agrees, “if Hawke had been hotheaded straight after the bell Toxxic could have dealt with him, but right now he’s in trouble!” Hawke isn’t letting up in his assault, trying to stomp his straight-edge opponent straight into the mat. Finally Warner hauls him back and gives Toxxic a momentary respite, but as the Englishman struggles to rise Hawke dashes back in and hauls him to his feet, then fires off a kick to the gut… *CLANG!* …which just hits the Tag Title that Toxxic hasn’t taken off yet! Hawke curses and hops on one foot for a second, but recovers and grabs Toxxic to whip him towards the ropes. However the Englishman reverses the momentum and instantly slips out of his trenchcoat as Hawke heads for the cables, then as Jay rebounds Stephens grabs his coat in both hands and swings it for Hawke’s head. Hawke instinctively ducks… ‘TORO!’ Toxxic bellows to a ripple of laughter, striking a bullfighting pose. Hawke stops and turns, eager to exact revenge… …and Toxxic throws his coat over Hawke’s head, then dropkicks his momentarily-blinded opponent! “YEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!” Hawke crumples to the ground while the ever-helpful Brian Warner tries to remove Toxxic’s trenchcoat; meanwhile the Englishman has stripped his Tag Title off and has climbed the ropes with it dangling from one hand, firing up the crowd (who seem remarkably receptive to someone humiliating one of the most annoying wrestlers around) and jabbing a black-nailed thumb at his own chest while mouthing something along the lines of ‘who’s the fucking man?’ “OK, quick bet,” Mak says, “which is going to get the crowd behind them? The pure wrestling skills of Jay Hawke, or the charisma of the Straight-Edge Sensation?” “That’s no bet,” King sniffs, “but do I need to tell you that crowd support is not a good indication of talent? Toxxic’s good, make no mistake, but Jay Hawke is one of the most painfully underrated wrestlers in this company.” Hawke has removed Toxxic’s coat from his head, and the Englishman hops back from the turnbuckles and hands his title belt off to Brian Warner, then regards his opponent with a slightly rueful grin (those stomps hurt, after all). Hawke jabs a finger towards Toxxic and clearly makes some sort of accusation; Toxxic spreads his arms wide and tries to look as guilty as possible… which leaves him open to Jay Hawke rushing forwards and shooting low with a double-leg takedown! *BANG!* Hawke instantly jacknifes over into a pin, hoping to sneak a victory as quickly as he did against Spike Jenkins… ONE! …but Toxxic kicks out! As Hawke rolls back up to his feet the straight-edger grabs him in a front facelock and hauls backwards, trapping Jay in a small package that causes Warner to dive down to count again… ONE! …but Hawke kicks out! Both men come up to their feet but Hawke slips back down and sweeps one of Toxxic’s legs out from under him, then dives on top and grabs both of Toxxic’s hands with his own, seeking to pin the Englishman’s shoulders to the mat. Toxxic bridges up before a pin can be counted, but Hawke jumps up and brings his knees down onto his opponent’s legs to collapse the bridge! ONE! TW- -but Toxxic gets his feet under him and bridges up again! Hawke maintains his hold, slips his legs off, then leaps up again and once more brings his knees down on Toxxic’s thighs to knock his opponent back to the mat! ONE! TW- -but Toxxic bridges up once more! Hawke grits his teeth and slips his legs off again, then leaps up again… …but Toxxic drops to the mat, raises his feet and places them into Hawke’s gut as the Dean comes down, then flips Hawke over his head! *BANG!* Toxxic keeps hold of Hawke’s hands and rolls sideways to come back up towards his feet, dragging Jay with him, then releases Jay’s left hand and twists behind the Ohio native into an hammerlock with the right one. Jay reaches behind him one way to try and find his opponent, fails, tries the other way, fails again… so suddenly fires a back elbow into Toxxic’s jaw! The Englishman’s head snaps sideways and his grip slackens; Hawke whirls around and drops to the mat to snare his opponent in a drop toehold, then rolls over Toxxic to come out in front of him and clamp an arm around his opponent’s head with a front facelock. Toxxic grabs Jay’s arm and starts to force it away from his neck before Hawke can properly secure it, then rolls out to the side and comes up with an armwringer that forces his opponent down. Toxxic holds it for a moment, then suddenly spins and corkscrews through the air, dropping to the mat as he does so to not only twist his opponent’s arm in its socket but also slam Jay face-first into the mat. From there Toxxic shoots his right arm underneath Hawke’s for a single chickenwing and starts to roll the American over onto his back for a pinning predicament… ONE! TWO!! …but Hawke kicks out! The Dean is clearly furious at nearly being caught out in mat wrestling and jabs a thumb into Toxxic’s eye! “BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!” With his opponent blinded Hawke brings Toxxic up to his feet, then casually places one leg behind his opponent’s and piefaces the Englishman, sending him sprawling backwards to the mat! “JAY HAWKE SUCKS!” “JAY HAWKE SUCKS!” Hawke glowers around at the crowd, then turns back to his opponent. Big mistake. *whump-CRACK!* “YEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!” He never should have looked away. “Kip-up enzuigiri!” Mak shouts as Toxxic explodes up off the mat to deliver some cranial trauma in his own distinctive way, “you’ve gotta keep your wits about you, Jay!” Jay Hawke collapses to one knee, which allows Toxxic to get back to his feet and apply a side headlock, then heave Hawke over and bring him down hard onto the mat. Toxxic leans back in the hope of grabbing a pinfall from this unexpected source and presses Hawke’s shoulders to the canvas… ONE! …but Hawke is a consummate professional and quickly gets his shoulder up, then wraps his arms around Toxxic’s waist and hauls the Englishman over to stack his shoulders onto the mat in turn! ONE! TWO!! …Toxxic kicks his legs and manages to right himself, but in ensuring that Hawke can’t catch him the same way again he has to position himself in just the right place for Jay to snake his legs up and latch them around the straight-edger’s head; from there it’s a simple matter to drag Toxxic off, breaking the headlock in the process, and pull him down into a headscissors that Hawke puts as much power into as he can. “I think Jay Hawke wants to keep Toxxic in one place for a little while,” Mak speculates, “if he can control the pace of this match then his experience might well win out. However, if Toxxic can stay free and crank up the tempo you’ve got to think that the four-time World Champion will have the advantage.” “Not a bad observation Francis,” King remarks, “if a little simplistic. However, I think it’s fair to say that if Toxxic gets the chance to run and take to the air Hawke will have a hard time keeping up.” That certainly seems to be the gameplan of the Dean of Professional Wrestling as he leans back, trying to squeeze Toxxic’s head as tightly as he can. However Toxxic has his own plan, and despite the constriction of his skull the Straight-Edge Sensation starts to push himself up, then begins to perform a headstand… …but Jay Hawke sits back up and slaps two palms into Toxxic’s back, knocking the straight-edger back down! “Hawke’s done his homework, make no mistake,” Mak points out, “he knows that Toxxic’s favoured counter for this hold is to ‘pop’ out and then hit a basement dropkick, but if Toxxic can’t get upright-” “Heh-heh-heh.” “Who are you, Beavis?” Toxxic isn’t going to just let Jay Hawke squeeze his head until the cows come home, so he pushes himself up again in the hope of getting into a position where he can snap back out of the hold, but once more Hawke slaps him back down and denies Toxxic his escape! “JAY HAWKE SUCKS!” “JAY HAWKE SUCKS!” Some wrestlers revel in the chants of the fans, whether or not they’re positive; Jay Hawke however shows disgust that the North Carolina natives in attendance aren’t appreciating his class and talent and scowls around that them before slapping his chest to remind them just who’s in charge here… unfortunately at that moment Toxxic wraps his arms around Hawke’s legs and twists to one side, rolling the Dean over onto his front! Hawke tries to stop the motion but he was caught off-guard by this new approach and before he can orientate himself he’s lying on his front with his legs under Toxxic’s control! Brian Warner dives down, ready to make a count now Toxxic’s shoulders are on the mat, but the Englishman has now managed to extract his head from between Jay’s legs and comes up to lock Hawke’s right ankle in the crook of his left knee, then holds them in place with his own legs and reaches forwards towards Hawke’s head… “Toxxic’s going for the Regal Stretch!” Mak shouts, “if he gets this locked in then Hawke could be in a world of trouble!” However, Jay Hawke has no intention of being caught in the hold that has won Toxxic the World Title before now. Instead the wily veteran gauges which side his opponent is approaching from and keeps his arms close to his head, preventing the Englishman from gaining the ¾ nelson facelock that he favours but also denying him the ability to cinch in any other effective form of hold. Toxxic tries his best but Hawke keeps his defence strong, so the straight-edger shifts his weight to try from the other side… and Hawke catches him in the face with a well-timed back elbow! “See, Toxxic should have broken away,” King nods sagely as Hawke manages to dislodge the momentarily-dazed Toxxic from off his back, “getting clear and stepping the pace up would have served him far better than trying to match holds with Hawke.” Toxxic shakes his head to try and clear it, then starts to regain his feet. Unfortunately for the straight-edger Jay Hawke is waiting for him, and the Dean of Professional Wrestling lashes out with a stinging roundhouse kick that catches Toxxic on the temple and sends him tumbling to the mat! Hawke follows this up by diving on his opponent and wrapping both hands around Toxxic’s windpipe, causing Brian Warner to start his count! ‘ONE!’ ‘TWO!’ ‘THREE!’ ‘FOUR!’ ‘FI-’ -and Hawke breaks the hold at the last moment before the disqualification! Warner admonishes him, but Jay waits for just a couple of seconds before returning to his illegal choke- ‘ONE!’ ‘TWO!’ ‘THREE!’ ‘FOUR!’ ‘FI-’ -and again, releases it just before Warner calls for the bell! “BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!” “I’m not sure if the fans are booing Hawke for choking Toxxic or Warner for stopping him,” Mak concedes, “but Jay Hawke has abandoned all pretences of technical wrestling now, King.” “Hawke isn’t just a technical wrestler, he’s also a master strategist,” the Gambling Man replies. “You mean he cheats.” “Duh.” With Toxxic gasping for breath Jay Hawke finds the former World Champion a slightly easier target as he brings him up to his feet, then applies a front facelock and swings to one side to take the Englishman back down with a swinging neckbreaker. Stephens lands hard and Hawke covers, hooking the leg… ONE! TWO!! …but Toxxic kicks out with some time to spare. Jay Hawke doesn’t seem too disappointed with that - it’s all a little bit more energy out of the Englishman’s tank, after all - and he quickly moves to the next stage of his plan which is to secure another front facelock and slowly bring Toxxic up towards a standing position again. The Straight-Edge Sensation doesn’t have enough air in him to launch a successful fightback this time, so Jay has all the time he needs to carefully bring Toxxic to his feet, stall for effect for a moment, then falls backwards to drive Stephens’ head into the canvas with a DDT. *BANG!* “This is how Hawke beat Spike Jenkins!” Mak shouts as Jay makes his cover… ONE! TWO!! TH- -but Toxxic kicks out again! Hawke glares at Brian Warner and slaps his hands together quickly to indicate that he was pretty certain that was a three-count, but the referee remains adamant that the Englishman got his shoulder up in time. Jay is still unimpressed and starts to bring Toxxic up to his feet again, the Tag Champion quite definitely dazed at this point and therefore easy for Hawke to scoop up over his shoulder. The relatively short Dean of Professional Wrestling takes a moment to position Toxxic effectively, then brings his opponent down onto one knee in a shoulderbreaker! *CRUNCH!* Toxxic yells out in pain and crumples to the mat off Hawke’s shoulder, but the Dean doesn’t bother with another pin attempt; instead he turns and heads for the corner, stepping through the ropes and then starting to climb to the top rope. Toxxic is still down and Hawke wastes no time in leaping off the top and delivering a diving headbutt, once more to Toxxic’s shoulder! *BANG!* Toxxic rolls away from the impact but Hawke scrambles after him. The Dean positions himself behind his opponent and underhooks Toxxic’s right arm, then goes for a crossface with the left while trying to snake his legs around to lock the Englishman’s left arm in place… but Toxxic kicks and bucks his body, trying to throw Jay off! Hawke hangs on but Toxxic has succeeded in his secondary aim, which was to get far enough across the mat to drape one boot over the bottom rope! Needless to say, Hawke isn’t willing to let go quickly… ‘ONE!’ ‘TWO!’ ‘THREE!’ ‘FOUR!’ ‘FI-’ “Jay Hawke was looking for the Wingspan there, but Toxxic had enough ring savvy to escape it… for now,” Mak Francis says. “It’s worth noting though that Hawke only went after the move with Toxxic on the mat - I remember in their last encounter Jay got the chickenwing from a standing position, only for Toxxic to run to the corner and turn it into the Sunny In England!” Hawke has been thwarted for now, but the Dean of Professional Wrestling still has a plan and he hauls Toxxic up to his feet again, then Irish whips the Englishman into the corner. Toxxic hits hard and Hawke follows him in to deliver an avalanche that first crushes the Tag Champion against the turnbuckles, then sees him stagger breathlessly out. Hawke wastes no time in climbing to the second rope whereupon he awaits his moment… …Toxxic turns around, wheezing and breathless and not entirely sure where Hawke is… …and Jay Hawke leaps off the second buckle, somersaulting as he goes while reaching out to snare Michael Stephens’ head and bring him down with a Blockbuster. *WHAM!* So it’s a real shame that Toxxic ducked, and Hawke caught nothing but air. “YEEEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!” There’s nothing the fans like seeing quite as much as a clean whiff from a man they don’t like, and Jay Hawke is no exception. Hawke lands hard, then tries to sit up. He succeeds, but this perhaps wasn’t such a good idea. He should have learned last December that it really doesn’t pay to piss Toxxic off, no matter what name he’s going by. *CRACK!* “YOW!” Mak shouts, “that was some kick!” Sure enough, Toxxic made like David Beckham and delivered a running kick that, if Hawke’s spine had been a football, would have lifted it over any wall and underneath any crossbar you’d care to name. Sadly Hawke’s spine isn’t a football, which just means he gets hurt but remains in position for Toxxic to take a few more swings. *CRACK!* *CRACK!* *CRACK!* “YEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!” The fans cheer as Jay Hawke starts desperately rolling, trying to escape from his attacker as Toxxic delivers kick after kick! Finally the Dean of Professional Wrestling slithers out under the ropes to the floor where he staggers away holding his back… but as we all know, being outside the ring is no guarantee of being safe from Toxxic. Jay is suddenly aware of a flicker of movement in the corner of his eye and looks around… …to see 218lbs coming at him over the top rope in a running somersault senton! *WHAM!* “HO-LY SHIT!” “HO-LY SHIT!” “HO-LY SHIT!” “You’ve got to admire Toxxic, he can turn defence into attack very quickly,” the Suicide King says. “King, I think he’s on one now,” Mak notes as the Straight-Edge Sensation gets back to his feet and lets out a wordless warcry that the crowd, viewing that they’re about to see an unpopular wrestler take a pasting, echoes back at him. Toxxic is nursing his right arm which appears to have been hurt a little more by his landing, but he’s able to drag Jay Hawke up to his feet and then Irish whip him into the ring steps- *CRASH!* “LET’S GO TOXX-IC!” “LET’S GO TOXX-IC!” “Haven’t heard that one in a while,” Mak notes as the crowd take up the old chant. Toxxic gives chase to his opponent and picks up the battered Jay Hawke, then grabs his opponent’s head and points to the next ring post (which the crowd responds to with a cheer)- *WHACK!* -but Hawke takes hold of Toxxic’s right arm and slams it down into the apron! The pain that sears up the limb completely cuts Toxxic off, and Hawke takes advantage by going to the eyes! ‘Yarrrgh!’ “BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!” With the Englishman discombobulated Hawke grabs Toxxic and rolls him into the ring, then follows him in to make a cover… ONE! TWO!! THR- -but Warner suddenly realises that Jay Hawke has his feet on the ropes and stops the count! Hawke ignores the referee’s admonishments and drags Toxxic up to his feet, then Irish whips his opponent towards the ropes; however, Toxxic reverses the momentum and sends Jay Hawke in instead, then ducks his head for a back bodydrop. Hawke has enough time to react though and launches himself overhead, snaring Toxxic on the way over and bringing the Englishman down with a sunset flip; a sunset flip that Toxxic rolls through and comes to his feet, then delivers a basement dropkick into Hawke’s face! *SMACK!* Toxxic dives on top of his opponent and hooks the leg as well as he can… ONE! TWO!! …which isn’t well enough, as Hawke kicks out! Toxxic pulls his opponent up and this time initiates the Irish whip himself, sending Hawke slamming into the turnbuckles and then following him in at high speed. However, whereas Jay went for an avalanche Toxxic leaps up and delivers a leg lariat, then manages to control his ricochet off to land on his feet on the apron! Hawke staggers out of the corner and Toxxic hastily climbs up to the top rope, then reaches out to grab Hawke in an inverted facelock with his left arm. Jaw reaches up to try and counter, but Toxxic is already swinging his bodyweight out and around to drive the back of Hawke’s skull into the canvas with an tornado inverted DDT! *BANG!* “Final Shine from Toxxic, and that could be it!” Francis yells as the Englishman covers again… ONE! TWO!! TH- -but no it’s not, as Hawke shows his resilience and kicks out once more! Toxxic slaps the mat angrily, winces as the pain travels up his right arm, and hauls Jay Hawke up to his feet. Then the Englishman grabs a ¾ facelock and starts a run for the corner… …but Hawke pushes him off and sends Toxxic careering chestfirst into the turnbuckles! *WHAM!* Toxxic staggers backwards, breathless, and Hawke snakes his right arm underneath his opponent’s for a chickenwing… “WINGSPAN!” King shouts. …but Toxxic fires a back elbow into Hawke’s face with his left arm! The Dean’s grip wavers and Toxxic spins around, then starts firing off punches! RIGHT! LEFT! RIGHT! LEFT! Toxxic flips his opponent a two-fingered salute with black-nailed digits, then whirls around on the spot… DISCUS CLOTHESLINE! *whump* …but Hawke gets both his arms up to block it, and Toxxic’s hurt right arm slams into them! The Englishman yells in pain and instinctively turns away, cradling the limb close to his body; this allows Hawke to step up and grab a rear waistlock, then bridge backwards- *BANG!* “GERMAN!” Mak shouts, but Hawke’s held the bridge… ONE! TWO!! THR- -but Toxxic kicks out! “JAY HAWKE SUCKS!” “JAY HAWKE SUCKS!” Hawke rounds on Brian Warner, furious that didn’t get him the three-count, but before the referee can put up much more than a token protest the Cleveland native delivers a stomp to his opponent’s chest and heads for the turnbuckles, climbing up towards the top without wasting any further time. Hawke reaches the top rope, does a quick check back over his shoulder to make sure that Toxxic is still there, then leaps back off… …Toxxic rolls aside, timing his evasion of the Hawke Swoop perfectly, just as he did in their previous encounter… …but Hawke had that scouted too, and lands on his feet! Toxxic struggles up to his feet to find a vertical opponent instead of one prostrate on the mat as he had planned, and Hawke reacts quicker by snaring him and rolling backwards with a small package! ONE! TWO!! THHHHHHHHHHRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE- NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!! “Good God, that was close!” The Franchise yells as Toxxic just, just squeezes out of the surprise pinfall, “Jay Hawke nearly had him!” Both men scramble up, but it is Hawke who reacts quicker; he latches onto Toxxic’s right arm and starts forcing his opponent down, looking to lock in a Fujiwara armbar. Toxxic plants his left arm firmly on the mat to prevent him from being taken right down, then tucks his head in and rolls to alleviate the pressure; Hawke suddenly finds himself off-balance as the resistance disappears, and Toxxic now has enough room to manoeuvre to reach back with his legs and wrap them around Hawke’s head, then wrenches the Dean of Professional Wrestling forward with a headscissors. Jay tumbles over on the mat, struggles back up to his feet… …and Toxxic kips up, then leaps into the air and snaps off a hurricanrana! “YEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!” “Amazing agility by Toxxic at this stage of the match, but what has it cost him?” Mak Francis asks as the Englishman struggles to roll over onto his front and head towards his grounded opponent, “if he can’t follow up that athleticism could have been in vain!” The two men are slower to their feet this time, each one trying to catch their breath. Toxxic gathers his feet underneath him, steadies himself and then charges at Hawke, casting subtlety to the wind in an effort to put his opponent away. However, Hawke is still a wily opponent and he sidesteps the Englishman’s blind rush, wrapping his arm around the straight-edger’s head as he does so and grabbing a reverse facelock that he quickly brings down into an inverted DDT onto the knee! *CRUNCH!* Toxxic falls to the mat but Hawke can’t immediately follow up; instead the Dean sprawls sideways against the ropes where he sits for a couple of seconds, trying to regain his composure. “This match has taken such a lot out of both men,” Mak comments, “one big move now could be all the difference between winning and losing.” “Maybe, but in trying to hit that big move you might make the one mistake that loses you the match,” King retorts. “Swings and roundabouts King, as always.” Hawke manages to get back to his feet, but Toxxic is starting to stir as well. Jay appears to run through his options, then instead of moving in to follow up he steps out through the ropes again. “It looks like Hawke’s taking a risk,” Mak says. “It’ll be a carefully calculated one, if that’s the case,” the Suicide King replies. The Dean waits, watching his opponent as Toxxic comes up to his feet. The Englishman turns on the spot, trying to work out where Hawke is… …and Jay leaps to the top rope and springboards in, arm outstretched for a leaping lariat! *SMACK!* -but Toxxic dropkicks him out of the air! “YEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!” “King, earlier on you said that Toxxic shouldn’t have tried to match moves with Jay Hawke,” Mak exclaims excitedly, “I’d venture to suggest that Hawke shouldn’t have gone high-risk against Toxxic, possibly the most successful proponent of that style in the company!” Hawke is on the mat, gasping for breath; Toxxic grabs him and hauls him up, then- *CRUNCH!* -delivers a headbutt, before placing his skull beneath Hawke’s chin and sitting out with a jawbreaker! Hawke staggers away holding his head and Toxxic struggles up to his feet, then runs past his stricken opponent… …grabs him in a ¾ facelock on the way (largely using his left arm)… …and runs straight up the turnbuckles before kicking back off the top! *BANG!* ONE! TWO!! THHHHHHHHHHHHHRRRRRRRRRREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!!! *DING-DING-DING!* “Ladies and gentlemen, here is your winner,” Funyon booms, “the ‘Straight-Edge Sensation’, TOXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX-IIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIC!!” “The Sunny In England wins it for Toxxic tonight, and at least some of Toxxic’s comments from last week appear to be vindicated,” Mak calls as Brian Warner raises the battered Englishman’s hand, “we’ve got to take a commercial break now, but we’ll be right back with our main event when Michael Alexander takes on Jimmy The Doom!” FADE OUT

Sly vs. Fulmie TBEI

Backstage, Landon Maddix and Megan Skye are stood outside Tom Flesher's office. And a look of mischief is in the Hardcore Gamers Champion's eyes as he stops short of opening the door to turn to Megan. "Okay, just follow my lead." "Whatever." Megan sighs. "Just don't antagonise him. You've got enough problems dealing with him already. Remember, like him or not, he's your boss." "Relax. I'm just going to go in there and show him he's making a mistake, I'll be the height of professionalism, promise." ---[APPROX 20 SECONDS LATER]--- "Hey Tom, what's the happy-haps!" Looking up from his desk, Tom does a cartoony headshake. "I'm sorry... did I wake up and suddenly go colourblind? What the hell do you want, without knocking I might add." "I just wondered how you were doing, s'all." Landon drawls with mock concern. "And from the sound of that very sarcastic and actually slightly racist remark you just made, one can only assume you're not doing too great. Which is to be expected, I suppose. Bad news that. You know, about the ratings." Landon drops the sheet of paper in his hand onto the desk. The Commissioner takes an ever-so quick glance at the paper before glaring up at the Hardcore Champion. "Doesn't make for good reading, I know." "What's your point, Meltzer?" "Meltzer! That's a good one." chuckles Landon, tapping his chin as he paces around a little. "Cause of the internet guy. No, see, I just wanted to seperate the speculation from the rumours from the cold hard facts. And when I did, I wanted to come talk to you. While you've still got a job and all... nah, I'm just joshing. About the job thing, I'm sure those rumours doing the roungs are just the typical water cooler exaggerations. These figures though, they don't lie. Things aren't going so well and in testing times such as these, it's always good to have an impartial ear to talk things over with. Or into. Or... something." Landon sits on the edge of the Commish's desk, to his growing annoyance. "Now, there could be plenty of factors to this little 'dip'. It could be the Disney sponsored World Heavyweight Champion we all have to look up to. It could be the slew of challengers who just haven't managed to capture the interest of your general audience. It could even be the bi-weekly "Toxxic Report", in which everybody's favourite Brit, Toxxic, runs the rule over half of the roster, summing up his general opinion of them and bringing up relevant moments from the past fourteen years of their career that no-one else remembers because ya know, the brain only has the capacity to hold a finite amount of information and the results of the past three meetings between The Insane Luchador and Christian Fury can be classed as nothing other than 'clutter' to any sane human being, all of this in the space of thirty-six minutes of precious air-time and supported by the input of The "Fabulous" Jakey and Austin "What The Hell Am I Doing Here?" Sly. Who knows. These are all just theories. But one thing is for sure, you need something." "Shall I tell you what I need right now?" Actions speak louder than words, as Tom pours himself a glass of bourbon. "Okay, but before you get too inhebriated..." "Ooh. Big word." "...thank you. Anyway, you might realise looking at these charts I knocked up on my laptop last night... I think you'll agree the colour-coding is a nice touch... ever since you decided to 'phase me out', things have been going *slide whistle noise* as the yellow line clearly indicates." "I don't know about 'clearly'. Yellow on white paper, not the best choice." "Well, I debated using lavender, but the 'Alan Clark- Failure' line was already turquoise and it kinda clashe..." *awkward pause* "Is there a point to this?" "Besides *slide whistle noise*? Because, that kinda speaks for itself I think." "Look, I'm sure you could sit here and gloat all day about a minor and extremely insignificant Summer ratings drop, seeing as how I deliberately left you unbooked tonight after your humbling defeat last week. But, I'm very busy." "I'm not trying to gloat. I'm trying to help! Your success is the SWF's success, is my success. And as a successful World Champion..." "I told you not to bring the OAOAST up within these walls again." "Yeah, but you said it in a different arena, so technically you weren't referring to these walls..." "SWF walls!" snaps Flesher, before downing his glass and heading for a refill. "Oh. Okay. Point is, I may just be the perfect person to help you out. After all, as I say, everything is rosey over at 'the company which shalt not be named', so that makes me the most qualified person in this room to comment in my opinion. So... I don't suppose you could find somebody to pretend to be your illegitimate child?" Flesher stares up at Landon in disbelief. "Just a suggestion." "Well, I guess I could ask my actual illegitimate child..." "What?" "What?" Tom says a little too loudly back, before going back to the glare. "Give me a break. You do realise that these minutes, right now, passing us by, are minutes I'll never get back, don't you." "Well, you could always invite him to one of the shows. Bond with him." Flesher slaps his forehead, before downing his glass and heading for a refill. Megan just looks at Landon and sighs, as suddenly a lightbulb goes off in his head. "OOOHHH! You were kidding! Very good." "I was kidding about the kid. Not the 'life disappearing before my eyes' part. Now go." "Fine." shrugs Landon, finally taking himself off of Tom's table. "But, I've got plenty more ideas if you want them. You'd make a great gameshow host. Okay, so, we've kinda gone down that route already, but there's no harm on going back to what works. And let's face it, that worked. Big time. You've got Grappler's number in your Rolodex there, right?" "Just leave. Now!" With another shrug as if to suggest he's done nothing wrong, Landon guides Megan out of the room, signaling for Tom to "call me" before he shuts the door behind him. The moment it shuts, Landon takes a deep breath and smiles from ear to ear, despite the accusing look and folded arms from Megan next to him. "You're gonna regret that." sighs Megan. "Totally worth it."

IL vs. Sanders TBEI

The Charlotte Bobcats Arena explodes as the opening pyro and the Smarktron kicks up with a montage of SWF highlights, the cheers echoing throughout the complex. “Ladies and Gentlemen, welcome to another episode of SWF STORM! Live from the Charlotte Bobcats Arena in Charlotte, North Carolina!” Mak Francis announces over the crowd’s roar. “And once again, Francis, you show your mastery of the obvious!” The Suicide King smirks at his announce partner. “Like there’s a Charlotte Bobcats Arena anywhere else!” “Whatever, King,” Mak replies. “I’m excited about this show tonight…we’ve got some Pay-Per-View level matches…Toxxic and Jay Hawke for one, Fulminatus and Austin Sly for another, and our main event tonight…Jimmy the Doom and Michael Alexander!” King nods. “For once, I have to agree, Francis. This card is great, and it’s about time Michael Alexander was involved in the main event!” “Dread Rock” by Paul Oakenfold begins to play, and the a video montage of Alexander’s previous in-ring exploits interspersed with Da Vinci’s “Vitruvian Man” highlighting the areas that the various moves depicted injure on his opponents. The lights in the arena flicker in time with the Smarktron. “Speak of the devil,” Mak murmurs. “Well, I don’t think I could have come up with a better opening myself.” King smiles. Alexander steps out onto the stage, and the flicker lighting stops dead. He gazes out over the crowd, smirks, and makes his way to the ring, trash-talking to the crowd. He has a microphone in his hand as he walks up the steps and steps through the ropes into the ring. “Well, well, well,” Michael Alexander drawls. “It seems that you people are finally going to be treated to quality entertainment tonight…instead of the lackluster semiathletic competitions that are normally held in this arena!” “BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!” “Alexander is getting some cheap heat here from the folks in Charlotte,” Mak comments. “He’s just telling the truth, Francis,” King says. “You can’t dispute that the team this arena was named after is lackluster at best. If anything, he’s being overly generous.” Alexander continues over the jeers. “Tonight, you will all be treated to an exhibition of pure greatness in the main event, unlike what the world was forced to endure in the last STORM main event.” “SPIKE! SPIKE! SPIKE!” “Yes, yes, feel free to chant if repetition helps you remember his name, we all know he is utterly forgettable otherwise.” The Evil Genius nods in agreement with himself. “You see, that entire farce of a main event last week did nothing but reveal pitiful desperation in its participants. Simply put, the last thing either man did that was worthy of note was LOSE to Alan Clarke.” “BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!” “He’s showing a lot of ego at least,” Mak remarks ruefully. “You sure can’t underestimate the confidence of Michael Alexander here.” “Well, he’s got a lot to be confident about. He was victorious in his first PPV appearance at Ground Zero and he’s had quite a record since his debut. AND, we shouldn’t forget that he is working with MANSON now, and you can’t help but be great with that kind of mentor.” King bows his head reverently. The Evil Genius taps his head as though recalling something. “Wait, I take that back…the last thing of note Spike Jenkins did was lose to ME. But all of you,” Alexander spreads his arms wide to encompass the crowd, “all of you already know that. You also know that tonight I will continue to be your Eidolon of Excellence as I dominate Jimmy the Doom just as MANSON and I dominated him and his idiot partner, Fulminatus, a few weeks ago. Tonight, you will all be privileged to bear witness to technical tour de force, as I outwit, outwrestle, and quite simply outclass the former hardcore champion, after my defeat of the current hardcore champion last week. And I would hope that the powers that be would take serious note of that when determining what sort of competitor should be the face of the SWF. Should it be a smiling, shilling Disney frontman? Or The Most Scientifically Scintillating Superstar to Ever Enter the Squared Circle?” With this, Michael Alexander tosses the mike to the crew at ringside, and rolls over the ropes to walk slowly back up the ramp, smirking to himself. “BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!” “Alexander is supremely confident going into his first STORM main event, King.” “With good reason, Francis. I mean, even Clark noted Alexander in his commentary last week as a possible contender.” “But he’s still unproven in the main event scene, King.” “Not after tonight. I can’t wait to see him put down that gibbering wackjob foreigner.” “Jimmy is no pushover; he’s a longtime hardcore champion, with the longest reign with that title ever, if memory serves.” “Maybe so, Francis, but Michael Alexander took out the guy who ended Jimmy’s title run just last week. And the week before that, at Ground Zero, he took out Spike Jenkins. And last, but certainly not least, he and MANSON destroyed ‘Winston Churchill,’ so he’s technically got a leg up on Jimmy right now.” “We’ll see, King. I personally think he’s counting his Jimmys before they are ‘Doomed.’” Mak smiles mischievously. “Francis, if you ever do that again, I’ll clamp a parking boot on that chair of yours. But it's time for us to get ready for our opener!” Mak mutters something very colorful at King while covering his microphone ========================================================================= ========================================================================= FADE IN “We’ve got a great night of action ahead on Storm,” says Mak Francis. “So let’s kick things off with two super-heavyweights! King, it was just about a week ago, that the individual whom is believed to be the original Ghost Machine, announced his return to the SWF and, in looking for a match, has been paired up against the Big Bully of the SWF, Mister Bruner!” “The two biggest men in the SWF today about to go head-to-head,” remarks the Suicide King. “And Ghost Machine may, or may not, be a robot, but I personally don’t think that’s going to save him from getting his ass handed to him tonight by Bruner!” “One thing is for sure,” adds Mak, “Ghost Machine hasn’t faced anybody of the talent level found here in the SWF recently… and in Bruner’s last televised match, he scored a big win over the always-dangerous MANSON!” “Anytime you can get a win over somebody like MANSON, that’s a big feather in your cap,” agrees King. “Personally, I think that Bruner’s star may be on the rise; not only did he beat MANSON, but he also gave that twerp Maddix all he could handle, and was a disqualification away from pounding Johnny Dangerous into a grease spot! The way I see it, he’s only one or two more convincing wins away from being a major player in the title picture?” “Yeah, but which title?” asks Mak. “Heavyweight? Hardcore? What title division do you put a four hundred sixty pound man in?” “Whatever division he wants!” replies King emphatically. “If Bruner says he wants to go after the World Cruiserweight Title, I know that I’M not going to be the one to tell him he can’t!” “Well, I’m sure that it’d make for a few compelling matches, but I can’t imagine the championship committee ever letting an idea like that fly… At any rate, we’re just about ready for the match,” says Mak, “so let’s send it up to Funyon!” DING! DING! DING! “Our opening contest is scheduled for one fall!” booms Funyon. With that, a generic robot-like techno theme begins playing, as Ghost Machine makes his way out from behind the curtain. “Making his way to the ring at this time,” continues Funyon, “from Parts Unknown, and weighing in at three hundred twelve pounds… is the GHOOOOOST MACHINE!” GM strides mechanically down the ring as fans surrounding the ringside area pelt him with empty soda cups and wadded-up popcorn bags. GM replies by spitting on the fans surrounding the barricade. “This promises to be an interesting dynamic,” says King. “What makes you say that?” “Well, look at the reaction that Ghost Machine is getting from the fans here in Charlotte,” notes King. “Neither of these guys is particularly popular with the fans, but Ghost Machine may be so unpopular that just kicking his ass may win Bruner some fans over!” “Quite frankly, I didn’t even know Ghost Machine was capable of garnering that kind of heat,” Mak says snidely. “But I must admit, I’m inclined to agree with you: if Bruner dominates Ghost Machine here tonight, he’ll probably at least earn a ‘Get Out of Jail” free card!” Ghost Machine steps through the ropes to enter the ring and adjusts his mask, as his music fades out, to be quickly replaced by the hot beat of Busta Rhymes’ “Call the Ambulance.” Now, motherfuckin’ case closed... (Huh!) The shit blow your speaker; keep turnin' your base low... (Huh!) Spaz out because I motherfuckin’ say so... (Huh!) Before I blow this bitch like we down in Waco... (Huh!) “His opponent,” continues Funyon, “being accompanied by Sir Marvelous… From the Bedford-Stuyvesant section of Brooklyn, New York, and weighing four hundred fifty-five pounds: BIIIG BULLY BRUUUUUN-ER!” Bruner makes his way to the ring to a surprising number of cheers. “An uncharacteristically warm reception for Mister Bruner,” says Mak, as Bruner arrives at ringside and climbs up to the apron, stepping over the top rope to enter the ring. He removes his jacket and fedora and hands them to Marvelous as the chorus begins to play: Call the ambulance, come and pick up your people, Call the ambulance, come and pick up your people, Call the ambulance, come and pick up your people, Put they body on the stretcher, carry they ass out! “And right there, you’re looking at the reason why I expect this to be a blowout in favor of Mister Bruner,” says King, pointing at Sir Marvelous. “JL Krunk may not have been much, but at least he would have evened things up from a number’s standpoint… and, since he would have actually had the physical advantage over Marvelous, he may have even been able to force Bruner into a mistake! But now, with it essentially two-on-one, and Sir Marvelous doing the thinking, I can’t see any way that Ghost Machine stands a chance!” Marvelous exits to the arena floor as Bruner’s music fades out; referee Red Herrington motions to the timekeeper to ring the bell, signifying the start of the match: DING! DING! DING! “Bell’s gone,” says Mak, “and we’re underway!” Ghost Machine and Bruner circle the ring, sizing each other up. “You don’t see that very often,” says King. “I mean, Ghost Machine is the second-biggest man in the SWF, and he’s giving up almost a hundred and fifty pounds to Mister Bruner!” “A hundred and forty-three, to be exact,” adds Mak. “That’s practically a cruiserweight!” Ghost Machine and Bruner lock up in the center of ring; because of Bruner’s height advantage, he has to bend forward to reach his opponent, enabling GM to take control with a side-headlock. Bruner easily backs Ghost Machine against the edge of the ring, however, and uses his strength to launch Ghost Machine into the ropes; GM lumbers across the ring, ever so incrementally picking up speed as he bounces off the ropes, and slams into the massive Mister Bruner… only to be knocked backwards by the impact! “How do you like that?” quips King. “Ghost Machine, all three hundred-plus pounds of him, ran into Mister Bruner at full speed… and Ghost Machine’s the one who went down!” “He’s a freak of nature, there’s no doubt about it,” agrees Mak, as Bruner taunts GM with a double biceps pose. GM methodically gets to his feet; he heads over back towards Bruner, and surprises him with a kick to the midsection that doubles him over! WHAM! Ghost Machine hammers Bruner in the side of the head with a thunderous right hand! WHAM! WHAM! WHAM! WHAM! Just when Ghost Machine thinks he’s starting to build some momentum, however, Bruner stands straight up and glares at him from behind his glasses; the Bully rolls his shoulders and charges towards the alleged robot to deliver a clothesline, but GM ducks with surprising alacrity! Ghost Machine plants his feet and quickly fumbles with something on his belt as Bruner bounces off the ropes and slams shoulder-first into GM… and, astonishingly fails to move him! BOOOOOOOOOO! GM raises his arm in taunt to Bruner and removes the item clipped to his belt, pointing it at the camera… “Gravimatrix 2000,” reads Mak. “It looks like the Ghost Machine had some sort of device that enhanced his center of gravity, and made it possible for him to resist Mister Bruner’s charge; maybe he really IS a robot, King!” “You can’t possibly be serious!” snaps King. “That freak isn’t a real robot! It’s a parlor trick; the art of distraction! Ghost Machine is playing mind games with Mister Bruner; the only thing that he’s managed to prove so far is that he’s not quite as stupid as he looks!” Annoyed by his failure to overpower Ghost Machine, Bruner raises his arm overhead in challenge to GM, inviting him to engage in a test of strength… GM appears willing to oblige him, but the Bully stuns him with a boot the midsection, and immediately follows it up with a clubbing double-axe handle blow! Bruner stands GM back up with a knee smash to the face, and immediately follows up with a backfist that knocks Ghost Machine down to the canvas! Bruner then measures GM before nearly flattening his head with a teeth-rattling elbow drop! He lays across Ghost Machine as Herrington gets into position to count: ONE! TWO! Ghost Machine kicks out at two! Bruner pulls him to his feet and whips him hard into a neutral corner; the Bully charges into the corner to deliver a ferocious running avalanche, but the alleged robot pulls himself out of the corner, causing Bruner to crash chest-first into the turnbuckles! “Nobody home!” shouts Mak. “Bruner went for the big avalanche, but Ghost Machine got out of the way!” GM again begins hammering Bruner with hard rights; he grabs Bruner by the wrist and attempts to whip him out of the corner, but he can’t budge the Big Bully! Bruner forcefully heaves Ghost Machine into the corner, and suddenly erupts into an explosive flurry of rights and lefts, to the delight of the Charlotte fans! YEAAAAAAAAAAH! Bruner grabs Ghost Machine and whips him across the ring into the opposite turnbuckles; the alarmingly quick Bruner flashes across the ring and crushes GM against the corners with a tremendous running avalanche that causes Ghost Machine to fall into a slumping heap in the corner! The fans chant for more as Bruner strides of the corner… FUCK HIM UP, BRUNER, FUCK HIM UP! *CLAP-CLAP!* FUCK HIM UP, BRUNER, FUCK HIM UP! *CLAP-CLAP!* FUCK HIM UP, BRUNER, FUCK HIM UP! *CLAP-CLAP!* FUCK HIM UP, BRUNER, FUCK HIM UP! *CLAP-CLAP!* “This crowd is incensed!” shouts Mak, as Sir Marvelous revels in putting the badmouth on GM from outside the ring. “Who would have ever thought that Ghost Machine would evoke such a reaction from these fans?” “They hate him,” agrees King. “Hell, look at Sir Marvelous, giving Ghost Machine the business; most of the time, the crowds booing when he even opens his mouth, but because his man is going up against Ghost Machine, they’re giving him a pass!” Bruner suddenly starts charging towards the corner that GM is slumped in… BANG! … And obliterates him with a running knee-smash to the face! YEAAAAAAAAAAH! “Good grief!” exclaims Mak. “Somebody had better to a tooth count on Ghost Machine after that!” “Tooth count,” repeats King, half-mockingly. “I thought you said he was a robot; make up your damned mind!” Bruner pulls GM out of the corner and almost effortlessly lifts him overhead with a military press! “My God,” mutters Mak. “That’s over three hundred pounds!” “Ghost Machine is a super-heavyweight,” adds King, “and Mister Bruner just lifted him overhead like he was the Fabulous Jakey!” Bruner dumps GM unceremoniously behind him to the canvas, and then heads over towards a nearby corner as Ghost Machine rolls over onto his back. “Mister Bruner’s heading over to the corner,” says Mak, as the Bully eases himself up to the middle turnbuckle. “And that’s never good news for anybody!” “Hell no!” agrees King emphatically. “Talk about being glad I’m retired… If I were still in the ring, and I saw a man Bruner’s size going up to the top, my life would flash before my eyes!” Bruner leaps off the second ropes to deliver a guillotine legdrop… WHAM! … But misses as Ghost Machine rolls out of the way! Bruner clutches his tailbone as GM crawls over towards the edge of the ring, using the ropes to pull himself to his feet. BOOOOOOOOOO! “Once again, Bruner with a high-risk move, and paid for it,” says Mak. Ghost Machine beats Bruner to his feet, and stuns the bigger man with a throat chop; he then doubles Bruner over with a boot to the midsection and begins to hammer him in the back repeatedly with machine-like double-axe handle blows! “Look at this,” says Mak. “Ghost Machine with a little offense of his own; the first he’s shown tonight!” Ghost Machine takes off behind Bruner and picks up speed as he bounces off the ropes to drive a running double-axe handle into the small of the Bully’s back! “He’s got a little momentum going,” agrees King, as GM traps Bruner in a standing headscissors. “And look at this; he’s going for the piledriver! If he hits this, Bruner’s in trouble!” “I think I might have to classify that as a mild upset,” says Mak. GM reaches down to wrap his arms around Bruner’s waist, but the Bully suddenly snaps his back straight up, launching GM overhead with a back-body drop! YEAAAAAAAAAAH! “Too much size,” says King. Bruner runs towards the edge of the ring, picking up speed as he bounces off the ropes, and leaping into the air to deliver a big splash, but GM rolls out of the way! “Ghost Machine just narrowly avoided a crushing defeat,” says Mak. GM beats Bruner to his feet and runs towards the ropes… BANG! … But the Bully snatches up Ghost Machine as he rebounds and spikes him down into the canvas with a ferocious spinebuster! The crowd roars their approval as Bruner shakes the cobwebs out of his eyes! “Ghost Machine took a chance, and may have almost had Mister Bruner compromised enough to hit that piledriver, but Bruner’s turned the tables!” says Mak. “And look at the snarl on Bruner’s face; I tell you what King, I’m actually kind of glad I can’t see his eyes from behind those shades right now!” “Positively,” agrees King, as GM crawls feebly towards the ropes. “I think that Ghost Machine has awakened something in Mister Bruner, and Ghost Machine’s going to wish he hadn’t, very shortly!” Bruner stalks over towards the edge of the ring and reaches over the top rope, pressing Ghost Machine’s throat into the middle rope to choke him out, all while Sir Marvelous continues to berate him from the outside. Herrington delivers a count to break it up: ONE! TWO! THREE! FOUR! FI— The Bully breaks just short of a five-count; Bruner runs across the ring, picking up speed as he bounces off the ropes… WHAM! … And raises his leg to bring it through the middle rope as he brings his crushing weight down on top of Ghost Machine! FUCK HIM UP, BRUNER, FUCK HIM UP! *CLAP-CLAP!* FUCK HIM UP, BRUNER, FUCK HIM UP! *CLAP-CLAP!* FUCK HIM UP, BRUNER, FUCK HIM UP! *CLAP-CLAP!* FUCK HIM UP, BRUNER, FUCK HIM UP! *CLAP-CLAP!* “This crowd is out for blood!” shouts Mak. “They want to see Ghost Machine get obliterated!” “You say that like it’s a phenomenon unique to this crowd,” jokes King, as Bruner steps out onto the apron. “Who the hell wouldn’t want to see Ghost Machine get obliterated?” “Be that as it may,” continues Mak, as the Bully ascends to the top rope, “these fans may well get their way; if Mister Bruner hits this Ghost Machine and Ghost Machine’s head may be leaving Bobcats Arena in two separate vehicles!” Bruner eggs the crowd on as he waits for GM to get to his feet; he then dives off the top turnbuckle like an ICBM… BOOM! … And crashes explosively into Ghost Machine, nearly decapitating him with a flying lariat! Without wasting anytime, Bruner turns towards the camera, and signs the crucifix… YEAAAAAAAAAAH! “This is it!” shouts King, as Bruner pulls Ghost Machine into a standing headscissors. “If he hits this, it’s all over!” The Bully bends down to wrap his arms around Ghost Machine before snatching him up off the canvas… BANG! … And driving him back down with a devastating snap powerbomb! “Snap powerbomb!” shouts Mak, as Bruner backs into the corner and eases his way up the ropes. “And we know what that means!” “We sure do,” replies King jovially. “It means that they’re going to have to pick Ghost Machine up with a spatula!” Mister Bruner gets all the way up to the top rope, and steadies himself before diving off the top rope… WHAM! … AND ANIHILATES GHOST MACHINE LIKE FAT MAN DID NAGASAKI! “The Big Avalanche!” shouts King. “He ain’t gonna get up from it!” ONE! “No way!” agrees Mak. TWO! “Call the ambulance, indeed!” THREE! DING! DING! DING! “Call the Ambulance” begins to play again, as Bruner rolls out of the ring. Herrington rolls out to raise his hand in victory, but the Bully scares him off, allowing only Sir Marvelous to raise his hand. “Mister Bruner with a big win over Ghost Machine,” says King. “And he made it look easy!” agrees Mak! “Let’s go to Funyon for the official word!” “Here is your winner,” booms Funyon, “BIIIG BULLY BRUUUUUNER!” “A great start to Storm tonight,” says Mak. “And we’ve got more excitement to come; don’t go away, folks!” Bruner and Marvelous retreat up the ramp as paramedics (and a mechanic) tend to Ghost Machine… As we: FADE OUT