chirs3

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=- In the Smartmarks Federation Next Sunday A.D. There'll be a wrestling show For the pleasure of you and me It's owned by Gizmonic Institute Who gave their previous test subjects the boot The Smartmarks thought it was the perfect place So they took a bunch of wrestlers and they shot them into spaaaaace! They'll fight in silly matches The dumbest, we can find (La la la) Our viewers will sit and watch them all And we'll monitor their mind (La la la) Now keep in mind they can't control When the matches begin or end They'll suffer through the insanity With the the help of their wrestling friends... WRESTLER ROLL CALL Zyon! Grendel! Tom Flesher! Dooooooooooooooooooom! If you're wondering how they'll eat and breathe And other science facts (La la la) Just repeat to yourself it's just a show I should really just relax For SWF Lockdown...three thoooousaaaaaaaaand! -=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=- The Smartmarks Wrestling Federation presents... SWF LOCKDOWN! Live, Wednesday, July 5th, aboard the Satellite of Love! (6pm PST, 10pm EST; check local listings) (Send all promos/marked matches to chirs3) The SWF's World Tour continues it's... uh... Off World... Tour... as we barely escape the burning wreckage of the Cairo Station thanks to the friendly folks aboard the Satellite of Love! Certainly we're grateful for the ride, but perhaps the inhabitants of the SoL are even more grateful for our arrival! Up until now, Mike, Crow, and Tom Servo have been force fed the most awful movies known to man by the evil Dr. Forrester, who's determined to find a movie so awful it literally saps the will to live out of anyone who watches it... but now that we're here, Dr. Forrester has given Mike and the bots the week off, and instead of wisecracking their way through terrible movies, they'll be providing smartass commentary for our show instead! Special OPTIONAL Guest Commentators: Mike Nelson, Tom Servo, and Crow T. Robot! If any of you godless heathens wish to use Joel instead of Mike, I guess I'll let it slide. The Crowd: Anywhere between 50 and 5000 SWF fans (exact size specifications for the SoL are hard to find), and the entire cast of Mystery Science Theater 3000. -=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=- THE MAIN EVENT - WORLD HEAVYWEIGHT CHAMPIONSHIP MATCH Michael Stephens © vs. Bruce Blank -> Michael Stephens, ever-eager to defend his title, is going to have a real fight on his hands tonight! Bruce Blank, the Ultraviolent Champion who broke records like they were... things... that break easy... now takes the fight to the Main Event, with the biggest prize in the industry on the line! Can the King of Ultraviolence succeed outside of the Hardcore Arena? Rules: Standard singles match. Sorry Bruce. Word Limit: 6000 Send to: Evolution -=-=-=-=- INTERNATIONAL CHAMPIONSHIP MATCH Aecas © vs. Austin Sly -> Austin Sly, fresh off not one but TWO victories over Spike Jenkins, has made it quite clear that he wants to move up in the world, and tonight, he gets his shot against the reigning International Champion, Aecas! Rules: Standard singles match. Word Limit: 5500 Send to: chirs3 -=-=-=-=- HANDICAP MATCH Grendel vs. Tom Flesher © and Charlie "Grappler" Matthews © -> Grendel's still steaming over being attacked by Tom Flesher, and as a response to this incident he threw down the gauntlet! Feeling a little bad about the Sandwich match, Peters allowed Tom to bring Grappler in with him, but this fact hasn't deterred Grendel one bit! Will the new tag team champions put this dog down, or can Grendel succeed in Rules: Standard handicap/tag rules. Only one member of MatFlesh allowed in the ring at any given moment. Word Limit: 5000 Send to: Longdogger Pete -=-=-=-=- HARDCORE CHAMPIONSHIP MATCH - HOUSE RULES ROCKET NUMBER 9 MATCH Jimmy the Doom © vs. Mike Van Siclen -> Our second Question Mark Man (not the first QMM) reveals himself - it's MVS! (I assume) he made quite an impact on Stryke, and has since expressed interest in the Hardcore Division, so we've given him the honor/pleasure/gift/blackmail he demanded of a Hardcore Title shot against Jimmy the Doom! Rules: This is a standard Hardcore Brawl - no DQ, no countouts, pinfalls count anywhere. The only hitch is, the referee is Rocket Number 9. Rocket Number 9 is an external camera that Joel/Mike and the Bots use to see anything outside the ship. For this match, it will be orbiting the Satellite of Love, constantly running in some crazy loop that takes it by all the windows on the SoL. The only time a pinfall can be counted is when Rocket Number 9 sees it, so you must attempt to pin your opponent while near a window that RN9 is currently passing by. Word Limit: 5000 Send to: Secret Agent -=-=-=-=- ANGRY CRUISER MATCH Bloodshed vs. Landon Maddix -> I had hoped to get Zyon/Cross on here tonight, but I haven't heard from Cross, so that match is delayed, which means Landon's CW Title aspirations are delayed as well! THIS MAKE LANDON SMASH! In order to keep him tuned up, we toss him the only available Cruiserweight we have right now - BLOODSHED! Known more for being a sick mothertrucker than solid cruiser, can Bloodshed triumph in this restrictive setting? Rules: Cruiserweight Rules. Word Limit: 5000 Send to: Longdogger Pete -=-=-=-=- SINGLES MATCH Wildchild vs. Kerry Staunton -> Seemed like a good idea. Rules: Standard singles match. Word Limit: 5000 Send to: chirs3 -=-=-=-=- OPENING BOUT - DEBUT MATCH Ciro Vitale vs. "Big Country" Martin Hunt -> Newbie debut, take two (rhyme intended)! Trent Hawk failed to dazzle audiences last week due to, I dunno, let's say a power outage. Let's hope we fare a bit better this time around. Ciro Vitale, the brash young Italian with a love of the high life, takes on the other resident JttS, Martin Hunt! Rules: Standard singles match. Word Limit: 4000 Send to: chirs3 -=-=-=-=- Opening Promo: Unclaimed -=-=-=-=- In case anyone isn't familiar with MST3K, here's a few references: Spring Fever Short Gumby Cartoon - Robot Rumpus! And yeah, I'm not too wild about using an active writer as a marker, but considering the rousing response I got in the Community Board thread, this is the best short-term solution. I'll do my best to make sure there are no conflicts of interests as far as which matches get marked. Any retirees out there too lazy to return to active duty (DREW), feel free to volunteer here.

DING DING! “Ladies and gentlemen,” says Funyon, as Storm fades back in, “the following tag team contest is scheduled for one fall... it is for the SWF Tag Team Championships... and it is your MAIN EVENT!” Funyon pauses to allow the USO crowd to pop for the card designation before continuing. “And now...” “AND NOW you’re going to shut your goddam mouth,” shouts the grating, acidic and always welcome voice of James Matheson, as he steps into the entranceway. “You know what the problem is with you, Funyon? You just don’t know when to let the professionals take over... and that’s what these two men are, they’re professionals. You’ve got a man who’s not only a former World Champion, but he’s working through a serious injury because he knows all of you came out to see him do his job... and you’ve got a man who’s held more titles in the SWF than any wrestler, active or inactive, who’s won more awards than anyone else, and who was a first-ballot Hall of Famer. Between the two of them, you’ve got the only team representing the U-S-of-A in this match! Together, they come in at 437 pounds... let’s hear it for the all-American team that’s going to bring the titles home for the boys in blue and send those evil people back to Doomtopia... they are Charlie ‘Grappler’ Matthews and ‘the Superior One’ Tom Flesher!” The crowd responds, of course, by letting us hear exactly what they think of the pair. As John Phillip Sousa’s “Stars and Stripes Forever” blares over the sound system, the crowd begins to boo loudly, even as Grappler steps through the curtain wearing his comically large, patriotically-painted neck brace and Flesher follows up in his warm-up suit... carrying a large American flag. “Oh, good lord,” Francis says, burying his head in his hands. Flesher waves the flag in the air as he struts to the ring, following his injured confrere to the squared circle and stepping in. As he enters, he props the flag up in the corner and strips off his warm-up, with Grappler taking his place outside the ring. “Stars and Stripes” fades out, as Matheson takes his place outside the ring and sets his briefcase on the apron. “It looks like Flesher’s going to start this one off,” Francis says. “Of course he is,” snaps King. “Look at Grappler’s neck! The sheer intestinal fortitude he’s showing just by BEING here tonight...” “... in space,” says Mak dryly. “In space,” King responds vigorously, “is more than I’ve seen from the likes of you in years!” Mak rolls his eyes. “Of course,” King mutters, “you don’t even have much intestinal control, so it’s kind of unfair to hold you to that standard.” Flesher stands in his corner and turns to the crowd. He grins, and the crowd buzzes with anticipation. (“He’s going to do it, isn’t he, King?” “Shh! You might miss something important.”) Flesher climbs to the bottom rope and shouts.... UUUUUUUUUUUUUU-S-A! U-S-A! BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO! (“Does he realize that only works when the fans like you?” “Shut up. The fans love Flesher and Grappler.”) Dissatisfied, Flesher hops down to the mat, muttering what appears to be the word “Philistines,” as a visibly agitated Funyon takes back his spot in the center of the ring. “And their opponents...” The lights turn a dull orange. This isn’t just any dull orange, though – it’s a special dull orange. It is the dull orange of winners, of people with slightly larger than average paychecks... it’s the champions’ dull orange. The fans know this. Flesher knows this. Matthews knows this. Matheson knows this, probably because his name sounds like ‘Matthews.’ Even the referee, Sexton Hardcastle, knows this, and he doesn’t know much of anything. The Tag Team Champions are on their way, and Incredibad’s “Just 2 Guyz” is their fanfare. “Did you ever notice that it’s not just two guys?” muses Mak. “I mean, they’ve got Lois, too, and even if she was a guy, she’d make three.” “Quiet, you,” hisses King. “I’m trying to figure out why this orange is different from all other oranges, and why I’m sitting next to a bitter dip who just needs some herb.” The obligatory Jewish joke for the night taken care of, the camera turns to Jimmy the Doom and the Doomstroyer making their way to the ring, each man wearing the traditional Doomopolisian Toque of Honor. The three-foot-high hats glimmer as Lois unethically follows her charges to the ring. Each wears a Tag Team belt around his waist. Even Jimmy’s mustache seems brighter tonight, which is odd, considering that it is black. “Making their way to the ring, accompanied by Lois the Unethical, at a total combined weight of 515 pounds... they represent Doomtopia, and are the SWF TAG TEAM CHAMPIONS... Jimmy the Doom... the Doomtopian Destroyer... the NEW... DOOM... TOOOOOOOPIANS!!!!!!” The crowd goes wild as the men enter the ring. The Doomstroyer scowls through his mask, and Lois takes a seat at the edge of the ring. She pulls out a copy of Jared Diamond’s Guns, Germs and Steel and opens it to page one. “She’s expecting this to be epic,” marvels Francis. Each Doomtopian removes his hat and sets it reverently in the corner. Then, each hands his belt to Hardcastle. He holds them in the air, then hands them off Funyon. “Jimmy’s going to start this one off for the Champions,” Francis says, as Jimmy indeed steps to the center of the ring. His eyes are ablaze. “He’s looking forward to making Flesher pay for force-feeding him that Cuban sandwich a week ago.” King pauses. “Is that the sort of thing you pictured yourself saying when you auditioned to be a commentator, Mak?” Francis shrugs. “It’s a living.” DING DING DING!!!! “And indeed, Flesher and Jimmy are starting this one off,” says the Suicide King, as Flesher and Jimmy square off in the center. Tom smirkingly offers his hand, which the scowling Straight Bread Sensation slaps away, to an “Ooooooooh” from the crowd. “Jimmy’s still pissed off at Flesh,” Francis says. Jimmy lunges at Flesher, who backs away. He turns to the crowd and, stomping his foot with each letter, shouts... UUUUUUUUUUUUUU-S-A! U-S-A! BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO! “Jesus,” says Francis, “you’d think he’d get a better reception at a USO show.” “What can I say?” sighs King. “These people don’t know patriotism when they see it.” The Doomtopian Hero turns to the crowd and shouts, “DOOMTOPIA!” UWAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHH! “Philistines,” mutters King. “Flesh already said that.” “It bore repetition.” Sneering, Flesher grabs Jimmy by the wrist and sends him to the ropes with an Irish whip. As he rebounds, the Superior One leaps off his feet and... FEMUR~! FEMUR~! slams Jimmy to the mat with a blast double leg takedown! Jimmy quickly bellies down, and Flesher reaches around to hook his left arm with a hammerlock. Though he embraces a straight-bread philosophy, the Doom no such opinion on the relative straightness of other foods and thusly bends his arm into a chickenwing before letting it go limp and pulling it free as he rolls to the side. He gets up to his knees. However, the Doomtopian’s height and reach advantages combine such that, on his knees, he’s the size of a normal man standing up. As a result, he reaches down and grabs Taamo by the head, then leaps to his feet and falls back with a DDT! Flesher bounces off the mat, and Jimmy covers him! ONE! KICKOUT! “Jimmy the Doom surprises Tom with an evenflow DDT and gets the first count of the match!” Mak says. “Pfft,” King retorts, with a spittle factor of at least 7.45. “The only thing that matters is who ends up with the victory, and I think you and I both know who that’s going to be.” Flesher kicks out with authority, but Jimmy stays on him. He lifts Tom to his feet and throws a vicious knee to his jaw, sending the Superior One staggering to the sidelines. Jimmy sprints at Tom and throws another knee, but Flesher is expecting this one. He dodges it, allowing the Doomtopian to hit the ropes and entangle himself. Flesher stands back a few feet, waiting for Jimmy to disentangle his limbs. He keeps waiting. He keeps waiting. “Wow, Jimmy’s got himself some long, tangly legs,” Mak notes. “He’s like a spider,” King says, with a boyish air of wonderment in his voice. Finally, Jimmy manages to free himself, only to walk directly into Flesher... BLEPHAROSPASM~! and take a thumb straight to the eye! Jimmy staggers backward, and Flesher takes a moment to... “Not again” Mak sighs. UUUUUUUUUUUUUU-S-A! U-S-A! BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO! “Does he realize that’s not going to work?” “He’s just waiting for the damn philistines to catch on,” King snaps, clearly irritated with the fans. As Jimmy starts to recover from the vicious thumb to the eye, Flesher shoots on him once again and snags one of his exceptionally lanky lower limbs with a low single leg takedown. He pulls Jimmy to the mat and climbs up his body, reaching out and grabbing him by the left arm. As Jimmy rolls to his stomach, Flesher extends the arm, then drops a knee down onto the shoulder! Jimmy recoils in pain, and Tom smirks at James Matheson, who cheers Flesher on. “That’s right!” he screams. “Break that thing right off!” Jimmy the Doom starts to get up to his feet, but Flesher grabs him by the arm and arm-drags him back to the mat. Jimmy rolls through, but Flesher barrels at him with a stiff shin-kick to the head! Jimmy, however, is prepared for such an eventuality, and ducks down to avoid the blow! Tom, off balance, staggers a few steps as Jimmy gets to his feet. Then, with nearly no warning other than a shout of “I SHALL BLOW YOUR FACE SIMULTANEOUS TO MY BOOT!”, Jimmy throws a big boot to Tom’s head... METATARSAL~! ...stunning him and taking him to the mat! “Jimmy the Doom is looking quite impressive tonight,” says Francis. “The straight bread match didn’t turn out too well for him, but you have to understand that everything ABOUT that match was contrary to Jimmy’s philosophy. Of course he wouldn’t win. It’d be like Flesher wrestling a match where the only way to win is to let the girl orgasm first.” As Tom tries to stand up, Jimmy grabs him around the waist and hoists him into the air, twirling him head-over-heels. Just as the Superior One is starting to look a little airsick, Jimmy returns him to his upright and locked position before dropping to one knee and slamming Flesher with an inverted atomic drop! PATELLA~! “I take it back,” Mak says. “He’s totally going to win that one next week.” Flesher steps off Jimmy’s knee, seething and grabbing his crotch. He looks over to Grappler, who grimaces with pain and rubs his tender neck... or at least the enormous brace surrounding it. Flesher turns to Jimmy, who he sees is starting to raise his knee for the devastating Yak kick! Before he can throw it, Flesher dives to the mat in desperation and dropkicks Jimmy’s sole supporting point out from under him! The crowd boos as Flesher rolls to his knees, but Jimmy starts his recovery as quickly as Tom does. Nonetheless, Flesher is able to get to his feet first and meets Jimmy with a stiff shin-kick to the left shoulder. As Jimmy winces in pain, Flesher reaches down to adjust his kickpad before following it up with more of the same. “Tom Flesher seems to have his sights set on Jimmy the Doom’s left arm,” Mak says. “Smart move on his part, as that’ll cripple Jimmy as far as the Hand of Doom, the Jimmy Bomb and the Doom Factor. Leaves Doomsday pretty much alone, though, and the Doomstroyer is still fresh, as he has yet to be tagged into the match.” “So does Grappler,” King says, “but you don’t see him whining about it.” Flesher hooks Jimmy around the waist and reaches behind him to capture the left arm in a hammerlock. Then, with all the explosiveness inherent in a Flesher lift, the two-time World Champion flips his beanpole-shaped opponent over and slams him to the mat, arm first, with a hammerlock powerslam! Jimmy cringes as he lands hard on the limb, but Flesher grabs him by the head and drags him to the magnificent twosome’s corner. “As always, Tom Flesher and Charlie Matthews are coming in with a strategy,” says the Suicide King. “You can almost see Matheson using a marker to draw a line across the middle of the ring, with Flesher and Grappler making sure not to let Jimmy cross it.” “Plus, it’s hard to cheat with the tag rope when the opponent’s in a neutral corner,” Mak says flatly. Flesher kicks Jimmy to a seated position and reaches out, tagging in Charlie Matthews. A few dedicated fans begin their chant of “BORING! BORING!” even before the Grappler enters the ring, but most of the fans are polite enough to wait and see if there’s a powerslam or – god forbid! – a jackhammer awaiting the Straight Bread Sensation. The giant steps around Jimmy, grabbing his left arm before pausing to flex every muscle not directly attached to his neck. He takes a deep breath, and the fans follow suit, anxiously awaiting the excitement that comes from an injured victim and a fresh, strong giant! Nope. “Charlie Matthews applies that pumphandle armbar,” says Mak, almost having to shout to be heard over the chants. “He’s got the armbar locked up, and believe me when I tell you, having three hundred plus pounds sitting on your shoulder isn’t something I’d recommend.” BOOOOOORING! BOOOOOOOORING! “Can you hear that?” shouts King. “These fans don’t know what they’re seeing! They’re calling a former World Champion boring! I don’t believe it!” BOOOOOORING! BOOOOOOOORING! “Believe it, King,” Mak yells. “Charlie Matthews may have a hurt neck, but these fans want to see the old-style Grappler. This just isn’t going to cut it.” As Graps leans on the pumphandle armbar, James Matheson opens up his Halliburton briefcase and pulls a handkerchief out of it. He hands it to Flesher, who dutifully reaches over the ropes and dabs Grappler’s forehead dry. Then, after a pat on the shoulder, Flesher steps back into the corner and returns to encouraging his partner. Specifically, he encourages Grappler by trying to get the crowd on his side. UUUUUUUUUUUUUU-S-A! U-S-A! BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO! (“Jesus Christ.” “Who you won’t find in war-torn, godless Doomtopia, Makenzie. Please remember that. You and all the philistines out there.”) However, the 2004 Clusterfuck winner realizes that, deep down, he really wants the fans’ support, and in order to garner it, he relinquishes the armbar, to the dismay of James Matheson. Yes, Charlie Matthews is mixing things up. He brings Jimmy to his feet and, grabbing him by the bad arm, whips him towards the ropes. As the Doom rebounds, Grappler reaches and latches onto the left arm, using Jimmy’s own momentum to drive him down — with appropriate shoulder wrench — via a single-arm DDT. Immediately upon impact, Matthews clamps down with a Fujiwara armbar! “Moveset, baby!” King cheers, “Charlie Matthews is showing exactly how he earned the nickname ‘Grappler.’ He is a veritable cornucopia of holds and submissions and general ass-kickery.” “Unfortunately,” Mak adds, dryly, “he is not a veritable cornucopia of charisma. At least someone like, say, Michael Stephens, could make this hold somewhat interesting.” Something Charlie didn’t take into account, though, was his own positioning in the ring, as Jimmy is only inches from the ropes. Since Grappler is facing the opposite way, he doesn’t realize that the Doomtopian is able to reach…reach…scoot…and grab onto the bottom rope, forcing Matthews to break the hold! Grappler does so with amazing class, even allowing Jimmy to use the ropes to pull himself up to his feet! What a guy. This was, of course, one of the stupider things to do. Taking any advantage he can, the Doomtopian lashes out with an advanced kick to the solar plexus! PLACENTA~! The force knocks the wind out of the challenger, allowing Jimmy to follow this up shorter, quicker kicks to the thighs and lower abdomen of Matthews. With the bigger man suitably stunned, Jimmy backs into the ropes to pick up momentum, before glomping at Grappler with a flying body scissors takedown… …but, well, he doesn’t go down. In this awkward hugging position, Matthews is able to turn the tide and scoop Jimmy onto his shoulder, take two steps forward and drop to a knee, driving the left shoulder right into his knee! Frustrated and, perhaps feigning or perhaps legitimately feeling some bad tingling in his neck, Charlie Matthews backs into his corner and tags in Tom. He timely replaces the American flag onto the ringpost (after waving it) before reentering the ring. “This is such a sound strategy by the challengers,” King points out, “because Jimmy the Doom is clearly the more talented of the Doomtopians. By isolating him and focusing on that left arm, Tom and Grap are ensuring that, even if a hot tag is made, it might be closer to lukewarm.” “The Doomstroyer is still a bearer of destructicity and a pantheon of punishment,” Mak replies, shaking his head at the word choice, “but you are surprisingly correct in regards to the isolation of Jimmy. In a way, I guess Jimmy is the meat of the—” King gasps, “Don’t say it!” “—meal.” “Oh, I thought you were going to say sandwich.” “Or sandwich.” And even twenty feet away, inside of the ring, Jimmy the Doom quivers. Lois, on page 16 of her heavy reading, feels an intense twitching in her right eye. The Doomstroyer stands idly. Suddenly, like Lazarus with a bad arm, Jimmy the Doom leaps to his feet, alive and kicking! Seriously, we mean literally kicking, as he shoots some kicks into the air as Flesher enters the ring, eyebrow quizzically cocked. The Doom turns to face his opponent, and with newfound vitality, beckons “You! Wherefore can approach immediately!” The crowd roars at this battle cry, but what Jimmy exhibited in guts he apparently lacked in brains, as Flesher is quite easily able to take a hold of Jimmy’s left arm, twisting it behind his back in a hammerlock. Jimmy lets out some groans similar to those found in the N64 wrestling games when the wrestler is in “Danger” and they are put in a submission. Flesher, however, isn’t looking for a tapout. Instead, he ducks under Jimmy’s right arm and hoists him into the air before dropping Jimmy’s and his own weight down onto the arm with a hammerlock-assisted backdrop suplex! HUMERUS~! BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO! Taamo casually executes a lateral press on his fallen opponent. ONE! TW-KICKOUT! “See, Mak, what’d I tell you!” King groans, “the mere mention of the s-word brought forth a completely new level of vitriol and fighting spirit in Jimmy the Doom!” “Well, I’m glad I could help. Now maybe Jimmy can finally make a tag to the Doomstroyer, and the roof will be torn from this space station!” “I don’t think that would be a good thing, Mak.” Tom Flesher knows exactly what is to be required to completely slow the momentum of Jimmy the Doom. Something big, burly. Slow-moving. Capable of executing the perfect resthold. *CLAP!* “And Matthews is tagged in!” King exclaims, saving the writer a few words of tag-making description. Grappler enters with slightly more haste than usual, though, ensuring that Jimmy the Doom cannot take advantage of the aforementioned tag-making to tag-make himself. Still, Jimmy crawls towards his own corner, the crowd cheering louder by the second. *SQUISH* that is, until Matthews pounces on top of Jimmy, stopping him. BOOOOOOOOOOOOO! At the behest of Flesher, Matthews brings Jimmy to his feet and traps both of the champion’s arms between the two heaving, sweating bodies and then wraps his own arms around the midsection, executing an arm-capture bearhug! “This is genius!” King cheers, “Charlie Matthews is not only working in one of his signature deadly submission maneuvers, but he’s also continuing the work on that left arm of Jimmy the Doom!” “And thank heaven for this,” Mak rolls his eyes, “I was worried I’d have a heart attack if the action kept at its intense pace any longer.” BOOOOOORING! BOOOOOORING! The servicemen and women are sure to let their feelings about Grappler’s wrestling be known, even though, all things considered, it’s a pretty smart route for the former World Champion to take. Flesher, knowing that Grappler is sensitive to the crowd’s reactions, takes matters into his own hands to try to get the crowd to chant something a little more... supportive. (“Jesus CHRIST, King!” “Oh, show some team spirit.”) UUUUUUUUUUUUUU-S-A! U-S-A! BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO! Flesher turns to James Matheson, who shouts, “Why do you bother with these philistines?” Flesher shakes his head, disgusted. Meanwhile, Jimmy yodels and howls in pain as both his arms and midsection are crushed by the monstrous force exerted. “ACHIEVE! STRETCH TENACITY LIKE A GLOBE!” The Doomstroyer’s words are…helpful, at least in the back of Jimmy’s mind. They’re not actually helpful in getting him out of the bearhug, of course, but you see, it’s the thought that counts. Desperate to fill time in some way other than repeating that Jimmy is in fact wrapped up in a bearhug, Mak stammers for a moment. “So... um... uh....” Finally, as if with a lightbulb over his head, he inquires, “So, King, how do you feel about Grap’s neckbrace?” “It’s obviously very necessary in his continued quest to put on the best matches possible whilst keeping his own well-being intact. Still, I can tell he’s in pain.” There’s a pause, before King adds for emphasis, “Crippling pain.” *Thwack* Paraplegic commentators don’t always enjoy emphasis. To shake things up a little bit, Matthews adds a variation to the bearhug by…dropping down to a knee! Matheson and Flesher execute stereo golf claps as Matthews wrenches in the hold, obviously proud of himself for going above and beyond the call of duty. “And even if the arm hadn’t been worked over,” Mak adds, unrolling his program, “the arm-capture is smart because it prevents Jimmy the Doom from executing the deadly ear-box, perhaps Charlie Matthews’ sole Achilles’ cochlea.” The “BORING” chants formerly executed by the now-tranquil fans are replaced by something much easier to chant. DOOM! DOOM! DOOM! “Have you ever repeated a word so many times,” King begins, “that the word itself sounds completely ridiculous? Take ‘whom’ or ‘doorknob,’ or even ‘fork,’ as examples. But ‘doom?’ Well, that was already ridiculous in the first place.” Unfortunately, where the arm-capture is smart in preventing escape, it also makes things quite difficult for the referee regarding the patented arm-raise method for ascertaining submission. The only solution is to incessantly ask verbally, ad nauseam. However, upon the referee’s seventeenth inquiry for a submission, Jimmy the Doom begins again violently quivering, to the point where Charlie Matthews is, essentially, holding a giant vibrator! And while this may be helpful outside of the ring, it certainly comes at a frustrating time when trying to achieve a submission. Still, Jimmy cocks his head back…and snaps forward, firing a headbutt right into Matthews’ face! And another! A third! And a fourth…right to the Old Glory neck brace! “That did it!” Mak exclaims, “Jimmy the Doom makes all sufferers of neck injuries cringe with a headbutt that forced Charlie Matthews to release the bearhug. Myself included, but damn it, I’m just glad that move was finally released.” Matthews stumbles back, allowing Jimmy the Doom to use a remaining pint of energy to leap into the air (not quite as high as usual because not all of the air has returned to his lungs) and catch Grappler in the collarbone with a high dropkick! The force pushes Matthews down square onto his posterior, allowing Jimmy the Doom to lunge back towards his own corner…and TAG IN THE DOOMSTROYER! YEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH! As Matthews gets to his feet, the Doomstroyer sprints at him and hammers the Grappler in the sternum with a lariat! Matthews staggers backwards, and Tom Flesher reaches out to clap him on the shoulder and tag himself in. As Matthews recovers and starts out of the ring, Flesher blindsides the Doomstroyer with a vicious Yakuza kick that knocks the monster off-guard. Flesher backs away and crouches down, lying in wait for the Doomtopian giant to turn back toward him. As soon as the Doomstroyer does, Flesher launches his body at him with a blast double leg! It would be more successful, of course, if the Doomstroyer weren’t able to simply lift a knee and nearly decapitate Flesher before he makes contact. OOOOOOOOOOH! Flesher crumbles to the mat clutching his face as the Doomstroyer grabs the top rope for balance and begins stomping a mudhole in his chest. The former World Champion tries to pull away, only to have the Doomstroyer reach down, grab him by the head and slam him back to the mat before resuming his mudhole-stomping activities. “It doesn’t look good for the home team,” sighs King. The Doomstroyer lifts Flesher off the mat and turns him overhead, then hoists him into the air. The heavyweight Doomtopian looks to his partner as Jimmy holds his tender arm. The monster then begins military pressing Flesher overhead, with the USO crowd counting along as he does. ONE! TWO! THREE! FOUR! FIVE! SIX! SEVEN! After seven presses, the Doomstroyer holds Flesher in the air, and then drops him carelessly to the mat with a gorilla press slam! Flesher hits the mat with a THWACK, and the Doomstroyer drops down onto him to make the cover! ONE! TWO! NO! Flesher gets his shoulder up, safe but only for this count. The Doomstroyer, frustrated by his inability to get the pin, lifts his adversary off the mat and pulls him into a short-arm punch to the face. “Well, that was... elegant,” King says. “Doomstroyer has clearly been studying up on the wrestling,” says Mak approvingly. As Flesher collapses to the mat, the Doomstroyer looks over to Jimmy the Doom, who shouts instructions at him in his native Doomtopian. Of course, the Doomtopian language is unbelievably difficult to understand, and so only the fans living in the areas of Doomopolis with cable TV are able to predict a half-second beforehand that Doomstroyer is about to put Flesher into a bearhug. “And look at that...” says Mak, pausing as he waits for Doomstroyer to put on the hold. “... aha! bearhug!” Flesher writhes in pain as the Doomstroyer tightens his grip around his upper midsection. “You’ll notice,” says Mak, “that he has his arms wrapped around what are known as the ‘floating ribs.’ They’re particularly vulnerable to pressure, and putting pressure there affects the diaphragm as well, making it quite difficult to breathe.” “Oh, come on,” moans King. “Why do you have to tell us things that anyone with half a brain would know?” As Flesher writhes in pain, Grappler shouts advice to him from his corner. “COME ON, TOM! YOU KNOW WHAT TO DO!” We never said it was particularly useful advice. Nonetheless, Flesher thinks back to earlier in the match and realizes that the Doomtopian Destroyer has failed to pin his arms! He reaches out and slams both hands into the Doomstroyer’s head, boxing his ears to get him to release the hold! As soon as he finds himself freed, Flesher backs away. The Doomstroyer turns back to him, and Flesher hammers him with a palm strike that stuns him just long enough to sprint back to his corner. As Flesher climbs to the second rope, he extends his arm. Grappler conspicuously grabs the tag rope and claps him on the hand. Without so much as a nod, Flesher dives off the top rope and right into the waiting arms of the Doomstroyer! “Oh boy, this doesn’t look good for Flesher!” says Mak. And it sure doesn’t. The Doomstroyer grabs Flesher in another bearhug and pivots, then slams him down to the mat with a spinebuster! Jimmy shouts further gibberish at the Doomstroyer, who remains on Flesher and looks expectantly at Sexton Hardcastle! However, Hardcastle refuses to make the count! “Flesher’s not legal!” shouts King. “But the Doomstroyer doesn’t realize it!” He looks up and shouts, “ARITHMETICALLY PROGRESS THE GLOBULAR TRIP!” (“Count the fall?” “Well, sure, Mak, if you want to get liberal with the transliteration.”) As Hardcastle adamantly refuses to call the fall, Charlie Matthews storms into the ring. He looms over the Doomstroyer, waiting for him to stand up, no doubt to inflict some kind of vicious bodily harm on him as soon as he does! As the Doomstroyer gets to his feet to argue what he sees as a blatant failure to end the match, Matthews reaches behind him and clamps on a sleeperhold! The crowd groans in collective. As Flesher rolls to the outside to comply with Hardcastle’s demand that he exit the ring immediately, the Doomstroyer flails his arms before quickly grabbing the ropes! Immediately, the crowd begins to cheer, anticipating the end of Grappler’s restholds, and the Doomstroyer turns to face him. Grappler grabs him around the chest and falls to the side, throwing the Doomstroyer to the mat with a side belly-to-belly suplex! As the monster hits the mat, wind knocked out of him, Flesher steps into the ring, much to the consternation of Jimmy the Doom! Jimmy enters, and immediately, Sexton Hardcastle turns and orders him out of the ring. As Jimmy shouts in protest, Flesher crouches down, watching the Doomstroyer very slowly get to his feet. Grappler turns toward Jimmy, slowly baiting him to enter the ring even as Hardcastle holds him back. Meanwhile, once the Doomstroyer gets to his feet, Flesher lets fly with a well-aimed dropkick straight to the jumblies! BOLLOCKS~! The Doomstroyer drops to one knee, feeling the severe pain of unethical treatment of his testicles. Meanwhile, Grappler turns around, grabbing the kneeling hoss in a standing headscissors. Flesher turns toward him and, with a smirk, makes the familiar pulling motion. “Oh god,” says Mak, burying his face in his hands. “This isn’t necessary. Not after you just kicked him in the crotch!” “I saw no such thing.” As Flesher scurries to the second rope, Grappler turns the 285-pound brute upside down and presents him to the Superior One. Tom grabs the Doomstroyer by the boots and leaps off the turnbuckle just as Matthews sits out. Flesher’s weight turns an already vicious maneuver into a devastating, life-threatening spike piledriver! “This took out Amy Stephens, Grendel and Bloodshed,” says King, his voice alight with glee. “And now it’s going to bring the Tag Team Titles back home to Flesher and Grappler!” Doomstroyer crumbles to the mat, and Grappler rolls over onto him to make the cover. Immediately, Flesher runs over, shouting at Hardcastle that there’s a cover on the other side of the ring! As Hardcastle turns, Jimmy finally enters the ring and hammers Tom with a high kick the chest! He reaches out, grabbing Flesher by the throat with the Hand of Doom! Meanwhile, Hardcastle makes the count! ONE!!! Jimmy hoists Flesher into the air! TWO!!!!! He slams Tom to the mat with the Jimmy Bomb! Flesher hits with a THUD, and Jimmy looks furiously at Hardcastle! THREE!!!!!!!!! DING DING DING!!!! Jimmy, furious that he’s been had, fumes as he rolls out of the ring to try to rouse Lois. Meanwhile, Matheson enters the ring, and Grappler jumps (not very high) for joy! “The winners of the match,” says Funyon, “and NEW SWF Tag Team Champions... Tom Flesher and CHARLIE... GRAPPLER... MAAAAAAAAAATTHEWWWWWWS!!!!!!” Doomstroyer twitches on the mat, completely unconscious from the spike piledriver. Meanwhile, Matthews and Matheson help the wobbly Flesher to his feet and raise his arms. He doesn’t seem to quite register what’s going on until Matheson snatches one of the tag team belts from Hardcastle and wraps it around Tom’s waist... at which point Flesher catches on and shouts with excitement! “WE’RE NUMBER ONE! WE’RE NUMBER ONE!” He leaps into Matthews’ arms, somehow looking completely ungay in the process. As Matthews lifts him into the air, his neck somehow not an issue for him at this point, Flesher does the only thing he can think to do: engage the crowd. U-S-A! U-S-A! ~fade

We return from another commercial break and to say that the situation is unusual is a bit of an understatement. The area around the ring is completely empty with every single Marine, ODST, Helljumpers and whatever else personnel currently stationed on Cairo Orbital Defense Platform in a pitched battle at the far end of the Pelican Bay as they try to hold off the invading horde of Covenant soldiers, they’ve even enlisted most of the SWF ringside crew leaving only Funyon in the ring and the two commentators “Ladies and gentlemen the following House Rules Match is -” Funyon starts only to be cut off by a *ZOOOOORP!* “That’s it, you guys are on your own” Funyon says as he throws the microphone down, leaves the ring and then runs towards the “backstage area” hoping to get out of the line of fire “What a wimp eh King? You don’t see any of us running just because of some alien weapons fire – no sireee bob” Mak says and then turns to look at the Suicide King. . . or rather his empty chair “King?” Asks Mak “Over here Mak” King says over the headset and then waves to Mak from a secure blast shelter in the corner of the bay. “I’d have asked you to join me but it’s not handicap friendly, sorry” he adds with a big grin that doesn’t really make him seem sorry. “Bring me to Life” by Evanesence begins to play over the PA system heralding either the entrance of the mystery known as Grendel or signalling that the SWF has gotten Ben Affleck to reprise his role at Daredevil for one night only. The appearance of a man all in black with a large staff dashes the hopes of the two people at home really hoping for a Daredevil appearance as it’s obviously Grendel, the mysterious man on a mission who walks down the ramp past rows and rows of chairs “You know the SWF fans just love this show so much that a lot of them sneaked in here dressed up as chairs” King says from the safety of the blast shelter trying to distract from the fact that everyone but Mak, King and Grendel are busy fighting off the invading Covenant forces. If Grendel is surprised by the empty ringside rows he doesn’t show it, instead he just places his staff up against the turnbuckles and then looks around at the weapons scattered around ringside, some with keys, some without to make the odds that much worse. ”Well every time that I come home nobody wants to let me be It seems that all the friends I got just got to come interr –*ZOOOOORP!* YEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHH!! Having his beloved Skynyrd cut off doesn’t do much for Bruce’s mood as he steps out onto the deck – three seconds in and he’s already pissed off, but it’s about to get much worse *ZOOORP!* *ZOOOOORP!* *ZOOOOOORP!* Three stray green plasma bolts strike the deck to Bruce’s right only inches from his boots. When he sees more weapons fire coming his way he starts running towards the ring, zigging and zagging back and forth to avoid any accidental fire from the fighting forces. “WEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE Look at him go” King says and laughs “Yeah easy for you to be so damn cocky King” Mak mumbles while cursing out his co-commentator for leaving him out in the open. Once he’s at ringside he slows down a bit, the ring will hopefully give him some cover from the weapon’s fire – BUT NOT FROM GRENDEL COMING OFF THE TOP ROPE WITH A PANE OF GLASS!! *KRESH!!* The glass shatters over Bruce’s head, freeing the key that had been inserted into the glass while at the same time also knocking Bruce to the floor and giving him several small cuts. Grendel uses his boot to brush some of the glass shards out of the way before he picks up the key. He looks at it for a moment, then he takes off running for the escape pod trying to take advantage of the fact that Bruce hasn’t quite regained his senses after the surprise attack. “TAKE ME WITH YOU GRENDEL!!” Mak bellows as the masked man runs over to the escape pod with the key that may be his salvation in hand. Grendel inserts the key, then does a quick fist pump as the key fits! Unfortunately the fist pump turns into punching the keypanel as he can’t turn the key and open the escape pod door. “So close, yet so far, Grendel will have to try again, this could take a while there are about 20 keys located around the ring but only ONE of them opens the escape pod” King says informing the audience at home of Grendel and Bruce’s odds tonight. “It could be the one Bruce is going for!” Mak says as his focus shifts from Grendel’s position and back to the ring where Bruce Blank is in the process of setting up the ladder so that he can get the key hanging from the ceiling. Bruce is still showing the effects of the pane of glass as blood is ticking down over his face in several places but he’s so obsessed with getting the key so he can leave the station that he ignores the blood and starts the climb for the key. The man known as “the Spirit of Aggression” spots Bruce on the bottom run of the stairs and then starts to run towards the ring, hoping that he’s fast enough to get there before Bruce can get the key. Bruce is over half way up by the time Grendel makes it to ringside and is reaching for the key only moments later. “Is this the key? Did they hide the key in the most obvious place?” Mak wonders as Bruce’s hand reaches out for the key. But the question will have to remain unanswered for now as Grendel quickly climbs the ropes, springboards off and drop kicks Bruce in the back sending the big man crashing into the ladder *CRASH!!* The ladder topples with Bruce clinging onto the top of it, tipping over on the ropes, teetering perilously close to flipping all the way over the ropes to the floor. Grendel casually strolls over and lifts the base of the ladder flipping both Bruce and the ladder over the top rope resulting in Bruce landing hard on the floor with the 15 foot tall ladder coming down on top of him only seconds later. “Man that HAD to hurt” Mak says and winces, maybe reminiscing about the time he could actually feel something below the waist. “Yeah but it’s not very smart now is it? He can’t get that key without the ladder” says King. “But to be fair, there are other keys out there – and if he can slow Bruce down it makes it easier for him.” Is Mak’s reply. Grendel climbs the ropes as Bruce lies on the mat on the outside with the ladder still across the chest, in the perfect position for Grendel to leap off the top rope and do even more damage. Which is exactly what Grendel has in mind it seems as he turns towards Bruce and gets ready to leap when *ZARP!* A plasma projectile flies through the air and grazes Grendel’s leg causing the Assassin to lose his footing and drop down to a seated position on the top turnbuckle while he holds his singed leg in pain. “Hey would you guys be careful? You could shoot someone’s leg off” King scolds “Shut up King! You’re safe in there, but I’m in the line of fire so for the love of god don’t piss them off any more” Mak says while desperately looking for something to hide behind. Bruce ignores the stray weapons fire and the war going on in the far corner of the bay as he gets back to his feet, slides the ladder into the ring and then crawls into the ring himself while keeping an eye on Grendel who seems to be more pre-occupied with his leg. Bruce grabs the ladder by the top rung, then he uses all his power to lift and spin the entire ladder around the ring, lifting it up over the height of the top rope as he does a 270 degree spin with it before releasing it so that it strikes Grendel straight in the chest. “HE KNOCKED HIM CLEAR OFF THE TOP ROPE!” King says with excitement as both Grendel and the ladder go flying out of the ring to the floor. Bruce takes a moment to brag by raising his hands in the air and flexing his muscles but since everyone in the arena are engaged in combat he doesn’t get a reaction from it. The big man exits the ring and then pulls up the curtain around the ring and peers under it, most likely looking for some sort of weapon to use on his opponent. But he doesn’t pull out a weapon but instead he pulls out a cooler that contains the beverages King and Mak have been drinking through the night. When Bruce opens the cooler he can’t help but smile as he finds a nice cold can of beer in there, a moment later the frosty can is opened at on Bruce’s lips *ZURP!* “SON OF A BITCH!” Bruce yells out as a Covenant plasma blast knocks the can out of his hand. Bruce turns and spots the shooter, a lone Covenant Brute that’s broken through the human defence lines and is trying to take out the two wrestlers at ringside. Unfortunately for him he made the mistake of hitting Bruce’s beer instead of Bruce, a mistake the King of Pain is ready to make him pay for as he hops over the guardrail, grabs a chair from the row and then runs at the Brute with the chair held high *ZOOOOORP!* The plasma blast burns a hole through the seat of the chair but there is still plenty of metal left as the Brute soon realizes when Bruce brings it down over his alien head with a sickening “thwack”. With Bruce busy fighting the alien the still limping Grendel looks around ringside for a key, trying to take advantage of the situation. With the Brute down Bruce grabs the guys plasma gun and starts to hit the Covenant soldier with it while yelling at him “NEVER!” *THWACK!* “PHASER!” *THWACK!* “A MAN’S” *THWACK!* “BEER!” *THWACK!* “ASSHOLE” . . . *THWACK!* As Bruce breaks the plasma gun over the Brute’s head Grendel has found a key, ironically it was buried under the ice in the cooler that Bruce pulled out moments ago. After breaking the plasma gun over the Brute’s head Bruce picks up the large bodied alien, flips him up into a power bomb position and then runs towards ringside where he throws the Covenant soldier over the guardrail THROUGH the Announcers table “HOLY CRAP!” Mak yells out as he has to hit his reverse button or get crushed by flying aliens. “GO BRUCE GO!! SCORE ONE FOR HUMANS!!” King yells out, encouraging all human on alien violence. Bruce steps over the guard rail, then he spots two keys that were taped to the under side of the announce table. Once he’s picked them up he finally turns his attention towards the escape pod, where to his surprise and horror Grendel is already ready to insert a key. The big man takes off running as fast as he can (so not super fast) trying to best to cover the 25 – 30 yard distance between the two before Grendel has a chance to try the key “RUN BRUCE RUN!!” King yells. But Bruce is no Forrest Gump and he ends up being too late as Grendel inserts the key in the lock, but is quickly disappointed when he can’t turn it. Disappointment turns into headache as Bruce hits a monster clothesline on the masked Assassin, a clothesline with a 25 yard running start no less “Man he almost took Grendel out of his boots with that one!” Bruce quickly pulls out the two keys he just found and then tries one of them, sadly it doesn’t even fit. The second key does fit in the lock, but it won’t turn no matter how much Bruce tries to force it, curse at it or hit it. After his third or fourth failed attempt at turning the key Bruce gives up, turns around. . . and stares right at a white armoured Elite white his weapon trained on both Bruce and Grendel. “Oh. . . shit!” Both Bruce and Grendel take off running, zigging and zagging back and forth as the Elite soldier fires round after round of plasma at the two wrestlers chasing them down the ramp towards the ring as he makes weird whooping sounds (probably sounds of victory but who can tell with these guys?) the two wrestlers suddenly forget all about fighting each other and instead huddle up on one side of the ring, out of sight of the Commander. Grendel says something to Bruce, then gestures to one side until Bruce nods in agreement. Bruce rolls to his right, then stands up and yells “YOUR MOTHER SMELLS OF KLINGON DICK!” “Uh Bruce? Bad idea” King advices him, a bit late but still. When the White armoured elite turn to shoot at Bruce a black shadow leaps out from the other side of the ring and strikes the alien right between the eyes with his staff, knocking the Elite Special Operations Commander out cold YEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHH!! The Marines cheer as Grendel just took out one of the key officers in the battle, hopefully they can turn the tide now and fight off the Covenant forces. Unfortunately the loss of one of their commanding officers seems to whip the Covenant forces into a frenzy and their attack intensifies, driving the Marines backwards back against the ring as the alien hordes begin to swarm onto the deck. “Screw this!” referee Ordonez says after seeing the alien attack force and runs off to hide along with Funyon and probably every other SWF wrestler and official. “How will we know who wins now?” Mak complains as Ced Ordonez dodges a stray bullet and then dives to safety “backstage” “Well here is a hint, the guy that leaves in the escape pod is the winner” King points out in the hopes of shutting his co-commentator off. As the Marines are being pushed back they retreat to the ring trying their best to keep the Covenant hordes back. The two men who came to the ring for a match suddenly find themselves embroiled in a war and it looks like they’ve both been drafted as a Sergeant tosses Bruce a BR55 and tosses a shotgun to Grendel, the two wrestlers look at the weapons, then at each other not sure what to think or do. Moments later the decision is taken out of their hands as the choice is defend themselves or be run over And neither Bruce nor Grendel take too kindly to be run over so “fight back” it is. “I’d like to point out that the SWF is in no way responsible for any crimes of war committed by one of it’s wrestlers, nor do they implicitly approve of the actions of Bruce Blank and Grendel” King says, obviously after being told to do so over his headset “OH YEAH? Well it’s not your ass they’re saving so I’m saying GO ON BOYS!! FUCK THEM UP!!” Mak yells out as he tries to manoeuvre his wheelchair away from the fighting “Oh calm down Mak, I for one welcome our alien overlords” King says while holding up a home made sign that says “Yay Aliens” in an attempt to save his own hide. Grendel and Bruce both throw themselves into the battle, guns blazing as they try to help the marines stop the Covenant onslaught. A Covenant soldier throws a cling grenade in the middle of the group, Bruce unwisely tries to kick it and it ends up stuck to his foot instead of the deck causing Bruce to hop around on one leg while shrieking for someone to get it off “Hold still” Grendel instructs him, then he uses his shotgun as a baseball bat and strikes the grenade *DING!!* The grenade (and half of Bruce’s boot) flies off like Grendel hit a home run, landing in a cluster of Covenant troops before exploding *BOOOOOOM!!* “Erm. . . thanks” Bruce kinda mumbles before ducking under a plasma blast and returning fire. “You know all we wanted was a nice quiet wrestling event” Mak whines as he hides behind the remains of the announcers’ table. “I don’t get paid enough to be in a damn war zone.” “Oh take it like a man Mak!” King says from his secure location. *BOOOOM!!* A grenade goes off close to Mak, blowing the announcers’ table to bits, knocking the wheelchair over and hurling Mak across the floor. “MAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAKK!” King yells out, revealing that he actually cares a little about his co-commentator “Are you alright there pal?” . . . “Mak?” *Cough* “Right here King. . . but King” Mak says weakly “Yeah Mak?” “I . . . I can’t feel my legs” Mak says. “You idiot you couldn’t feel them before the explosion either!” King says pissed off that Mak actually made him care for a split second. “Oh yeah. . . “ Mak just says as he lays there hiding behind his wheelchair. Bruce empties a clip into the group of aliens trying to make a break for it and then slumps down behind the wheelchair next to Mak for a little bit of cover. When he turns to fire his gun he gets distracted by something else, something on the wheelchair “You bastard! You were sitting on this the whole time?” Bruce asks as he pulls a key out from the side crack in Mak’s cushion. “I swear I had no idea it was in there Bruce” Mak says sounding a little concerned about what Bruce might do to him. But Bruce doesn’t pursue the issue any further, instead he puts the key in his pocket and charges at the Aliens with his reloaded gun blazing. Moments later Mak sees a Brute soldier come leaping right at him with some sort of sword raised over his head. “AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHH!!” *BLAM!!* Only moments before the Brute lands it’s propelled backwards by a shotgun blast by Grendel who took the trouble of saving the SWF play-by-play man from being stomped on by an alien. When Mak looks up he sees Grendel wearing the standard issue green metal chest and arm plates that the marines usually wear, he must have picked it up during the battle. Mak is just about to thank his saviour when Grendel gets tackled from behind by Bruce knocking him to the ground. Bruce pins his opponent to the ground, then he grabs a combat helmet off a fallen Marine, straps it on and tries to headbutt Grendel with it. *CLONK!!* Fortunately for the Assassin he’s able to get up one of his metal shielded arms to stop the potentially lethal blow and then strikes Bruce across the shoulder with the same arm knocking the big man. When Grendel pushes Bruce off he notices that the United Earth Space Corps are pushing the Covenant forces back once more, almost all the way out of the bay as they take advantage of the shift in momentum. “Oh thank you Jesus, Joseph and Mary” Mak mutters as he realizes he’s still alive and that the enemy is on the retreat. “Can we get back to the match now? If you all are done playing soldiers” King says impatiently, he’s not a war correspondent, he’s a wrestling commentator damn it! Grendel quickly assesses the situation, then he heads to the ring seeing a golden opportunity to get the key that’s been hanging from the ceiling all this time. He grabs the ladder and slides it into the ring, ignoring the scorch hold in the canvas or the fact that the ropes all look a bit more slack after it’s been the center of a small scale war. “This is so surreal” Mak says as he watches Grendel drag the ladder to the center of the ring while the fighting still goes on in the background. “It’s House Rules Mak, it’s supposed to be surreal” King explains as Bruce gets to his feet and notices what Grendel is up to in the ring. Bruce has barely climbed up on the apron before he’s knocked down by a drop kick by Grendel right to the chest. The big man flies backwards and crashes into the guardrail smacking his head against it so hard that if he hadn’t been wearing the combat helmet he surely would have been seriously injured. The Assassin doesn’t waste any time as he puts the ladder up and then climbs up to retrieve the key “HE’S GOT THE KEY!” Mak says excitedly as Grendel finds one of the few remaining keys. With the key and possibly salvation in hand Grendel rolls out of the ring, only to be in the direct line of fire as Bruce swings a chair at Grendel aiming at the Assassin’s hands that are on the apron *WHACK!!* “Too slow for the former Cruiserweight champion!” King says as Grendel manages to move his hands out of the way before the edge of the chair hits the canvas where his hands were only moments ago. Bruce didn’t hit Grendel’s hands, but he did manage to hit something else, something that Grendel dropped when moving his hands, something metallic, something that can. . . “OH NO HE BENT THE DAMN KEY!” Mak screams as the camera zooms in on the now bent gold colored key on the canvas. “That could be the one that unlocks the escape pod! Bruce could just have ruined the one good key!!” “Jesh Mak relax will ya? The SWF provided the rest of us with escape po. . . oh wait I’m the only one who got a personal escape pod, never mind” King says with a grin, but before Mak has time to react he sees something else that draws his attention. “What the hell is HE doing here?” Mak questions loudly as Wayne Blank sneaks his way into the bay, pressing himself up against the wall to avoid being spotted by Grendel and to avoid the weapons fire. “Oh Mak calm down, maybe he’s joined the United Earth Space Corps – maybe he wants to be “all that he can be”?” King says dismissing the notion that Wayne could be up to no good. Grendel isn’t even looking in the direction of the escape pod instead he’s using a chair to try and straighten out the key that got bent only moments ago, desperately trying to make it usable again. Meanwhile Bruce is busy throwing chairs and tables around at ringside, knocking over the time keepers chair and checking under it to see if he can find a key. With both wrestlers’ attention focused elsewhere Wayne pulls out a couple of long, slim instruments and inserts them into the escape pod lock and starts to fiddle with them. “HE’S TRYING TO PICK THE LOCK!!” Mak yells so loudly that both Grendel and Bruce hears him and turns around to look at Wayne. The attention seems to freak Wayne Blank out and he begins to work faster, only to somehow make a mistake and trigger a security device. "WARNING! WARNING! TAMPERING DETECTED, INITIATING COUNTER MEASURES" “Uh-Oh” Wayne says just a moment before he’s hit with a stun beam leaving him completely immobile. “Maybe that’ll teach him not to cheat!” Mak says with approval. “Doubt it” King dryly says. ¤BOOM!!¤ - ¤BOOM!!¤ - ¤BOOM!!¤ - ¤BOOOOOOM!!¤ “OH MY GOD WE’RE GONNA DIE!!” Mak cries out as a series of explosions is heard from one of the adjacent sections of the defence platform. After a few seconds of lights flickering everything suddenly starts to lift off the ground, slowly rising into the air as if there was no gravity, which is apparently exactly what’s going on – what else could explain the fact that everything in the arena begins to float through thin air even the ring. The most sickening display is the image of several little bubbles of blood slowly floating by one of the cameras “I’m gonna be sick” Is all Mak can say as he floats out of his wheelchair and then bounces off the wall. A chair floats by the King of Pain and Bruce isn’t slow to grab it and then use it to take a swing at Grendel, but in zero gravity it’s not as easy as it looks as Bruce soon discovers when the swinging motion starts to spin Bruce around and around until the big man crashes into the wall with a hollow thud. “You know Grendel doesn’t look that freaked out” King notices as the masked man seems to be doing okay in zero gravity “Maybe he had training in Zero G combat?” Mak says while trying to avoid the announcers table that’s floating by him. Maybe he has, maybe he hasn’t – either way Grendel adeptly positions his body in such a way that he can kick off against the wall and come flying straight at Bruce, striking the big man in the chest with his armour plated forearms causing both of them to go hurling into the ceiling with Bruce taking most of the brunt of the impact. *HURRRRRRRRRRRH!!* The masked man hooks a leg around a pipe to keep himself steady and then grabs Bruce by the jeans and whips him towards the nearby wall sending the big man flying but also tearing Bruce’s jeans at the pocket. The tear in the pocket releases a small gold-metallic object that floats through the air like it was a tourist visiting the space station “THE KEY!!” King blurts out remembering that Bruce had found a key earlier in the match and then proceeded to forget all about it during the battle with the Covenant forces. Bruce bounces off the wall and is then propelled back towards the key, shaking off the impact as he focuses on getting his hand on what may just be his salvation. He’s mere inches from it when suddenly Grendel shoots past him by kicking back against the ceiling, rocketing him past Bruce to grab the key moments before the King of Pain can grab it. “Somebody help me!!” Mak cries out as he’s floating around upside down only tethered to the ground by his headset, one hand over his mouth trying not to barf. “Ah you wimp” King says from the safety of the blast shelter – which has it’s own gravity generator to keep the Suicide King grounded. Grendel stretches his arms and legs out, flying through the air like he was Superman while Bruce bounces more indiscriminately off a ceiling light panel and then manages to snag his shirt on something to stop his momentum. It doesn’t take long for the Assassin to fly over to the Escape Pod where he proceeds to put the key in the keyhole and turn it *PFFFFFTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTSSHHH!!* The door depressurises and slowly begins to open “GRENDEL FOUND THE KEY!! HE’S ON HIS WAY OUT OF HERE!” King yells out! Someone, somewhere must have gotten the emergency generators back online as the artificial gravity kicks in with a thud – several thuds actually as the collective armies of the UESC and the Covenant hit the deck from wherever they were floating only moments earlier. “SON OF A “ is all Mak manages to get out before he has to duck out of the way of his falling wheelchair. Since everyone else dropping to the ground it stands to reason that Bruce is also dropping, dropping from his position over the escape pod and more or less straight down *THUD!!* Tackling Grendel from behind with enough force to knock both of them into the escape pod at the same time. The camera crew is a bit slow to react, which is understandable as they’ve all just fallen to the ground themselves and by the time they get up close enough to shoot inside the escape pod they see Grendel come staggering out from the escape pod, his mask torn at the jaw and blood dripping from his face onto the armor. “Did he?” King ponders Grendel takes 2 steps, then his eyes roll to the back of his head and the Spirit of Aggression falls forward flat on his face. “BRUCE DID IT!!” King yells out when it becomes apparent that Grendel just got his ass kicked inside the escape pod.. A massive arm reaches out, grabs Wayne around the ankle and then pulls him to safety inside the escape pod only moments before the door closes *PFFFFFFFFFFFF-THOI!!* The escape pod detaches itself from the space station and slowly drifts out of the gravitational field. “BRUCE ESCAPES!! BRUCE WINS” King bellows since Funyon is probably cowering somewhere in the back. Grendel slowly begins to stir, dragging himself over to the escape pod door and then pulling himself up enough to see that the escape pod is gone *ZOOOOORP!* *ZARP!* *RA-TA-TA-TA-TAH!!* When Grendel realizes he’s been left behind on the station in the middle of a battle zone he sinks back and lets out a blood curdling, horrific Darth Vader like “NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!” ¤BOOOOOOM!!¤ “Oh fuck they’ve broken through again” King yells out as the Covenant army swarms into the bay “Commercial break!! COMMERCIAL BREAAAAAAAAAAK!!” *And Fade*

Staunton/Rageheart vs. InsYon will not be seen tonight.

More than a few of the soldiers in attendance tonight nervously glance out the huge window, rumor has it that a Covenant attack force is headed in this direction but no one here knows if that’s true or not but it’s obviously got them a little distracted – strike that, very distracted, they hardly even react when “Don’t ask me no questions” kicks in. ”Well every time that I come home nobody wants to let me be It seems that all the friends I got just got to come interrogate me Well, I appreciate your feelings and I don't want to pass you by But I don't ask you about your business, don't ask me about mine” The doors slide open and Bruce walks out, microphone in hand apparently ready to inflict damage to everyone’s ears. The big man is a bit surprised at the lack of reaction from the crowd and can’t help but look in the same direction as the crowd as he makes his way to the ring. ”Well its true I love the money and I love my brand new car I like drinkin' the best of whiskey and playing in a honky tonk bar But when I come off the road, well I just got to have my time 'Cause I got to find a break in this action, else I'm gonna lose my mind” Bruce straightens his “Redneck Superman” t-shirt, adjusts his crow jewels and then steps into the ring as some of the audience members start to look at the ring instead of scouting for any potential Covenant attack force ”So, don't ask me no questions And I won't tell you no lies So, don't ask me about my business And I won't tell you goodbye” “I know, I know you didn’t come here for a talk show, you came here to see some action! To see some people bust each other’s skulls!” Bruce starts out YEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHH!! “They’re drunken soldiers Bruce, it’s not that hard to figure out” Mak comments. “And I’m usually with you! But there is something that has to be said tonight.” Bruce says trying to explain why he’s out here talking instead of kicking ass “I started in this business in 1989, I was 16 years old when I walked onto the Von Erich farm and pestered them into training me – I’ve been in this sport for almost SEVENTEEN YEARS!” Bruce begins to pace back and forth in the ring, a sign of what he’s got to say is very important to him. “I’ve given everything for this sport, three marriages, the hearing on my left ear, my good looks – and I have no problems with that. It’s in my blood, it’s my passion – it’s all I’ve ever wanted to do! You know what I see when I look in the mirror?” Bruce asks “Oh he’s setting himself up there” Mak quips feeling the need to be part of this. “I see a man who’s passionate about what he does, a man who’s dedicated – obsessed even! A man who’ll do anything to anyone for what he believes in, a man who’s not afraid of putting his body on the line if that’s what it takes!!” Bruce stops and stares at the camera before continuing “It’s a look I’ve only ever seen in one man other than myself” Bruce raises a finger in the air to underline the number “1” to everyone “A man that on every other level is the complete opposite of what I am – a man that I have every reason in the world to despise and had only one reason to respect” “Bruce? Respect? Come on pal who are you and where is the real Bruce Blank?” King asks. “We are complete opposites – he’s one of those damn flippity-floppity kids who pretends that doing a 360 spin has anything to do with wrestling” “So in other words – he could be more or less anyone in the Cruiserweight division?” Mak says “You know Bruce’s distain for anyone under 230, it’s been well documented” King points out. “That’s just the beginning of it, see I like a good 2 dollar cigar as much as the next guy, I have a beer, hell more than one – This guy. . . this guy seems to have a problem with beers, with cigarettes and whatnot. Safe to say we’ll never see eye to eye on that – Straight Edger” Bruce says with a sneer of distain. “Yeah no mystery who he’s talking about now” Mak scoffs. “And if that wasn’t bad enough this idiot has a stick up his ass about. . . shall we say “creative use of the rules” “TOXXXXXXXX-IC…” Bruce has managed to draw the attention of most of the crowd there. “TOXXXXXXXX-IC…” “But despite all that, despite being so different I could still respect the man – I saw beyond the Straight Edge crap, I saw beyond the black finger nails and everything and I saw the passion in him, the fire in his eyes – the burning desire and that I could respect – I could respect Toxxic!” “You know I’m not sure if he’s asking for a title shot or trying to ask him out on a date” King quips. “Well I don’t see any flowers so I think it’s pretty obvious” Mak replies in the same vein. Of course Bruce can’t hear the commentators taking shots at him so he just keeps going with his train of thought. “TOXXXXXXXX-IC…” “Toxxic I could respect. . . Michael Stephens? Nah” Bruce says while shaking his head from side to side. BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!! “The fire has been extinguished, the desire has been satisfied, he’s become complacent! What happened Stephens? What happened to that monster that lived inside you? Did you lose him somewhere on your little trip of enlightenment or whatever hippie bullshit that was?” Bruce asks WHITEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE TRASH!! WHITEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE TRASH!! “You’re so fond of saying “Come and have a go if you think you’re hard enough” – Well I don’t think. . . “ Bruce says and pauses “Ain’t that the truth” Mak quickly interjects “I don’t THINK Stephens – I AM HARD ENOUGH!” Bruce yells drawing another round of boos from the crowd BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO! “Toxxic was hard enough – but Stephens” Bruce pauses and shakes his head “Not a chance – sure you’ve beaten people since you’ve come back. But being “hard” doesn’t just mean you put their shoulders to the mat 1-2-3 and then spend the rest of the time padding yourself on the back!” Bruce pauses for a moment at looks at the commentators to stop them from jumping all over his mic time. “I’ll show you why I held the most brutal title ever invented for 213 days, I’ll show you how I was successful in more consecutive title defenses than anyone else! Maybe you can show me if you’ve still got the desire in you, if that fire still burns somewhere deep inside you!” “TOXXXXXXXX-IC…” Bruce gets up close to the camera as if he was talking directly to the World Champion himself “Maybe you can show me if YOU are hard enough” Bruce says before turning his back to the camera, leaving the ring. “You heard the man! Toxxic said if you want a shot come and get it, well Bruce is coming and he’s getting!” King says. “How dare he question of Michael Stephens is hard enough! This country bumpkin isn’t even in the same league as the world champion – he’s not done anything to earn a shot” “Oh you mean like Toxxic who walked in off the street after being gone for like 10 months and getting a title shot? No you’re right he’s not done that – he’s been in the ring proving himself week in and week out” King fires back, sick of his co-commentator’s admiration of “St. Michael” “TOXXXXXXXX-IC…” *Fade to commercial*

The camera opens up on a wide shot of the fourth Pelican Bay, the United Earth soldiers cheering raucously because there’s some topless woman in the ring holding up a sign that says ‘applause’ and these guys have been stationed away from women so the cheers are probably actually moans because they’re all simultaneously jerking off. Hey, I never played Halo, and my only knowledge of the military came through Jarhead. “Welcome BACK to Storm!” cries out an unusually peppy Mak Francis, “I’m your boy Mak Francis, alongside the Suicide King, and King, I guess you could call this match the ‘calm before the storm’, eh?” “Well, I suppose you could,” King muses. “Coming up right now we have Stryke, a very entertaining personality, taking on the… hm. I need an adjective.” “Rusty?” “Most likely… the potentially rusty Mike Van Siclen, and Mak, this may not end pretty for either man.” “Very true, King. We have no knowledge of what Van Siclen did in his nearly two-year absence, but has name did not appear in any show reports that we have seen. It’s almost as though he’s re-debuting, and we really don’t know what to expect from him. On the other side, you have Stryke, a man who has established a name for himself as a perennial underachiever, but a man who can always come up big if needed.” “But the real question, Mak, is does he need to come up big tonight? You said it yourself, a suit can hide a lot of things – we haven’t seen Van Siclen’s physique, we don’t know what he’s been doing. Reports are saying that he’s put on twenty pounds, that could be twenty pounds of muscle or twenty pounds of fat; we simply don’t know.” “How I Could Just Kill A Man” by Cypress Hill hits the loudspeakers in Pelican Bay, and though the gents in the audience are none too happy about the topless woman leaving, they find themselves mildly cheered up by the sparks and smoke, and give up a decent sized pop as Stryke emerges through them! The Australian is businesslike as ever, striding confidently down to the ring and onto the apron, soaking in the mild applause before entering the ring and stretching out before the match. “King, though we see this man much more often, you could make a case that we don’t really know what his skills are like, either.” “Very true, Mak. Stryke has shown flashes of brilliance, but in between those flashes of brilliance has been a whole lot of dead space and underwhelming performances. It makes you wonder about those big wins he’s pulled out.” “You could almost call him the Rudy Gay of the SWF, couldn’t you?” “Probably. Who’s Rudy Gay?” As Mak and King discuss the ’06 NBA Draft, the opening sirens of “Hyphy Juice” by The Team come over the speakers, and the fans look to the entrance, not knowing quite how to react as Mike Van Siclen emerges through the curtain, blonde hair loosely tied back and a no-nonsense look on his face. “Van Siclen does not look pleased, Mak. I hate to sound cliché, but he may be out for blood tonight.” “He might be, King, but he was never too good at drawing blood when he was in his prime, was he?” “Very true, very true.” Van Siclen hops onto the apron, stepping into the ring and laying eyes on his opponent. He goes to his corner, doing some light stretches as Stryke steps out of his corner, ready for the bell. * DING! * And there it is, and we’re underway, and Stryke is not interested in wasting any time. He approaches Van Siclen with a bit of urgency in his step, and wastes no time in aiming a forearm straight at Van Siclen’s forehead. * CRACK! * “Well, that sounded good,” Mak says with a grin. Van Siclen stumbles back into the turnbuckle, obviously not ready for the forearm shot, and Stryke senses the blood in the water, pouncing forward with a quick shot to the chin. Van Siclen throws up his arms in defence, but Stryke moves in for the kill, throwing rights, lefts, and elbows at Mike’s face. Van Siclen slides down the buckle, curling up into the fetal position as a relentless Stryke continues to level shots at Van Siclen until he is stopped by referee Nick Soapdish, who steps between the two men and pushes Stryke back! Stryke turns away from Van Siclen, throwing his arm up in a release of energy as the crowd lets out a roar of approval! “Stryke showing an unusual ferocity tonight,” Mak says, “and King, Van Siclen doesn’t look so good right now.” “Van Siclen doesn’t look good at all, Mak,” King says. “Stryke caught him unprepared, and Van Siclen, instead of recovering quickly, opened the door, and that was all Stryke needed.” Van Siclen is up in the corner, a scowl on his face. He wipes his mouth, apparently tasting blood, and as Nick Soapdish walks away Van Siclen charges at Stryke, looking for… well, I guess it doesn’t really matter what he was looking for because Stryke reverses it, getting LOW and sending Van Siclen face-first into the second turnbuckle with a drop toe hold! The crowd eats this up, and Van Siclen hits the mat, again clutching his face in pain as Stryke gets to his feet, looking down at a rather pathetic-looking Van Siclen with a sneer on his face. “Van Siclen just looks… bad, King. There’s no other way to put it.” Stryke grabs Van Siclen by the hair, pulling the Illinois native to his feet and grabbing him by the arm. He whips Van Siclen into the ropes, and bends over as Van Siclen comes back, looking for the elementary back body drop. Van Siclen, however, has not been away from the game for that long, and he stops short of Stryke and kicks him in the jaw! Stryke stands straight up, now grabbing his own jaw in pain, and Van Siclen sprints back to the ropes, seeing his opening. He bounces off them and comes flying back at Stryke, looking for a lariat… * CRACK! * … well, it’s safe to say the lariat missed, as Stryke leaps into the air and puts a vicious flying forearm into the face of Van Siclen! Mike crumples, grabbing his face in pain, and Stryke this time wastes no time in looking for the pin. “ONE!” “TW – no!” Van Siclen gets the shoulder up with little hesitation, but as Stryke gets to his feet Van Siclen doesn’t follow suit, preferring to clutch his face in pain on the mat. “I think Van Siclen suffers from glass-jaw syndrome, King,” Mak says. “He’s taken a couple quality shots to the face from Stryke, and it’s obviously affecting him.” “Affecting him, yes, but not to the point where he’s going to be pinned,” King points out. “If Stryke thinks he’s going to win this match by bludgeoning Van Siclen’s face, he’s certainly got another thing coming.” Stryke grabs Van Siclen by the hair, lifting the gasping blonde to his feet and tying him up, grabbing Van Siclen in a headlock. Stryke quickly looks to drop Van Siclen with a DDT, but Van Siclen shows some life and shoves Stryke off of him. Stryke looks puzzled by this, and charges at Van Siclen, who sidesteps! Stryke hits the ropes hard, coming back at Van Siclen… * CRACK! * ONLY TO GET FLOORED WITH THE EVERY DAY I’M HUSTLIN’ I WHIP YOU WHIP YOU REAL HARD AND KNOCK YOU TO THE GROUND WITH THE LARIATOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO THAT I STOLE FROM VA’AIGA! “Well, that certainly looked like it hurt.” Stryke limply falls to the mat, and Van Siclen shakes out his right arm a little bit before dropping down for the pin… “ONE!” “TWO!” “THR – no!” Stryke gets the shoulder up, and Van Siclen lets out a huge sigh before pulling Stryke back up to his feet. “If there was such a thing as ‘textbook Mike Van Siclen’, that was it,” says Francis. “He can take a pounding, and he has enough in his arsenal to halt your momentum like THAT.” “Yes, just a little like THAT, I’d say,” King says. “You don’t want to sell Stryke short, because he’s certainly controlled the tempo to this point, but you have to wonder if that maneuver was all it took for Van Siclen to shake the rust off.” Van Siclen gets to his feet, brushing the hair out of his face and grabbing Stryke, lifting the Aussie to his feet as well. Mike grabs Stryke by the arm, whipping the kid into the corner and charging in after with a nice Avalanche! Stryke stumbles out of the corner, and Van Siclen goes in for a hard forearm – but Stryke reverses, ducking the forearm and using the sudden shift in weight to throw Van Siclen into the corner! “This has been a knock on Van Siclen his whole career, and it comes out more in a match like this, but he can’t really keep his tempo going,” King says. “He can hit a big move, but he can’t parlay that into anything, and against a scrappy wrestler like Stryke he’s going to get exposed.” Stryke is about mid-ring, and he turns to Van Siclen, sprinting with his shoulder down and looking to drive said shoulder into Van Siclen’s stomach… … but Van Siclen comes forward with a BIG knee to Stryke’s midsection! Stryke remains doubled over, but his momentum is halted, and Van Siclen grins, grabbing Stryke around the waist in a standing headscissors! He lifts Stryke up into a vertical position, Stryke’s legs flailing in the air but nothing he can do as Van Siclen is twenty pounds heavier and it is twenty pounds of muscle, people. Van Siclen takes a step forward, jumping into the air and landing on his knees, driving Stryke’s completely unprotected head into the canvas… “RIOT ACT!” King and Mak explode simultaneously. “Todd Cortez brought out the Riot Act Plus, but man,” Mak says, “there is NOTHING like the original, and if that lariat didn’t end the match, this most certainly will.” Van Siclen holds onto Stryke’s midsection, sliding him forward so that his shoulders are on the mat, completing the bridge… “ONE!” “TWO!” “THREE!” * DING! * “And while it may not be the best strategy, it worked tonight,” Mak says, as “Hyphy Juice” hits the loudspeakers and Nick Soapdish raises Van Siclen’s arm in victory. “It certainly wasn’t a match of the year candidate, and we still don’t know a whole lot about this new Mike Van Siclen, but he comes away with a victory tonight over Stryke.” “All we know, at this point,” says King, “is that while Stryke is still a scrappy bastard, the Riot Act is still potent. We don’t know if Mike knows how to wrestle a match, and he’s bound to get exposed sooner or later, but for tonight at least, the big guns were good enough.” “We’ll be right back,” Mak cries, “with the Canadian Murder Machine taking on Zyon and the Insane Luchadore… next!”

"Stryke?" We pull back to a wider shot, because you know we have to see this... Mike Van Siclen, sitting on a couch in a locker room, talking on his cell phone with a rather... stoned look on his face. "Yes, I could come down to your office to speak to you about it, but I think I might laugh in your face and neither of us want that. Stryke? I'm supposed to make a glorious and impressive return against Stryke? I'm not going to be able to outwrestle him, Joseph, I'll be too busy murdering him." ... "Oh, right, you could have left me off the card. I believe that. I own you, remember?" ... "Yes, there was a settlement. You saw the check. You saw how much money you would owe me if I didn't take your little deal. You saw how much you're paying me per year now. Are you really going to tell me I don't own you?" ... "Let me put it this way, Joseph -- I can go out there, right now, lay down, and make enough money to buy that house in the Hamptons. You're lucky I have enough competitive spirit to put on a show." ... "Look, I'm only calling you to thank you for the second opportunity." ... "Yes, yes, fuck me, I know. Look, I'm going to make the most of it, Joseph, and I'm going to start tonight. Don't you worry." ... "Yeah, I hate me too, I wish I'd never come back. I wish I'd gotten paid, too..." "He hung up on me." Van Siclen smirks. "Whatever. Stryke, I came back to right the wrongs of the fed, or something like that, and while you've done nothing wrong to me I've got to start out by setting an example. I hope you don't hate me too much after I kill you tonight. Now I cut your ridiculous promo, shut the camera off so I can go take a nap or something." FADE.

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=- The Smartmarks Wrestling Federation is proud to present... The first ever SWF USO SHOW! On June 30th, the SWF will be entertaining the brave men and women who risk their lives every day to protect us from the overshadowing threat of the Covenant Onslau- Wait, what? I thought we were going back to Iraq! Then what troops are we entertaining? ... ... ... ... you've gotta be kidding me. *sigh* The Smartmarks Wrestling Federation presents... SWF LOCKDOWN! Live, Friday, June 30th, from the fourth Pelican Bay aboard the Cairo Orbital Defense Platform! (6pm PST, 10pm EST; check local listings) (Send all promos/marked matches to chirs3) Look sharp, men! And you too, Amy. This week, the UNSC has commissioned us to entertain the troops of the United Earth Space Corps! We have been assigned to the Cairo Orbital Defense Platform, which is a fancy shmancy term for GIGANTIC FUCKING CANNON IN SPACE. These brave men and women have just come back from the front lines, battling for their lives on the Forerunner ringworld of Halo (Installation 04), and it's our job to help them make the best of their R&R! Oh, and long-range sensors have just picked up a large Covenant attack force heading right for us. I imagine by the time we've finished our second or third match, their boarding craft will begin latching onto the Cairo, and the audience (made up mostly of Marines, ODST's, and Officers) will begin engaging the enemy. So, if you're on the second half of the card... well, just keep your head down. Good luck! -=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=- THE MAIN EVENT - TAG TEAM CHAMPIONSHIP MATCH The New Doomtopians (Jimmy the Doom and Doomstroyer) vs. Tom Flesher and Charlie "Grappler" Matthews -> A little while back, Flesher and Grappler took down the former #1 Contenders to the Tag Team Titles, and tonight, their shot gets cashed in against the probably/possibly/potentially/maybe unstoppable New Doomtopians! Rules: Standard Tag Team Match. -=-=-=-=- House Rules - Escape Pod Match Bruce Blank vs. Grendel -> Next up on the Michael Stephens World Championship Defense Circuit is record-setting Bruce Blank! Unfortunately, Stephens has the night off. And an idle Blank is... well, I guess it's not all that bad. He just drinks a lot. But in any case, we need him sober for next week, so tonight he faces Grendel in House Rules! At this point in the show, I imagine shit will be blowing up everywhere, sirens will be going off, and the mad dash for the escape pods will begin. One has been set aside for our match tonight. Rules: No DQ, no Countouts. There are a number of keys around the ring. One is hanging above the ring, Ladder-match-style. A few are hidden inside tables set up around the ring, so breaking the tables is the only way to reach them. Maybe a few are taped to some steel chairs around the ring, or mixed in with a bag thumbtacks. Use your imagination. The object of the match is to find the correct key that unlocks the Escape Pod, then get inside. Winner gets a free ride to the next show. Loser will probably die in a terrible explosion, just like the rest of us left on the station. -=-=-=-=- Tag Team Match Scott Rageheart and Kerry Staunton vs. Zyon and Insane Luchador -> Scott Rageheart and Kerry Staunton, the newest Tag Team addition to the fed, takes a step above the likes of Myers and Griffon. Tonight they test their skizzills against perennial favorites Zyon and Insane Luchador! Rules: Standard tag team match. -=-=-=-=- Question Mark Man... AGAIN! ??? vs. Stryke -> So, our recent trials with QMM haven't gone so well. FEAR NOT~!, for another enters the fray! Tonight, Stryke is the latest the be awarded the dubious honor of facing THIS GUY. WHO IS NOT THE SAME AS THE LAST GUY. I PROMISE. Rules: Standard singles match. -=-=-=-=- Opening Promo: LEEEEEEROOOOOOOOYYYYYYYYYYY JE-... I mean, Spike Jenkins. -=-=-=-=-

Spike Jenkins opening promo. Yeah, right.

*swoons*

So... Jimmy is the champ... I guess.

This really cool game featuring GIANT STOMPING ROBOTS ™, fighting to a gore death was sadly cancelled. The developers took the money and ran off to the beach. A fight later broke out among the play testers, before going back to their better paying real life jobs as professional wrestlers. Apparently some guy called Jimmy The Doom won something called the hardcore title.

"Welcome back to SWF Smarkdown, live from..." Mak shuffles through his notes. "...the Baudway Sector in the city of Mainframe. You couldn't make this crap up. Coming up next we've got a hottly anticipated rematch as Landon "La Cucaracha" Maddix, former World Heavyweight Champion, takes on the new Cruiserweight Champion "Iron" Mike Cross. Earlier this year these two met inside of a Steel Cage and suffice to say, Landon went over the top in his attack on Cross. Since then Landon seems to have settled down into his more natural, cocky mindset where-as it seems Cross is the new sadist on the block. Now, as much as The Suicide King would have loved to call this match, he got an important phone call...or, so he told me...so, in keeping with the theme of tonight, I'm joined instead by his digital equivilant, The Cybercide King! King, how are you doing." "Btr than u Ironside, LOLZ2006~!" "Tremendous." "Tell me exactly, what am I supposed to do Now that I have allowed you, to beat me! Do you think that we could play another game Maybe I could win this ti-ime." "I kinda like the misery you put me through Darling you can trust me, completely! If you even try to look the other way I think that I could kill this ti-ime!" The roaring nu-metal stylings of "The Game" by Disturbed penetrate through whereverthehellweare, heralding the arrival of a man who's hated everwhere, fictional or non-fictional. Clad in some new, Spanish national coloured tights (red and yellow), Landon "La Cucaracha" Maddix glides out through the entrance and looks around the crowd, extending his hands sideways to soak up the less than warm crowd reaction. "Ladies and gentlemen, the following contest is scheduled for one fall and in this match, the SWF Cruiserweight Champion will NOT be on the line!" clarifies Funyon. "This match will be contested under Cruiserweight Division rules, with 20 counts on the floor and an automatic disqualification for throwing an opponent over the top rope. Introducing first, accompanied to the ring by his 'Perfect 10' MEGAN SKYE! He hails from Huron, South Dakota by way of Madrid, Spain... weighing in tonight at two hundred and twenty four pounds. The former two-time SWF World Heavyweight Champion... LANDON... "LA CUCARACHA"... MMMMAAAAAAADDIIIIIIIIIXXXXXXXXXXXXXX!!!" "0011101001010100101010001001" "PWNED~!" cheers Cybercide King. Landon strolls down to the ring with Megan Skye bringing up the rear, whipping the computerised nerdlings into a frenzy with a mere wink into the camera. Climbing up the ring steps, Landon lounges on the ropes for a while trying to figure out what the hell is going on, before holding the ropes for Megan Skye to enter. Landon then follows in, spinning into the centre of the ring in as grandious a fashion as he can. "Landon looking to establish himself in the Cruiserweight Division here tonight and there's no better way to than to beat the current Cruiserweight Champion." points out Mak. "Landon has virtually done it all in the SWF...World Champion, International Champion, ICTV, USJL, Clusterfuck winner. But one accolade that has escaped him in his career so far is the Cruiserweight Title." "Coz he is teh suxors!" "Hey, this thing's pretty accurate." Pacing around the ring, Landon tries to get himself focused on the task at hand as Megan aids him with a shoulder massage. Referee Sexton Hardcastle watches on enviously, as meanwhile "Born of a Broken Man" by Rage Against The Machine hits. Recent actions fresh in the mind, "Iron" Mike Cross emerges through the flickering red lights, earning another round of boos from the fans simply for showing his face. Defiant in the face of this, Cross blatantly ignores the reaction as he strides to the ring, Cruiserweight Title draped over his shoulder. "And, introducing the opponent. Hailing from Detroit, Michigan and weighing in at two hundred, twenty eight pounds... he is the reigning Smartmarks Wrestling Federation WORLD CRUISERWEIGHT CHAMPION... "IIRRROOON!"... MMIIIKKEE... CCCRRROOOOOOOOOOOOOOSSSSSSSSSSSS!!!!" "BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOZ~!" Cross jogs up the steps, eyes focused on Landon's as he enters the ring. Apparantly, Cross has done his homework and he makes sure not to take his gaze off of the untrustworthy opponent, safely making it into the ring before even thinking about raising his Cruiserweight Title overhead. "I still can't get over the way Cross betrayed his friend Akira Kaibatsu, sneaking into his match against Zyon at 13th Hour...and then, to top it off, he conned Zyon into putting the title on the line!" Mak disapproves. "He can tell all the sob stories about needing money that he wants, that was a completely reprehensible move." "UNF'NCALLEDFOR!" "Exactly Cybercide, exactly!" Passing the championship off to referee Hardcastle, Cross goes through some warm-ups in the corner, still making sure he keeps Maddix locked in his eyeline. Across the ring Landon and Megan go into a last minute conference before Megan is ordered from the ring, the Perfect 10 laying a perfect peck on the cheek of Landon on her way. "I'd hit it!" announces Cybercide King. *DINGDINGDING!* And with that, we are underway! Two of the more grounded cruiserweights in the company, both Landon and Cross come out of their corners cautiously, circling the ring and looking for an opening. Neither gets one, so they settle upon a collar and elbow lock-up, which Cross gets the better of by dropping out of Maddix's grip and taking him up and over with a fireman's carry takedown. Wisely Landon doesn't stay taken down for long and quickly scrambles out of the ring to collect his thoughts, as Cross watches on from his knees and affords himself a wry smile. "BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!" "I'm not sure if these fans are booing Cross or booing Maddix, neither of these men have done much to endear themselves to the crowd in recent weeks and months." On the floor Landon paces around and stalls for time... "ONE!" ...knowing he has a full twenty count to work with. "TWO!" Over comes Megan for some more words of encouragement, patting Landon on the back and reasserting the gameplan. Nodding away, Landon seems to understand... "THREE!" ...and climbs back to the apron, cautiously re-entering the ring. "Maddix needs to be careful here, because Cross is a dangerous wrestler. If he gets an advantage, he won't let up until he's picked you apart and picked up the victory. He's a machine." "JOE IS GUNNA KILL U!" "Uhm...yeah." Eyeing Cross up, Maddix tries a different tactic this time and offers up a knuckle lock, making sure to stay close to the ropes as he does so. Cross gladly accepts and the two lock hands, Cross extending his right hand up looking for the second knuckle lock. However, Landon has no intention of trying that. All he's looking to do is lure Cross in before grabbing the top rope with his free hand and using that to aid a backflip, twisting the knucklelock against Cross! With the wrist contorted Landon is then able to manoeuvre Cross forward into a knee to the gut, doubling him over and allowing Landon to wrap on the first cravaté of the match! "BOOOO - RING!" "BOOOO - RING!" "BOOOO - RING!" "BOOOO - RING!" "Damn smarkz." groans Cyber King. Bringing Cross in by the head Landon manages to re-position himself in the centre of the ring and applies enough downward pressure to force the Cruiserweight Champion down onto one knee. "BILL GATES IS GOD!" cries Landon, prompting a typically negative response from the nerd population. "Not even!" protests Cybercide. "Microsoft is an evil money grabbing corporation. Fight the power, fight the power!" Mike Cross' thoughts on the Microsoft global conglomorate or it's stranglehold on personal computing network systems is unknown, but this seems to rally him into fighting back, coming to his feet and looking for a way out of the hold. Cross sneaks an arm in between Maddix's and uses his power to break the grip, instantly taking advantage of the unsuspecting Next Generation with a high hiptoss. But as soon as Landon lands, he again rolls and rolls until he reaches the outside, Cross scrambling after him but unable to catch Maddix. "And again Landon bails to the floor as soon as he finds himself in trouble." comments Mak. "Smart wrestling, although it's not doing anything for anyone in attendance." "Landon fears Chuck Norris." "You know, you're actually making me miss the real King." "...snappy response not found." Taking his time again on the floor and using the 20 count to full advantage, Landon adjusts his elbowpads to buy himself some time. This time around, Megan isn't around to offer him any advice. And the reason for that is soon apparant as the 228 pound frame of Michael Cross comes hurtling out of the ring, soaring between the middle and top ring ropes and wiping Maddix out with a suicide dive!! "YYEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHH!!" The crowd cheer for the pick up in the pace, rather than the fact it was initiated by Cross. Both men end up sprawled out on the floor, but Cross picks himself back up quickly and shakes off his arm. "Cross taking a risk and it looks like he may have landed awkardly on the arm." Mak points out. "That's one of the dangers of those moves and ironically, one of the reasons why Cross is generally a more ground based wrestler." Pulling Maddix back up, Cross dumps him uncerimoniously into the ring and takes a sideways glance at Megan Skye as if to say "I'd stay out of this if I were you". Cross then rolls back in and goes back on the offense, popping Landon with a quick forearm. After another favouring of the arm, Cross goes to the gut with a quick boot to set up an irish whip, shooting Maddix off the ropes and catching him on the rebound with a back elbow. Straight off the ropes he goes for the follow-up, landing a flash elbow to set up the pin... ONE! TWO! But Landon is still fresh, comfortably kicking out. All he earns for that kickout however is a slap across the back of the head from Cross as he sits back up. "I guess Cross hasn't forgetten about the Cage Match." "They've got heat, Meltzer told me." emotes Cybercide. Grabbing Maddix by the hair, Cross roughly hauls his opponent back up and forces him back into the corner. And despite Landon's attempts to beg for mercy, over the ropes go the arms... *SLAP!* "WHOOOOOOOO!" ...and into the chest goes a knifedge chop! *SLAP!* "WHOOOOOOOO!" ...and for a second time, Landon shoving Cross away and getting the hell out of the corner at the first possible opportunity. The chops have taken their effect and Landon clutches at his chest as Cross follows him across the ring, deliberating for a moment before catching Maddix behind the head and raises a knee strike into the sternum! Cross alternates and connects with the other knee, but going back to the right for a third. Maddix can manage no more than a light shove to create some space, winded, a situation not helped by a scoop and a slam by "Iron" Mike. Reaching down, Mike then grabs hold of Maddix's right arm, flattening it out on the canvas...and STOMPING down on the hand!! "OH!" cries Mak. "There's some payback from Cross, he remembers alright!" Maddix rolls away clutching his hand and letting out some rather feminine screams of pain. Following close behind is Cross, determined to stay on the offence. Again Cross grabs the arm and this time simply throws it, causing Landon's hand to clatter into the top turnbuckle! Maddix is again left to clutch his hand, as Cross positions himself behind The Next Generation. Wrestling protocol says waistlock leads to Bridging German! I don't know what that is in Basic. Sorry. ONE! TWO! Kickout! Staying tight, Cross presses Landon as he comes back up, sliding behind into another waistlock and attempting another German. This time Landon ignores the Go To 10 line (again, I don't know Basic, sorry) and goes deadweight to block, which only puts Cross off momentarily. With a headbutt between the shoulder blades Cross weakens Maddix back up for another attempt, Cross putting extra purchase into the lift this time...and Maddix floats through with the momentum, landing on his feet behind "Iron" Mike. On goes a waistlock of Landon's own, running Cross forward into the ropes for an O'Connor rollup. Cross grabs the top rope and blocks though, shooting Landon off empty handed. In charges Cross now, ducking underneath a forearm attempt from Maddix and coming off the opposite ropes with a low lunge, dropkicking a knee out from underneath him. "Nice move by Cross, again going to the ground..." With Maddix on one knee, Cross then positions himself a-straddle over his back and exposes the chin with a tug of the hair. "...and here comes the pound!" *THUD!* Crossface by Cross! *THUD!* Another! *THUD!* And a third! Grabbing the arm, Cross then brings Maddix's hand up and starts to twist and snap at each individual finger!! "He's trying to break his fingers!" yelps Mak. "I understand it's payback, but come on!" Maddix's howls of pain prompt Megan to brave a beating and hop to the apron pleading with Hardcastle to do something about the attack. Seeing this interruption, "Iron" Mike drops Maddix and storms over to Megan with full intent on laying her the heck out! Megan wisely drops from the apron though, scampering out of harm's way... ...as in the ring, Maddix is up and vaults over the top rope, taking Cross' head with him with a Macho Necksnap!! "OOOOOHHHHH YYEEEEEAAAAAAHHHHHHH!!" is the cry from Landon as he lands on his feet, complete with Macho hand signals...at least until the fingers on the one hand flame up in pain. "Macho Maddix with the necksnap, which is technically illegal." Mak observes. "Referee Hardcastle letting it go though." "Fuck a Sexton Hardcastle." "No thank you." "+1" Sliding back into the ring, Maddix stalks over to where Cross lies and lays in a couple of simple stomps across the back of the head. Maddix then flattens Cross out and places the flat of the boot across the face, raking down with a BOOTSCRAPE~! "BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!" A little strut from Landon indicates that he's still one of the dirtiest players in the SWF game and that he knows it. Cross swats away the imaginary fireflys in his vision and pulls himself back up, wheeling Maddix around to face him... *SLAP!* "WHOOOOOOOO!" ...lashing him with another knifedge... *SQUWIDGE!* ...so Landon goes to the eyes! "What is this, Ric Flair appreciation night?" The Cruiserweight Champion stumbles away, blindly searching for the safety of the ropes as Maddix tries to convince Hardcastle that he used a palm strike to the bridge of the nose. Hardcastle isn't buying it, but he doesn't risk annoying a strange creed of people by calling for a DQ. Back on the offence goes Maddix, catching Cross up against the ropes and popping him with a patented forearm. And another. Grabbing the arm, Maddix then manages to send Cross off with an irish whip and leaps to meet him, catching Cross across the jaw with a patented Leg Lariat...although, it's not Landon's patent, of course. Cross sits back up holding his jaw, but Landon shoves him back down and applies a lateral press... ONE! TWO! Kickout! "Nice Leg Lariat, shades of Wildchild! I guess Landon learnt something on Lockdown." says Mak with noted surprise. "Nova invented Leg Lariats." insists Cyber King. Shrugging that off, Landon helps the Cruiserweight Champion back to his feet and again strikes out with the forearm. Another forearm connects before Landon takes a back hop and kicks out, slamming his boot right into Cross' hand with some payback for the earlier payback. "Oh, SNAP!" cheers Cybercide. As Cross spins around with his hand clasped in...his other hand, Maddix quickly hits the ropes, charging at "Iron" Mike with reckless abandon. Swinging wildly, Cross hits nothing but thin air as Maddix ducks under a clothesline attempt, waiting for Cross to turn...before LAMPING him with a forearm strike, getting a step into the move for some added momentum! Cross reels away from the force, clutching his jaw as Maddix hits a second, third and then fourth forearm. Dazed, Cross flails at Maddix with a palmstrike attempt. However, Maddix ducks again, catching Cross turning and spiking him with a Hurri-Lanrana! "BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!" "I'm surprised that Landon is standing toe to toe and striking with Cross here. Seems like that'd be a bad course of action against a man with the intensity and the apparant mean streak that Cross has developed in his time away from the SWF." Impressed with his own Lucha Libré abilities, Landon clasps his hands together and raises them over his head like his very own trophy. Spain for the World Cup. It could happen. Landon gets his mind back on the game now as he pulls Cross up, lining him up... *SLAP!* "WHOOOOOOOO!" ...delivering his first knifedge chop of the contest. *SLAP!* "WHOOOOOOOO!" ...make that two. *SLAP!* "WHOOOOOOOO!" ...Cross then fires back with his own chop, but unwisely uses the hand that was kicked moments earlier, leaving him in as much pain as the recipient of the strike. "Duuumb!" is King's typically critical and typicially cyber response. Cross shakes out the hand again, so naturally, Landon ignores it and goes back to the cravaté. "YYAAAAAAAAAAWWWWWWWWWNN!" "Spot-monkey!" Cyber King howls. "Hey, we don't need Suicide King at all." "Fite me u p0ser!" With the cravaté locked in, Landon muses over his next move. Cross just seems to be biding his time in the hold, not particularly empained by the simple headlock variation. It is doing some damage to the neck though, forcing Cross to eventually search for an escape as he clamps his hands together and fires off an elbow into the gut! A second elbow weakens up the grip further yet, but by now Maddix has finally formulated a plan and he lands a side knee to the gut, re-applying his cravaté before somersaulting overhead and bringing Cross over with a Rolling Neckbreaker! *APPLAUSE!* "Nice modification there." admits Mak. "The cravaté is a wise move, provided it's utilised properly, something which Landon sometimes seems to lack." Rolling through safely, Maddix pulls himself up and quickly exits the ring to the apron, slapping the top turnbuckle to let the world know he intends on going upstairs! "And here's something we haven't seen from Landon in a while! He's become more of a mat based wrestler, but I guess with his association with Jay Hawke and JJ Johnson a thing of the past he's more liable to luchadore tactics now!" Reaching the top rope, Landon seems only momentarily rusty in high-risk district, gaining his footing and soaring off the rope. Extending his hands to the side, the former World Champion shows the grace of a swan and that bird's dive... ...but he MISSES the Headbutt, as Cross rolls out of the way! "Well, I guess that's why Hawke and JJ convinced Landon to cut down the aerial tactics." shrugs Francis. Both men slowly clamber back to their feet, Maddix's head hanging limply to his side whilst Cross' arms are ready stretched, waiting for his prey to fall into his trap. Landon staggers around to meet Cross, stepping back out of range of a European uppercut attempt before catching Cross in the back of the head with a trusty forearm. Cross stumbles forward, using that to his advantage as he hits the ropes, Maddix wearily walking towards Cross as he bounces back. The Cruiserweight Champion hurtles towards Maddix with a Mafia kick attempt, but La Cucaracha is able to duck underneath the size something boot. Cross sprawls on forward, skidding to a halt by the opposite ropes while Landon turns to measure the champion. Around stumbles Cross, hardly gaining his footing before Maddix runs in at his lost opponent. Instinctively Cross ducks his head with a backdrop over the ropes in mind. He gets it...but Landon shows he's still as agile as he was three years ago in his last cruiserweight days and lands on his feet on the apron! "HEY!" "BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!" Landon's mugging is met with a less than positive response, as he waits for Cross to turn around and 'goes Lucha', landing an open hand slap to the chest before locking knuckles and stepping up onto the middle rope. In a dangerous position, Landon releases the knucklelock and exchanges it for a front facelock. DDT is the signal, but a brief wobble gives Cross a window back in, landing forearms to the ribs to block. "A Tornado DDT is precarious at the best of times, but there's much more give in the middle of the ropes where Landon is standing than there is by the buckles." "OH RLY?" "YAH RLY!" "OH RLY?" "YA...My God, it's contagious." Stuck on the middle rope, Maddix does his best to prevent collapsing from his unsteady perch, hanging onto the front headlock despairingly. Cross uses this to his advantage however as he lifts Maddix off the ropes and back into the ring, the headlock still on as he arches back and executes a Northern Lights Suplex... ONE! ...but Cross isn't done! Floating over from the bridge, Cross drags Landon off the mat again and keeps him in the same position as before. A quick turn away from the ropes gives Cross the room he requires and he arches back for a second time, executing a second successive Northern Lights... ON... ...uh-uh, not yet! Cross rolls back through once more and lifts Landon off the canvas once more. "Looking for the trifecta." Mak astutely calls. However, the dreaded wrestling 'rule of 3' comes back to bite "Iron" Mike in the ear...no, wait, that's the other Iron Mike...to bite him in the ass, as Maddix pre-empts the third and final Northern Lights by dropping to one knee and dropping Cross' jaw across it with a facebuster! Away stumbles Cross as Landon now turns on his heels and shoots off the ropes, forearm brandished. A wild swing misses the mark however, Maddix bringing himself to an abrupt halt and turning around... ...ENZIGUR... ...NO! Maddix ducks. Pointing to the temple shows the world you're smart and Landon does just that. Trouble is, he's not so smart, as Cross is given the time to pop right back up... *SMACK!* ...ENZIGURI!! "THIS IS AWE - SOME!" "THIS IS AWE - SOME!" "THIS IS AWE - SOME!" "Welcome to the Internet ladies and gentlemen." groans Mak. Both men are down now and referee Hardcastle hovers over to the scene. A quick check of the arms for any resistance or signs of life comes up negative, so Harcastle does his job... "ONE!" ...and lays a couble count on the duo. "TWO!" "Megan looks a little concerned here, don't you think Cybercide King?" "THREE!" "a/s/l??" "FOUR!" "Well, I walked into that one, huh?" "FIVE!" First to stir is Michael Cross, the Cruiserweight Champion looking around to check his opponent isn't up and waiting on him. On the contrary, Maddix is down and he looks to be KOed, his head up but his eyes not focusing on any one thing in particular. "SIX!" Cross now sits himself up, slapping himself back into life. "SEVE..." And the count is broken before seven as Cross pulls himself back to his feet, shoving Hardcastle aside and bringing Maddix up by the hair. "How about that, you can see the killer instinct here from Michael Cross. He might have had a knockout there, but he apparantly isn't done putting down the punishment." Still holding the hair, Cross offloads a forearm...a second...and a third, before wringing out the arm and whipping Landon off into the corner. Still dazed from the enziguri, Landon nestles in the turnbuckles, providing a target for Cross who charges in looking for a clothesline. Maddix throws up a foot in defence though. And as Cross tries again, Maddix lifts both feet up this time, stunning Cross into cessation. That means a stop. With Cross dazed in front of him, Landon quickly hops up to the middle rope and beckons the Cruiserweight Champion in towards him. Cross foolishly comes in and he's caught, hooked from the front and set up for the Crash Landon... ...but despite this move being a relic of the past, Cross is aware of it's set-up and prevents it from happening with a rapid succession of punches into the ribs with his free arm. "Landon was going for Crash Landon!" says Mak in surprise. "What is this, 2003?" Cross lands enough punches to fight Landon off and now goes to the jaw with a final punch, leaving La Cucaracha dazed in a seated position on the top rope. Throwing out the hands, Cross then ascends to the middle rope, looking to end it as he hooks on a facelock, setting for a Superplex... ...block by Landon... ...and another... "HEY, MEGAN'S GOT THE FOOT!!" ...and by the third block of the superplex, it's clear how Landon is preventing this, one hand on the top turnbuckle and Megan weighing him down by clutching onto his foot for dear life. Referee Hardcastle eventually notices it and orders Megan down to the floor. But the damage has been done and Megan has bought another time for her meal ticket to shove Cross off the ropes! Cross crashes down to the canvas and rolls through to his feet, but can do nothing in the way of prevention, as Landon stands himself on the middle rope and tumbles off, snaring Cross over with a Blockbuster Neckbreaker!! "OOOOOOOOOOHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!" Rolling back, Landon positions himself over Cross, hooking one leg with the arm and the other with his own legs... ONE! TWO! TH- KICKOUT! "Wow, kickout by Cross but only just!" Stumbling away and rolling back to his feet, Maddix follows after Cross as he begins pulling himself up on the ropes and grabs the Cruiserweight Champion. An irish whip sends Cross into the ropes and back, into a BAAAAACK~! body drop from Maddix! Cross gets to his feet quickly, but Maddix meets him with a Dropsault! Down goes the champ, but again he pops back up, this time coming with a wild, wayward clothesline...but Landon ducks under, cradling the reeling Cross into a schoolboy... ONE! TWO! Kickout. Kicking out, Cross rolls to his feet and goes for the knees, picking the right leg and leaving Maddix standing on just his left. Maddix hops for a second or two before firing off an enziguri. Having it scouted, Cross ducks...but Landon lands safely on his hands and foot! Another few hops give Landon time to think before he tumbles forward, rolling through safely and charging at Cross...and right into his boot! Cross grabs the hair again and turns Landon around, wrapping on an inverted front facelock and running the thumb across the throat. "Silent Rage Syndrome!?" Grabbing the red and yellow shorts, Cross sets and lifts... ...but Landon leaps with the lifts, floating over the top and landing behind "Iron" Mike on his feet! Cross is momentary confused, allowing Landon to land a forearm to the back of the neck. And another. It's now Landon who locks on the inverted front facelock and sets up, throwing a finger before whipping the arm around for the Landon Eye... ...COUNTER, with an armdrag, transitioned by Cross into a Cross Armbreaker!! "YYEEEEEEEAAAAHHHHHHH!" A mixed pop goes up for this as Maddix desperately attempts to keep his fingers clasped, preventing Cross from getting the hold applied and hyperextending the elbow. One of the most dangerous moves in wrestling, Landon knows he has to escape and he scurries towards the ropes. Cross continues to tug away...and prises the hands apart...JUST as Landon locks his legs around the bottom rope, forcing the break. "ONE!" "AAAHH!" "TWO!" "AAAAHHH!" "THREE!" "I'M IN THE ROPES I'M IN THE ROPES I'M IN THE ROPES!" "FOUR!" "HE'S BREAKING MY AAAARRMM!!! AAHHHHHHHH!!" "FI..." Cross releases the hold, putting Landon's quite frankly embarrassing yelping to an end before he starts bawling and crying for his mommy. Only just. Looking a little frustrated, Cross says that's enough and leaps off the canvas, tucking his legs and extending them RIGHT ACROSS THE HEAD WITH A DOUBLE STOMP!! "AVALANCHE HEAD TRAUMA!" "OMGDZD00D~!~!" Flopping like a fish, Maddix is quite clearly prime for the pinning. But for some reason the Cruiserweight Champion doesn't want to settle for that as he instead exits the ring, walking across the apron in search of the top rope. "And I think Landon's going to be told in no uncertain terms to Go To Hell here!" calls Mak. Cross climbs the turnbuckles and reaches the top rope, looking down on Maddix and again calling for the end. The reaction is still mixed from this fantasy technological world of make believe, as Cross then extends up top, lining up the head again and vaulting high into air with the DOUBLE STOOOOOMP... ...AND HITS ONLY MAT, AS MEGAN PULLS LANDON TO SAFETY!! "BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!" "Damnit, Megan Skye to the rescue again!" snaps Mak. "Bitches be trippin'." On landing, Cross seems to jolt his right knee and he instantly drops down to tend to it, referee Hardcastle rushing over to help him out. Meanwhile, Megan rushes around the ring and reaches under the ring to find a refreshment tray full to the brim with ice cold drink. All Pepsi Max, naturally. Except for one bottle of water, which Megan snatches and proceeds to dump over the face of her man, waking him up with an ice cold start. Still his head is throbbing, but Landon is at least now able to notice Megan Skye reaches under her towel under the bottome turnbuckle and shooting some brass knuckles his way! "Wait...wait, hang on a second! Was that a pair of brass knux?" "I DON'T KNOOOOOWWWWWWW!" cries Cybercide King, proving that it hasn't got old yet. Megan now hops up to the ring apron and diverts Hardcastle's attention, as Cross now limps across the ring and pulls up Maddix, deciding to settle for something else as he locks on a double underhook. Pulling Landon away from the ropes, Cross then lifts, looking for the Nail In The Cross. A block from Landon puts pay to that though, before Landon kicks out and punts Cross in the knee! "AAAH!" Cross yelps out in pain and releases Maddix... ...AND EARNS A FACE-FULL OF KNUX AS A RESULT!! "BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!" "Damnit, it IS 2003!" Cross collapses in a heap as Megan daintily drops to the ringside area once more, allowing Hardcastle to turn back around. Maddix disguises a throw of the knux and motions for Megan to collect them, as Landon drops down and grabs the arms of Cross. Dragging him into position, Landon then turns to the crowd with a wry smirk, signalling for something flippy. Off the ropes he goes, vaulting over Cross and charging to the opposite ropes, leaping onto the middle strand and flipping back with a Quebrada!! "Quebrada, but the damage has already been done with the knux!" shouts Mak, hoping maybe that Hardcastle will hear him. "You've got to be kidding me!" ONE! TWO! THREEEEE!! *DINGDINGDING!* "BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!" The crowd aren't shy about voicing their displeasure, as Landon wipes some sweat from his eyes and raises his hands to the air, crowing to the world that he not only beat the Cruiserweight Champion, but with a cruiserweight move. Megan slides into the ring and embraces her man, celebrating a job well done as the SWF's Power Couple decide to leave the ring before any suspiscions arise. "Ladies and gentlemen, the winner of the match... LANDON "LA CUCARACHA" MMMAAAADDIIIIIXXXXX!!" "BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!" "Well, it's hard to feel sorry for Michael Cross after the way he won that Cruiserweight Title, but that was ridiculous! Landon uses the knux and then he uses some show off high-flying move to try and convince the world he's a great cruiserweight? Ridiculous." "You're lucky I wasn't watching the match!" snaps The Suicide King, settling back into his seat. "Hey, what happened to Cybercide." "Unplugged it. Technology sucks." "Amen Ki...uh-oh, why is Windows saying it needs to shut down? I haven't saved my work damnit! I haven't sa..." Do you want to Fade To Black? Yes/No You have selected, 'Yes'. -*******-

Backstage, wherever the hell that is in this drug trip thought up universe, and SWF reporter Benjamin Hardy is standing by. Luckily, that little misunderstanding with the Subway bag has been cleaned up. Turns out he picked up some medicine for his sick mother from the chemists but the bag split, so he had to route through the trash for another bag and that was the first one he came across. Plus, he's part of a terrible union and he's cheap, so he's back. Anyway, Hardy's joy at being unsuspended is going to be short-lived, as from either side of him emerge the two components of the SWF's Power Couple, Megan Skye and of course Landon "La Cucaracha" Maddix. "Coming up in just a few moments, it'll be non-title action as the SWF's new Cruiserweight Champion Michael Cross takes on my guest at this time, Landon Maddix." announces Ben, to a knowing nod from Landon, leant on Hardy's shoulder. Hardy doesn't seem too pleased with this amount of physical contact. But, he's simply too world weary to do anything about it. "Now, the last time you stepped into a ring with Michael Cross we saw you inflict a sickening beating inside of a Steel Cage, but a lot has changed since then. What can we expect tonight from you, knowing that 'Iron' Mike is going to remember that match just as well as you and I." Looking almost offended, Landon removes his arm from Ben's shoulder and takes a step back. Hands on hips, Maddix looks at Hardy incredulously, shaking his head. "First off, before I forget...Viva España, go ahead and trounce those frogs tommorrow night.¡Que tengas suerte! Hail Torres!" *thumbs up* "Okay, you got me Benny. These past few months, I've done a lot of things that I'm not proud of. I'm ashamed of myself for tearing that innocent man's innocent athletic tape...I'M SORRY DAMNIT! But I've changed, I'm a new man, I've changed my ways, I SWEAR. I'm not Laberinto anymore, I want everyone to call me by my real name! I've cha...Phfff!" Maddix scoffs. "What do you want from me, huh?" asks Landon. "If you're expecting a Michael Stephens esque sob-story about how I did wrong and how I'm just looking for forgiveness, then you're seeking it from the wrong hombré. So I was a little crazy this past 5 or 6 months. Boo hoo. To coin a phrase, 'Shit Happens'. Stephens is the World Champion, I've gotten closure on a personal issue, Cross bought himself a new roll of wrist tape, Ced's out of his neckbrace and Amy got a rare piece of male on female action. Life goes on. Sure, I went after Michael Cross and I used him to send a message to Toxxic. So what? Is that any worse than what he did to Akira?" "We..." "No, no it's not." Landon interrupts, answering his question with an answer he'd rather hear. "I did what I felt I had to do, no more or no less than Cross did to Hello Kitty." Rolling his eyes, Hardy tries another question. Trouble is, Landon is unsurprisingly not done talking quite yet. "See, tonight isn't about Mike Cross having a 'Cross to bear' wi..." Landon pauses in mid-sentence, apparantly highly amused with himself, as he turns to Megan. "Heh, 'Cross to bear'. Tell you what, write that one down for when I get the title shot. That's 'A' material." "I'll make a note of it." sighs a not quite so tickled Megan. "...see, tonight isn't about Michael Cross being out for revenge for what I did to him in that Cage Match. Tonight isn't about me tearing giant wounds in his hands. Tonight is about something that I haven't been a part of for what has to be just over 3 years, which is the SWF's vaunted Cruiserweight Division. See, earlier this week I had Joseph Peters calling me up with girlish excitement in his voice, wondering when he could get the money rolling in for my mandatory rematch against the World Champion, Michael Stephens. I could barely understand the kid for all the foam coming from his mouth, just thinking about the dollar signs. And you know what I told him...I told him that his 'mandatory' rematch clause was only mandatory if I accepted it. And I didn't. Now simply isn't the time. Despite whatever amount of clear the air talks I may have initiated with Stephens, I can't trust myself not to rediscover the urge to cripple him if I'm stuck across the ring against him. Not right now." "So, you're now focusing on the Cruiserweight Title instead?" asks Hardy, either slow on the uptake or not feeling the need to listen. "This is a little out of nowhere, isn't it Landon?" "It's amazing sometimes what defeat can do to someone." muses Landon. "And obviously, I was defeated again on Lockdown by Wildchild. Now, I'm not going to cry over spilt milk and claim that it was a fluke or that he cheated. Wildchild is one of the greatest cruiserweights to come through this company, no matter how much I dislike him and his jobsworth former partner. He beat me. But you see, that was a wake-up call for me." Landon smirks, raising an eyebrow to Megan... "See, you look at Wildchild and say he's one of the top two cruiserweights in the SWF. You look at Magnifico and say he was the number one. But the simple fact is, I've got the potential to be bigger than BOTH of them!" ...and that quickly, Landon's magnanimous streak disappears. "Throughout my career, I've mixed it with the heavyweights of this company, what few of them there have been. I've mixed it with everyone. Every now and then, some Cruiserweight Division dweller was put in my path as a warm-up and I beat them. Did that earn me a Cruiserweight Title shot? No. Was I that concerned...no, not really, I was busy winning the International Championships and the World Championships. I passed every potential shot I could have had up. And because of that, I'm a forgotten man. People talk about the great cruiserweights that have come through our doors and stepped in out ring. They mention Wildchild. They mention Mags. They mention Flesher, they mention Fallout, they mention Zyon and Pretzler and JJ and Riley and Sacred and even Jenkins and Dangerous...but NO-ONE mentions me!" Placing a friendly hand on Hardy's shoulder, Landon chuckles to himself for some reason unknown to the SWF's crack reporter. "Missed opportunities, Benny boy. Missed opportunities. That's all that's preventing me from being on that list. Time I took my opportunity, don'tcha think?" Not knowing what response is expected, Hardy manages an awkward nod, as Landon points into the camera lens. "Cruiserweight Division... Prepare For Landon."

Smarkdown returns from a commercial break with a shot of the steel cage that’s been erected and then the arena lights are turned off, as they often tend to be for someone’s ring entrance – after a few moments of silence a single spotlight shines on the entrance stage before . . . *BOOOOOOM!* *BOOOOOOM!* *BOOOOOOM!* *BOOOOOOM!* The red and the gold pyros illuminate the entire sector of Mainframe as “Street Fighting Man” kicks in, as the lights begin to pulse along to the beat while Zack de la Rocha tells us all ”Everywhere I hear the sound of marching, charging feet boooooy...” “'Cause summers here and the time is right for fighting in the streeeet boooooy...” “The following match is an ELECTRIFIED CAGE MATCH!!” Funyon says, glad that he’s just introducing the match and not actually participating in it. “Introducing first, coming down the aisle now a man looking for respect, trying to climb to the top of the mountain. Former USJL champion and Former Cruiserweight Champion: BAUDWAY SECTOR GIVE IT UP FOR AAAAAAAAAAAAAUSSSSSSSSSTIN SLY! YEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHH Sly takes his time walking towards the ring, high fiving a fan here and there as he just looks up at the 15 feet of unforgiving steel that surrounds the squared circle. Even though he’s about to step into the steel confines he still has a smile on his face, whether it’s genuine or part of Austin trying to tell himself everything will be okay is hard to tell but the smile does falter a bit as he sees two guys bring out the power cable that will provide the juice for the match. “I hope Austin likes the smell of sizzling bacon Mak” King says and if it had been any other match that statement would have made absolutely NO sense. “I happen to know that he had no hesitations over this match” Mak counters pointing out that Austin Sly seemed to actually WANT this match tonight. “That may change once his opponent is inside the cage and they throw the switch” King fires back as they watch Austin remove his trenchcoat and then hand it to a ring attendant instead of his customary hanging it on the ringpost, since that is a fire hazard tonight. “AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAND HIS OPPONENT!!” Funyon lets out when he gets the signal from the back that they’re ready “Weighing in at 295 pounds and he is the former and longest reigning Hardc. . . Ultraviolent champion!” “Hah! Funyon knows Bruce doesn’t like it when he’s referred to as a Hardcore Gamer’s Champion” King says with a snigger. “Oh lord not that Ultraviolent shit again” Mak mumbles, it seems that the Franchise is not the biggest fan of Ultraviolent wrestling and all. “Well it’s BOUND to come up in this kind of match Mak, but if you’d like to excuse yourself I can handle it all by myself” King quickly counters with a grin. “He is the King of Pain BRUUUCEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE BLANK!!” Funyon finally adds after letting “Don’t ask me no questions” play for a few seconds to properly herald the Trailerpark Messiah. Once his introductions are done Funyon gets the hell out of the ring having no desire to be trapped in there once the current is flowing. WHITEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE TRASH!! WHITEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE TRASH!! The hostility doesn’t seem to faze Bruce as he steps into the arena spotlight, in fact he seems to be enjoying himself quite a bit tonight, maybe it’s the prospects of getting back into the Ultraviolent environment, maybe it’s his 5 pre-match beers kicking in – hard to tell. Tonight Blank has chosen to wear a red t-shirt with a blue Superman “S” logo on the front and the words “Redneck Superman” written underneath it to underline Bruce’s level of confidence going into the match. Once he’s down by the cage he grabs the middle section of it and begins to shake it back and forth to test it’s strength. Then he rounds the corner and stops on the ring steps to raises his hands in the air before entering the cage. “From the looks of it I’d say Bruce is looking forward to this match” Mak says as he watches Bruce climb the last 2 steps and then enter the ring. “This is like a homecoming for Bruce, he loves this stuff” King points out “He’s been busy teaming with Bloodshed since his return and hasn’t had a chance to really get down and dirty since Battleground”. Austin paces back and forth in his corner as the door is locked behind Bruce with a heavy chain used to ensure that no one can escape that way, the only way out now is over the 15 foot high steel walls. Even though the cage isn’t Austin Sly’s preferred battle ground he still looks confident, maybe even borderline cocky about the entire match, after all he IS the better wrestler in the cage. “Alright don’t just stand there, hit each other!! Throw each other against the cage!!” King implores Austin and Bruce as they just stand there and talk trash to each other without either of them making any offensive moves. “Maybe they decided to settle this with a Steel Cage Debate instead of a match?” Mak quips as the two men exchange heated words in the cage. Finally Austin Sly says something that just pisses Bruce off to such a degree that he lunges at his opponent to take him down and take him down hard. But Austin anticipated the move and like a highly skilled bullfighter he ducks under Bruce’s arms and then pushes Bruce in the back as the big man passes him by. *KRESH!!* The added momentum sends Bruce face first into the cage as Austin had anticipated, but much to his disappointment the electricity hasn’t been turned on yet.. The moment the big man staggers backwards after having his head and shoulder rammed into the cage Austin attacks him again with a high knee to the back of the big man *KRESH!!* Once again Bruce’s head and shoulder are rammed into the cage with force and then a few sparks as the switch is thrown just as Bruce breaks contact with the cage. “Austin is playing it smart Mak, he’s letting the cage do the dirty work for him” King says with a smug, superior “I figured his game plan out” voice. “You just saw the cage switch being thrown, that means that the bars are now even deadlier!” Mak adds in case the fans at home hadn’t caught on to that yet. Bruce is naturally a bit dazed after having his head rammed into the steel bars twice in under a minute and is unable to escape a picture perfect Spinning Heel kick that drives Austin’s boot into Bruce’s jaw and knocks him back. OOOOoooohhh. . . But not into the cage as the crowd had hoped and/or feared. Austin knows he’s got the advantage, but he also knows that he can’t give Bruce an opening or he’ll end up a bloody pulp – it’s happened too many times to too many opponents already and Austin is well aware of it. With Bruce still down Austin grabs the big man’s leg and stretches it, then he places his own foot on Bruce’s thigh and flips backwards hyper extending Bruce’s leg.. “If Bruce can’t stand up he can’t win!! I wouldn’t be surprised if that’s Austin’s plan” Mak deducts. “Well Duh!” is the only response he gets from his co-commentator. With the leg already hurting Austin zeroes in on Bruce’s left leg and starts to work it over with a series of kicks before he drags the big man over to the ropes and then drapes Bruce’s leg over the bottom rope only inches from the electric bars. Austin puts a foot on the middle rope and uses it to give him some height for a stomp aimed right at Bruce’s knee, then a second one, followed by a third one. “You can tell Austin has thought this match through, a lot of people would just keep away from Bruce then when the power is off head straight for the cage and try to climb up, but not Austin he’s taking it to Bruce” Mak says, very impressed with Sly’s game plan. “Well he better get to it soon, this is too much like a normal match for my likings.” King grumbles as he watches Austin work over Bruce’s leg. Sensing that he’s found a weakness in Bruce Austin focuses all his actions on Bruce’s left leg and especially the knee as he stomps away at the King of Pain. Sly picks up Bruce’s left leg, puts one of his legs over Bruce’s leg and then drops to his knees wrenching Bruce’s knee at the joint, smiling as he sees the pain etched on Bruce’s face. “This must be really hard for you to watch Mak” King asks “Why?” “Well with the whole targeting of the legs and trying to keep Bruce from walking and . . . “ King taps Mak’s wheelchair. “Oh that’s funny King! Even without the use of my legs I’m still a better wrestler than you!” Mak fires back in anger. *CLICK* HMMMMMMMmmmmmm. . . With Bruce on the canvas holding his knee in pain Austin decides that it’s time to use the cage to his advantage since the power has just been turned off and all. Austin starts to climb up the cage wall to quite a positive reaction from the crowd outside Dot’s Diner. At first Bruce isn’t even aware of Austin climbing the cage and doesn’t spot him until Sly is about half way up the cage and getting closer to the top each second. “Man he better get in position for whatever he has in mind before Bruce gets on his feet!” Bruce gets to his feet and hobbles across the ring just as Austin puts his hand on the top bar on the cage and then begins to drag himself up to the top. Knowing that he’s not fast enough to climb up and grab Austin Bruce decides to grab the side of the cage with both hands instead to shake it back and forth. Bruce shakes it like the Warrior shakes a ring rope, moving the top part of the cage back and forth a good 3 feet as Austin holds on for dear life. Then with one last mighty tug Bruce pulls the cage towards the center of the ring with enough force to dislodge Austin Sly and send him flying off the cage, crashing uncoordinatedly against the canvas. “WHAT POWER!!” King points out “Maybe that’s why he tested the cage on the way in? To see how much it moves at the top” Mak surmises as he thinks back to the beginning of the match. “I wouldn’t put it past him” With Austin down Bruce has a chance to shake some of the pain from his leg, get the blood flow back after the punishment Austin inflicted. The Redneck Superman notices that Sly’s position leaves his right arm and hand very vulnerable as it’s stretched out across the canvas. Bruce places one of his cowboy boots right on top of Austin’s outstretched hand and then brings the other one down hard on Austin’s bicep *BAM!* “He could break someone’s arm with that type of kick” Mak says all indignant. “No someone’s arm – Austin’s arm” King points out as Bruce kicks the arm once more. After the two kicks Bruce bends down and straightens Austin’s arm out in the most exposed position before stomping on Austin’s arm once more, this time right on the elbow joint. *BAM!* “Austin isn’t the only one who can play it smart Mak! Not by a long shot” “I wouldn’t usually put the words “Smart” and “Bruce Blank” together in a sentence, but I got to admit it he’s going about this the right way” Mak reluctantly admits. Bruce follows up his game plan by dragging Austin over to the cage and then pull Austin’s unprotected right arm through the cage before using the steel bar to help him arm bar Austin’s arm. Fortunately for Austin the cage is not currently electrified but that is just a matter of time, which adds another element to Bruce’s move. “THE ARM BAR!! OH MY GOD!!” King yells out as he starts to jump up and down over the most electrifying move in wrestling. “I guess I was wrong, he does know an arm bar from a crowbar” Mak just remarks as his co-commentator calms down again. Bruce twists the arm backwards, trying to bend it over the metal in a very unnatural position to inflict a serious amount of pain on his opponent. After a moment of two of twisting agonizing pain Bruce swiftly kicks the cage in an attempt to separate Austin’s arm from the rest of his body while holding on to the hand, fortunately for both Austin and the fans in the front row Austin’s arm stays attached to his shoulder. *CLICK!* hmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMM The click alerts Bruce to the fact that the electricity is being turned on, which in turn causes the big man to move backwards away from Sly before he gets hit with the voltage. Sly isn’t as alert as Bruce due to the fact that his arm has just been wrapped around the cage by a mad man and isn’t quite a quick to react so his arm is still in contact with the cage when the electric hum begins. *ZZZZZZZZZZZZZZAAAAA!* Sparks erupt from the steel cage as Sly’s hand is propelled backwards from the small blast leaving his taped up hand looking a bit black and charred and Austin looking slightly twitchy as he tries to shake off the pain. The pain of the electricity is amplified by the tip of a cowboy boot driven straight into Austin’s mid section as the King of Pain keeps up his onslaught. “I’m surprised at Bruce, I half expected him to go in there and just try to squeeze Austin through the bars of the cage” Mak says and does sound genuinely surprised. A split second after those words have left Mak’s mouth Bruce picks up Austin and presses him over his head and then smiles a devious, demented smile as he takes a step forward towards the cage and pitches Austin face first against the cage *CRASH!!* “You spoke too soon!!” King points out much to Mak’s chagrin. Even with the electricity on there isn’t much of an effect on Austin on first impact, after all Austin isn’t grounded yet so the electricity isn’t a problem. After Austin’s body collides with the steel cage it drops straight down to the canvas, scraping Austin’s back across the bars as he drops down behind the ring ropes and the moment he hits the canvas we hear a *ZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZzzzzzzz. . . * BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!! The electrified cage sends a shockwave through Austin’s body making is spasm wildly but fortunately for Mr. Sly the power is soon turned off and his muscle can relax as he slumps to the canvas. With Austin in the perfect position Bruce seizes the momentum and begins to stomp away on Austin’s chest and arm as Sly is pressed back against the cage with each kick stomp Bruce lands. “That’ll teach me to keep my big mouth shut” Mak comments as Bruce makes him eat his words from earlier. “Oh we can only hope and pray Mak!” King fires back in a very serious tone. “Each second Austin is touching the cage he’s potentially in danger” King adds underlining just how horrific a sight THAT would be. After about 10 kicks or so Bruce drags Austin back into the center of the ring and then lifts him up high in the air with both hands wrapped about Sly’s pipe as he raises him off the ground for what looks like a choke slam. With Austin raised in the air he’s putting both his own weight and Austin’s weight on his legs which are already aching from being worked over earlier. Add to that a stray desperation kick from Austin that nails Bruce right in the knee cap and it’s no wonder Bruce has to drop the choke hold before his leg gives out. “Did you see that kick to the knee? Always thinking” Mak says “You’re saying that’s intentional? Oh get ever so real” King fires back at his co-commentator to dismiss any notion of the kick being premeditated. Bruce quickly gets in position behind Austin, motioning for him to get up as he waits for just the right moment to strike. The second Austin is up and about to turn around Bruce runs at him and raises his massive right boot to plant it upside Austin’s head. Having spotted out of the corner of his eye Austin was prepared for the move and quickly turns the big boot into a knee twisting, joint wrenching leg drag that sends all of Bruce’s 295 pounds hurtling through the air to the canvas. YEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHH!! “NEVER COUNT AUSTIN OUT!!” Mak yells out in excitement as Sly just turned the match around after looking like he was well on his way to becoming Bruce’s next victim. “Alright so he’s not road kill. . . yet” King begrudgely admits. Austin seems to have an idea as he quickly drags Bruce through the ropes and then brings him to his feet inside the 2 food gap between the ropes and the cage. Austin turns his back to Bruce and takes a few steps away as he shakes his fist trying to get some feeling back in it after touching the electrified cage, then he quickly whips round 180 and drop kicks Bruce square in the chest sending the big man into the cage. *KRESH!!* Austin holds up two fingers in the air as if to ask the crowd if he should do it again YEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHH!! With a smirk Austin quickly drop kicks the dazed Bruce once more with the same result as the first time *KRESH!* “I don’t think there is anything but the ropes holding up Bruce right now” Mak speculates as Bruce looks like he’s out on his feet. *CLICK!* hmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMM “Uh-Oh” King says as the switch is thrown more or less at the same time as Sly leaps into the air and plants his feet square on Bruce’s chest sending the King of Pain backwards into the cage *KRESH!* *ZZZZZZZZZAAAAAAA* Bruce’s body is enveloped in a shower of sparks as his back, neck, shoulders and arms all make contact with the electrified cage sending the current right through the big man’s body *ZZZZZZZZZAAAAAAAAAA* The electricity makes Bruce’s muscles spasm and convulse until he breaks contact with the steel bars and falls forward from the force of the electric explosion touching the cage caused *BOOM!!* “HOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOLY MOTHER OF MERCY!!” King yells out as they watch the former Ultraviolent champion get roasted live on TV. “Sweet Angstrom!” is all Mak can say. After a quick strut in the ring Austin grabs Bruce by the hair and drags him over the 2nd rope into the ring where Bruce just collapses on the canvas, seemingly out cold from the impact against the cage and the electricity. Austin Sly places one foot on Bruce’s chest, then holds up a hand to count along with the referee. ONE!! “Man this has GOT to be it” Mak says knowing full well that that ALWAYS means it’s not it TWO!! Or maybe this time it’s the exception to the rule?? THR-OHNO!! Bruce manages to instinctively roll his shoulder slightly off the canvas to break the count. The fact that Bruce kicked out frustrates Austin as he tries to figure out the best way to really take advantage of the situation. *CLICK* MMMMMMMmmmmmm. . . Austin’s eyes widen and his grin goes from cocky to sadistic as he hears the electricity being turned off, then he looks to the top of the cage and points to it indicating to the fans what his plans are YEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!! “AUSTIN IS GOING UPSTAIRS!!” Mak yells out like an excited school girl as Austin Sly begins to climb up the corner turnbuckles. “Come on there’s got to be other ways to take Bruce out” King ponders. “Yeah but nothing rubs it in your face as a coming off the top of the cage, it says I’m dominating!!” Mak replies as Austin starts to climb up the side of the cage as well apparently willing to take the risk of the electricity being turned on, after all there is a warning and 5 second delay before it hits. Once he’s up on top he stops for a moment, looks at the downed Blank in the center of the ring, then he smiles once again in that confident, cocky way that signals everyone that Austin knows what he’s doing and that he’s got everything under control “I don’t like the look of this King” Mak says as Austin climbs up and balances on the top of the cage looking down at Bruce. “He’s not… “ King says, not daring to finish the though Austin leaps off the top rope “HE’S GONNA!!” Mak confirms as Austin Sly flies through the air, elbow out for a cage height elbow drop aimed straight at Bruce’s chest *BAM!!* HOLY SHIT!! HOLY SHIT!! HOLY SHIT!! At the last moment Bruce rolls to his right to escape the point of the elbow but he still gets struck in the back of the head with Austin’s boots as Austin’s right elbow suffers a lot of damage as it hits the canvas at high speed. “Man that’s GOT to hurt” Mak says stating the obvious. “That idiot! He could have stayed off the cage and kept on wearing Bruce down!” King points out as both Austin and Bruce are on the canvas in a world of pain. Austin slowly gets up onto his knees while cradling his right arm against his body, trying to protect it from further damage as he slowly gets to his feet. Austin looks at Bruce who’s still on the ground holding the back of his head from where Austin’s boots struck him, showing off the black scorch marks on the back of his shirt from where he hit the cage. “I can’t believe Austin is back up Mak, what is this guy running on?” King says as Austin leans back in the corner as he holds his right elbow trying to reduce the amount of pain he’s in. Austin tries his best to ignore the pain as he reaches down and grabs Bruce’s left leg, stretching it out across the canvas while putting his left foot on Bruce’s foot to pin it in place. Then he brings the heel of his right boot down straight on top of Bruce’s knee with Autority~! *WHAM!* Austin looks like a man obsessed as he looks at the un-electrified cage, almost as if to say “I’m going to show Bruce I’m better even if it kills me” as he once again climbs the ropes. “I had hoped he learned his lesson but I’m not sure he has” King says as Austin climbs up the turnbuckles, although it’s slow going since he only uses his left arm for support. “He won’t leap off the top again, no way no how King” Mak says as Austin reaches the top rope and balances on it as he tries to get a good grip on the cage. “What else could it be? Unless Austin has forgotten that you can’t win the match by escaping . . . you can’t right?” King confusedly replies as they watch Bruce get to his feet and stagger over towards the corner as well. Bruce reaches up and grabs Austin by the trunks a split second after Austin puts his hand on the top of the corner joint of the cage. A moment later Bruce has managed to climb up on the top turnbuckle behind Austin as he tries his best to escape Bruce’s grip to no avail as Bruce clings on like a limpid. With one arm around Austin’s waist and the other supporting the leg Bruce lifts Austin Sly up in the air for a top rope back drop that stuns the crowd. *BAM!!* “How did Austin end up on top there?” King asks all confused as Bruce hits the canvas with Austin on top of him instead of the backdrop that Bruce had intended. “Let’s take a look at just how that backfired on Bruce” Mak replies as he’s not quite sure what happened either. ¤ ¤ ¤ Instant Replay ¤ ¤ ¤ In slow motion we see how Bruce lifts Austin up in the air, pulling his hands off the top of the cage as Bruce drops backwards. As Bruce falls backwards we see Austin Sly twist his body in such a way that he ends up in a cross body block position and lands on top of Bruce as the two men slam to the canvas ¤ ¤ ¤ End Replay ¤ ¤ ¤ “So Austin reversed the backdrop at the last moment? man I didn’t even see that the first time round” Mak says, gushing over Austin’s flash of brilliance in the ring. “Can we back the footage up once more?” King asks. “Why?” “Well because I saw something else – and neither Austin nor Bruce are up yet anyway so indulge me.” The footage is repeated, but the second Bruce has Austin raised in the air, a split second before Austin twists his body, King yells out “Pause it!!” “Do you see that? Bruce’s knee buckled under him” King points out as the image clearly shows. “Well I’ll be damned, Austin weakened the leg more than we thought earlier in the match” Mak replies as the frozen frame on the screen is replaced with a shot of the ring where both Austin and Bruce are slowly getting back up. Since Bruce took most of the brunt Austin is up quicker and moves behind Bruce, waiting for just the right moment to strike. When Bruce is up on his feet, still crouched over to catch his breath Austin throws himself straight at Bruce’s left leg taking the big man down hard “CHOP BLOCK OF DOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOM!!” King yells out which confuses Mak no end. “What’s so significant about that?” “The Chop Block has been one of Bruce’s weaknesses in the past, he’s fallen prey to it more than once.” King explains as this was mostly before Mak’s time as a commentator. Instead of covering Austin grabs Bruce’s hurt leg, twists it, then hooks it over the other one as he applies a Figure Four Leg lock to a huge roar of approval from the crowd BREAK HIS LEG!! BREAK HIS LEG!! BREAK HIS LEG!! The moment Austin gets the move locked all the way in Bruce begins to flail and scream in pain – which just seems to delight the fans even more. Bruce quickly manages to get a hand on the ropes but since there are no DQ’s in the match there are also no rope breaks which means Bruce is still S.O.L. *CLICK!* hmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm The cage is once again electrified, not that Austin cares he’s got Bruce right where he wants him, in agony. Bruce’s hand hovers over the canvas, he’s obviously contemplating tapping out the longer he stays in the figure four. Then to the surprise of EVERYONE Bruce reaches over and TOUCHES THE CAGE!! *ZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZAAAAAA* The moment he touches the cage sparks fly once again but it’s more Austin than Bruce that seems to feel the effects of the electricity as his body arches upwards and he screams in pain, breaking the figure four just seconds before Bruce takes his hand off the cage. “What the hell happened?” Mak asks “Electricity travels through the body” King replies revealing that he paid attention in science class “So Austin got all of it?” “I’m sure it hurt Bruce, but it hurt Austin just as much if not worse!” Both Bruce and Austin are flat on their backs, twitching a little from the electricity. The referee looks at both of them and contemplate starting a count but doesn’t want to risk the wrath of the fans with a double count out. After a few moments Austin sits up, he can’t see straight but he’s sitting up trying to stand up. “I can’t believe either of them are able to stand up King” But Austin is up and he’s focusing on Bruce’s leg once more, twisting it around to hook the figure four once again but the second he steps over Bruce’s leg the King of Pain places a cowboy boot on Sly’s ass and kicks forward with everything he’s got “OH FUCK!!” Mak yells out as Austin lunges forward towards the cage. *KRESH!!* Austin strikes the cage face, shoulder and right arm first as he stumbles between the top and middle rope *ZZZZZZZZZZAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA* Austin’s face actually ends up between the bars as electricity courses through his body showering him with sparks as the fans look on in horror. *ZZZZZZZZZZAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA* Austin falls backwards from the cage right into the waiting arms of Bruce who rolls up his electrocuted opponent and places all his weight on top of him for a cover. ONE!! “There is no way he’s getting up from that Mak!” TWO!! “Never say never” THREE!! “NEVER!!” King repeats just to rub it in. “Here is your winner – the King of Pain BRUCEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE BLANK!!!” Funyon announces even though there is no doubt about it. BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!! A few moments after “Don’t ask me no questions” begins to play Bruce finally gets to his feet, he may have been electrocuted, slammed against the cage and have had his leg twisted every which way it could but he is victorious tonight. Standing tall (albeit staggering) as we go to commercials after this brutal match.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” Funyon booms, “the following contest is scheduled for one fall…” “Huh?” Suicide King says, looking at the card in front of him, “what’s coming up now?” The Gambling Man is answered by the tones of ‘Bouncin’ Back’ by Mystikal, which causes him to put his head in his hands and mutter ‘I had to ask…’ However, the crowd seem quite happy to hear the music that signals the arrival of one of the SWF’s most talented and visually exciting performers, and let out a cheer in response! “YEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!” “Hey, how come we have regular fans for this match?” Mak Francis asks, looking around in confusion. “Huh? Oh, we decided that wrestling in front of a bunch of sprites and what-not was fucking stupid,” the Suicide King responds, “and so in an effort to make this Fictional World Tour suck slightly less ass we brought a few dozen coachloads of real people along.” “Makes sense,” Francis nods sagely. Wildchild comes out onto the soundstage, the athletic cruiserweight wrestler jumping up and down a few times to loosen himself up before running down to the ring, slapping hands with the fans as he does so. Meanwhile the pretty, petite Melissa Fasaki follows at a more sedate pace, smiling and blowing the occasional kiss as she does so. “Introducing first,” Funyon continues as Wildchild somersaults into the ring between the middle and bottom ropes, “from The Bahamas, and accompanied to the ring by Melissa Fasaki; he weighs in tonight at 214lbs, this is the ‘Bahaman Bomber’… WIIIIIIIIIIIILD-CHIIIIIIIIILLLLLLLLD!!” “YEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!” “LET’S GO DUB-CEE!” “LET’S GO DUB-CEE!” “Well, there’s not really much to say about Wildchild that hasn’t already been said,” Mak Francis declares, “one of the longest-serving members of the current roster, the first Cruiserweight Champion, a record-breaking Tag Champion, recently the International Champion until he was dethroned by the returning Aecas… the only accolade that he’s failed to achieve has been the World Title itself, and who knows? A match may be on the card for this talented superstar very soon!” “Well, Toxxic’s just gone through Dub-Cee Lite,” King smirks, making an uncomplimentary reference to Zyon, “I suppose that could be viewed as a warm-up. Who’s the Caribbean Clown wrestling tonight, anyway?” “I don’t know,” Mak admits, “this appears to be a last-minute addition…” …but Francis’ confusion is quickly ended as the tumultuous beginning of ‘Blitzkrieg Bop’ by the Ramones kicks in, and the crowd lets out a cheer very nearly as loud as the one they greeted Wildchild with! “YEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!” “Oh God,” King groans, “the only person in the fed who speaks worse English than Wildchild!” Sure enough, making her way out onto the soundstage with a can of Stella Artois in hand is the familiar, curvy figure of the SWF’s most recent call-her-a-diva-and-you’ll-be-looking-for-your-teeth… and she’s not alone! “And his opponent,” Funyon declares, “from Nottingham, England and accompanied to the ring by her brother Michael; she weighs in tonight at 171lbs, this is the ‘Punk-Rock Princess‘… AAAAAAAAAAMY… STEEEEEEEEEEEEE-PHENS!!” The Nottingham lager lass raises her can of Stella in acknowledgement of Funyon’s words as her brother the World Champion shakes his straight-edge head in despair at her alcoholic ways… but that doesn’t stop him from occupying the opposite end of the soundstage to Amy and helping her lead the fans in a chorus! “HEY! HO! LET’S GO!” “HEY! HO! LET’S GO!” “HEY! HO! LET’S GO!” “HEY! HO! LET’S GO!” …and as Joey Ramone launches into the first verse proper the Stephens Siblings run down to the ring (Amy slightly slower to make sure she doesn’t spill anything), then enter the squared circle. Amy climbs to the second turnbuckle and yells something unintelligible at the crowd before taking another swig of her beer; meanwhile Michael, wearing his customised England shirt in honour of his country’s 1-0 World Cup win against Ecuador yesterday, takes a moment to nod to Wildchild. The Bahaman Bomber seems a little uncertain of how to respond - the two never had the best relationship before the World Champion took a sabbatical - but nods cautiously back after a moment. As the Ramones fade out Michael takes his sister’s beer (not without a grimace, which only intensifies as Amy audibly promises GBH if he spills, gives or tips it away) and leaves the ring, adjusting the World Title strap over his shoulder and looking around at the crowd. *DING-DING-DING!* Wildchild immediately springs into action, darting forwards and ducking underneath Amy’s wild swing to grab a rear waistlock on the English girl. Before Stephens can react the Bahaman lifts, twists and drops, performing a waistlock takedown to dump her on her front and then pops back to his feet and simply performs a front flip, landing a standing somersault senton on the surprised (and mildly squashed) Amy. With lightning speed Wildchild is back on his feet again and running for the ropes; Amy starts to get up, realises that she won’t make it to her feet in time and drops down to her front again. Wildchild opts to hurdle her and heads on for the far cables; this time Amy does make it to her feet in time, only for the Bahaman Bomber to leave his feet and deliver a flying forearm smash that takes her down! “Wildchild’s speed seems to be throwing Amy off here,” Mak Francis says, “don’t forget that she hasn’t been in the ring since losing the Hardcore Gamer’s Title to Spike Jenkins!” “Well, Wildchild’s from the Caribbean,” King retorts, “ and he moves too fast to be lazy, so clearly he has to hit women instead to make sure he maintains national pride.” “Oh, please…” But it’s going to take more than a forearm to the head to keep Amy down, and the resilient Punk-Rock Princess is already starting to get up again; this suits Wildchild fine and he grabs her in a side headlock before pivoting his hips to take her over and down to the mat. He then kips up to a standing position before leaving his feet once more to deliver a standing moonsault press! On the basis that you never know until you try, Wildchild stays on top for the pin and referee Red Herrington drops to make the count… ONE! TW- -but Stephens kicks out just before two! Wildchild wastes no time in questioning the count and instead gets straight back onto the attack, lifting Amy back to a vertical base before Irish whipping her into the corner. The Bahaman Bomber takes a couple of moments to clap his hands together and get the fans warmed up with Melissa acting as cheerleader… “LET’S GO DUB-CEE!” “LET’S GO DUB-CEE!” …then sprints across the ring towards Amy… ‘MOVE!’ Mike screams as his sister from the outside as Wildchild leaps into the air, twisting as he goes… *whump* …and hits home on nothing, as Amy Stephens dodges the Blue Crush at the last second and the Bahaman Bomber collides chest-first with the top buckle! Amy suddenly finds herself facing her opponent’s back and reacts in the best way she knows how - wrapping her arms around his throat and going for her trusty choke submission! “YEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!” “Last Orders!” Mak yells as the crowd pops in anticipation… but Wildchild is spared the humiliation of such a quick defeat, as the Tropical Tumbler thinks quickly and runs straight up the buckles, pushing back off the top to come crashing down on Amy in a pinning position! ONE! TWO!! -but Amy kicks out to deny her opponent a quick victory in turn, and the match continues! “LET’S GO A-MY!” “LET’S GO DUB-CEE!” “LET’S GO A-MY!” “LET’S GO DUB-CEE!” “Quick thinking there by Wildchild,” Mak Francis notes, “the Last Orders has beaten quite a few SWF veterans.” “He even managed to get a fluke win over Tom Flesher using the same method,” Suicide King remembers, “one of the greatest tragedies in modern wrestling history.” Amy isn’t as quick to rise this time after having her opponent’s bodyweight crash down on top of her again, but the Last Orders attempt seems to have served as notice to Wildchild that his opponent does have some offence, and the Human Hurricane takes a moment to assess the situation before plunging back in. However, a second’s pause allows Wildchild to ascertain that Amy isn’t playing possum; she is genuinely a bit short of breath, and he decides to exploit that by bringing the Punk-Rock Princess up to a vertical base before she can react, then delivering a couple of forearms to the face. Amy is staggered, nothing more, but that’ll do Wildchild and the Bahaman turns and sprints for the ropes. Before he gets there he performs a handstand, bouncing his body back off the cables onto his feet and then leaping backwards seeking to drive his elbow into Amy’s chest with another spectacular move- *WHAM!* -but Amy simply laced her fingers together and spun on the spot to paste her opponent in the back of the head with a Polish Hammer! “YEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!” “LET’S GO A-MY!” “LET’S GO A-MY!” The pro-Stephens chants start to rise with, unsurprisingly, Michael leading the cheers as Wildchild crashes unceremoniously to the mat. On the other side of the ring Mel Fasaki looks rather miffed at someone else doing the cheerleading gig, although thankfully the World Champion has neglected to wear the outfit. Meanwhile it takes Amy a second to follow up on the turnaround in her fortunes, but she manages it by bending down and grabbing a handful of her opponent’s braids and hauling him to his feet, then rearing back and headbutting him as hard as she can! *CRUNCH!* Wildchild staggers back clutching his face, not coming to a halt until his back rests against a ring post. Amy knows a chance when she sees it and the Punk-Rock Princess charges in to deliver a knee to the gut, then grabs Wildchild by his hair again (referee Herrington doesn’t like it, but since when did a Stephens care what the referees think?) and climbs up to the second buckle. A few fans boo when she raises her fist, but the rest of the crowd know what’s coming and are ready to sing along as Amy begins raining right hands down! “HEY!” “HO!” “LET’S!” “GO!” “HEY!” “HO!” “LET’S!” “GO!” With the Blitzkrieg Punches having found their target Amy hops back down to the mat and backs off from her opponent at Red Herrington’s request… but not for long, as she sees that Wildchild has dropped down to a sitting position in the corner and the opportunity is too good to miss! Two seconds later and the SWF’s first-ever Cruiserweight Champion is the recipient of a not-entirely-welcome face wash… “BRONCO BUSTER!” King laughs as Amy forcibly rubs her crotch over her opponent’s face-painted features, “Wildchild won’t be tasting any bananas for a while, Mak! Unless of course… I dunno, I’d have to ask Landon…” “King!” the Franchise snaps, “family show!” “Since when?” As the commentators bicker Amy Stephens is looking considerably happier than she was a couple of minutes ago. Mel Fasaki on the other hand has a face like thunder, and starts banging her hands on the apron to try and get a supportive chant going for her man again. Unsurprisingly, whether because of the pleated skirt, the pleasing figure or just the simple fact that her opposite number is a guy, Mel is more successful than Michael Stephens in this endeavour and crowd support quickly comes around onto the side of the Bahaman Bomber again. “LET’S GO DUB-CEE!” “LET’S GO DUB-CEE!” Not that Amy cares; she pulls Wildchild into the middle of the ring and applied a front facelock, then swings her leg backwards before kicking it forwards and spiking her opponent onto his head with the Double-D T! Wildchild’s body remains almost vertical for a second before he crumples onto his back, and Amy makes the cover as Herrington dives to perform the count… ONE! TWO!! …but it’s going to take more than that to put Wildchild away! Amy demonstrates her displeasure at this outcome in a fairly obvious manner; she wraps one hand around her opponent’s throat and starts blatantly choking him! ‘Amy!’ Mike shouts, reprimanding his sister from the outside. ‘Wot?’ ‘That’s cheating!’ ‘…SO!?’ However, where sibling chastising doesn’t work the referee’s five-count sparks off something in Amy Stephens’ head, and she releases her hold before Herrington can disqualify her. Her illegal methods haven’t done much to make the crowd more willing to support her and the pro-Wildchild chants are starting to rise again. Amy simply drags the Bahaman unceremoniously to his feet before scooping him up off right off them, then bodyslamming him down to the mat. Wildchild hits hard and Amy looks at her work with some satisfaction before heading to the turnbuckles. A couple of seconds later and the Punk-Rock Princess is sitting on the top buckle, prior to standing up and jumping off to land a second-rope legdrop across Wildchild’s throat! *BANG!* Amy quickly applies a lateral press, hooking the leg as Mike counts along hopefully on the outside… ONE! TWO!! …but Wildchild kicks out again, much to the disappointment of both of them! This time however, Amy doesn’t bother choking her opponent; instead she heads for the turnbuckles again, ignoring her brother’s concerned expression, and heads for the top rope… “Amy Stephens going up,” Mak Francis comments, “I think she might have been to the top rope once before in the SWF, but it’s certainly not her normal territory…” Amy pauses for a second to catch her balance, bends her legs slightly, then leaps off through the air to deliver a devastating diving headbutt to Wildchild! *BANG!* …at least, she would have done if he hadn’t moved at the last moment. “YEEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!” “LET’S GO DUB-CEE!” “LET’S GO DUB-CEE!” Mel Fasaki hammers the apron to lead the crowd; Mike tries a warring chant on the other side of the ring (much to Mel’s displeasure) but with very limited success - there are still some Amy fans in the building, but most of the crowd are behind the man from Morgan’s Bluff. Amy is trying to pick herself up off the mat; Wildchild, dazed by his opponent’s simple but effective offence, is doing likewise. “King, I think the first competitor to land a telling blow could take this,” Mak Francis comments. “…and if you think I give a rat’s ass who wins, think again,” the Gambling Man fires back, “all I’m interested in is finding the cameraman who’s filming Mel Fasaki and getting that feed to my monitor!” Both wrestlers are now starting to find their feet and Amy swings a right hand… but Wildchild blocks it, then leaps up to deliver a gamengiri! *CRACK!* “YEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!” Amy staggers and drops to one knee, but the Punk-Rock Princess has a notoriously hard head and she doesn’t quite go down; however, Wildchild manages to get back up to his feet and run for the ropes, and as Amy struggles up again the Bahaman Bomber leaps into the air at speed to hit his opponent with a leg lariat that does put her down! “LET’S GO DUB-CEE!” Wildchild seems to be feeding off the fans now; while still a little shaky, the man from Morgan’s Bluff pops back up to his feet with a fire that Amy’s offence damped down but did not manage to extinguish, and he grabs Stephens to haul her to her feet! While her brother looks on anxiously Wildchild Irish whips Amy into the ropes, then leaps up to take her clean over with the airborne monkey flip known as the Freefall! *BANG!* “LET’S GO DUB-CEE!” Amy is flat on her back and gasping for breath, but Wildchild just keeps getting stronger; the Bahaman Bomber heads for the nearest turnbuckle and springs to the top in one fluid motion; he wobbles for a second as the blows to the head momentarily disorientate him, but then he leaps off to come crashing down with a senton atop his opponent! *WHAM!* It’s the work of a moment to get back into a covering position, and Herrington drops to count… ONE! TWO!! TH- -but Amy kicks out! “LET’S GO DUB-CEE!” “LET’S GO DUB-CEE!” Michael Stephens is pounding the canvas and shouting for his sister to mount a comeback, but it looks like Amy is beyond hearing him now. Wildchild starts to bring his opponent up to her feet, then delivers a kick to the gut to bend her over. A second later he’s placed one leg over the back of her head, and jumps up to get all his weight bringing her down with the Caribbean Cutter! “That could be it right there!” Mak Francis says as Amy’s face is mashed into the canvas, “…but it looks like the Wildchild has another plan in mind!” Indeed it does, as the Bahaman has rolled Amy over onto her back again and is heading for the turnbuckles once more. Always eager to give the fans a show, the young man from Morgan’s Bluff runs clean up the ropes and pauses for a split-second on the top buckle before leaping backwards and rolling forwards, looking for the Falling Star Press… …and just as he starts to jump, Michael Stephens yells ‘MOVE!’ at the top of his lungs again. Whether Amy sees Wildchild coming or not, or whether her brother’s voice causes a few neurones to fire without any knowledge of her peril, we may never know. What we do know is that Wildchild lands hard on the canvas, and Amy isn’t underneath him. She moved. “And that’s why they call them ‘high-risk’ moves,” Mak Francis points out as the Bahaman Bomber rolls away with a jarring pain in his ribs, “they have the potential to go royally wrong and- hey, where’s Melissa going?” Indeed, Mel Fasaki is on the prowl; it seems that Wildchild’s ring escort has finally taken exception to Michael Stephens’ actions and words, and with his advice having succeeded in helping Amy avoid defeat - at least for now - she storms round the ring towards him! Mike is looking concerned as he watches his sister, apparently willing her back to her feet, and the first he knows about Melissa’s movements is when she grabs him by the arm and starts jawing! “Oh, this could get interesting,” Suicide King says with some glee. Michael Stephens is at first startled at Fasaki accosting him, then begins arguing his case; he never interfered physically, he just offered advice and support. At least, that’s the case he’s trying to make, but Mel Fasaki is talking over him and giving him a piece of her mind. Tempers are starting to rise… but meanwhile in the ring, Amy attempts to deliver a double axe-handle to Wildchild from behind, only to be caught out by Wildchild’s ring awareness and, indeed, by a backflip kick that cracks her on the jaw and sends her down to the mat! “You know, Melissa may want to be a little bit careful,” Mak Francis says cautiously, “that’s the Wo-” *SMACK!* “…that’s the World Champion she’s just slapped.” “OOOOOOOOOOOOHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!” The crowd, as one, make the universal noise of people who know that the stakes have just been raised. Michael Stephens, black hair hanging down over his face, raises one hand to his suddenly-stinging jaw. Then his head snaps back around to fix Mel Fasaki with a glare. The steel-grey eyes that bore out aren’t even approaching friendly anymore. And Melissa Fasaki’s own eyes widen in shock and belated realisation, and she starts to retreat. “King, I think Melissa just remembered what happened the last time she slapped Michael Stephens,” Mak says uneasily. “Looks like it,” the Suicide King grins. “King, last time Toxxic headbutted her and broke her goddamn nose!” the Franchise says with some concern… but he’s not the only one paying attention anymore. Wildchild has noticed what’s going on and instead of following up on Amy, comes over to the ropes. He leans over and starts yelling at Michael Stephens to leave his manager and friend alone; Stephens, who has had quite enough of being yelled at for one day, sends a few choice words back at the Bahaman Bomber… and suddenly Amy’s arm shoots up between Wildchild’s legs, narrowly avoiding delivering a low blow but succeeding in allowing her to bring him over for a shock schoolboy pin! ONE! TWO!! THHHHHHHRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR- -but he kicks out! “YEEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!” “Damn!” King grimaces, “it almost worked! Nice going, Toxx!” “King, I don’t think Michael Stephens was deliberately acting as a decoy,” Mak Francis argues as Wildchild boots the resurgent Amy in the gut to cut her off from trying anything else, “and for that matter I don’t think Wildchild saw what led up to the situation with Stephens and Melissa; he just saw someone he knows as Toxxic menacing his manager and chose to step in. I don’t think he knows Melissa slapped Mike first!” “Yeah, you go ahead and believe all that,” King snickers, “Toxxic’s playing you like he’s playing Dub-Cee and everyone here - right now it’s only me and Melissa, maybe Landon, who know what’s really going on!” Regardless of the Suicide King’s suspicions, Wildchild has evidently chosen to end this match now; with Melissa back on her side of the ring and shooting worried glances at a stony-faced Michael Stephens the Bahaman Bomber pulls the doubled-over Amy Stephens after him into the middle of the ring to eliminate any chances she may have of getting a ropebreak on the upcoming pin. He turns his back on her to thread his arms under hers, then twists around to bring her onto his back in preparation for the Wild Ride… “LET’S GO DUB-CEE!” …but Amy is considerably lighter than anyone else Wildchild has faced since the days of Annie Eclectic. He’s used to having to heave, having to get all of his considerable leg strength under him to get an opponent up onto his back, and a career’s worth of experience is not easily altered. As a result he succeeds with Amy easily; too easily. The Punk-Rock Princess ends up performing an unintentional but wholly successful backflip and lands on her feet behind the startled Bahaman. And if there’s one thing Amy knows to do in the ring, it’s not to let a second chance go begging. “LAST ORDERS!” Mak yells in shock as Amy leaps onto Wildchild’s back, the right way up this time, and wraps her arms around his throat, “Wildchild’s in trouble!” “LET’S GO DUB-CEE!” He is, and he knows it. Wildchild knows that he has half a second or so before Amy applies the bodyscissors that completes the rear naked choke and makes it virtually inescapable… and he brought her into the middle of the ring, away from any ropes. It means that she wouldn’t have been able to get a ropebreak after the Wild Ride, but it also means that he hasn’t got any turnbuckles to run up and perform that neat little trick of his again. Hoisted, as they say, with your own petard. *whump* “It’s locked in!” Mak Francis calls as Amy swings her legs around into the bodyscissors and Wildchild overbalances backwards, toppling onto Amy but not managing to break her grip, “Wildchild’s got nowhere to go! We could be about to witness a major upset!” Wildchild tries. He really does. But unless you’ve got a really significant weight and strength advantage, you’re not going anywhere once someone’s got you on your back and a bodyscissors applied. The Bahaman Bomber grabs at the arm that’s constricting his windpipe and tries to break Amy’s grip, but the Punk-Rock Princess is stronger than she looks and holds on grimly. Wildchild claws desperately for the ropes, knowing they’re out of reach but having to make the effort and try… “LET’S GO DUB-CEE!” “LET’S GO DUB-CEE!” …and the effort, as everyone with the possible exception of Melissa Fasaki knew it would, comes to naught. *tap-tap-tap* *DING-DING-DING!* “Ladies and gentlemen,” Funyon booms as ‘Blitzkreig Bop’ starts to thunder out over the PA system, “here is your winner; the ‘Punk-Rock Princess’, AAAAAAAAAAAA-MY… STEEEEEEEEEEEEE-PHENS!!” The crowd reaction is mixed; Wildchild was definitely the favourite, but Amy Stephens is not without her fans when she isn’t going up against someone as popular as the Bahaman Bomber, so quite a few people end up cheering anyway. Red Herrington taps Amy on the shoulder and persuades her to release the choke, which she does reluctantly. Melissa Fasaki appears to be about to get into the ring to check on her man but is brought up short by the sight of Michael Stephens doing the same to give his sister a celebratory hug and raise her arm in victory. The World Champion’s earlier flash of anger seems to have subsided and he’s smiling as Amy punches the air triumphantly… but Mel still isn’t too keen on going near him. “Well Mak, I’m glad you were with me on this day,” Suicide King says happily, “the day that Toxxic screwed Wildchild. And I don’t mean that literally!” he hastens to add. “How do you work that one out?” Francis asks, puzzled. “It’s obvious!” the Gambling Man says in frustration, “Toxxic cooked up that distraction on the outside so Amy could sneak her win! Plus he was constantly interfering!” “I’m not so sure about that,” the Franchise says dubiously as Amy and Mike roll underneath the ropes to start heading towards the back, finally clearing the way for Melissa Fasaki to enter the ring, “but I will concede that I don’t think Amy could have won this without her brother at ringside. I don’t think she’d have avoided a couple of Wildchild’s moves, including the Falling Star Press, without her brother shouting warnings, and Wildchild could probably have finished her off earlier giving her less time to recover if his attention hadn’t been drawn to the incident on the outside… but would you pin the blame for that one on Michael or Melissa?” “It’s just a shame Toxxic didn’t follow through like did last time,” the Suicide King muses, ignoring Francis’ attempts to justify and rationalise events, “I mean sure, Mel with another broken nose wouldn’t look as good… but I’m sure I could nurse her back to health…” “You’re impossible,” Francis mutters before turning to address the camera again. “Fans it’s been a night of surprises so far and we’ve got more in store; our headlining match is for the new Hardcore Title, but I’ve just been informed by the backstage crew that we have another last-minute addition to the card coming up next; Bruce Blank vs. Austin Sly in an ELECTRIFIED steel cage! Don’t go away!” The last footage before the commercial break is of Wildchild, oxygen and consciousness now fully returned, apparently asking Melissa Fasaki if she’s alright and turning to glare after the Stephens siblings as we FADE OUT

??? vs. Manson. Neither showed. For anyone who didn't know who ??? was before, you probably do now.

“Where... the HELL... is your gear?” seethes Joe Peters, as Tom Flesher struts in a trojan backdoor with the card well underway. “Damn it, Tom, you’re up NEXT!” “I don’t think so,” says Flesher, pausing to withdraw a pack of Camel Turkish Royals from the breast pocket of his blue oxford shirt. He puts the cigarette to his lips and lights it, then stashes his Zippo back in his hip pocket. After taking a drag from the coffin nail, Flesher looks at Peters, who stares at him expectantly. After an uncomfortable pause, Peters finally breaks the silence. “Are you injured?” he asks, stonily. “Nope,” says Flesher, a puff of smoke escaping from his mouth. “Are you so sick you’re puking?” “Nope. In fact, I had some fantastic eel for lunch.” “Well then you better be caught in f**king traffic,” Peters says with a scowl. “Because I know you’re not no-showing a stop on my world tour.” “Oh, Joe,” Flesher says, feigning sympathy. “You’re so adorable when you’re trying to get me to do things I don’t have to do. Listen, you know I’m a good sport. I’ll go out there with Grappler and fight two guys you might as well have peeled off the street on pay-per-view, when you know damn well that putting me up against Stephens would cut his little cinderella story off at the knees. I’ll do it because Stephens is good for business, and if that means I have to fight Blank and Bloodshed, then I’ll stand in whatever spot I need to. But come on, Joe. You know as well as I do that force-feeding Jimmy the Doom a sandwich isn’t doing anything for the buyrates, but I went out there and did it. Do the fans like watching me haze the rookies? Sure they do... but tonight? A big, bulky piece of meat like Staunton? Man, Joe, you know...” Flesher sighs and trails off. “What?” growls Peters. “Joe, I’m just not feeling it.” With that, Flesher takes one more long drag on the cigarette before pitching it to the floor and grinding it out with the toe of his wingtip. “Blank’s right, you know,” Peters says. Flesher bristles. “You’re afraid of heavyweights.” “Oh, come on,” Flesher scoffs. “Who’d I beat for the SWF Championship? Taylor Thompson and the Boston Strangler. I’m sick of running circles around the big lugs, Joe. I’m sick of the way they’re gassed out after four minutes. I’m sick of you giving out charity paychecks to guys who think wrestling is about tables and light tubes. Time and time again, the real athletes in the SWF, not the bodybuilders and not the genetic freaks, give the fans what they want.” Flesher pauses to pull in more smoke, sneering at Peters. “Look at the World Title scene from the past few months. Maddix, Stephens, Dangerous, Mags, Williams... hell, even Davenport went out of his way to learn how to wrestle and not just throw punches. I’m not going to go out there and dignify that sort of sh*t, Joe. If Staunton wants me, he can get with his buddy and get in the ring with me and Grappler, where we can at least put on a good show around them. Otherwise, the only way I’m getting in the ring with a guy who’s not a wrestler, or at least an athlete, is if there’s a piece of metal on the line, and the paycheck that comes with it.” Peters glowers at the superstar, too angry to reply coherently. “Now,” Tom says, “if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got a Cruiserweight match to scout, assuming you ever give back what I’ve given to you.” As Peters glares at Flesher, the SWF’s all-time winningest superstar strides past him to find a monitor.

“Introducing first, already half way down the aisle, weighing in at a 209 pounds the BEMANI CROSS WIZARD MISTEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEER CEEEEEED ORDONEZ!!!” Funyon informs the inhabitants of Mainframe as Ced jogs to the ring with a confident smile on his face King: “I always enjoy seeing Ced beaten up so I’m hoping to be entertained tonight” Mak: “You say that like Ced doesn’t have a chance to win the match, don’t count out the former tag-team cham – (giggles) no I can’t say that with a straight face” Ced gets up on the second rope and raises his hands in the air to a more positive than negative reaction from the inhabitants of Mainframe, at least he thinks it’s more positive than negative but he hasn’t brushed up on his Hex codes lately so he can’t decifer the montone chants of the sprites, bites and other –ites of Baudway. 4D 2C 9A 4B 4B 7E!! 4D 2C 9A 4B 4B 7E!! “Funyon have you ever wanted to get back in the ring but just haven’t been able to find the time to prepare?” The question comes from a man who looks to be in his 60ties or so, coming out with a black apron that says “Ronco” on it and a big schyster grin on his face Funyon: “OH MY GOD IT’S RON POPEIL FROM RONCO!! What are you doing here Mr. Popeil?” Ron: “Call me Ron big man and I’m here today to introduce the latest creation from Ronco, in cooperation with the BennerCorp” Ron Popeil steps into the ring while giving the fans a quick wave before addressing Funyon once more. Ron: “Big man would you believe it if I told you that we’ve come up with a way for you to live out your aspirations inside the squared circle without taking time away from your busy lifestyle?” Funyon: “No Ron that’s totally impossible – that cannot be done” Ron: “Oh yes it can Fuynon and that’s why I’m here. After years of research and two failed products BennerCorp came to Ronco and said “Help me Ron Popeil you’re our only hope” and so I did. Could you read this for me?” Ron hands Funyon a cue card, after all Funyon is the professional ring announcer guy and Ron believes in letting the people who know the job best do the job. Funyon: “LADIES, GENTLEMEN, SPRITES, PROGRAMS and those that just won’t compile properly BennerCorp in cooperation with Ronco proudly presents the greatest development in artificial human to human physical interaction” ”Domo arigato, Mr. Roboto, Mata ah-oo hima de Domo arigato, Mr. Roboto, Himitsu wo shiri tai” Funyon: “Being wheeled down to ringside as we speak, clearly the most superior NEW AND IMPROVED GHOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOST MACHINEEEEEEEE Veee-Three, point OOOOOHA!!” ”You're wondering who I am-machine or mannequin With parts made in Japan, I am the modren man” 10011010011101001!! The inhabitants of Mainframe immediately cheer for the latest incarnation of the Ghost Machine, after all he’s one of “them” so to speak. It doesn’t even matter to them that they haven’t actually seen V3.0 yet just a large wooden crate with “Top Secret” stamped on it that is being wheeled down the ramp towards the ring ”I've got a secret I've been hiding under my skin My heart is human, my blood is boiling, my brain I.B.M. ” 10011010011101001!! Ron: “The latest Ghost Machine is a product of extensive field research and countless hours of tape watching by our product development department.” Funyon: “Really? And what are some of the improvements made to this model?” Ron: “Well first of all we found the previous version to be a little too scrawny and physically unintimidating, not as resilient as we had hoped either so we improved the body framework and increased the mass by 28.26% as well as increasing it’s height by 12.85% to give it that much more duability and up it’s power ratio.” Once the crate is at ringside the SWF crew raise it up on it’s end and turn it so that the side that says “This side forward” is facing the ring where Ron and Funyon are talking while Ced Ordonez is pacing impatiently, he gets paid the same no matter how quick he loses so he just wants to get it over with. ”So if you see me acting strangely, don't be surprised I'm just a man who needed someone, and somewhere to hide” 10011010011101001!! Ron: “Now the biggest problem with Version 2 was that well it couldn’t take a licking and keep on ticking!” Funyon: “I remember that, once it got dented it never worked as well as we thought it would.” The SWF crew insert crowbars into the box and begin to pull until they manage to pop one of the sides off the box spilling a huge pile of packing peanuts out on the floor as the camera crew comes around to get a good shot at the new and improved Ghost Machine V3.0 ”To keep me alive-just keep me alive Somewhere to hide to keep me alive” Inside the box stands a version of Ghost Machine, about 6’7’’ maybe 6’8’’ it’s hard to tell with it still being buried waist deep in packing peanuts, but unlike the previous version V3.0 is HUGE – broad chest, wide shoulders, massive arms all clad in the trademark purple body suit. Ron: “Alright Funyon we better leave the ring, prepare to be amazed” Funyon: “I still don’t believe that V3.0 is that good Ron, I mean it’s IMPOSSIBLE!” Ron: “Wait and see, it’s voice activated unlike previous Ghost Machines who had to be kicked in the ass to get going” Ron and Funyon leave the ring but keep in the shot at all times totally ignoring the fact that both Mak and the Suicide King are supposed to be there for commentary. Ron: “Watch this. GHOST MACHINE V3! ACTIVATE!!” “WHIIIIIIIIRR!” V3.0’s head rises up as it’s systems come online, the arms twitch as the diagnostic program confirms that everything is okay. Then the big purple people imitator steps out of the box, gets up on the apron and enters the ring where it proceeds to fold it’s arms across it’s chest and then just stands there waiting. Funyon: “Okay yes it moves very human like I’ll give you that, but there is no way this can be better than the old versions of the Ghost Machine” Ron: “Just wait and see, you’ll be amazed” Ced looks at the Big Purple Machine, then he looks at Funyon and Ron Popeil at ringside trying to figure out if this is all an elaborate joke of if he made a wrong turn somewhere and ended up in an infomercial. After a moment or two Ced decides that it doesn’t matter either way and figures he may as well start the match. With Ghost Machine V3 still just standing there, arms crossed in the middle of the ring Ced decides that it’s up to him to get things going and runs at him with a massive clothesline *THUD!* Funyon: “WOW! Ghost Machine didn’t even budge off that clothesline” Ron: “No he didn’t Funyon! One of the things the increased mass and density has resulted in is a new “No Sold” subroutine that the opponent has to over ride before even having a chance of winning” Funyon: “Okay I got to admit that’s amazing” Ron: “But wait there is more!” Ced doesn’t wait though as he launches himself at Ghost Machine V3.0 once more with a jumping back elbow that strikes V3.0 square in the chest plate but doesn’t make the big machine flinch the slightest. 10011010011101001!! Ron: “Now Ghost Machine could just stand there and let the opponent wear himself out that way by running it’s “Rope-a-dope” program but what Ronco has added to the BennerCorp software is a flare for entertaining, a way to connect with as many fans at once” Funyon: “And how does he do that?” Ron: “Well what’s more popular than kicking ass?” When Ced rushes at Ghost Machine for a 3rd time the humanoid simply sticks out it’s massive right arm and lets Ordonez run straight into it clotheslining himself. 10010011110100111!! Funyon: “So he’s programmed to kick ass? How is that different than versions 1 and 2” Ron: “Well Funyon we all know Version 1.0 has so many basic faults that it’s best forgotten, but this version has taken the best parts of Version 2.0 and improved on it” Funyon: “So it’s new AND improved?” Ron: “That’s right Funyon” Ghost Machine grabs Ced by the wrist and pulls the Bemani Cross Wizard back to his feet, then it hooks it’s massive arms around Ordonez’s chest and from a standing position effortlessly Railgun Suplexes Ordonez over his head throwing him half way across the ring. Funyon: “WOW!! Version 2 usually had to have the opponents come running at him” Ron: “And even then he never really got that much distance on it, that’s the pure power that comes from micro hydraulics and total limb control!” Funyon: “Just how powerful is V3.0? I’m sure we’d all like to know that” 1101101! Ghost Machine V3 picks up Ordonez once more, wraps it’s massive gripping device (or hand to you and me) around Ordonez’s throat and hoists it up in the air holding him in a choke slam position and just keeps him there. Funyon: “That’s unbelievable power” Ron: “Yes Funyon, we’ve analyzed literally dozen of wrestlers to make his power levels superior but not in the “super human” range, he’s about as strong as say a former Hardcore Champion” Funyon: “Maybe even a former Ultraviolent Champion?” Ron: “Now, now Funyon that’s a Ronco secret! But unlike the previous version that had a hardware glitch when it came to interfacing with external applications Version 3.0 has no such problems be it a weedwhacker, a two by four or a 7 foot tall flick scythe this version knows how to handle them all” In the ring Ghost Machine V3.0 is still holding Ced up by the throat seemingly without much effort. Funyon: “Of course you can’t demonstrate that in this match, it’s against the rules – Is he alright? I mean it looks like he’s on pause or something” Ron: “He’s fine Funyon, just want and see” Ron checks his watch and obviously counts down in his head and then when he nods Ghost Machine V3.0 drops Ordonez to the mat with a stiff Choke Slam 11011101!! Funyon: “Amazing” Ron: “But that’s not all. Like most of my inventions he slices, he dices and he definitely chops!” Taking the audible command Ghost Machine V3.0 drags Ordonez into the corner and then lays chops the crap out of him *CHOP!!* 100000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000011!! Funyon: “Quite impressive” Ron: “And we’ve even improved the Drop Kick to make it 25% less slopppppy” Ghost Machine turns and looks at Ron in a “Oh you’ve got to be shitting me” kinda way like he really doesn’t want to do the drop kick – which is silly a machine that has a will of it’s own? Laughable, I say laughable Ghost Machine leaps (kinda) into the air and strikes Ced in the chest (kinda) with one of his feet (kinda) as he does one of the worst drop kicks in the history of man. Ron: “Erm. . . it’s more effective this way! Yeah, yeah that’s what it is, more power!” Funyon: “. . . ” Ron: “Okay so we’ve got to work that ONE bug out, but the rest of it is a Superior Machine, in fact that’s our sales slogan” Funyon: “What is??” Ron: “Ghost Machine V3.0: It’s the Superior One” Funyon: “You’re not afraid of any trademark issues?” Ron: “It’s not a trademark issue it’s a statement of fact Funyon, people can sue or they can step into the ring with V3.0 and try to prove that they’re superior.” Funyon: “I’m still not totally convinced that this is for me Ron” Ron: “Oh we’re far from done Funyon! This guy does it all, we’ve got the “V1.0 Pile Driver”!” Ghost Machine kicks Ordonez in the mid section (this time without jumping first) then gets the poor Ordonez up for a pile driver that’s hit with a sickening crunch!! Ron: “Add to that the V2.0 “Feature Creep” Functionality” The big purple Machine grabs Ced by the hair, then climbs up and sits on the second rope before leaping off it with a knee planted in the back of Ced’s neck driving the Bemani Cross Wizard into the ground with all of his 295 pounds behind it. Ron: “We’ve added a “Quality Control” feature unique to V3.0” Ghost Machine hoists Ordonez into the air Gorilla Press style and then pumps him up and down to check for integration errors and to stress test Ordonez’s system before tossing the much smaller part time referee across the ring. Ron: “And if you call within the next 20 minutes we’ll throw in the very special “Virtual Fatality” module FREE OF CHARGE!!” In the ring the big machine picks up Ordonez once more and places him over his shoulders in a power slam position. Then he runs across the ring, leaps into the air and drives Ordonez’s head into the canvas with a running Tombstone *SHA-NA-NA-NA-NA-NA-NA!!* 11111111111111111111111!!! ONE!! TWO!! THREE!! Funyon: “Ron!! You’ve got me convinced I want one of these for myself, with this I can probably win a world title AND maintain the carefree lifestyle I live today” Ron: “You definitely can Funyon, V3.0 is your ticket to the top so call now because supplies are limited” Funyon: “But Ron, Ron how much is this going to cost?” Ron: “Well would you pay half a million for this?” Funyon: “HELL YES!!” Ron: “Well you don’t have to! Today’s special offers you the Ghost Machine V3.0 for 5 easy payments of $99,999.00 each” Funyon: “Oh you just can’t beat that price” Ron: “And you just can’t beat the Ghost Machine V3.0 – after all he is the Superior Robot” Funyon: “Well I’m off to get a cellphone so I can call” Ron: “Good! And if you have any complaints about Ghost Machine V3.0 you can write to our claims department as shown on the screen” Ghost Machine V3.0 Complaints department C/O B. Blank Dirty Tornado Trailerpark 87237, AL Ron: “Ladies and Gentlemen Ronco in cooperation with BennerCorp wants to thank you for watching this product demonstration and urges you all to call 1-800-BUY-GMV3” right now to order your very own Ghost Machine” And on that note Ron orders Ghost Machine V3.0 back in the box for it to be taken away for diagnostics and probably another upgrade on the “Drop Kick” subroutine. With Ron leaving the arena Mak Francis and the Suicide King finally get a chance to say something Mak: “I could get one of those, give it my gear and call it “Ghost Franchise V2” then my legacy wouldn’t end with Spike breaking my back!” King: “Yeah you go ahead and call. . . better yet give me your credit card and I’ll call for you.” Before the banter can continue Ron comes running back out into the arena for one final message. Ron: “Remember to make sure you order Ghost Machine V3.0 – it’s the SUPERIOR ONE!”

The Smartmarks Wrestling Federation presents... SWF LOCKDOWN! Live, Monday, June 26th, from outside Dot's Diner, in the Baudway Sector, in the city of Mainframe! (East of Baudway, west of Floating Point Park) (6pm PST, 10pm EST; check local listings) (Send all promos/marked matches to janusd) For those unfamiliar, here's the Wiki: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/ReBoot And here's a brief overview: The setting is in the inner world of a computer system known by its inhabitants as Mainframe. Mainframe is divided into six sectors (moving clockwise): Baudway, Kits, Floating Point Park, Beverly Hills, Wall Street, and Ghetty Prime. Mainframe is populated almost entirely by binomes, little creatures that represent either 1's or 0's, as well as a handful of Sprites who are primarily humanoid creatures of more complex design and are the main characters of the series. ReBoot is full of computer humor and popular culture in-jokes and parodies. -=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=- THE MAIN EVENT - HARDCORE CHAMPIONSHIP MATCH Insane Luchador vs. Jimmy the Doom vs. Spike Jenkins vs. Scott Rageheart --> Sean Davis has left us, sad to say, and he left with the Hardcore Gamer's Title! In a scramble to set things straight, a new (possibly temporary, possibly permanent) Hardcore Title has been established, and the new champion will be decided tonight! As a bonus, a coin toss decided that one of our newest Tag Team wrestlers gets a crack at a legend, and the other gets a shot at a title. Scott Rageheart either won or lost, depending on your view, and his second show in the SWF finds him in the main event, fighting for the vacant Hardcore (not Gamer's) Championship! Rules: Hardcore fatal fourway, but the setting will be any computer game "the user" so desires. For those who haven't seen the show (I pity you), the system will be all "Warning! Incoming game!" and the ring will be enveloped inside of a gamecube. What kind of game "the user" has elected to play will be entirely up to your discretion - action, sports, puzzle, whatever. Once inside, you cannot exit until you win the match. Also note that "the user" will also be attempting to win the game - beware. If he does, you all... crap, I forget what happens if "the user" wins. JJ, fill me in here. Word Limit: 5500 Send to: chirs3 -=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=- Cruiserweight Exhibition - Non Title Match Michael Cross © vs. Landon "La Cucaracha" Maddix --> Landon no longer pursuing Michael Stephens? What is this, the Twilight Zone? Well, considering this is the Fictional World Tour... ... nevermind. Anyway, Landon's eyes are on a different prize - the one draped over Michael Cross's shoulder. Zyon's first in line for a mandatory rematch, so this bout will be strictly for show, but a victory could guarentee that Maddix gets sloppy seconds. Rules: Standard singles match with Cruiserweight Addenda. Word Limit: 5000 Send to: Longdogger Pete -=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=- ELECTRIFIED AT INCONVENIENTLY INCONSISTENT INTERVALS CAGE MATCH Bruce Blank vs. Austin Sly --> Alliteration rawks! So do these guys. Rules: Pin to win only. Cage (old WWF bars style, not the wimpy fence crap) will have an electric current running through it whenever the guy at the switch feels like it. Word Limit: 4500? 5000? Dunno yet. Get back to me. Send to: chirs3 - I made this mess, I'd better clean it up. -=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=- Let's Book Stuff Late Match, Because Chris = teh dumb Amy Stephens vs. Wildchild -> Matches just keep getting added by the minute! Yeehaw~! Rules: Standard singles. Word Limit: 4500. Send to: Longdogger Pete -=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=- Special Welcoming Committee Match #2 ??? vs. Manson --> SUPER AMAZING QUESTION MARK MAN FACES THE POWER OF MANSONOSITY! Rules: Standard singles match. Word Limit: 4500 Send to: Justice -=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=- Special Welcoming Committee Match #1 Tom Flesher vs. Kerry Staunton --> A coin toss for our new taggers! Heads, you get to face a legend in an exhibition match... tails, you get a title match! Kerry Staunton got heads, and his second match ever in the SWF sees him taking on Tom Flesher! Will we see the veteran put this rookie in his place, or the biggest upset since Cardboard Comet beat Grahf? Rules: Standard singles match. Word Limit: 4500 Send to: janusd -=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=- Opening Bout Ghost Machine 3.0 vs. Ced Ordonez --> Oh god... he's back! Rules: Standard singles match. Word Limit: 4000 Send to: janusd -=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=- OPENING PROMO: Michael Cross -=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

FIVE… *are you ready* FOUR… *the streets of Baudway Sector rumbling in excitement* THREE… “IT IS TIIIIIIME!” TWO… “ONE!” “Regulators…” Ignoring the blazing Cyber-works exploding around the outside, the city lights dim, as the crowd brews with excitement, a number of spotlights popping up into Mainframe’s Baudway Sector pimping the entrance as Michael Cross exits the curtain, all alone, accompanied only by his belt. “You regulate any stealing of his property, we damn good, too. But you can’t be any geek off the street; you gotta be handy with the steal, if you know what I mean. Earn your keep.” The bass riff and whistling pause momentarily as the lights focus on the Cruiserweight Champion. “REGULATORS…MOUNT UP!” “WELCOME TO SWF LOCKDOWN,” The voice of chief wrestling analyst Mak Francis explodes, welcoming the fans to the program. “YES, MAK,” King blurts out, Regulators by Warren G. ft. Nate Dogg blasting throughout the streets, the windows on Dot’s Diner vibrating, “It’s ‘Iron’ Mike!” Wearing his hair slicked back, aviators clutching to his face, slick looking dark red dress shirt with jet black dress slacks, Mike makes his way to the ring. He adjusts his belt as he reaches ringside, the crowd almost lunging at him as he holds it up. ‘Iron’ Mike smiles, tilting his glasses forward as several cyber-trash is thrown his way, immediately disappearing before it can hit the young man. He adjusts his belt for a second time, before looking away and heading into the ring. As he nears the steps, a ring-crew worker tosses him a microphone, as he smirks and pats his belt, stopping to have a few words with him. He turns back to the ring and ducks under the ropes, smiling as the crowd butchers him. “FUCK YOU CROSS!” “FUCK YOU CROSS!” “FUCK YOU CROSS!” “Just look at him,” Mak says, as if to spit the fowl taste from his mouth, “He welcomes their anger, he ignores what he’s done, and he thinks he’s right!” “HE IS,” King shoots back. “I’m right,” Cross shoots back, smiling as he hoists his new belt in the air, “Not only am I right, but I’m a god damn winner, and I’ve got this belt to prove it.” “FUCK YOU CROSS!” “FUCK YOU CROSS!” “FUCK YOU CROSS!” “Fuck me…?” “Fuck me…?” “FUCK YOU!” “That’s right,” Mike responds with a smirk, “You can hate me with your chants and your signs, but the bottom line, none of you had the balls to step into this ring and do what I did. Not two weeks ago I pinned the man you all rallied behind, Zyon.” “ZYON!” “ZYON!” “ZYON!” “That’s not all I did, no, no…” Cross pauses, patting his belt, “I took out Akira Kaibatsu, my best friend.” “DIVINE!” “WIND!” “DIVINE!” “WIND!” “That’s right,” Mike nods, “I destroyed not one, but two former champions in a single night. I defeated the both of them right under their noses, and this is what I’ve got to show for it, this belt…my belt. But that’s not all I got out of this.” The lights around the city dim to a faint darkness as four spotlights, each in the corners around ringside, shine to the corner guard rails revealing two men and Mr. Kobe walking in their respected corners, making their way to the guard rail. Mr. Kobe and the two mystery men step up onto the guard rail, the crowd cheering for these men despite their clear alliance with the heel, ‘Iron’ Mike Cross. “Representing Japan, Italy, and the United States’ finest wrestlers, 3 men and the greatest wrestling mind in history have come together, with one soul purpose. This belt.” Michael Cross holds his arm in the air. “I heard Zyon say something about me disgracing this belt, I heard him rattle his mouth off about how I’ve destroyed the prestige that this division has had, what with ex-champions Zyon, Michael ‘Toxxic’ Stephens,” the crowd erupts, “Among other men.” The spotlights turn to Mr. Kobe, “But now it’s out time, the destiny of this belt leh…leh…Rhyes in the hands of The Axis. Because tonight, you’re about to see the fruits of our Lay…Ray…Raybor,” the crowd erupts in laughter at Mr. Kobe. “I think what my manager meant to say was,” Mike pauses, “Our fold determines who and who does not hold this title. Because tonight, we’ve arranged for the newest possible contender, Landon Maddix. Tonight, Maddix has a chance to show us, The Axis, if he’s ready to step up. For us, it means the world, because you see Zyon, our goal is not to tarnish this belt, it’s to make sure someone like you or…Akira Kaibatsu doesn’t do it.” ‘Iron’ Mike drops the microphone with a thud as Regulators by Warren G. feat. Nate Dogg hits the PA, The Axis leaving ringside as the cameras fade out.

Why I oughtaaaa... Off to work - when I get back, I expect my inbox to be overflowing with Smarkdowny Goodness! Well, half full, anyway.

Ditto Ditto here.

Of course I mean Smarkdown. That's in the subject line, isn't it? It certainly never said Storm, that's for sure.

Markers, send winning matches to me. Writers, send promos to me.