Chuck Woolery

You don’t get to be a multi-millionaire rapper and producer without having a serious sound system, and this sound system is set up all over the beach on P. Diddy’s island so the man and his krew can hear what’s going on no matter where they may be. As we come back from commercial break the sound system is producing the faint *skritch-skritch* of a needle on vinyl. Then: ‘WEL-WEL-W-W-WELCOME TO THE REVOLUTION!’ The deep voice booms out across the sand and water and instantly the brutal guitars and manic drumming of ‘Battle Ready’ by Otep kicks in, causing many of those present to hold their ears and cuss in pain as the unfamiliar genre causes them to hallucinate wildly. There is no pyro tonight but there are the ever-present girls in cages who make up for the lack, although they seem to be at something of a loss as they try and find a bump-and-grindable beat in the screaming hardcore. A few seconds later the curtain is thrust aside and a familiar trio step out to the universal boos and gunshots of disapproval from the watching rappers. “Well, you knew you could only get so far in the evening without Revolution Zero making themselves felt, despite the fact that they aren’t booked in any of tonight’s matches,” Longdogger Pete comments with resignation. “Although I am surprised to see JJ Johnson out here, he hasn’t been around lately.” “Maybe Toxxic needed him for something,” King speculates. Toxxic, Scott Pretzler and JJ Johnson reach the ring and enter it in their own ways - Johnson vaulting over the ropes, Toxxic rolling under them and Pretzler climbing carefully and boringly up the ring steps - and it is now that the oddness of their attire becomes apparent. While they are all dressed in what amounts to casual clothes (as in, Toxxic is wearing his England shirt, JJ seems to have ditched his ring robes for a muscle T-shirt and jeans while Pretzler appears to have been persuaded after some argument that yes, you can wear a shirt without a tie) each one of them is also wearing a sparkly pointed hat, secured under the chin with elastic. Toxxic is also carrying a sack, which he hands to JJ as he claims the ring mic from Funyon. “BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!” “Yo yo yo,” Toxxic begins, attempting a gangsta hand signal but only managing to invert the Horns Of Metal by ninety degrees, “it’s the Rev-0 posse in da house!” “…say what?” King says, utterly confused. “We got MC Me, the Better-Than-Sex Tee-Oh-Double-Ex,” Toxxic continues, grabbing his crotch, “along wit’ Silent Violence Triple J, and Critical Scotty P!” Scott Pretzler ceases looking in the sack for a moment to glance over at his leader with an expression that clearly says ‘I’m out here watching you do this, and I still don’t believe it’. “We are rockin’, we are in full effect and we are here to PAAAARRRRRR-TAAAAAAYYYYYYYYY!” Toxxic bellows before thrusting the microphone at Scott Pretzler. “Scotty, let me hear the sound of PAAAARRRR-TAAAAAAYYYYYYYY!” With furious concentration, Pretzler places a party squeaker in his mouth and blows. *SQUUUEEEAAAAAAK!* “BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!” The audience are understandably confused, and like most people react hostilely when confused. However, Toxxic does not take kindly to this greeting and as Pretzler and JJ Johnson begin inflating balloons with helium (with both the balloons and the helium canister emerging from the sack) the Straight-Edge Sensation begins to harangue the crowd. “What, you don’t like us?” Toxxic asks in mock astonishment. “What’s the problem? Oh no, wait, I know - we ain’t hood enough, right? Well let me tell you sunshine,” the Brit continues, “where I come from we’ve only got two sorts of hoods - one that you put on your head when it rains, and one that girls get pierced to give you meathead morons some clue how to find their clitoris!” “FUCK YOU! FUCK YOU! FUCK YOU!” Oh dear. That didn’t go down well. Several rappers bring out their guns and start firing them in the air, although whether this is a reaction to Toxxic’s words or just an instinctive response to loud noises remains unclear. Regardless, the Straight-Edge Sensation remains unintimidated. “Sounds like some people don’t like their masculinity and sexual prowess being questioned!” he shouts. “Well, I can’t really blame you - d’you know, last time I checked there were about 300,000 professional rappers active in the United States? And guess what; every single one of them is a red-blooded male! Women with no clothes on hanging around them, the works. How about that?” Toxxic pauses for a moment to let the brighter members of the audience catch where he may be going with this, then plows on anyway. “Not that I’m entertaining any doubts about your sexualities,” he continues in the tone of voice of someone who is not only entertaining doubts but has wined them, dined them, been through a full-fledged relationship with them and written them into his will, “you guys with your hard, chiselled bodies, baggy pants and prominent underwear… but it seems to me that either you’re the bane of statisticians or some of you are being a leeetle dishonest about which team you’re batting for!” “FUCK YOU! FUCK YOU! FUCK YOU!” “Yeah, bet you want to,” Toxxic grins. “…TOXX-IC SUCKS! TOXX-IC SUCKS! TOXX-IC SUCKS!” “Yeah, IN YOUR DREAMS!” the former World Champion yells, then raises one black-nailed hand. “By the way, I’d advise very strongly against chanting ‘We Want Ejiro’ right now. You’ve already had two strikes.” In the front row Snoop Dogg opens his mouth anyway, at which point the rappers surrounding him take a quick look at his girly straightened hair, big fluffy coat and stupid hat, and take an executive decision to silence him for the good of the species. “We wa-” *THUD!* “-ouchizzle!” “Well, that’s got the pleasantries out of the way,” Toxxic says with some satisfaction as he watches a stoner be clubbed down by his fellows. “Now then, onto the real reason we’re out here - THA PAAAARRRRR-TAAAAAAAAYYYYYYYY!” In the background, Scott Pretzler can be heard to mutter ‘Don’t say it again…’ “PAAAARRRRRRR-TAAAAAAYYYYYYYYYY!” Toxxic adds once more for emphasis, then grabs some of the balloons that Pretzler and Johnson have been preparing… *BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG!* …unfortunately for the Straight-Edge Sensation the brightly-coloured blobs are too tempting a target for the gun-wielding rappers in the crowd, and they are quickly punctured. Toxxic sticks out his lower lip and pouts for a moment, then raises the mic again. “Honestly, just cos you guys have unresolved issues around your sexualities there’s no need to take it out on Scott and JJ’s hard work.” The straight-edger takes another look around at the audience and sighs audibly. “…if only Janus were here. And that ain’t something you’re gonna hear me say often, believe me.” “BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!” With the crowd taking refuge in the one incorruptible piece of abuse left to them, Toxxic drops the pathetic strings that had attached the once-balloons to his hand, then makes a complicated hand signal towards the technical area. After a few seconds something begins stirring in the upper branches of an overhanging palm tree, and a couple of moments after that a large banner unfurls downwards to reveal the words: ‘THE DEATH OF MARTIAL LAW’ “BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!” “What on earth does this mean?” Longdogger Pete wonders out loud. “Martial Law are far from dead; in fact, they’re the reigning tag champions!” “I’m sure all will be revealed,” King says with confidence. Odd how he knows exactly what’s going to happen. “Now, the less intelligent ones of you will be wondering ‘what does Toxxic mean? Martial Law are tag champions!’,” the straight-edger begins, prompting a chuckle from King. “Normally I would address you all in spoken word to get my point across. However, given our surroundings and your apparent inability to listen to anything which hasn’t got someone else making grunting noises in the background, me and Tha Krew here are going to treat you to our own, Revolution Zero rap!” “BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!” You ain’t heard heat like this, son. The Devil’s diarrhoea was never this hot. Regardless, Toxxic seems unperturbed as he signals to the tech area again and Big Dave, barricading himself in against a possible retaliatory strike, presses the button that brings up Tha Beat. Revolution Zero each grab a microphone and form a loose triangle in the ring, hands folded and head down. Suddenly the spotlight shines on Toxxic and the SWF’s newest Supergroup begin to do their thing! (Toxxic): Well I’m breakin’ it down from the streets o’ Nottin’ham Radford posse reprazentin’, that’s who I am I got total domination, I’m tha Straight-Edge Sensation I’m the baddest motherfucker in this company man! Now Martial Law are thinkin’ it’s the land o’ tha free Landon ‘Cocksucker’ Maddix wants to mess wit’ me But he ain’t got no case, I’m gonna break his face Like I nearly broke his neck on March’s PPV! (Pretzler): Uh-huh, uh-huh Uh-huh, uh-huh (Toxxic): Now Landon and Todd, they weren’t homies before There was only one reason they made Martial Law I’ll tell ya what it’s about - they wanna get Toxxic out But that don’t seem ta be da plan for that team anymore. (Pretzler): Uh-huh, uh-huh (Toxxic): Yeah, yeah (Pretzler): Uh-huh, uh-huh (Toxxic): TAKE IT, SCOTTY! (Pretzler): My esteemed leader has got right to the point Landon’s logic’s absurd, he has gone back on his word If he’s relinquished his goal to drive Toxxic away How can he justify what he does every day? He has called on the support of Alan Clark and Cortez They were hardly blood brothers; in fact they hated each other If their focus has faded now their leader has gold Then surely their tempor’y alliance should fold? (Toxxic): Uh huh, uh-huh Yeah, yeah, TAKE IT, JAY-JAY! [JJ Johnson raises the microphone… and although his mangled throat has difficulty producing recognisable words he does prove to be an excellent human beatbox!] (Toxxic): Breakin’ it down! Breakin’ it down! [JJ drops his microphone and proceeds to put on a flawless display of breakdancing] (Toxxic): See, Landon’s used the others as a means to an end The tactics he has employed are not the acts of a friend To this tricky situation I see only one solution So I bid you motherfuckers WELCOME TO THE REVOLUTION!! (Pretzler): Yeah, yeah (Toxxic): Uh-huh, uh-huh (Pretzler): Yeah, yeah (Toxxic): Uh-huh, uh-huh Breakin’ it down… “…BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!” “Amazing!” King shouts gleefully as the crowd erupts, “that was the best rap I’ve heard all year! Encore! Encore!” The assembled gangsta, rappers and assorted music honchos do not agree. They shout, they scream, they swear (oh boy do they swear…) and they fire guns in the air. Revolution Zero wait for the noise to die down but it doesn’t, really - on and on the chorus of disapproval goes until finally Toxxic steps in. “Right, you hate us, we get the picture,” the Straight-Edge Sensation grins. “However, while we’ve been running interfere, you’ve been BOOC’d!” “BOOC’d?” Pete says, puzzled. “This isn’t some new craze started by Andrea Montgomery, is it?” The rappers don’t seem any the wiser either until the smiling straight-edger raises the microphone to his mouth again. “Bitches Out Of Cages!” he triumphantly proclaims, pointing one black-nailed finger towards the ring entranceway. And sure enough, as the cameras pan around there are three men with hoods up and bandana across their faces working feverishly with boltcutters and angle grinders to open the doors of the cages containing the dancing girls. “…?” “BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!” “That’s right!” Toxxic shouts. “Go, Nipper! Go, Big Steve! Go, Derek The Red! Yes folks, those cruelly-mistreated girls will be rehabilitated and rehomed, safe from the cruelty and casual violence they are subjected to due to your neglect! Bitches Out Of Cages is an internationally-recognised charity! Donate today at www.mainstream-misogyny.com!” Some of the nearest rappers begin swearing (even more) violently and try to get to the cages and the offending charity workers, but before they can close the gap the puzzled but pleased girls are herded onto the back of a lorry, still instinctively bumping and grinding as they go. Derek The Red puts his foot down and the lorry speeds off, throwing up massive gouts of sand as it careers recklessly into the night. “And now, our work here is done,” Toxxic proclaims as he and the rest of Revolution Zero doff their party hats. “Oh, one last thing…” Toxxic clears his throat to make sure that the full severity and seriousness of his following statement is successfully communicated by his vocal chords. “…Ejiro, you suck at interfering in matches! You suck big hairy donkey bollocks!” And with that Toxxic, Scott Pretzler and JJ Johnson exit the ring and head up the beach to the curtain that is now hanging slightly ajar, and past the empty cages bereft of dancing bimbos. “…they took away the girls!” Suicide King complains, sounding hurt. “They were the only thing I enjoyed about this place!” “Meh, Diddy will have some more up there by the next match,” Longdogger Pete says, “he gets them two for one from WalMart.” “P. Diddy shops at WalMart?” King asks, confused. “Only for bitches,” the Miami Menace assures his commentary partner. Suicide King nods, reassured… but then something else occurs to him. “Pete… we’ve just seen Revolution Zero verbally assault the biggest names in rap-so-called-‘music’ on the planet without getting shot, perform a rap of their own claiming that Landon has betrayed the trust of Alan Clark and Landon’s co-champion Todd Cortez and that the name Martial Law is a mockery unless they are sticking to their original aim of removing Toxxic from the business, and participate in the activity of a charity no-one’s ever heard of to ‘free’ two dancing girls from their cages. And then, Toxxic basically laughed at World Champion Ejiro Fasaki’s failed attempt at ’punishing’ him some more on Smarkdown. Shouldn’t we be talking about that?” the former Commissioner speculates. Longdogger Pete purses his lips thoughtfully, going over again in his head what it is they’ve just seen. “…no.” “No,” King agrees, sounding relieved. “Let us never speak of it again, then.” “Deal. Commercials?” “Sounds good to me. I need to change the bitch under this desk anyway, she began losing suction about five minutes ago.” The man very occasionally known as Brian Applewhite catches his commentary partner’s shocked glance and grins widely and cheesily. “Hey, you really get used to how to use a desk when you’ve been Commissioner!” FADE OUT

"PREPARE...FOR...LANDON!" ...WAAAAAHHHHH... *DUM DUM* "YYYYYYEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!" And we return to the glorious Seychelles, the sun thankfully shining on SWF Storm tonight...just in time for Incubus' "Megalomaniac" to blare through P.Diddy's personal speakers. Somewhere, Diddy and his rapper buddies weep at the noise polluting their 'gangsta island'. As meanwhile, Landon Maddix makes his entrance. Not in his usual wrestling gear. But instead, wearing a pair of blue, Hawaiian print swim shorts! "Ugh." groans King. Maddix poses at the makeshift entrance, turning back as Megan Skye makes her way out...and to the delight of everyone, she's also in her beachwear. "Bitches an' hoes, your following contest is scheduled for one f-izz-all, with no disqualifications." booms Funyon, getting into the rap-party spirit. "Introducing first, accompanied to the ring by Megan Skye. Weighing two hundred twenty pounds...he is one half of the SWF World Tag Team Champions... LAAAANNDDOOOOONN... 'LA CUCARACHA'... MMMAAAAAAADDIIIIIXXXXX!!!!" A cheer goes up around the beach, as Maddix jogs through the sands to the ring in a very Baywatch like manner, tumbling in through the middle and bottom ropes. Megan follows behind carrying Maddix's shiny Tag belt, which she uses to check her reflection in. "Alright, Longdogger Pete back on Storm, throwing down a forty for my homies with my diggedy dizzog, Lil' Suicide King. Holla aitcha boi~!" "Never do that again." "Okay." "What is wrong with this kid anyway? He's wearing swim shorts and wrestling boots and, quite frankly, looks a complete idiot." "And I suppose P.Diddy and his rapper friends don't?" "Touché." ATTENTION! ALL YOU NIGGAZ! The fans, rappers, members of P.Diddy's entourage and all the rest pop, for the much more P.Diddy suited "Let's Get Dirty". ALL YOU BITCHES! TIME TO PUT DOWN THE CRISTAL, TIME TO TAKE OFF THE ICE FOR A MINUTE… TIME TO THROW A LITTLE MUD IN THIS MOTHERFUCKA… And of course for Wildchild, entering the beach and firing up his fellow paridise island dwellers, getting a roaring reception as he walks determindly down the beach and towards the ring. "And his opponent...from Morgan's Bluff, Andros in The Commonwealth of The Bahamas. He weighs two hundred and fourteen pounds...the former three time World Tag Team Champion... 'THE BAHAMA BOMBER'... WWWIIIIIIIIILLLDDCCHHHHIIIILLLLLDD!!!!!" "YYEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHH!!" The crowded beach is filled with cheers again as Wildchild enters the ring. Quickly, Maddix goes to leave the ring, only just stopping himself short of jumping from the apron to the calm blue ocean, before changing direction and exiting to the safer sands. "The Bahamas may be nine timezones apart from the Seychelles, they be in different continents and with different cultures. But Wildchild seems very much at home here. He seems very much 'one of the people'." "Yeah. When do we get back to America anyway?" Standing alone in the ring, Wildchild stares down at Maddix with teeth gritted, eager to get his hands on the "Next Generation". Maddix quickly grabs the Tag Team Title belt from Megan and raises the belt in the air, with a little smirk in The Bahama Bomber's direction as he sees the former champion fume. Fume, until he suddenly jumps out of the ring and gives chase! *DING DING DING!* The bell rings as Maddix abandons the belt and runs off back down the beach, Wildchild in hot pursuit. Maddix is better dressed for beach running, apart of course from his wrestling boots...and suddenly slips on the sand because of them. Landon scrambles forward and falls to his knees, allowing Wildchild to grab him by the hair and nail him in the side of the head with a knee! Dazed, Maddix staggers off. But again he slips in the sand in his rush to get away. Wildchild grabs Maddix and suddenly, the two pass through the makeshift barricade and into the fans, with Wildchild throwing fists at the back of Maddix's retreating head. The two are now deep in the crowd, fans trying to get out of their way as they pass...until they reach the back of the crowd and a bar area, graciously provided by Mr Diddy for tonight's event. "How come I never saw that? Somebody get me a Whiskey, would ya?" "OMG Whiskey is such a girl's drink!" "You're right. Get me one of those manly, bright blue cocktails with the little pink umbrella." Still throwing right hands, Wildchild sends Maddix for retreat towards the bar. Thinking quickly, Maddix grabs the first thing that comes to hand...which happens to be a cocktail, tossing the lurid green liquid into Wildchild's face. "It burns! IT BURNS!" Wildchild reels away as Maddix frantically searches for some weaponary. The best he can find is a beachball. But with Wildchild coming back towards him, Landon decides it'll have to do and hurls the beachball at The Bahama Bomber... ...the ball to pathetically bounce off of Wildchild's head, to groans from the fans. But Landon capitalises on the moment of confusion, booting Wildchild in the gut and dragging him across the beach. Away scurry some more spectators, as Maddix nails a forearm. A second. Wildchild fires one back, but Maddix again goes to the gut before sending Wildchild flying across the beach, sending the Tropical Tumbler tumbling into and pretty much through an elaborate sandcastle. With a wail, two young children run off crying, as the uncaring Maddix mounts Wildchild and unloads with some right hands. Trailing behind, referee Nick Soapdish tries to get the warring cruiserweights to get back towards the ring. But Maddix has other ideas, leaving Wildchild laying in the pile of sand and grabbing a steel chair from the one of the spectators. "Here we go." sighs King. "Finally we're getting some real weapons." Folding up the chair, Maddix measures Wildchild as he pulls himself up to his feet... *CRACK!* ...and SMASHING him over the back with the chair, sending grains of sand flying!! "Ouch!" "A stinging chair shot from Maddix!" gasps Pete. "And the sand is only going to make that sting more!" Clutching his back, Wildchild falls back to his knees. Maddix meanwhile opens up the chair again, setting it deep in the sand and checking it's secure before grabbing Wildchild. The back of Wildchild is bright red from the chairshot, Maddix only making it worse with a double back chop. With a hold of the arm, Maddix then sends Wildchild towards the chair...but Wildchild manages to scamper across the sand and leap onto the chair, springing off and wiping out Maddix with a twisting crossbody block! Wildchild pops straight back up, Maddix scrambling up moments later. He gets met instantly with a boot to the gut, before DubCee grabs a handful of hair and thrusts Maddix's head into the chair's seat! Back in the ring, Megan is having to watch all this from afar, straining to keep Maddix and Wildchild in vision. Meanwhile, it seems Landon has once more caught a case of the limbertail (whatever the hell that is) as he scrambles away from Wildchild, disorientated. Wildchild is right on him again, grabbing the hair and throwing Maddix shoulder first through a beach umbrella, which stands no chance against 220 pounds and snaps clean in half. "This is chaos here. Sure, it's Storm, we expect it. But these two men are just tearing this exclusive, private beach apart here!" Favouring his back, Wildchild looks to exact some revenge as he smashes the top half of the umbrella over Maddix's spine. Maddix again scrambles away from the retribution seeking former Tag Team Champ. But Wildchild is still in hot pursuit, catching Maddix with a kick and scooping him up for a slam. Floating over, Maddix spins around Wildchild and looks for a slam of his own. Wildchild is able to replicate the counter though, floating behind Maddix, spinning him around and looking for a shuffling sidekick. Landon ducks it. But Wildchild's shuffle kicks some sand up into his face, irritating The Next Generation enough for him to stop and try to clear his mouth of sand. Which allows Wildchild to boot him in the gut, before scooping Maddix again and carrying him a foot or two... *CRUNCH!* ...BEFORE SLAMMING HIM ONTO A SUN LOUNGER!! "OOOOOOOOOHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!" The plastic lounger buckles under the force of the slam, a couple of the legs completely folding and running one person's day out at the beach at least. "Man, Beach Blast had nothing on this Pete." Pulling Maddix off of the crumpled lounger, Wildchild begins to drag Maddix back across the beach and towards the ring. Back through the spectators they go, Maddix's back looking like a grilled hamburger from the slats in the sun lounger as he falls to the sand again. Wildchild measures him, hitting a quick kick to the spine before throwing him back through the makeshift barrier. "WILD - CHILD!" "WILD - CHILD!" "WILD - CHILD!" The two are now back at ringside, Wildchild stopping to respond to the chants before catching Maddix with another kick to the spine. Maddix quickly rolls back into the ring which seems to be the safest place in the Seychelles at the moment. But not for long, as Wildchild quickly clambers to the apron and springboards into the ring, effortlessly flipping through the air and driving both feet into Maddix's sternum!! "Shooting Star Missile Dropkick!" cries Pete. "And there's not too many in the game who can hit that!" Maddix bounces away from Wildchild, but the Tropical Tumbler is already crawling over and making a cover... ONE... TWO... Shoulder up! With a handful of hair again, Wildchild pulls Maddix to his feet... *SLAP!* "WHOOOOOOO!!" ...and hits a slap to the chest. Still sand covered, Maddix feels the sting that little bit more and grimaces in pain. Quickly, Wildchild grabs an arm and looks to whip Maddix, but La Cucaracha reverses...only for Wildchild to leap to the top rope and PINBALL~! right back at him!! "YEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHH!!" "Classic Wildchild, with the Pinball that knocks Maddix clear off his feet!" "Wildchild looks fired up tonight." admits King. "I don't know if it's the sea air, the familiar sand...or just the fact he's pissed the hell off. But he's certainly fired up." Winded, Maddix clutches his chest as he pulls himself to his feet. Wildchild meets him on his knees with a quick kick. Followed by a second. With the arm, Wildchild then gets the irish whip he was looking for moments ago, sending Maddix into the far corner. The Bahama Bomber then follows in, rotating the 360 degrees for the Blue Crush...which Maddix avoids...but Wildchild shows his usual great agility, landing safely on the middle ropes. The smirking Next Generation taps a finger to his temple to let everyone know how smart he is, his back turned to Wildchild as he glances over his shoulder. Megan frantically yells at Maddix to turn around which he finally does, seeing Wildchild and sprinting towards him. Wildchild vaults backwards over the rushing Tag Team Champion though, causing Maddix to run himself sternum first into the turnbuckles! That knocks some more wind out of him, Maddix falling to one knee as he staggers out of the corner, Wildchild charging at him... *SMACK!* ...and catching Maddix in the forehead with a STIFF basement dropkick. Maddix's head snaps back and he seems to be out, as Wildchild dives on top for the count... ONE... TWO... NO!! The veteran Wildchild wastes no time questioning the count as he scrambles to his feet, exiting to the apron and waiting for Maddix to get back up. As Maddix gets to his feet he staggers over towards Wildchild, catching an open handed strike that sends him reeling. Wildchild waits him to turn now, before springboarding to the top, snaring Maddix's head... ...but Maddix drops to one knee at exactly the right time, countering Presumed Guilty with an inverted atomic drop!! "Maddix had that one scouted!" Pete calls. "It may have been as much blind luck as great technique, but he countered the move all the same!" Wildchild holds the base of his spine as the winded Next Generation takes a deep breath, readying himself for attack. But rather than exert too much energy, Maddix takes the easy option, grabbing Wildchild by the seat of his (proverbial) pants and hurling him over the top rope and to the floor. Or rather, to the sea, sending Wildchild plunging into the shallow water on one side of the ring! Bouncing off the sea bed, Wildchild pulls himself up in the water, his wrestling tights soaked through and possibly weighing him down slightly. Meanwhile, in the ring, Maddix hits the ropes and baseball slides into Wildchild, sending him crashing into slightly deeper water! "GET MEGAN WET!" "GET MEGAN WET!" "GET MEGAN WET!" Flicking his wet hair back, Wildchild holds his jaw and seems lost for a moment. As meanwhile, in the ring, Maddix is busily trying to remove his wrestling boots. "Wait a minute here...Landon Maddix, wasting valuable time messing around with his footgear." "He's hardly going to go into the sea with his boots on, is he Pete?" As both boots come off, Maddix sees Wildchild getting back up and hits the ropes once more. This time, Wildchild is further away, so Maddix has to leap to the top rope and launch himself out of the ring and into the Indian Ocean with a Spaceman Plancha!!! "YEEEEEEAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHH!!" "DIVEBOMB~!" The crowd, despite being pro-Wildchild, pop for the sight of a wrestler diving from a wrestling ring into the sea...something you don't really see every day of the week. Getting to his feet, Maddix looks right at home in his swimwear, wading around in the water and nailing Wildchild with a barefooted kick. Maddix grimaces though, holding his foot and seemingly not used to wrestling barefoot. Pulling himself to his knees, Wildchild throws a double handful of water into Maddix's face. But he does no more than clean some sand away from Maddix's face and Maddix quickly dives onto Wildchild. The two are brawling in the water now, Soapdish staying on the dry ring apron and encouraging the two to get back into the ring. Maddix has Wildchild by the hair now and turns him to face the water, before dunking Wildchild's head under the water...and again...and again, this time HOLDING THE FLAILING WILDCHILD UNDER!!! "He's trying to drown him! Maddix is trying to drown him!" cries Pete. "This has really gotten personal!" From the apron, Soapdish continues to reprimand Maddix until finally Maddix releases Wildchild. The Bahama Bomber gasps for air as Maddix wades back towards the ring, arguing with Soapdish all the way. An arguement Maddix ends by tugging Soapdish off the apron and into the water! "Hey...do they have...sharks around here?" "In two foot deep water? I doubt it King." "The entire sea isn't two foot deep, idiot." growls King. "There's no telling how deep this match could get." "I don't think it's going to get too deep, King. Midcard cruiserweight matches don't tend to be too deep." "I didn't mean...oh, forget it." Referee and competitors are all dripping wet now, Maddix less effected in his unfashionable shorts. Grabbing Wildchild, Maddix pulls him back towards the apron and slams his head off of it. Wildchild reels backwards as Maddix sets for a forearm. He gets caught with a boot to the gut though, Wildchild then leaping onto Maddix's thighs and launching him back into the ocean with a monkey flip!! Water splashes high skywards as Maddix howls, clutching his back from the sting of the water and the solid sea bed. He has no time to nurse his injuries however, as Wildchild bundles him into the water AND HOLDS MADDIX UNDERNEATH THE SURFACE!!! "And now, Wildchild drowning Maddix like a rat!" Pete gasps. "This is crazy!" Maddix flaps frantically as Wildchild keeps him held underneath the water, until Soapdish starts to pull him off and finally forces Wildchild to release Maddix. Again, Maddix is left gasping for air, as Wildchild grabs him and rolls him into the ring. Rather than follow in though, Wildchild instead wades back to shore and walks over to the crowd, taking a chair from one of the fans and hurling it into the ring. "WILD - CHILD!" "WILD - CHILD!" "WILD - CHILD!" Finally the fight is back in the ring again, as Wildchild rolls back in. Wildchild quickly picks up the chair and sets it in the centre of the ring, before whipping Maddix across the rapidly soaking canvas. Doing well not to slip on his bare, wet feet, Maddix hits the opposite ropes... *SMACK!* ...only to run into a drop-toe-hold and land face-first across the seat of the chair! Wildchild pulls Maddix off of the chair and makes a pinfall attempt... ONE... TWO... ONLY TWO!! Back to his feet quickly, Wildchild takes a run-up and hits the ropes. Maddix groggily rolls over onto his front, forcing Wildchild to hurdle him. Up staggers Maddix, as Wildchild launches off his front foot and CONNECTS with the Leg Lariat! The Next Generation is out of it now, as Wildchild moves the chair away and gives the call for the end. "YEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHH!" Seeing this, Megan quickly slides something in towards her man before leaping to the apron, the crowd w00ting and wh00ping in delight as Wildchild turns his head towards Megan. Understandably a little distracted, Wildchild yells at Soapdish to get rid of her before grabbing Maddix... ...ONLY JUST DUCKING A SQUIRT OF SUNTAN LOTION!! "Wha..." "That's a new one." Wildchild jigs away from Maddix who still weilds the bottle of lotion, Soapdish turning around and seeing it but realising he's powerless to stop Maddix. Which doesn't really matter, as Wildchild charges Maddix and dropkicks him in the chest! The lotion bottle goes flying as Maddix rolls through to his feet and goes for Wildchild, but he's caught with a boot and doubles over. Wildchild quickly turns back to back and hooks the arms, turning him over... "WILD RI..." ...NO! Maddix kicks up and slides over the back, pushing Wildchild into the ropes. Rushing back, Wildchild springs off of his hands and looks for a crossbody. But Maddix is already in midair, throwing a Dropsault that catches Wildchild DIRECTLY in the ribs, plucking him out of the air!! "OOOOOOHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!" "Maddix escaped certain doom there...and here's the cover..." ONE... TWO... NO!! Unlike Wildchild, Maddix does decide to argue with Soapdish about the count. Soapdish weilds two fingers though, so Maddix goes back to the attack. A knee to the gut is followed by a clubbing strike across the back, before Wildchild gets pulled into a standing headscissors...and hoisted up over Landon's shoulder! "SOYLENT GREEN... ...IT'S PE..." But Wildchild is able to escape and just as Maddix did, push his opponent into the ropes. Only, Maddix's attack is less extravagent and connects, in the form of a flying forearm! Staggering quickly to his feet, Wildchild walks into a knee to the gut. That stops him in his tracks, while Maddix decides to truly put Wildchild away and hoists him up, ready for a Tombstone. Wildchild is again able to slide his wet body off of Maddix's wet shoulder easily however, landing behind, only to tumble straight back forward and deliver some Whiplash to Maddix!! Landon's head bounces off the mat, but Wildchild takes a moment to nurse his back before following up with a pin... ONE... TWO... Shoulder up! "The momentary pause was enough for Maddix there. And these two men are finally showing they can wrestle, as well as brawl." Ironically, just as Pete says this, Wildchild smiles and picks up the discarded steel chair. Tapping the chair on the mat once...and twice, Wildchild is teeing his opponent up. Maddix uses the ropes to pull himself up and turns, as Wildchild swings with the chair... ...misses... ...but DUCKS the Lan Daminator attempt, before quickly jabbing the point of the chair into Maddix's ribs. Maddix drops to a knee and begins to come back up, as Wildchild tosses the chair away and quickly PLANTS Maddix's face into the canvas with the Carribean Cutter!! "YEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHH!!" "HE HITS IT!" "From out of nowhere, Wildchild might have it here!" No pause comes this time, as Wildchild is quickly able to cradle a leg... ONE... TWO... THR.. NO!! ONLY TWO!! "OOOOOHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!" Megan breathes a sigh of relief on the floor as Wildchild holds his head in his hands, despairing at the kickout. Head shooting around the ring, Wildchild looks for a next move and decides to go for the steel chair. But while he does that, Megan Skye has another ace up her non-existant sleeve...in the form of the SWF Tag Title belt! Quickly she slides it into Landon as Wildchild is busy setting up the chair. By the time Wildchild is satisfied with the chair, Landon has come back around and has the belt in his hands, unbeknownest to Wildchild as he walks over... *BAM!* "YYYEEEEEAAAA -- OOOOOOOOOO!!" The pro Wildchild-ers boo, the pro C2Wers cheer, as Maddix sticks Wildchild firmly in the jaw with the belt! "Talk about your poetic justices!" chuckles King. "The new Tag Champion hitting the former Tag Champion with the Tag Title belt!" "And knocked him out COLD!" A smirk forms on Maddix's face as he slides the belt back to Megan. Soapdish is again powerless to do anything as Maddix crawls slowly over to Wildchild and drops on top, the crowd already split in cheers and boos... ONE... TWO... THREEEE... NO!!!! "YEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHH!!" "HE KICKED OUT!" Shocked, Maddix looks despairingly at Soapdish, as Wildchild's shoulder damningly remains clear of the canvas! "Maddix can't believe he didn't get the three." "Neither can I. He caught Wildchild competely unaware, smacked him right in the face with the belt...and only two? Did we start making them with aluminium again?" "You mean like the SJL ones?" "Pete, the entire SJL SET was made of aluminium." Still in disbelief, Maddix sees Wildchild trying to crawl away...noticing the redness of his back and a lightbulb appears to click in his head. Go for the back, again. Which is exactly what he does as he tries to grab the Land Of Nod... *BAM!* "YEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHH!!" ...BUT EATS A FACEFUL OF TAG TITLE!!!! "WILDCHILD RETURNING THE FAVOUR!!" Maddix collapses backwards and stares up at the Seychelles sky. Rather than going for a cover, Wildchild decides to pull Maddix to his feet, possibly looking for a 'fairer' avenue of victory. Taking Maddix by the hair again, Wildchild rotates 360 degress and CLOCKS Maddix with a Rolling Elbow! Now, Wildchild makes the cover... ONE... TWO... THR.. JUST TWO!! "OOOOOHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!" Wasting no time, Wildchild brings Landon up again. A groggy forearm from Maddix misses the mark, Wildchild hitting a boot before sending Landon into the corner. In charges Wildchild, this time able to hit the Blue Crush and sandwich Maddix in the corner. Breathlessly, Maddix drops to one knee but fights back up...just in time to duck a Gamengiri attempt. As Wildchild lands on his hands and knees, Maddix instinctively tries to snatch him into the Land Of Nod again. Wildchild wants no part of that though, scrambling backwards through the legs of Maddix, leapfrogging over top... *SMACK!* ...and catching Maddix with the shuffling sidekick! Unluckily for Wildchild though, Maddix crashes through the ropes and out to the beach floor, where he can't be pinned. "Well, that's a lucky break for La Cucaracha. And I think he could do with one right now, after the last couple of shots he's taken." "Yeah, he looks pretty messed up. Or, maybe that's just the shorts." As Maddix hazily uses the apron to pull himself up, Wildchild begins to reach through the ropes to grab him. Megan pleads with Wildchild to go easy, but he blatantly ignores her, grabbing Maddix by the hair... ...AND SUDDENLY GETS A HANDFUL OF SAND FLUNG INTO HIS EYES!! "ARRRGGGHHH!!" "Oh...oh, he got him right in the eyes!!" "Out of nowhere!" Howling in pain, Wildchild falls back into the ring and blindly fumbles around. Referee Soapdish moves in to check on Wildchild, but he pushes him away, unsure of who Soapdish really is. Wildchild is on one knee, clawing at his eyes in a desperate attempt to clear the sand away... *SMACK!* ...LEAVING HIMSELF WIDE OPEN!! "SHINING WIZAAAAAAARD~!" "Wildchild didn't see it coming!!" Wildchild's head snaps back violently as Maddix follows through on the knee, grabbing Wildchild's leg and cradling him up... ONE... TWO... ...THREEEE!!!! "BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!" *DING DING DING!* Maddix instantly releases his cradle and rolls out of the ring, dropping to his knees and wiping the sand from his hands. "Your winner of the match... LANDON "LA CUCARACHA"... MMMAAAADDIIIIIXXXXXX!!" "BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!" The Seychelles crowd don't seem to like the methods or the result, as Maddix retrieves his boots and walks back up the beach with Megan applauding behind. "Well, agreeing with the methods or not...a successful night again for Landon Maddix. He's broke his Wildchild, singles match curse and picked up the three count on a Wild and Dangerous member in the process." "Nevermind that. He might have blinded one of his closest challengers for the Tag Titles. That could be more important than a three count here, Pete." In the ring, Soapdish has scavenged a bottle of water and is trying to flush the water out of the unconscious Wildchild's eyes. Meanwhile, Maddix walks back towards the curtain, calling over a cameraman and looking straight into the camera, a beaming smile emerging on his face. "THAT'S ONE DOWN... ONE TO GO, JOHNNY!"

"Welcome back to SWF Storm," begins Longdogger Pete, "coming to you from The Seychelles, courtesy of Sean 'P. Diddy' Combs." "To think, Mr. Diddy was kind enough to lend us his personal island for the night," says Suicide King, "just for offering to help Bad Boy unload all those extra Da Band CDs." "As usual, one of Storm's features is a House Rules Match, and tonight is no different. A concoction dubbed the 'Hate Me Now' Match will be tonight's attraction, featuring Manson taking on Insane Luchador for the SWF Hardcore Championship!" Pete announces. "Inspired by the infamous video for Nas and P. Diddy's 'Hate Me Now,' to win you'll have to string your opponent onto a crucifix and hoist it up in order to win. Needless to say, if you have a problem with that and watch anyway, then don't come crying to us." "Say, why is Diddy sponsoring a match inspired by a video he had issues with and tried to block from release, going so far as to assault Nas's manager?" "…" "…" "On with the show!" shouts Pete, as we go to Funyon in the ring. "Ladies and Gentlemen, the following is a 'Hate Me Now' Match for the SWF Hardcore Championship! The first man to tie their opponent's arms to the crucifix and hoist it up to a standing position will be the winner!" announces Funyon, as the cross is shown laying in the sand next to the rather simple stage. We pan over slightly, as Mastodon's "Crusher Destroyer" hits. The fans for tonight, a mix of locals from around the islands, Puffy's guests, among them many famous faces, and the rap mogul himself, stand and let out a big round of cheers and applause as Manson enters through the curtains and throws up the horns. "Introducing first, the challenger, hailing from Denver, Colorado and weighing in at two-hundred and thirty pounds… MMAAAAANNNSOONNNN!" He heads straight down the wooden plank walkway, bordered by tiki torches, focused on the task at hand. After rolling in under the bottom rope, he pops up to his feet and goes to his corner in the lower right portion of the ring. Referee Willie Aames goes over the rules with him as “Man in the Box” by Alice in Chains hits. Insane Luchador strolls out from behind the curtain, with the Hardcore Championship around his waist, and the fans let out an pop rivaling that of Manson's. "And his opponent, hailing from Easton, Pennsylvania, and weighing in at two-hundred and thirty one pounds… He is the SWF Hardcore Champion… INNNSSAAAANNNEE LLLUCHADOR!" Insane Luchador, otherwise known as Andrew Rickmen, milks the cheers for a moment before throwing up his arms and sprinting down to the ring, as Funyon quickly exits. Rickmen jumps to his feet and backs into the corner opposite of Manson, undoing the title and handing to Aames, who holds it up for the crowd to see. A ring attendant then carries it away, and the bell is rung. *DINGDING!* Manson and Rickmen emerge from their corners and circle around the ring, eventually locking up. IL gains the initial leverage advantage, arching Manson over slightly, but Manson gains control and pushes him back, before kneeing him in the stomach. Rickmen doubles over, and Manson follows up with a knee lift to the face, knocking Rickmen down to the mat. He then delivers a couple kicks as IL gets to his feet near the upper right corner. Manson grabs him by the hand and whips him to the opposite corner, and as IL hits the turnbuckle, Manson follows and jumps into him with a leaping elbow smash to the face! "Jumping elbow in the corner by Manson!" screams Pete. IL falls to his knees, and Manson quickly pulls him back up, hooking him around the head and grabbing him by the waistband of his cargo pants. Manson grunts and lifts IL upward, then drops him back down to the mat with a vertical suplex. Rickmen grabs his lower back as Manson follows up again, this time placing the toe of his boot against IL's forehead and giving it a simple bootscrape. Manson smirks and heads outside now, and begins to rummage beneath the ring. He exits with a folding steel chair in hand, and rolls back inside as IL stands. As Rickmen turns, Manson swings for his head, but IL ducks! Manson pivots back around, dropping the chair, and as IL waits for him, Manson delivers a rolling elbow stright to Rickmen's jaw! Rickmen goes down to the mat, rather surprised by the elbow from out of nowhere as he holds his jaw. Meanwhile, Manson collects the chair and hovers above IL, and raises the chair above his head. "Manson attempts to take IL's head off with the chair, and he misses, but comes back and nails the rolling elbow afterward!" "He's off to a quick start. If he can nail this shot, this match could come to a quick end," King says. Manson brings the chair down, looking to smash IL's face in, but Rickmen rolls out of the way and the chair hits the mat! Manson lets go of the chair momentarily, but quickly picks it back up. However, that proves to be a mistake as IL gets to his feet and leaps up, dropkicking the chair back into him! The chair bounces off Manson's forehead and he goes down to the mat! "Manson missed!" shouts Pete. "And he gets the chair kicked into his face!" As Manson begins to stir, IL pulls him up to his feet and throws him out of the ring, then exits himself. He grabs Manson by the hair and pulls him up the aisle, toward the cross, but Manson doesn't let him get too far, as he gives Rickmen a number of quick punches to the ribs, freeing himself and standing. IL throws an elbow back, striking Manson across the face and turns, but Manson hits a kick to the gut. Hooking IL around the head, Manson grabs him by the waistband, again looking for some sort of suplex. Manson lifts IL up, but IL doesn't let himself get too far, as he kicks his legs and DDTs Manson on the wooden walkway! Manson's head bounces off the wood planks hard, as IL grabs the back of his own head. "Manson temporarily halted IL, but as he was looking to put IL away on the ramp, Rickmen turned the tables on him!" "Not good for Manson. He looks out cold," adds King. IL gets to his feet and attempts to pull Manson up, who refuses to cooperate and is seemingly concussed, as Aames rolls him over and checks on him, streams of crimson blood beginning to pour out. IL tries again, and again IL can't get him to his feet, then gives up and heads toward the ring. He searches underneath and a moment later pulls out a bullrope. IL walks back over toward Manson and wraps it around his neck, and tries to pull Manson up the aisle. Finally Manson comes around, but is forced to only crawl on his hands and knees, as IL gradually takes him further and further up the aisle. "IL utilizing the bullrope now, which could very well be Manson's own, stashed under the ring for tonight," LDP says. Rickmen continues bringing Manson up, occasionally giving a yank on the rope as he does, and further infuriating Manson each time he does so. IL finally reaches the crucifix and pulls Manson toward it, jolting him to his feet. IL knocks him back down to his knees with a right hand, and continues trying to pull Manson toward the crucifix, but Manson puts a stop to him with a low blow! IL goes down to his knees as Manson tries to get some distance between he and IL, taking the rope with him as he stumbles back down toward the ring. "Manson with a low blow on IL!" screams Pete. Resting against the stage, IL buries his face in his forearm, groaning in pain, as Manson rolls into the ring. Manson kneels, catching a breather, then wraps the bullrope around his arm as IL rolls onto the walkway and gets to his feet. Still holding his groin, IL nears the ring and rolls inside, and Manson jumps onto him with forearms to the back. Manson follows up as he pulls IL up to his feet, then grabs him by the hand and whips him to the far camera side ropes. Meanwhile, Manson steps back into the near camera side ropes, giving him some momentum as he breaks into a run. As both men near each other, Manson goes for a bullrope-wrapped Western Lariat, but IL ducks and slides under, as Manson goes down to his knees. He discards the rope and turns back around, as IL grabs the chair from earlier in the match. IL turns, looking to use the chair on Manson, but Manson is a step ahead of him as he jumps up, hitting a gamengiri to the chair! Just as IL had done to him, Manson knocks the chair into his opponent's face with the kick! "Manson with a gamengiri to the chair, striking Rickmen with it!" "Some quick thinking by Manson. His bullrope-laced lariat didn't work, but he manages to get one over on IL anyway." IL goes down to the mat, holding the bridge of his nose, as Manson heads outside. He heads underneath the ring, and pulls out a box of light tubes, along with a bundle of barbed wire! He grins and rolls back in, taking the light tubes with him. He brushes the chair and bullrope aside, laying each tube down side by side in the middle of the ring. Manson heads over and lifts IL up, hitting a kick to the stomach, then placing him in a standing headscissors. Manson lifts IL up, looking to powerbomb him on the light tubes! As Manson runs forward for the powerbomb, IL reverses and takes Manson down with a hurricanrana! Thankfully Manson sails over and narrowly avoids the tubes, breathing a sigh of relief as he shakes it off and stands. He turns back around, stepping over the tubes, and IL charges him, jumping up and presumably looking for another hurricanrana or headscissors, but Manson ducks down and throws him up into the air. IL comes down, and… "Oh NO!" screams LDP. *CRASH!* He comes down back first on the light tubes! Shards of glass and dust fly every which way, as IL writhes in pain, his back already trickling blood. "Wow, what a stupid move by Rickmen," King says, as Manson grabs the bullrope and fashions a lasso out of it. Manson doesn't allow IL a moment to rest, as he forces the lasso around IL's neck and tightens it up. Pulling IL up to his feet, Manson drags him across the ring and dumps him over the top rope! Manson keeps hold and leaves IL hanging for a moment, before releasing the rope and heading out after him. Manson picks up the coil of barbed wire, and reaching into the ring, wraps a bit around the steel chair and pursues IL. IL gets to his knees, and with a glare in his eyes, Manson slams the barbed wire chair over his back! "It's safe to say Manson has taken control of this one," says Pete. "This just proves that, while he hasn't partaken in anything like this lately, Manson can dish it out hardcore style with the best of them." The wounds on IL's back open up a bit more, all streaming blood, as Manson grabs hold of the rope. With steel chair and rope in hand, Manson brings IL up the aisle. IL crawls on his hands and knees, followed by Manson who whips him with the free end of the bullrope. Finally they reach their destination, as Manson kicks IL down into the sand by the cross. Manson lays IL down on the cross and opens up the chair, hanging it around the cross and IL's neck. IL struggles to get free, but it's all for naught, as every time he tries, the wire grinds into his flesh. Meanwhile, Manson grabs the free end of the rope, and ties one arm to the cross, then the other. With IL pinned to the cross, Manson grabs the rope attached to a pulley system. Manson grips the rope and grunts, hoisting the cross up, IL and all, and soon enough, the crucifix comes to a stand and Willie Aames calls for the bell and the crowd begins cheering. *DINGDING!* "Your winner," Funyon booms, "and NEW SWF Hardcore Champion… MMMAAAANNNSOOONNNNN!" "Manson comes out victorious over IL, capturing the Hardcore Title!" screams LDP. "The whole face of this match changed after the back body drop into the light tubes. From there it was a no contest." "A nice show by Manson in the first ever match of this type. After tonight, I have no doubts about his abilities to carry the Hardcore Title," says King, as the crowd applauds Manson and Aames hands him the title as we fade out.

Ben Hardy is backstage with Scott Pretzler. “Mr. Pretzler,” he says. “As we just saw, your shot at the SWF Cruiserweight Championship was snatched away from under your nose last Monday on Smarkdown. I’m sure—“ Pretzler holds up a hand and cuts him off. “Please, Ben, spare us the banter. You were going to ask how I felt about this, right?” Hardy nods. “How do you think I feel? Do you think I’m happy? I’m pissed off, Ben, and rightfully so. However, the events of last Monday have taught me something very important. Do you want to know what that is?” “Why, of course, we all—“ “They have shown me that at this point, my priority is not to become Cruiserweight Champion. The title is certainly prestigious – largely due to my own efforts as champion – but right now there is another goal that takes precedence. Namely, the elimination of Wildchild as a credible force in the division.” The mention of the name sets off a heated chant: DUB-CEE! DUB-CEE! DUB-CEE! “What do you have against me, Mr. Child? Why do you feel the need to assault me night after night, when your energies would be much more usefully expended against someone like Insane Luchador, Toxxic, or Ejiro Fasaki? I have already made clear my case against you: through the popularity of your ‘spot-monkey’ style, you threaten to erode the values of pure wrestling upon which this industry was founded. That is a reasonable complaint, I think, and one shared by many of my peers. But what have I done that so inflames your fury? Do you feel endangered by me? Perhaps, deep down, my words ring true to you.” He pauses and raises his head high before continuing. “No, I think that would be giving too much credit to your mental faculties. You interfered in my title match because you’re a reactionary. Lacking personal drive or ambition, you drift through your career without a care or concern… until someone comes along and decides to make an example out of you. Only then is your conscience aroused. Only then do you stand up and fight. If a mis-timed somersault ever forces you into early retirement, I believe you could find a comfortable niche as a spokesperson for the United States Democratic Party. Yes, your interference in my match was nothing more than simple-minded revenge.” He straightens his collar. “Well, if it’s revenge you want, why don’t you just say so? You’re obviously itching to get back in the ring with me, title or no title. So I’m going to you that chance. I have a proposition for you, Wildchild.” Now he is staring straight at the camera. “Three matches. One winner. If it is your wish, you may call it a Best of Three. The first match will take place next Wednesday on Lockdown – since I’m the who came up with this solution, I will take the liberty of naming the first stipulation. Let me think. The ideal match would be one that plays to my strengths, yet through your involvement allows you to improve and grow as a wrestler. Such as… a submission match.” OOOOOOOH! “We can follow it up with something more to your liking – I’ll leave the details up to you. That leaves us with the upcoming pay-per-view, Thirteenth Hour. At Thirteenth Hour, our Best of Three series will conclude, and if he so chooses, the winner will gain an opportunity to face Insane Luchador for the Cruiserweight Championship. “What say you, Water Closet? …Or do I even need to ask?”

The Smartmarks Wrestling Federation presents... SWF STORM, MAY 28TH, 2005, LIVE FROM P. DIDDY'S PRIVATE ISLAND IN THE SEYCHELLES! (8:00 PM EST, 5:00 PM PST; check local listings) (send everything to ...sigh... Chuck Woolery) Diddy-mania is runnin' wild in the SWF, and two men have benefitted greatly from it! Tonight's show will be live from the Seychelles, a beach paradise. A ring will be set up with one side bordering the water, and the other three bordered by sand. Entranceways will be lit up by tiki torches, with no Smarktron tonight. Rather, there will be a curtain, with two girls in cages on either side of it for wrestlers to enter from. Finally, while Storm is hailing from a tropical island, it's really a P. Diddy party, so expect a lot of record bigwigs and maybe some famous rap stars... MAIN EVENT SWF WORLD HEAVYWEIGHT CHAMPIONSHIP Ejiro Fasaki (SWF World Heavyweight Champion) v. Lil' Buck -> ... like this guy. Lil' Buck has been on fire like Lloyd Banks since his entrance into the SWF, and he managed to catch the eye of the right guy on Smarkdown. Now, he gets the opportunity of a lifetime -- a shot at World champion Ejiro Fasaki, nine days after Fasaki captured the belt and four days after Buck scored a controversial victory over his team. Buck is riding high, Fasaki is looking to legitimize his title reign... it's Ejiro Fasaki's first title defence, and can he hold on? Rules: None. Marker: 5_moves_of_doom Word Limit: 7000 SUB-MAIN EVENT SWF INTERNATIONAL CHAMPIONSHIP Jay Hawke (SWF International Champion) v. Arch Griffon -> Griffon was robbed. Yeah, I said it. On SWF Smarkdown Arch Griffon was literally inches from becoming the SWF International Champion when bad luck intervened and he was disqualified. Luckily, Griffon has a guardian angel, in the form of rap mogul Sean "P. Diddy" Combs, and he's going to get a rematch tonight! Hawke weaseled his way into one successful title defence against Griffon, but with no rules, can he go two-for-two? Rules: None. Marker: Ace309 Word Limit: 5500 HARDCORE MATCH Wildchild v. Landon "La Cucaracha" Maddix (SWF Tag Team Champion) -> So CC had this brilliant idea. Todd Cortez is off on vacation until Smarkdown, so Wild and Dangerous will receive a tag title rematch either on Smarkdown or at the pay-per-view. In the meantime, both Wildchild and Johnny will receive individual shots at the remaining member of Martial Law, in this case Maddix. First up is Wildchild, who never specifically requested something for this show but I think wanted something but since I can't remember it will get to beat the everloving piss out of Maddix. Have fun. Rules: None. Marker: Chuck Woolery Word Limit: 4500 SWF HARDCORE CHAMPIONSHIP MATCH HOUSE RULES: "HATE ME NOW" MATCH Insane Luchadore (SWF Hardcore Champion) v. Manson -> Let's take it back to the mid-'90's, when Nas was one of the hottest rappers in the game and Diddy was still Puffy and still was a rapper instead of a multimillionaire icon... guy. Puffy and Nas did a track together called "Hate Me Now", which was one of the best rap tracks of that era, and in the video Puffy was hung on a cross. MTV refused to play the video with the scene in it, and it cracked their list of the top twenty most controversial videos. I think you can see where this is going. Rules: There will be a cross at ringside, lying flat. The first person to tie their opponent's arms to the cross and hoist it will be the winner. Marker: Chuck Woolery Word Limit: 5250 PLUS! SWF CRUISERWEIGHT CHAMPIONSHIP Insane Luchadore (SWF Cruiserweight Champion) v. "The Critic" Scott Pretzler -> The match from Smarkdown that did, indeed, happen... but what exactly happened? Only those in attendance in Jakarta know for sure, and if you can find spoilers that's cool, but there's only one way to know for sure who won... and that's to tune in on Storm! Also Appearing: Other guys. Remember, the PPV is three shows away, so if you want to set up an angle now is the time to do so! Card Subject To Change, And Probably Will

EVERYBODY NOTE CHANGES TO MARKERS AND STUFF.

... oh man. Uh... well, fuck. I had it marked down somewhere that the 28th was a Friday, and I guess my inability to check a calender is going to force us to have Storm on that date. Sorry, guys. - Okay, after some more thinking this is what we're going to do (for the moment). Due date is Saturday at eight, and there will be ABSOLUTELY NO EXTENSIONS. As a result the show should, by all means, go up by 10 PM, meaning that you'll get the Lockdown card sometime Saturday night so that it doesn't cut too much into writing time.

Average number of goals scored on him per game.

Pete: “Welcome back to SmarkDown, and it is now time for our main event. Tonight, Jay Hawke prepares to defend the International Championship against Arch Griffon, who is angry about the way things have gone down the past couple of weeks.” King: “You know what he’s angry about, Pete? He basically said the other night that he’s angry about a losing streak that he’s essentially responsible for. ‘I should have made the save but I didn’t.’ Why don’t you go back to Iowa and find your smile?” Pete: “Arch Griffon says he has nothing to lose. But he has everything to gain, so all the pressure is on the champion.” King: “Now now now, remember two things that Jay Hawke said earlier. One, he’ll do whatever it takes to keep that title. And two, Arch Griffon does have something to lose. His career. This should be one hell of a main event. Pete: “Let’s waste no time. Let’s go to Funyon for the introductions of our main event.” Funyon: “Ladies and gentlemen, this is the main event of the evening. It is scheduled for one fall with a one hour time limit, and it is for the SWF International Championship. Your referee is Matthew Kivell.” The arena goes dark as The Drive-In’s “Arc Arsenal” comes over the PA. Funyon: “Introducing first, the challenger. From Des Moines, Iowa … weighing in at 302 pounds … ARRRRRRRRRRCH GRIFFONNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNN!” As the crowd gives off a mixed reaction, the lights continue to dim. Just as the song begins to kick into gear, white pyrotechnics shoot from the aisle, blinding the fans in the arena. Griffon emerges from the pyro, power walking to the ring as always, but the look in his eyes is different. He looks cold. More intense. More focused than he’s ever been before. When he enters the ring, he turns toward the aisle, continuing a cold stare at the locker room as he begins his prematch warm-ups. Funyon: “And his opponent…” The opening strains of Pink Floyd’s “Learning to Fly” come over the PA as the lights once again dim. A lone spotlight shines at the top of the aisle. Jay Hawke emerges from the curtain and stands in the spotlight, holding his title belt over his head as the light illuminates his sequined black and purple robe. Funyon: “From the Hall of Fame City of Cleveland, Ohio … weighing in at 215 pounds … the reigning and defending SWF International Champion … ‘The Dean of Professional Wrestling’ … JAAAAAAAAAAAAAY HAWWWWWWWWWWKE!” Jay Hawke walks to the ring, but as he removes his robe on the concrete floor, he asks for the referee to back Griffon to the other side of the ring. King: “Get him back, Kivell! You’ve got to let the champion into the ring.” Matthew Kivell tries to push Arch Griffon back. As he does, Jay Hawke slides into the ring and charges, but Griffon quickly blasts past the referee and knocks the champion down with a forearm smash. *DING DING DING* “YAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAY!” Griffon doesn’t wait for Hawke to get up. He quickly drops down to his knees and pounds away at Hawke with a hard series of right hands. Kivell counts to stop the barrage of closed fist punches, and Griffon stops punching at the count of four, but not before landing 13 hard punches to the side of the head. He then grabs Hawke by the head and begins to drive the back of the champion’s head repeatedly into the mat. Pete: “The challenger is wasting no time trying to take the champion out here!” King: “But look at the pace he’s maintaining in the early going here! He might end up blowing himself up before the match ever really gets going!” Griffon pulls Jay Hawke to his feet and picks him up off the mat, throwing him hard into the corner. The champion slumps into the corner, and Arch follows him in, slapping his chest with a knife-edge chop that echoes throughout the arena. *SMACK!* “WHOOOOO!” Griffon then lands a series of chops, only stopping when the referee reaches the count of four. *SMACK!* “WHOOOOO!” *SMACK!* “WHOOOOO!” *SMACK!* “WHOOOOO!” Griffon grabs Hawke by the head and goes to pull him out of the ring, but Jay Hawke sticks a thumb right into the challenger’s eye. “BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!” Pete: “And Jay Hawke resorting to a thumb to the eye.” King: “Resorting? He got leveled from behind for the bell, he’s been leveled with illegal closed fist punches…at this point, Hawke needed to do that just to survive!” Jay Hawke tries to return the favor, catching Arch Griffon in the face with a series of hard right hands. Griffon simply shoves Hawke down to stop it. Hawke quickly gets to his feet and begins punching Griffon again, but Griffon uses his strength to shove Hawke back down to the mat. Again Hawke gets to his feet and goes into punch mode, and again Griffon shoves him down. Once again Hawke is to his feet, but this time Griffon catches him coming in with a super kick underneath the chin that snaps the champion’s head back and knocks him flat on his back. Griffon immediately falls down for the cover: ONE! TWO! THR -- shoulder up. Pete: “Wow! We almost saw the title change hands in near record time!” King: “Hawke needs to come up with a different strategy here, because Griffon’s power is making the difference so far!” Arch pulls Hawke back to his feet and shoves him right back into the corner. Arch approaches, drives a knee into the midsection of the champion, then levels Hawke with a European forearm uppercut that sends saliva into the third row. Hawke collapses into a heap in the corner. Pete: “This might not last long at this rate!” King: “If Hawke can ever turn this into a wrestling match, then the story could be completely different.” Arch Griffon picks up Jay Hawke as if to body slam him, but instead brings him down, dropping the champion’s back over the challenger’s knee. Pete: “The key word of that statement is ‘if’, King, because Griffon’s going for the cover!” ONE! TWO! T -- shoulder up. Pete: “And Jay Hawke is barely getting that shoulder up!” King: “But he’s getting that shoulder up, and as long as he’s getting that shoulder up, he’s still the International Champion!” Jay Hawke lies nearly motionless on the mat. Arch Griffon runs into the ropes, rebounding off of them and dropping a leg across his opponent’s chest. Griffon goes for yet another cover: ONE! TWO! Shoulder up. Pete: “Four or five near falls already for the challenger. You can feel it, King. The title is only moments away from changing right here!” Jay Hawke rolls over to the ropes, using them to pull himself to his feet. He turns toward his opponent, just in time to see a hulking 302-pound man running in after him and clothes lining him over the top rope. Hawke bumps into the ring apron before landing in a heap on the concrete floor. Pete: “Jay Hawke is out on the floor now, and he’s just unable to get himself off and running tonight!” King: “At least if he’s on the concrete floor, he’ll be able to take a minute and get his bearings back.” Of course, getting your bearings back requires that 302 pounds hasn’t started running at you to jump over the top rope and land square on top of you. Pete: “And Arch Griffon goes right into that Bloodlust Plancha! He’s doing anything and everything tonight!” King: “I can’t believe this! Outside of a few right hands, Jay Hawke’s done absolutely nothing on offense!” Arch Griffon throws Jay Hawke back into the ring, and he quickly follows him back in before the referee’s count gets anywhere near the disqualification count. Griffon whips Jay Hawke into the opposite corner, takes a second to stare his opponent down, then charges. Jay Hawke falls to the side just in time to avoid the charging challenger, causing Griffon to hit his chest across the top turnbuckle. Hawke summons up enough energy to get to his feet and jump into Griffon’s back with a knee. Griffon again crashes into the turnbuckle, and Hawke rolls him up as he staggers backwards: ONE! Jay Hawke hooks the tights. TWO! Kickout. Pete: “Jay Hawke finally getting a near fall…” Jay Hawke begins to repeatedly kick Arch Griffon’s back. Pete: “…and he appears to be working over the back of Griffon.” King: “And if there’s one weakness on Griffon, it is that back. It’s well documented. And Hawke is probably going to have to exploit that fact if he wants to retain the title at this point.” Jay Hawke locks in a chinlock, driving the knee between the shoulder blades for added leverage. Hawke leans back with it, pulling the neck back while trying to stretch the vertebrae of the challenger. Griffon cringes but refuses to give in. Hawke releases the hold ever so slightly, only to drive the knee into the back repeatedly. He makes sure Griffon is laying face down on the mat, then bounces off the ropes, only stopping long enough to drop an elbow to the small of the back. Griffon’s back arches out of reflex as Hawke rolls his challenger onto his back and covers: ONE! TWO! Arch Griffon presses Hawke backwards about a foot for an authoritative kickout. “YAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAY!” Pete: “Wow! What power!” King: “A lot of power, but the more damage The Dean does to that back, the less of an advantage that power will be.” Jay Hawke again rolls Arch Griffon onto his stomach, dropping a knee to the back as Griffon gets into that position. He adds a stomp to the back, then gets into position. He sits down, puts his opponent’s arms over his knees, and pulls back on the chin, leaning back as far as his body will let him pull 302 pounds. Pete: “Camel clutch applied, and I’ve got give it to the champion. Very sound strategy here.” Funyon: “Five minutes have gone by, 55 minutes remain.” King: “This works on the back, and it also works on that neck. And we all know what the Wing Span focuses on.” Pete: “The neck and shoulder.” King: “Exactly.” The Dean of Professional Wrestling continues to pull back. Griffon struggles to hang on, but his eyes begin rolling into the back of his head as his arms, still over top of Hawke’s knees, begin to go limp. King: “I think he’s fading, MacDougal! Despite that opening onslaught from Arch Griffon, I think Jay Hawke’s going to retain the title!” Pete: “You may be right, King! Griffon’s losing streak might be set to continue here!” Matthew Kivell moves in to check on Griffon, who is still responsive. As Hawke cranks back on the chin to add just a little bit more pressure, the crowd begins to rally behind the challenger. “AR-CHIE! AR-CHIE! AR-CHIE!” Pete: “Listen to this crowd, King! They’re beginning to rally behind Arch Griffon, practically begging him not to give in here!” King: “Do they really hate Jay Hawke that much? Griffon’s always had his supporters, but never like this!” “AR-CHIE! AR-CHIE! AR-CHIE!” The support of the crowd seems to be giving the challenger a rush of adrenaline. His arms are no longer limp, as he shakes them to show the crowd he’s back in the thick of things. “YAAAAAAAAAAAAAAY!” Archie wraps his arms around Hawke’s knees and puts every bit of strength he can into lifting Jay Hawke up off the mat as he attempts to stand up. Hawke’s mouth is agape with shock as Griffon gets to his feet, and Griffon leaves his feet and falls backward with the champion on his back. *THUD!* “OHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!” Griffon lands on top of Hawke, who has the wind knocked out of him due to the combination of the fall and 302 pounds crashing onto his chest. Hawke’s having so much trouble breathing that he doesn’t even realize his shoulders have fallen to the mat: ONE! TWO! THRE--shoulder up. “YAAA--BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!” Pete: “My God, he kicked out! We’re talking literally six inches or so away from crowning a new International Champion right there!” King: “I hate to say it, but I have to agree with you. Jay Hawke has been unable to counter Arch Griffon’s power, and when you factor in the ‘nothing to lose’ attitude Griffon’s brought in tonight…we’re crowning a new champion tonight. I can‘t see Hawke retaining with Griffon’s intensity.” Arch Griffon is clearly in the better shape of the two combatants at this point, but the camel clutch has done its damage. He gets up with a hand to his back. He shrugs off the pain and pulls the champion to his feet. He stands to the side, wraps his arms around Hawke’s waist, then takes him down with a gut wrench suplex. The challenger is quickly down for the cover: ONE! TWO! THR -- shoulder up. With the Dean of Professional Wrestling down and nearly out of it, Arch Griffon grabs a hold of Hawke’s left leg, spins him onto his stomach, and sits back while holding the leg. Pete: “Arch Griffon locks in the half Boston crab, and he might be going for the submission victory here!” King: “But notice the positioning! Hawke did enough damage to that back with the camel clutch that Griffon can’t quite sit back far enough to get the full amount of pressure on the hold!” Jay Hawke tries to block out the pain of the hold and begins to crawl to the ropes. He uses his free leg to assist in the movement, despite the crowd clearly wanting the match to end right here: “TAP! TAP! TAP! TAP! TAP!” King: “You know, I was wondering how you ‘tap’ in Indonesian. I’m glad to see there’s such a large language gap.” Sensing he’s not going to get the submission, Arch Griffon releases the hold. He immediately grabs Jay Hawke and pulls him to his feet, placing Hawke’s head between Arch’s knees. Pete: “Griffon looks like he’s going for the power bomb here!” King: “Oh man…come on, Jay, fight it!” Arch Griffon picks Jay Hawke up, clearly ready to drop him flat on his back and end this thing once and for all. Somehow Hawke begins to attempt to wiggle his way loose, hitting the challenger with a couple of right hands before wrapping his legs around Griffon’s head and taking him down with a rana. King: “There you go! There’s no quit in the International Champion!” Griffon isn’t hurt, but the shock of the sudden counter has him stunned. Slowly, Hawke crawls over to Griffon before the challenger can stand and begins to choke him. Matthew Kivell counts: ONE! TWO! THREE! FOUR! Jay Hawke releases the hold and begins to argue with Kivell, but Kivell doesn’t see that Hawke has draped a knee across Griffon’s throat to continue to choke him. Kivell finally sees it and starts his count again: ONE! TWO! THREE! FOUR! Hawke breaks, standing up to argue with Kivell again. This time, he has his right boot draped over his challenger’s throat, choking him out as Kivell threatens disqualification. The crowd’s screams finally give Kivell the sense to look down and see the choke, which brings another count: ONE! TWO! THREE! FOUR! Pete: “Matthew Kivell was completely unaware of what was going on there!” King: “All thanks to the genius of The Dean of Professional Wrestling, Pete! Jay Hawke needed to find any equalizer he possibly could to get back into this match, and he found it with that innovative chokehold!” Jay Hawke uses most of the strength he has left to drag Arch Griffon over to the ropes. He drapes the challenger’s throat over the middle rope and begins choking his challenger with the steel cable: ONE! TWO! THREE! FOUR! Jay Hawke releases the hold, only to go right back to it: ONE! TWO! THREE! FOUR! Jay Hawke releases the hold, only to go right back to it: ONE! TWO! THREE! FOUR! Jay Hawke releases the hold, yelling at the referee to count slower. Pete: “Look at this, King! Jay Hawke is resorting to doing nothing but choking his opponent to gain the advantage!” King: “Arch Griffon said the other day that he had nothing to lose. Well, Jay Hawke has everything to lose! And how do you counter a man willing to do anything to win? You do anything you can right back!” Funyon: “Ten minutes have gone by, 50 minutes remain.” With Griffon still leaning along the middle rope, Jay Hawke steps out to the ring apron. He takes a deep breath, then walks over, dropping a leg across the back of Griffon’s head and neck. Hawke falls to the floor, and Griffon falls backwards, landing flat on his back. Hawke slides into the ring and covers: ONE! TWO! TH -- shoulder up. King: “Hardly the authoritative kickout we saw earlier on from Griffon.” Pete: “That’s because he got choked out for about a minute straight!” King: “Whatever works!” Jay Hawke kicks Griffon in the head and ribs, but the blows barely faze the challenger as he tries to get to his feet. Hawke begins panicking, kicking less frequently as Griffon reaches his knees. In desperation, Hawke pushes Griffon as he’s on his knees. The side of Griffon’s head snaps across the middle rope, and Griffon is down. Hawke quickly drops a knee into the side of the head, then covers: ONE! TWO! THR -- Griffon gets his foot over the bottom rope. An angry Jay Hawke pounds the mat three times as fast he can. Pete: “He didn’t get him!” King: “But Griffon is still having trouble catching his breath, so if the ropes hadn’t been there, he probably wouldn’t have had the energy to kick out!” Hawke’s argument with Kivell is allowing Arch Griffon to catch his breath. Griffon pulls himself to his feet and moves in toward the champion. Hawke sees him with his peripheral vision, turns around, and catches the challenger in the side of the head with a roundhouse kick. “OHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!” Griffon falls face-first to the mat, and Hawke manages a smirk for the first time in the contest. King: “There you go!” Pete: “It’s taken the better part of 12 minutes, but the champion finally looks to be in control here!” Jay Hawke drops a knee to his fallen opponent’s head, then makes his way to the ring apron. Pete: “And he might be making a mistake as soon as he gets that control!” King: “No way! Hawke’s only going to take this chance if he’s not absolutely sure he’s got his opponent hurt!” Jay Hawke waits for his challenger to get to his feet. Griffon does, and as he turns around, Jay Hawke springs off the top rope and enters the ring for a flying body press… “YAAAAAAAAAAAAAAY!” …only to get caught in mid-air and thrown backwards over top of his opponent. Hawke hits the mat with a thud, and the momentum of the move sends Hawke rolling until he hits the concrete floor as hard as he hit the mat. Pete: “Overhead belly-to-belly suplex!” King: “And what a brilliant move by Jay Hawke to roll outside and get a breather!” Pete: “Like he hit the concrete intentionally!” King: “Of course he did! He’s the smartest man in wrestling!” Matthew Kivell begins exercising his ten count. When he gets to six, Arch Griffon makes a move toward the ropes, but Kivell pushes him back, breaking the count. Pete: “And Griffon’s being smart here. He can’t win the title on a countout.” King: “He’s obviously not that smart though. He’s letting Hawke recover from the suplex.” Feeling Arch Griffon is a satisfactory distance away from the ropes, the referee begins counting again. An increasingly impatient Griffon makes another move to leave the ring, but Kivell again pushes him back and stops his count. King: “See, he’s so intent on getting to Jay Hawke that he’s actually giving Hawke extra time to recover!” Pete: “But if Hawke doesn’t get back in the ring, Griffon can’t win the title.” King: “Which is why you pick a different side of the ring to go out on so the referee can’t stop the count!” Jay Hawke has finally gotten to his feet at ringside, and he’s decided that enough is enough. He goes over to the timekeeper’s table and yanks Funyon’s chair away from him. Pete: “Oh come on now!” King: “Good! Bring that chair in and finish it off once and for all!” Pete: “He’s trying to get himself disqualified to keep the title!” King: “Wouldn’t you?” Jay Hawke tries to enter the ring with the chair, but Matthew Kivell grabs the chair as he enters the ring. As Jay Hawke struggles with Kivell to try to grab the chair, Arch Griffon backs up and charges, leaving his feet and hitting Jay Hawke with a picture-perfect football tackle. “YAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAY!” The force of the blow knocks the chair out of both Hawke and Kivell’s hands, and it lands in the ring about three feet from the ropes. Kivell reaches down to grab the chair and remove it from the ring, but Griffon shoves Kivell aside and grabs the chair himself. King: “Hey! Wait a second here!” Pete: “Jay Hawke brought that chair into the ring, and it looks like Griffon wants to use it for himself!” King: “He’ll get himself disqualified if he uses it, much like the shove of the referee should have already gotten him disqualified!” Pete: “He said he’s got nothing to use, so he might as well make a statement!” King: “At the expense of a man’s career?” Griffon rears back, ready to drive the chair across the champion’s back, but as he starts to swing down, Kivell reaches up and grabs the chair. Griffon glares at the referee as he tries to regain control of the chair, and Jay Hawke gets to his knees and brings his arm upwards between Griffon’s legs. “BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!” Arch Griffon drops the chair, which falls harmlessly to the mat. Pete: “Dammit! Low blow!” King: “And the referee was too busy arguing with Arch Griffon, so he didn’t see a thing!” Obviously fatigued, Hawke gets to his feet. Arch Griffon is on his knees, and Hawke takes advantage of the positioning to level the challenger with a series of forearm smashes. Griffon makes his way to his feet, and another forearm staggers him backwards into the ropes. Jay Hawke Irish whips Griffon into the opposite side of the ring. Hawke ducks his head as Griffon rebounds, but Griffon is able to put on the brakes, placing Hawke’s head between his legs. Pete: “Could be going for a power bomb here?” King: “He tired it unsuccessfully earlier!” Indeed, Griffon sets, picks the champion up, and drops him flat onto his back… CLANG! “YAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAY!” …right onto the steel chair. Arch Griffon goes for the cover, awaiting the title-winning three count that will never come. *DING DING DING!* Pete: “What the…?” King: “What’s going on?” Arch Griffon gets to his feet, raising his arms in celebration, but the crowd knows better. “BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!” Funyon: “Ladies and gentlemen, referee Matthew Kivell has disqualified Arch Griffon for using the chair. Therefore…” “BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!” Funyon: “…in 14 minutes 35 seconds, the winner of this contest … and still SWF International Champion … ‘The Dean of Professional Wrestling’ … JAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAY HAWWWWWWWWWKE!” The crowd boos and begins chanting something in their native language that one can only assume is “bullshit”. At the same time, an angry Arch Griffon is staring a hole through Matthew Kivell. Pete: “Jay Hawke escapes with the International Championship tonight.” King: “And you have to give Matthew Kivell credit. He had no choice but to disqualify Griffon for the power bomb onto the chair, and he gave both men a chance to keep the chair out of play.” Pete: “I will give the referee credit for that, but Griffon doesn’t care. He is arguing vehemently with Kivell!” King: “Too bad! He lost!” Meanwhile, Jay Hawke has made his way to his feet, favoring his back after the power bomb. Seeing Griffon distracted and remembering his promise to end his opponent’s career, Jay Hawke casually grabs the chair. He goes to swing the chair, but Griffon sees him coming out of the corner of his eye and turns his attention toward the champion, kicking The Dean right in the face. “OHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!” Arch Griffon immediately grabs the chair, holding it over his head as the crowd begins to voice its approval. He makes his move to level the champion with it, but Jay rolls out of the way a split second before impact. Hawke rolls out of the ring, and Griffon tosses the chair in his general direction, barely missing the champion. King: “Whoa.” Jay Hawke quickly grabs his title belt off of the timekeeper’s table, making sure to hold it up to taunt his opponent as he hurriedly heads to the back. King: “And that’s the bottom line right there, Pete. Jay Hawke retains the International Championship, and neither man got exactly what they were looking for here.” Pete: “Maybe not, but what we saw here were two men who vowed to do whatever it took to walk out of here as champion, and two men who did everything they could to walk out as champion. But Jay Hawke is the one walking out of here as International Champion.” King: “But at what price? He was battered from pillar to post, and even I have to admit, he’s lucky to still be champion...” "You god damn right he is!" From Joseph Peters' skybox in the Jakarta Coliseum, Sean "P. Diddy" Combs is going ballistic. "That cheatin' cracker, I'll tell you what..." "Mr. Combs," Peters says, a fragile smile on his face, "uh, you still have to tell me who's getting the title shot on Storm..." "We can talk about that later," Combs says, irate. "Did you see that travesty?" "I did." "And you're just gon' let shit like that happen? This never woulda happened in Bad Boy..." "I know, Mr. Combs... in fact, that's why I'm signing an instant rematch for Arch Griffon, to be contested in a hardcore match, Friday on Storm!" The Jakarta Coliseum crowd erupts, and Combs smiles. "That's what I'm talkin' 'bout." Peters grins as well. "So, Mr. Combs, about that World title shot..." "Man, I already got a man in mind," Combs says. "He pulled out a big victory tonight, and he's been deserving a shot for a long time. And man, anybody who can beat the World champion deserves a title shot." "So it's going to be Ejiro Fasaki v. Johnny Dangerous?" "You kiddin'? It's gon' be Ejiro Fasaki..." "... and Lil' Buck." SHOCK! AWE! ============================ SWF Smarkdown, May 23rd, 2005 A Riot Act Production © Smartmarks Wrestling Federation 2005 ============================

We open Smarkdown with a shot of Tom Flesher, sitting at his desk and rubbing his temples. He shuffles through paperwork, muttering something about "that hardcore bullshit" when voices can begin to be heard outside his door. "Yeah, man, I heard that new Boyz N Da Hood stuff, that was hot, man... all I'm wondering is why you never gave Da Band that beat, you know?" "Really, I just couldn't stand that fuckin' Dylan..." "Anyway, yeah, he's in here." The door to Flesher's office opens, and in pokes a vaguely Eminem-esque head. "What's up, buddy?" Flesher sighs and the crowd is puzzled, having not seen this face in a while. "Who are you, again?" "Joseph Peters, Mr. Flesher. Remember, the guy who's always late for booking meetings, the guy in charge of Storm?" "Right, right..." "You guys booked yourself in quite the third-world country, man. I'm not trying to be mean or anything, but Storm's coming from places like Australia and Cancun while Smarkdown is coming from Chile and Indonesia and, I don't know, it just makes you look kind of... second-rate? Can I say that?" "What do you want?" "Oh, I'm sorry, Mr. Flesher. I actually just came by because there's a very special guest at tonight's show, and he was telling me how he wanted to meet the guy who's in charge of the SWF, and I was like, 'you're looking at him', and he was all 'no, I mean the guy who's really in charge, Flesher', and I was kind of offended but he's doing me a huge favor so I figured I might as well introduce you." Peters looks at Flesher with a half-smile. "You might want to stand up for this." Flesher mutters words that probably aren't PG as he pushes himself out of his chair, and Peters smiles at him. "Thomas Flesher, meet Sean Combs." The one, the only, rap mogul Sean "P. Diddy" Combs enters Tom Flesher's office, and the Indonesian crowd erupts! Peters smiles broadly as Combs extends his hand to Flesher, and Tom -- taken aback slightly -- shakes his hand. "Nice to meet you," Combs says. Flesher is at a loss for words, but as he lets go of Combs' hand he finally comes up with some. "What were you thinking when you sampled Kashmir?" Combs flashes a million-dollar smile at Flesher. "Dollar dollar, man." "Have a seat, Mr. Combs," Peters says, pulling out a chair for him. Combs sits down, as does Flesher, and Peters pulls over a folding chair, sitting down as well. "Now, Mr. Flesher, Mr. Combs is here tonight to observe our product." "... why?" "Because Friday night on Storm is the next leg of our world tour," Peters says, in a very 'duh' tone of voice. "And since Storm is all about tropical locations, Friday's edition of Storm will be LIVE from P. Diddy's personal island in the Seychelles!" "It's gon' be a party!" Combs says. "We're going to have some hot women dancin', we're gon' have a ring right in the middle of the sand, light it up with some tiki torches and ish, we're gon' have guys ridin' on jet-skis... it's gon' be hot, man." Flesher raises a skeptical eyebrow. "Okay... so why are you here tonight?" "Well, see, that's the thing," Peters says. "And I know you're not going to like it, but Mr. Combs has requested that he be able to grant one member of the SWF roster a title shot to main event Storm." "Hold up a second," Flesher says. "And I'm not trying to be rude, Joe, but last week on Lockdown we had Ejiro and Toxxic for the title. Now you're telling me that on Storm, we'll have Ejiro and... whoever Diddy chooses for the title. Yet my show -- the last bastion of real professional wrestling, I might add -- has had a grand total of ONE International title match, no World title matches..." "Mr. Flesher, Mr. Flesher, with all due respect," Peters says. "I have a lot of respect for what you've done with Smarkdown, it's a nice place, but the cards just... haven't fallen in your favor this cycle. We'll see what we can do for after the pay-per-view, but until then... I'm sorry." "Besides, Tom," Combs chimes in. "Does your show have bitches in cages?" Flesher mumbles more incoherent curse words. "I didn't think so." Peters smiles smugly. "So, Mr. Flesher, and I do hope you don't mind our being here. Later on tonight Mr. Combs will announce who's going to receive the World title shot on Storm, and then sometime this week we'll have to talk about getting a title defence on Smarkdown, because really, you guys have an excellent show... but we have to get going. Mr. Combs has requested to meet Megan Skye." "I want her to be on Making the Band 3," Combs says with a smug smile of his own. Peters winks at Flesher. "You understand. Catch you on the flip, Mr. Flesher!" Peters and Combs exit, and Flesher stares off after them, a mixture of shock and awe. He sits back down in his chair, massaging his temples again. "I can't believe we hired that guy..."

SWF Smarkdown returns from a commercial for Danny Williams’ Strong Style Ribs: “New for the kids, the Damnation in a Box! Comes with a miniature piece of gardening equipment” and an escaped sweatshop worker pans around the Jakarta Coliseum in Indonesia before stopping on Suicide King and Longdogger Pete. “Welcome back to Smarkdown! What a night we’ve had thus far, and it looks to get even better, because just moments away, new World Heavyweight champion Ejiro Fasaki is teaming with one half of the new tag team champions, Todd Cortez against former tag champion Johnny Dangerous and Lil’ Buck!” Pete exclaims, and pauses to catch his breath. “Indeed, Pete. I just hope that the ring doesn’t fall apart tonight,” King replies. “Because of all the action it’s going to see?” Longdogger asks. “No. Think about it, MacDougal. It was made in Indonesia!” “That is highly inappropriate, King! You should know better,” Pete chides. Before King can retort, the lights drop down, and Fabolous’ “Breathe” starts up. Green spotlights shine down and strobe across the coliseum. “Ladies and gentlemen, the following tag team match is scheduled for one fall! Introducing first, from Hollywood Boulevard, he weighs in at two hundred, twenty pounds, and is one half of the World tag team champions, ‘Urban Legend,’ TODD CORRTEZZ!” Funyon shouts. The beat drops down, and as the first verse begins, pyrotechnics erupt from the stage. As the smoke clears, Cortez appears, title belt on his shoulder. Todd walks down the ramp, stopping halfway to the ring, waiting for his partner. “This should be a very interesting match, as Todd Cortez and Ejiro Fasaki are accomplished tag team wrestlers, as is Johnny Dangerous. And of course, Lil’ Buck claims he has a partner in the form of Jarrod Banks, but we know nothing of how successful they were,” Pete states. “Yes, it should be a good match. I think with all four men being seasoned tag wrestlers, this match will go more smoothly than the typical thrown together tag matches,” King adds. “Then again, sometimes a thrown together team can be successful. Justice and Rule are probably the most well-known of that group, but there was also Team Flip Flop, and of course, most recently, Manson and Arch Griffon showing that it doesn’t always take months of teaming together to make a good pair.” *POPPOPPOPPOPPOPPOPPOPPOP!* Machine gun pyro explodes as Queen’s “Princes of the Universe” blares over the speakers. “And his partner, hailing from Sarasota, Florida, he weighs in at two hundred, twenty-three pounds, and is the current SWF World Heavyweight C hampion, EEEJIROOO FAAASAAAKIII!” Funyon bellows. Rule appears on the stage and saunters down the ramp, meeting up with his partner. The two champions slide under the ropes and get to their feet, handing off their title belts to referee Anthony Michael Hall. Fasaki hops up to the middle rope and throws off a sharp military salute while Cortez removes his gold cross and bullet-proof vest. “Johnny Dangerous!” The lights dim once more, as a female voice breathes the name of the SWF’s only spy. “After the Flesh” by My Life With the Thrill Kill Cult blasts over the speakers, and smoke pours onto the stage. “And their opponents! Introducing first, from Las Vegas, Nevada, he weighs two hundred, seventeen pounds, JOHNNY ‘THE BARRACUDA’ DAANGERROUS!” Funyon screams. Strobe lights cut through the haze, and Dangerous walks out, pausing on the stage for Lil’ Buck. He doesn’t have to wait long, as “After the Flesh” is quickly replaced with the thumping beats of Crime Mob’s “Knuck if You Buck”. “And his partner, from Lanett, Alabama, he weighs two hundred, seventy pounds, Sugarhill’s Finest, LIIL’ BUCK!” Funyon exclaims, glad that he only has one more match to introduce. Buck steps through the curtains and pops the collar of his Reggie Miller jersey. The Gangsta of Love hardly glances at Dangerous, and marches down to the ring, handing the jersey and his pimp cup to Funyon before climbing inside the squared circle. Johnny is a bit slower, as he slaps a few hands before entering the ring. Hall stands in the middle, trying to keep the four men at bay until two step outside. Dangerous, so used to Wildchild starting tag matches, doesn’t even consult Buck, and exits the ring. Cortez and Ejiro talk things out a bit, and Fasaki soon exits, leaving Buck to face off against Todd. AMH does a quick check for concealed weapons, and signals for the bell. DING! DING! DING! Buck looks for a lock up, but Todd thinks better of it and fires off a palm strike, snapping Sugarhill’s Finest’s head back. ‘Urban Legend’ closes in and fires off a kick to Buck’s chest, sending the big man backwards. Buck stops himself and lunges, drilling Cortez with a forearm to the face. “I don’t think that Todd Cortez really wants to get into a striking battle with Lil’ Buck. He may be able to land more strikes, but Buck could knock him down very easily,” Longdogger notes. “Yeah, Cortez needs to use his speed against Buck, and maybe throw in some submissions to keep the big guy grounded,” King adds. Todd backs out of Buck’s range, and goes low, hitting Buck with a dropkick to his knees. The Arrogant Alabaman stumbles, and ‘Urban Legend’ drops Buck with a DDT. Cortez rolls him over and makes a cover. ONE! TW--NO! Buck gets a shoulder up just as Dangerous begins stepping into the ring. Johnny climbs out and pounds the top turnbuckle in encouragement as Lil’ Buck gets to his feet. Cortez whips Buck to the ropes and nails him with a running forearm. The Gangsta of Love remains on his feet, though, and Cortez keeps running, springs off the middle rope, and takes Buck to the mat with a bulldog. “Nice bulldog from Todd Cortez! He’s really showing how to effectively used speed against a bigger man,” Pete says. “You mean he’s going to give Buck so much that he has a heart attack?” King asks. “What the hell are you talking about?” “You said he was using speed against Buck. Oh...” King says, realization finally dawning on him. Todd gets to his knees and smashes a forearm into Buck’s back before Sugarhill’s Finest can get off the mat. Todd lands another forearm, spins around, and locks on a front facelock. Hall slides down and asks Buck if he’ll submit, but gets waved away. “Grounded headlock from Todd Cortez, and he looks to possibly incapacitate Buck with that, or soften him up for Street Dreams, or Ejiro’s Cobra Crossface,” Pete notes. “Smart move, as Todd and Ejiro need to find a way to neutralize Lil’ Buck’s power,” King adds. Buck starts pushing himself off the canvas, but Dangerous rushes in and blasts Cortez with a dropkick, forcing ‘Urban Legend’ to release his hold. Anthony rises to his feet and warns Johnny about entering the ring without being tagged. Agent Dangerous backs off while Buck slowly gets to his feet. “Johnny Dangerous with a save, but I think that Lil’ Buck could have found a way out on his own,” Pete states. “Yes, but I don’t think Dangerous wanted to take any chances. Either that, or he just wanted to nail Todd Cortez for taking his much prized tag title,” King replies. Cortez slowly rises and makes his way to Fasaki’s outstretched arm, but doesn’t see Buck closing in until it’s too late and gets bashed in the head with a double axhandle. ‘Urban Legend’ falls to his knees, and Sugarhill’s Finest snares him in an inverted facelock, pulls him up, and starts dragging Todd to his own corner. Buck takes a look behind him, then falls back with an inverted DDT. Lil’ Buck stays down and makes a cover. ONE! TW--NO! Cortez gets a shoulder up before Hall counts two, and the Gangsta of Love pulls Todd to his feet. Buck whips Todd into his and Johnny’s corner, and charges in, blasting Cortez with an elbow to the jaw. Buck reaches up and tags Johnny in. Buck bends down, hoists Todd off the mat in a front waistlock, and walks him out of the corner. Dangerous waits patiently while Buck spins around twice and plants Cortez with an inverted atomic drop. CRACK! And Dangerous Johnny Kicks Todd over Buck’s shoulder. The Arrogant Alabaman exits the ring and ‘the Barracuda’ makes a lateral press. ONE! TWO! T--NO! Fasaki pulls Dangerous off of Cortez and pulls back, ready to punch Johnny in the face, but stops short, and backs away. “Dangerous and Buck almost got the victory after that nifty combination, but Ejiro saved Cortez, and looked to have some trouble restraining himself from decking Johnny Dangerous,” Pete says. “Well, that’s natural. I mean, who doesn’t want to punch Johnny Dangerous’ lights out?” King asks. Johnny pulls Todd to his feet and shoots him into the ropes. Dangerous turns, looking for a spin kick, but the problem with facing someone countless times is knowing their repertoire, and Cortez dives, flipping Dangerous over with a chop block. Cortez doesn’t bother getting up, and simply crawls to Ejiro, and tags the World champ in. Fasaki sizes ‘the Barracuda’ up and drops a knee to the back of Johnny’s head. Rule scrambles around and locks on a Fujiwara armbar, Anthony Michael Hall rushing in to ask if Dangerous will submit. “And Fasaki has already logged his first armbar of the night. Want to make a wager on how many he’ll end up with?” Pete asks. “Pete, Pete, Pete. I’d really love to take all of your money tonight, but I did that last week, and you’ve got nothing,” King replies. Rule cranks back on the armbar, but unknowingly puts himself within Johnny’s reach. Dangerous reaches back and punches Fasaki in the back of his head. ‘The Barracuda’ lands another punch, but Ejiro won’t let go. Johnny throws another blind punch, and this one misses Ejiro’s head, but hits him in his bum shoulder. Fasaki tenses up, inadvertently releasing Dangerous. Rule tries to grab Johnny’s arm back, but the secret agent rolls away from Rule. “Dangerous managed to break out of that Fujiwara armbar with less than desirable tactics,” Pete points out. “So? He got out, that’s the main thing, right?” King asks. “Well, I suppose so, but I think Johnny should try and stick to the straight and narrow more often,” Longdogger replies. ‘The Barracuda’ kips up, and Ejiro charges in, knocking Dangerous backwards with an elbow. Fortunately for Johnny, it’s right into Lil’ Buck, who tags himself in. Sugarhill’s Finest opens his hands, looking for a test of strength, but Fasaki pirouettes in and bashes the Gangsta of Love with a reverse spinning elbow. Buck stumbles back, and grabs the top rope to prevent himself from falling to the mat. “Screaming elbow from Fasaki, and it really rocked Lil’ Buck!” Pete exclaims. “It’s rocked a lot of people, and Buck is just another notch on Ejiro’s elbow pad,” King adds. “But Ejiro doesn’t wear an elbow pad,” Pete says. Buck shakes his head, and steps up to Fasaki, right arm pulled back. At the last second, Buck reveals his true intentions, and blasts Ejiro with an elbow from his left arm. It’s now Rule’s turn to stagger backwards, and Buck closes in, knocking the World champion to the mat with a leaping clothesline. Buck stays down and hooks Ejiro’s near leg. ONE! TWO--NO! “Lil’ Buck almost got a near fall after that big elbow and clothesline combination, but Ejiro Fasaki showed how resilient he is.” “Yeah, and that was some elbow from Lil’ Buck. It helps to have about fifty pounds on your opponent,” King points out. Sugarhill’s Finest pulls Rule to his feet and whips him into the ropes. Buck scoops Ejiro up and starts twirling him around, but Fasaki manages to scissor Buck’s neck, and almost brings the Arrogant Alabaman down with a rana, but Lil’ Buck grabs Ejiro around the waist, pulls him up to eye level, and drives Rule into the mat with a powerbomb. “Another advantage of Buck’s weight shown right there! A smaller man would have no doubt gone down to that rana attempt from Ejiro Fasaki, but Lil’ Buck fought it off, and connected with that Ridin’ Spinners powerbomb,” Pete comments. “And it really helps if Buck goes for his Buck-Wild Ride, or Dangerous tries the MI Slam,” King notes. Buck flips Ejiro over and plants a foot in the middle of Rule’s back. The Gangsta of Love reaches down, grabs Fasaki’s arms, and pulls back. “Surfboard from Lil’ Buck, and that helps to work over Ejiro’s back, not to mention the arms, which could prevent Fasaki from properly securing the Cobra Crossface if he gets the opportunity,” Pete says. “It’s a bit surprising regarding how well Dangerous and Buck are working. I know we mentioned that all four men were good tag wrestlers, but it’s usually pretty tough to change partners completely, especially in Johnny’s case, where he was always the slower, stronger member of Wild and Dangerous,” King adds. Hall drops down to ask if Fasaki will submit, and Rule shakes his head. Before AMH can do anything, Todd Cortez springs to the top rope and flies off, nailing Lil’ Buck with a clothesline. “Shooting star flying lariat from Todd Cortez! He got amazing height from that springboard, and Lil’ Buck didn’t see him coming at all!” Pete shouts. “But the important thing is that he saved Ejiro Fasaki there. It’s unlikely that Ejiro would have given up, but it stopped any more damage being done.” ‘Urban Legend’ gets up and dusts himself off, but Dangerous is a blur and drills Cortez with a spear. Johnny sits on Todd’s back and nails him with a right hand to the back of the head before Anthony Michael Hall can restore order and command ‘the Barracuda’ and Cortez out of the ring. “Johnny Dangerous exacting a bit of revenge against Todd Cortez, and he’s looking pretty intense tonight,” Longdogger points out. “No doubt about that, Pete. It is kind of odd, though, that Johnny Dangerous, the law abiding, nay, law enforcing secret agent, is breaking more rules than the self-proclaimed ‘gangsta’, Lil’ Buck,” King notes. Buck slowly rises to his feet, pulls Fasaki up, and boots him in the stomach. Sugarhill’s Finest cinches in a front facelock, and brings a meaty forearm crashing down onto Ejiro’s back. Rule’s knees buckle slightly, and give way completely as the second and third forearms rain down. Buck hauls Ejiro back up, but Fasaki grabs the arm wrapped around his head and spins out. “Ejiro Fasaki countered that front chancery into an arm wringer, and he’s really showing his technical knowledge,” Pete says. “Yes, but Lil’ Buck has faced off against men skilled on the mat before, and his record against them is pretty good,” King points out. Rule twists on Buck’s arm and blasts the Gangsta of Love with a hook kick. Sugarhill’s Finest starts to fall to the mat, but Ejiro leans back and pulls Buck forward, right into Fasaki’s clutches. Ejiro wraps his arms around Buck’s waist and arches his back, planting the Arrogant Alabaman with a Northern lights suplex. Fasaki bridges up and Hall dives to count the pin. ONE! TWO! TH--NO! “Near fall for Fasaki, but Buck got a shoulder up after two. That took a lot of strength on the part of Ejiro Fasaki to not only change Lil’ Buck’s momentum, but also to lift him up for that suplex,” Pete states. “Very true, but I wonder if it was too much for Fasaki to handle, especially with the punishment he’s already taken,” King notes. Ejiro rises to his feet, grabs Buck’s legs, and drags him to the corner. Rule tags in Cortez, and Todd climbs to the top turnbuckle. Fasaki holds Sugarhill’s Finest in place, and ‘Urban Legend’ jumps, landing on top of Buck with a senton splash. “Nice teamwork from Ejiro Fasaki and Todd Cortez, but it’s going to take a lot more for them to come out of Smarkdown with a victory.” “Yeah, that was a real hard conclusion to come to,” King says sarcastically (Because sarcasm doesn’t translate well in text). Todd picks Buck up and whips him into the ropes. Cortez snaps off a palm strike that hits Buck right between his eyes, allowing ‘Urban Legend’ to wraps his arms around Buck’s head and drops to his knees. As if spring-loaded, Lil’ Buck bounces up from the jawbreaker, dazed and staggering. Todd easily slips behind the Gangsta of Love, cradles his head, and sits out. “Nice flurry from Todd Cortez. First that stiff palm strike, which allowed him to hit the shoulder jawbreaker, and that gave him time to deliver a hangman’s neckbreaker,” Pete says. “Yes, Peter, that is what happened, as we’re all watching the same match.” Cortez scrambles on top of Lil’ Buck and makes a lateral press. ONE! TWO! WHAM! “OOOOOOOOOOOH!” “Come on Johnny! There was no need for that!” Pete shouts. “I liked it! He really punted Todd Cortez right in the teeth! Dangerous should try out for the NFL,” King replies. As ‘Urban Legend’ rolls off of Buck, Hall jumps to his feet and starts berating Dangerous about illegal interference. Johnny holds his hands up in innocence, and quickly points behind him towards Ejiro. AMH spins around, but Fasaki is simply holding on to the tag rope, arm stretched out for Todd’s tag. ‘The Barracuda,’ on the other hand, quickly pulls Lil’ Buck towards his own corner. Anthony yells at Dangerous once more, but Johnny ignores the verbal abuse and exits the ring once more. “Man,” says Pete. “This is so unlike the Barracuda to behave in a manner like this – he’s normally an outstanding example of what good sportsmanship should be like!” “That was before he lost the only piece of gold he had left,” replies King. “I think Dangerous knows he can’t afford to loose again!” Slapping the top of the turnbuckle padding, Johnny tries desperately to get his partner moving as Cortez slowly crawls towards Fasaki to make a tag. Finally, Buck rolls over onto his stomach then pushes up far enough to reach out and make the tag! SMACK! “Johnny’s in,” says King as the Barracuda leaps into the ring and rockets towards the opposite side of the ring, and just as Cortez makes the tag to his partner, Ejiro Fasaki! RAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!!! “Here comes the RULE~!” bellows Pete. Fasaki jumps into the ring and just narrowly ducks down in time to avoid a huge lariat from the Barracuda then rears back and PLOWS his fist into Johnny’s mouth, just as the Barracuda spins around to face him! WHAM! Johnny’s head snaps back from the punch and Rule follows up with a second, and then a third before grabbing Dangerous by his arm and sending him barreling across the ring with an Irish whip! “The World Champion is on fire in that ring right now,” shouts Pete, but as Dangerous springs back off the ropes towards Fasaki, Johnny dives towards Ejiro and nails him with a stiff shoulderblock! Johnny quickly floats over to cover his downed opponent for… ONE! TWO!! NOO!!! Rule kicks out then rolls back up to his hands and knees then gets jerked all the way up to his feet by his arm, before getting sent for a ride to the ropes. Fasaki rebounds off the ropes, back towards the Barracuda, and goes sailing high over head with a back body drop! WHAM! Ejiro lands back-first into the canvas and Johnny applies a lateral press for… ONE! TWO!! WHAM!! “This time it’s Todd Cortez to the rescue,” the Suicide King reports as the Urban Legend drops a knee into the back of Dangerous’ cranium to break up the pin. The referee immediately jumps all over Cortez’s case, ordering him to return to his corner, which he does while keeping a glaring eye on Dangerous. “These guys are really making sure that Hall earns his paycheck tonight,” says Pete, “and if he can maintain order for the rest of this match than he will have definitely earned it.” Johnny gets back up to his feet – one hand gingerly massaging the back of his head as he angrily growls towards the Urban Legend. Finally, the Barracuda turns back towards Fasaki and grabs him by his scalp to pull back to a vertical base… CRACK! …and gets knocked for a loop when Rule suddenly cuts loose with an uppercut, sending Dangerous stumbling back! Fasaki reaches for his stunned opponent and grabs him by the arm to whip the Barracuda across the ring, but Johnny digs his feet into the canvas and reverses, sending Ejiro for the ride, into the corner post where his partner waits instead! WHACK! “OOOOOOOOOOH!” Fasaki slams back-first into the unforgiving steel post next then stumbles out, but before he can stumble too far Buck grabs him by the back of his head and thrusts him to the mat! “More team work by this rather odd pairing of Buck and Dangerous,” notes King. “And it looks like Johnny’s about ready to hand over control to his partner.” Taking the tag from Dangerous, Sugarhills Finest steps into the ring as Johnny hauls Rule back up to his feet and holds him out for Buck to kick his foot into Fasaki’s gut! Buck grabs Fasaki and whips him across the ring, into corner post, and once more Rule smacks into the steel with a sickening thud! This time, Buck comes charging across the ring towards the new World Champion, looking to crush the life out of Fasaki with a huge spear against the post, but as the Gangsta’ of Love dives towards Ejiro it’s Fasaki that leaps out of the way… CRAAAAAACK~! …and Buck lands a devastating shoulder block to the ring post, getting a huge roar of “OOOOOOOOOOH’S” from the fans and a horrid cry of pain from Buck’s lips! “Oh, man,” winces King. “Fasaki just narrowly dodged that spear! Buck might have separated his shoulder after that one!” Ejiro doesn’t even take a chance of trying to capitalize on his opponent’s new source of pain, instead he heads towards his partner as quick as he can and tags the Urban Legend into the match! RAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!! “Todd Cortez is in once more, and Lil’ Buck is in quite possibly the worst shape he’s been in all night!” shouts Pete, “if he can’t tag Johnny Dangerous back in it could be all over for these two guys!” Buck stands back up to his feet—his hand holding to his shoulder and grimacing in pain—as Cortez storms in towards him, grabs him by the arm to spin Buck around to face him and… CRACK! …Nails the Gangsta’ with a spinning heel kick, sending Buck to the mat in a heap! The fans excitedly leap to their feet as Todd calls out to them with the sign for the Riot Act Plus, but… WHACK! Johnny rushes into the ring from behind and sinks two feet into the Urban Legend’s spine with a drop kick! “OOOOOOOOOOOOH!” “Whatever is the meaning of this!” cries Pete, “this is so unlike the Barracuda to compete like this!” Johnny grabs Cortez and pulls him up to his hands and knees, but then quickly diverts his attention when he catches sight of Fasaki rushing in out of the corner of his eye! He braces himself, fully expecting Rule to try and catch him off guard with a Screaming Elbow, but Ejiro has other plans! He jumps up and plants his feet into Johnny’s chest for a drop kick, sending the Barracuda tumbling across the mat! “I can’t believe it! Anthony Michael Hall has lost complete control of this match,” says Pete. “It shouldn’t be that surprising,” replies King. “It’s spiraled out of control much like his acting career did.” Hall shouts at both men to exit the ring, but neither is listening right now! Ejiro charges towards Dangerous just as the Barracuda gets back on his feet…and runs right into a roundhouse kick to the gut! All the wind inside Rule’s lungs is forced out and he doubles over, clenching his midsection, only to have his head snatched into a side headlock! Johnny tightens down on Rule and then heads off towards the far side of the ring, dragging Fasaki along for the ride! He leaps over the top rope, to the outside floor and in the process the Barracuda guillotines Rule’s neck across the top rope! Flopping to the mat, Ejiro cradles his neck with both hands, gagging uncontrollably as he rolls back and forth until Johnny reaches into the ring and grabs Rule by the foot to drag him out of the ring! “Well you should at least by happy now, Drain-Clogger! They’ve left the ring but I don’t know how much use to their partners they’ll be!” Back inside the ring, Cortez and Buck climb to their feet at about the same time. Buck charges in first on Cortez, looking for a lariat, but the Urban Legend ducks out of the way then grabs hold of the Gangsta’s from behind with a reverse facelock! RAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!!! “STREET DREAMS!” Pete exclaims as Cortez takes Buck down to the mat and scissors his leg around the Gangsta’s waist. “I think Cortez is hoping to have softened him up enough to put him out, and he just might have!” On the outside of the ring, just as Cortez straps on the Sweet Dreams, Johnny knocks Fasaki to the floor with a lariat! He spins around and sees what’s happening inside the ring, “-and it may already be too late for Johnny Dangerous to make a save here,” notes King. “Once again victory is going to escape him!” But not if the Barracuda has anything to say about it! He rushes towards Funyon and shoos him out of the steel chair he’s currently sitting on then folds it up with a loud clang! Loud enough to catch the referee’s attention once more, and as Johnny hops up to the outside apron with the chair in hand, Hall races in to keep the Barracuda at bay! “Johnny may be trying to keep the victory but in doing so he’s completely lost his mind,” says Pete. The Barracuda continues to wrestle with Hall for the chair as Cortez keeps his hold on Buck, then finally releases him and kips up to his feet. He’s about damned tired of this Agent Dangerous’ tirade tonight and he is about to put an end to it! CRUNCH! …but the Urban Legend only gets two steps away before Buck pumps his fist up, and right into Cortez’s jewels! “OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOH!!” “Now Buck has seemingly taken a cue from Johnny on the rules bending!” “What the hell do you expect? He’s a gangsta’ and gangsta’s break the rules!” Cortez crumples over… and Buck stands up and stumbles towards him then reverse-scissors Cortez’s head between his legs! The fans roar excitedly, knowing where this is going! Buck underhooks the legend’s arms then hauls him up for a Vertebreaker… “BUCK-WILD RIDE~!” WHAM!! “He got him!” exclaims King, “Lil’ Buck has just knocked Cortez’s lights out with that Buck-Wild Ride – this one is over!” Johnny stops his argument with the referee and hops off the apron after Buck covers Cortez, and as expected, Hall rushes in to count for: ONEEE!!! TWOOOOOO!!!!!! THREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!!!!!!!!! DING DING DING!!! “Knuck if you Buck” starts thumping from the speakers once more, this time in celebration of the victory. “The winners of this match by pinfall,” bellows Funyon, “JOHNNY DANGEROUS AND ‘LIIIIIIIIL BUUUUUUUUUUCK!” “Buck-Dangerous have come out on top tonight,” reports Pete, “but not without some questionable actions by Johnny Dangerous. Oddly enough, I didn’t expect to see all that coming from a man who is supposed to uphold the rules.” “You’d be surprised what can happen to someone when you taken away their possessions,” replies King. “Just like when Toxxic took away Fasaki’s sister he created a monster, and when Cortez took away Johnny’s gold… well that still remains to be seen, but I think I might like it a lot.” Johnny heads out of the ring without making any contact with the fans while Buck lingers back, raising his arms out to the fans… As We: FADE OUT.

The Jakarta Coliseum has a maximum capacity of 100,000 but tonight’s turnout must have doubled that figure. Evidently there were more tickets than seats as people crowd the steps along with every other ounce of available space in the facility. Dwarfed by the sheer size of the stadium, the ring is nothing more than a flea on the back of a lion. The sun has descended but the tropical heat is still as unbearable as other, the jam packed stadium probably isn’t helping the humid atmosphere. Pete: Welcome back to SWF Smarkdown! Right now, we are moments away from a match that is two years in the making. That’s right, it’s time for the long awaited rematch between Danny Williams and Mak Francis. Believe it or not, it’s been over two years since these two battled it out for the U.S. title in one of the most epic, grueling Iron Man matches in SWF history. Both men threw everything they had at each other and than some but in the end it was Mak who weathered the storm, defeating Williams in the clutch with a score of 2 to 1. King: Which won an award for best ICTV title match of 2003, one of many reasons as to why I’m justified in calling our fans morons. Pete: We do have a lot of belts so I can understand why there may have been some confusion, hey Funyon is ready with the introductions. Looking at the miles upon miles of fans in the stands, Funyon thinks to himself, ”I really need a bigger mic.” But than again, the fans are probably listening to the translator anyways, so Funyon precedes with his usual classy not so much loud voice. “Ladies and gentlemen, the following contest is scheduled for one fall. Introducing first, weighing in at 240 pounds, hailing from Philadelphia, Pennsylvania...... “So do you wanna be a Franchise?…… And live large…… A big house…… five cars……” Just because their Indonesian doesn’t mean they don’t watch the SWF on a weekly basis. Recognizing the familiar tune, the endless rolls of fans jump out of their chairs and scream like lunatics. Literal armies of fans mass at the gates, hoping to catch just a glimpse of the American wrestling superstar. Fuynon: HE IS THE FRANCHISE....MAK FRANCISssssssssssssssssssssss!!!!! Not keeping the screaming hordes waiting any longer, the man himself makes his grand appearance. Stepping out of the locker room, the Franchise tilts his odd choice of shades, inspecting what appears to be thousands upon thousands of screaming fans infinitely stretching into the horizon. While most would be intimated by such a gigantic foreign crowd, the Franchise comfortably struts down the aisle as if it were any other match. Pete: The Franchise looks incredibly poised, perhaps his victory last week restored his confidence? King: Are you kidding? Freaking Spike Jenkins kicked out of his finisher, there’s no coming back from that. Pete: That loss was indeed a devastating blow to the slumping Franchise, however a victory over one of his oldest and toughest rivals could be the boost he needs to get back in the Championship scene. Having posed on every corner of the ring, Mak patiently waits for the arrival of his long time adversary. Cyprus Hill fades into sonic oblivion, giving the stage back to Funyon and his translator. Funyon: And his opponent..... The crowd turns fucking nuts. Shooting his head from side to side, Mak stares around the arena in disbelief. He knew Williams was big in Asia but this is beyond comprehension. It’s anarchy in the stands, you’d think that it was the second coming of Christ. Funyon: Weighing in at 265 pounds, hailing from Louisville, Kentucky..... A paper sign that about fifty people are holding rises into the air, spelling out DANNY WILLIAMS in huge red letters. With the faintest hint of a pacific accent, the army of fans religiously chant... “DAN-E! DAN-E! DAN-E!” The amps the SWF borrowed from Spinal Tap’s Nigel Tufnel are set to 11, The Jester’s Dance is booming, but the crowd is so loud that In Flames guitars are a mere murmur in the background. Funyon: HE IS DANNY WILLIAMsssssssssss!!!! Making his presence known, Williams steps through the curtains on that cue. The Jakarta Coliseum comes unhinged, there isn’t a tiny dot in the crowd that isn’t standing and screaming. Purposefully moving down the aisle, Williams slaps countless hands, however he never takes his eyes off the man standing before him in the ring. Pete: What a reception for the returning SWF International Superstar! Thanks to constant touring, Williams has apparently built up a massive fan base world wide. King: Much like the Ramones, Williams is the biggest thing since toilet paper internationally, meanwhile at home he couldn’t draw at a flea circus. Pete: This is Williams’ second match back since his return and one has to wander if he’s still suffering from the aftereffects of the long layoff. King: Williams looked like crap last week. Truth be told, if it wasn’t for Jenkins being his typical idiot self he would have sabotaged his own comeback. Both men are in the ring and the crowd is as loud as ever. Eager to prove himself a worthy challenger, Francis paces back and forth like a hungry lion. Even though he lost their previous meeting two years ago, Williams is surprisingly laid back, after all he has everything to gain and nothing to lose. The pressure is all on Mak, who is already sweating profusely with anticipation. All eyes are on Soapdish, who at long last calls for the bell. DING! DING! DING! The Franchise may have got a nice reception, but the crowd is totally behind Williams, it’s not even close. The chant that began during the introductions has started once again, only this time it’s even stronger. Realizing that he once again doesn’t have the support of the crowd, the Franchise shakes his head in confusion as he leaves the safety of his corner. Instead of being assaulted by a flurry of elbow smashes, the Franchise is surprisingly met with an outstretched hand. Surprised, the Franchise momentarily pauses before half heartedly accepting the hand shake. The crowd enthusiastically applauds the good sportsmanship. Pete: It would appear as if the mutual respect these men developed in that hellish Iron Man Match two years ago has lasted the test of time. King: Bull! Deep down, the Franchise has to hate Williams. He won that damn Iron Man Match but Williams was the one who went on to become a three time World Champion. After some customary circling, Williams and the Franchise clash together in a collar elbow tie up. Having a variety of options, the Franchise takes the simplest route, seizing control with a tight side headlock. But as soon as the Franchise relaxes, he feels his arm being forcefully pried from around Williams’ neck. Stubbornly struggling to keep Williams in the headlock, the Franchise lets out a strenuous scream as he labors to keep his arm beneath his captive’s chin. The Franchise puts up a good fight but Williams is too damn strong. The Franchise cries out in pain as William’s maneuvers out from underneath him, bending his recently injured arm into a painful overhead wristlock. The Franchise tries to resist but even without a bad arm there’s no way he can match power with Williams. Letting out a beastly roar, Williams conclusively wins the battle of wills by throwing Mak to the canvas with thunderous force! Blam! The Franchise bounces off the mat like a basketball! Acknowledging the fans, Williams does a quick little pose to show off his impressive build. Pete: The Franchise is going to have to take this to the mat, Williams is too strong to be controlled from a vertical base. King: Forget the damn mat, thumb him in the eye. Not taking kindly to Williams’ showboating, the Franchise angrily bites his lip as he dusts himself off. Williams gives him the space he needs and it isn’t long before they are turning circles again. Eager to make up for his recent short coming, the Franchise aggressively instigates another grapple. Moving with more grace than speed, the Franchise ducks behind Williams, bending his arm into a hammerlock. From the hammerlock, the Franchise executes a swift drop toe hold, dropping Williams on his stomach. Gliding in front of his fallen victim, the Franchise clamps on a front facelock, trapping Williams on the mat. Hoping to wear the big man down, the Franchise grunts as he squeezes Williams’ head like it’s a melon. Pete: Not surprisingly, the Franchise is easily controlling Williams on the mat. King: I remember when everyone hyped Williams up as some sort of great technical wrestler when all he did was bash people with his damn elbows which are far more damaging than any closed fist I might add. Pete: With Williams throwing them they are. Feeling good about himself, the Franchise smiles to the crowd but to his disappointment they have almost instantaneously started another “DAN-E!” chant. Suddenly, the Franchise feels Williams push himself off the mat. Determined to keep the bigger man grounded, the Franchise leans into the facelock with all his body weight but his efforts are futile. Williams stands up beneath the Franchise, lifting the 240 pounder off his feet like a child. Pete: Look at the power of Williams! King: What did I tell you? Your not gonna ground a man that strong without some good old fashioned cheating. Impressed with Williams’ brute strength, the Indonesian fans “oh” and “ah” as Williams casually sits the Franchise on the top turnbuckle of the nearest corner. Soapdish orders the break but the Franchise is hesitant. Letting Mak know that he means him no harm, Williams raises his hands like a hostage, encouraging the Franchise to release the facelock. Staying true to his word, Williams backs paddles out of attacking distance, leaving the Franchise to embarrassingly nest on the top turnbuckle like a pregnant bird. The fans applaud the clean break but Mak isn’t too happy, after all this is the second time tonight that Williams flaunted his superior power at his expense. Jumping off the top rope with the snort, the Franchise disdainfully kicks the bottom rope. . Pete: Mak is showing signs of frustration and who can blame him, he’s rapidly running out of options. King: He’s got plenty of options but if he wants to use them he’s gonna have to throw this mutual respect crap out the window. The King’s road isn’t paved with clean breaks and handshakes. The grapplers resume their circling, however there is an unpleasant tension the previous feeling out segments lacked. Stopping across from each other, the wrestlers lunge together for the grapple but Mak has other plans. Instead of locking up with Williams, the Franchise deceptively jams a knee into his abdomen. “Oh!” bellows Williams as precious air flees his guts. Taking advantage of his temporarily winded foe, the Franchise slams a forearm into Williams’ jaw. He forearm is hard and accurate but it’s nothing compared to the one that Williams responds with. Crack! The powerful elbow smash sends the Franchise to the canvas in heap! Foolishly, the Franchise wobbles back to his feet only to get floored by another monster elbow! After helping his punch drunk foe to a vertical baset, Williams fires him into the ropes, catching him on the rebound with a Gorilla Press! Delaying the Franchise’s grisly fate, Williams tauntingly suspends him over his head for what seems like days. Astonished by this super human feat, the pleased Indonesian the crowd applauds with delight. Finally, Williams launches the terrified Franchise into the stratosphere! Ka-Boom! Landing on the other side of the ring, the Franchise sits up screaming. Pete: The Franchise tried to dirty up his strategy but it back fired. King: That’s not fighting dirty, that’s committing suicide. You got to use your brain too. Looking to regroup, the Franchise escapes to the outside only to get caught on the ring apron. Reaching over the ropes, Williams pulls Mak to his feet, positioning him for a Vertical Suplex. Motioning with his thumb, a smiling Danny Williams lets the excited crowd know what he intends to do as if it wasn’t already apparent. With relative ease, Williams hoists the Franchise over the ropes like it’s child’s play. Once more, Williams hangs the Franchise out to dry. Getting cute, Danny does a pretty little spin before slamming Mak into the ring with a thud! Further enticing the rabid crowd, Williams returns to his feet with an exciting athletic kip up! Bouncing off the ropes in a blur, Williams soars into the air. Winding up his arm in mid-flight, Danny drives a painful elbow into the Franchise’s exposed chest! The Franchise goes into spasms and Williams goes for the cover. One! In pain but not out, the Franchise kicks out with a great deal of force. Free from Williams’ clutches, Mak tries to crawl away but he doesn’t get very far. Grabbing the Franchise’s wrists with his large strong hands, Williams bends Mak’s arms into a torturous Surfboard Stretch. Pete: Williams look’s fantastic, thus far he’s pacing himself much better than he did the other week. King: Yeah, on the last show that moron burned himself out before he even got to the ring. Sweaty but not short of breath, Williams cruelly tugs on Mak’s arms, working the Surfboard with bad intentions. Not getting anywhere sitting on his ass, the Franchise pushes himself upright. He tries to make it to the ropes but Williams anchors him down, refusing to let him take a single step. Wincing with ever tug, the Franchise runs through a laundry list of options. Thinking back to the Iron Match two years ago, Mak remembers what he did in a similar situation. His leg may be weighed down by a heavy brace these days but there’s still a chance he can pull it off. Holding his breath, the Franchise jumps into the air, tucking his knees into his chest. Rolling forward, Mak thrusts his legs into Danny’s sternum! The crowd applauds the flashy high spot but the pop suddenly turns to an “oh” of amazement. Despite pulling off a dazzling counter from his youth, Williams’ clings to the Surfboard like a pitbull. Pete: Unfortunately for the Franchise, Williams is a lot stronger than he was two years ago. King: Instead of adding muscle, he should have added some brains. A million dollar body means nothing if you only have a two cent brain. Once again sitting on his ass at Williams’ mercy, the Franchise vents his frustration with some colorful four letter words. Not entirely unaffected by the double mule kick, Williams replenishes his air supply with a few hard breaths. Mentally checking off his laundry list of options, the Franchise realizes that there’s only one other way he can cleanly escape the hold. Fighting back to his feet, the Franchise takes several preparation breaths. Knowing what’s on Mak’s mind, Williams does the same. Pete: Unbelievable, Mak is gonna try to power his way out of the Surfboard! King: Oh for crying out loud, why are we watching this crap? Use your head dummy, he couldn’t power out of the Surfboard two years ago, what makes him think he can do it against a stronger Danny Williams? You and Thugg might as well make a comeback Pete, the age of the brain dead caveman is upon on us once again. Summoning all the power his 240 pound frame can muster, Mak trembles and screams as he struggles to pull his arms out in front of him. Mak’s normally undefined pectorals become visible as his entire body quakes with strain. For the first time in the match, Williams’ face shows signs of strain. Getting into the epic battle, the rowdy crowd gets a whole a lot rowdier. Squarely behind Williams as always, the Indonesian crowd religiously chants his name. The veins in Williams’ sculpted body swell and pulsate but the Franchise is somehow out willing him. With his eyes shut, his mouth clinched, and his face wrinkled, Mak groans as he pulls his arms in front of his body, doing his best to block out the numbing pain in his injured arm. Now all the Franchise has to do to reverse the Surfboard is turn behind Williams. Pete: The Franchise is actually going to do it! Williams may be stronger than he was in the past but the Franchise’s will is stronger as well. The Franchise is hell bent on capturing the World Title, refusing to let a ghost from the past stand in his way! Sweating by the bucket full, the Franchise beings to epically turn his torso to the right but before he can complete the turn he hits a roadblock. Calling on reverse strength, Williams lets out a ferocious growl of effort as he stops Mak’s advances. The Franchise isn’t losing any ground but he isn’t gaining any either. Growing fearful, the Franchise swings his leg behind him, kicking Williams square in the balls! The outraged fans leave their seats, lowering their thumbs in the universal gesture of disapproval. Releasing the surfboard, a purple faced Williams doubles over in agony. Spinning around, the Franchise grabs Danny’s head and leaps back, spiking it straight into the mat with a snapping DDT! King: Hey, it looks like somebody grew a brain! Pete: What a horrible turn of events. The Franchise didn’t need to do that, all he had to do was work a little harder and he could have escaped the Surfboard cleanly. Rightfully suspicious, Soapdish interrogates the Franchise, who maintains that his kick was directed to the inner thigh. Rubbing his noggin and holding his groin, a stunned Williams staggers to his feet only to walk into a second DDT! This one is even nastier as Williams performs a hand stand without his hands. Williams is out like a light, leaving the Franchise to his own devices. Leaping to his feet, a fatigued Franchise stretches out his chest and arms as he decides his next move. Coming to his conclusion with little delay, the Franchise draws his thumb across his throat, letting the record setting crowd know that their hero is finished. Pulling Williams up with a front facelock, the Franchise casually hooks a leg, setting his victim up for his patent Franchise Tag! Pete: The Franchise, looking to put Williams away with the same move he used to defeat him with two years ago! King: It’s the same move he defeated everybody with...well except for Jenkins. The fans lucky enough to have seats slide to the edge of them as the Franchise heaves Williams off the mat! Much more aware than the Franchise would like him to be, a panic struck Danny Williams shifts his weight back to the canvas, sand bagging instantaneously! Having a back up plan, the Franchise swiftly takes Williams over with a smooth fireman carry. Grabbing hold of Danny’s arm, the Franchise drops back, scissoring the captured limb for the Cross Armbreaker! Instinctively protecting himself, Williams locks his hands together, preventing the Franchise from snapping his arm like a twig. Unable to overpower Williams, the Franchise viciously kicks at his arm, using his boot to break the guard. With a blood thirty snarl, the Franchise pulls back on the arm, threatening to tear it out of the socket! Recognizing the threat the hold poses, the hundreds of thousands in attendance collectively come to their feet with. Pete: Williams submitted to the Franchise’s Cross Armbreaker in the closing moments of their Iron Man match, costing himself the victory. Will Danny find redemption or will history repeat itself? Stomping his feet into the canvas, Williams alarmingly screams out in pain. The bones and tendons in his arm pop and crack, tearing at the seams like a piece of cloth. “TAP! TAP! TAP!” savagely screams the Franchise. There would be no shame in tapping but Williams is too stubborn to give in. Appearing to be fighting back tears, Williams screams a resounding “Noooooo!” Deciding it’s time to up the pain level, the Franchise beings to manically sit up and fall down, repeatedly snapping Williams’ left arm with the feared judo hold! The pain that Williams thought he would never have to feel again comes rushing through his arm in a flood of hellish suffering. It was enough to make him submit two years ago and it’s enough to make him want to give up now. Williams holds out his trembling hand for the tap but instead hitting the mat, he makes a defiant fist! Coming back to the life, the crowd roars with excitement, cheering Danny on his quest for escape! Pete: Williams is refusing to give up to the same move that cost him the U.S. Title two years ago! Sucking up the unimaginable pain in his left arm, Williams inches his way to the ropes one step at a time. The Franchise is relentless but Danny is far too driven to be stopped. After what felt like an eternity to Williams, he extends his boots to the sanctuary of the ropes. For lack of anything better to offer, the huge crowd gives Williams a deafening ovation. Looking incredibly grim, the Franchise releases Williams’ mangled limb at the official’s request. Spitting profanities, the Franchise vents his rage with some mean spirited stomps. Getting back to business, the Franchise pulls Danny up by his recently stretched arm. To the dismay of the fans, the Franchise twists the limb around the tope rope, bending it with a rope assisted hammerlock. King: Smart wrestling from the Franchise, wisely using his environment to his advantage. To make matters worse, the Franchise begins to pound his arm into the captured limb, causing Williams to scream in pain once more. Stepping in, Soapdish orders the Franchise to stop hitting Williams while he’s on the ropes. Treating the official like a pesky fly, the Franchise pushes him to the canvas with disinterest. The fans loudly voice their disapproval with the time honored cry of........ “Boooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo!” The sound of 100,000+ wrestling fans making that noise at once isn’t easy on ears but Mak could care less as he continues to hammer away at Williams’ arm. But Danny cuts the party short by swinging his leg behind him, slamming his big black boot into the Franchise’s sack! Clutching his jewels, the Franchise crumbles to the canvas. Unlacing his arm from around the ropes, Williams roars at the crowd, who return the favor. King: The hypocrisy of SWF fans world wide sickens me, they love cheating as long as somebody they like is doing it. Pete: I think the fans realize that Williams was justified in getting a little revenge for Mak’s repeated rule infractions. King: Because revenge is so moral… Having shook out his injured arm, Williams jumps on the Franchise. The crowd goes berserk as Williams pounds the head of the man he once trusted with vicious mounted elbows! Now recovered, Soapdish attempts to restore some order by commanding Williams to stop the assault. Obeying the official, Williams pulls Mak to his feet and whips him into the ropes. As soon as Mak sling shots back, Williams spins out his arm for a back elbow! Swooooosh! Ducking under Danny’s outstretched arm, the Franchise hits the ropes a second time, doubling his speed! Williams hustles around to greet him but he’s to late.... WHAM! Mak’s Yakuza Kick finds it’s mark, knocking Williams’ clean out of his boots! The stunned crowd sits in stony silence as Williams hits the canvas like a rock. Pete: The Franchise doesn’t have to cheat to beat Williams, he defeated him before cleanly he can do it again. After taking a second to shake off the elbows and adjust his cup, the Franchise covers the still laid out Williams. One! Two! …….. NO! Williams kicks out to a monster pop! Slamming his fist into the canvas, the Franchise searches his mind for a means to take Danny out. It takes him a second but the Franchise remembers a move he only does in Williams’ honor. Throwing Williams over his shoulder, the Franchise walks his opponent to a nearby corner and sits him on the top turnbuckle. The fans come to their feet as the Franchise confidently ascends the ropes, taking his sweet time. Crack! Coming to life, Williams blasts the Franchise with a hard elbow, knocking him back to the canvas! Weary eyed from the beating he’s absorbed, Williams hopeless sits on the top rope, far too weak to climb down. Shaking the cobwebs lose, the Franchise sprints back up the ropes.... Crack! only to get knocked right back down. Sensing a swing in momentum, the pro-Danny crowd heats up. Having got some of his senses back, Williams rises into the night air, making his way to the top rope. But a determined Franchise is already recovered! Instead of sprinting back up the ropes to face Williams, Mak cruelly joists the ropes! Losing his balance, Williams’ feet go out from underneath him, causing him to painfully crouch himself! “Booooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo!” Frozen with pain, Williams is a sitting duck. Ignoring Soapdish’s pleas and warnings, the Franchise runs back up the turnbuckle. Wrenching Williams around the waist, the Franchise boldly flips him off the ropes while free falling back to the canvas! KA-BOOM! Both men are down while a distraught crowd goes into hysterics. Pete: With the help of a second low blow, a hungry Mak Francis has successfully executed the rarely seen Super Gut Wrench Suplex. King: He’s wrestling smarter not dirtier. What should he have done, let Williams elbow him to the floor a third time? Pete: Williams was in the process of standing up, he was already vulnerable. The low blow was an unnecessary crutch for a wrestler who’s rapidly losing his confidence. Obviously in the better shape of the two, the Franchise climbs to his feet with joy. Seeing that Williams is laid out on his back, the Franchise jumps at his opportunity to end the match. Eagerly sprinting up the turnbuckles, the Franchise flips off the jeering crowd before leaping high into the humid night air. With a slap of the knees, Mak changes direction in mid-air, crushing Williams with a devastating Frog Splash! Aside from his legs bouncing off the mat from the impact, Williams is a vulnerable corpse ripe for the pickings. Hooking a leg, a gleeful Franchise smirks at the crowd as Soapdish starts the count. One! Two! ............. THRE-NO! The stadium erupts into volcanic cheering as Williams shoots an arm off the canvas! As if he’s given up already The Franchise’s smirk twists into a mask of agony as he collapses on his back in anguish, giving a flattened Danny Williams a much needed opportunity to roll to the safety of the ropes. King: The Franchise needs to quit crying over spilled milk and put Williams away while he’s got him hurt. Pete: I’ve never seen the Franchise like this, I don’t think the man has any confidence left. Somewhat regaining his composure, the Franchise frantically crawls after Williams. Soapdish reminds Mak that he’s on the ropes but it’s no use. Grabbing a handful of hair, the Franchise pries Williams from the ropes, literally dragging him back to the center of the ring. Trying to regain his believe in himself, the Franchise forces a smile as if to say, “there’s no need to panic, I got this under control.” Searching for his signature Franchise tag, Mak pulls Williams to his feet. Crack! Williams scores with a desperation elbow but Mak retaliates with a boot to the mid section! Hooking the doubled over Williams by his head and leg, the Franchise violently snaps back.... CRUNCH! driving Danny’s skull into the canvas with a sudden, nasty Fisherman Buster! Pete: FRANCHISE TAAAAAAAAAG!!! With his eyes closed and his mouth lifelessly hanging open, Williams lies helplessly on his back. To the puzzlement of the crowd, Mak doesn’t go for the cover. Instead, the Franchise hops to his feet and shakes his finger. Frantically yanking his opponent’s carcass to an upright position, the Franchise hastily positions Williams for another Fisherman Buster! Pete: He’s going to give Danny another Franchise tag!? King: I guess he figures that if Spike can kick out of one, a guy that’s ten times tougher like Danny can too. Letting out a victorious scream, the Franchise hoists Williams’ skyward! Laboriously balancing Williams’ heavy frame at a vertical angle, the Franchise dips his knees for the jump that will plant his opponent into the ring like a fence post! But before Mak can complete his lethal finisher, he loses his grip on Danny’s leg, allowing the resilient former Champion to slip out of his clutches and free fall to the canvas behind him! Confused, the Franchise spins around..... BLAM!!! foolishly turning right into a..... Pete: AXE BOMBAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!!! The powerful clubbing blow turns the Franchise inside out! Falling forward with the momentum, Williams causelessly collapses on the Franchise’s folded corpse for the pin! The Jakarta Coliseum joyously jubilates as Soapdish starts the count. Having learned the English count from puro broadcasts, the Indonesian crowd ceremoniously counts along! “ONE!” “TWO!” ........................ “THREE!” Soapdish calls for the bell and the crowd goes mad! DING! DING! DING! Having just got his head drove into the earth a few seconds ago, Williams is in no condition to celebrate, all he can do is roll off the Franchise’s remains and wait for medical attention. This doesn’t matter to the screaming masses in the stands, they got a happy ending and their grateful. Bringing things full circle, the amazing Indonesian fans show their appreciation with one final chant of “DAN-E!” Pete: The Franchise had the match won but because he didn’t have the confidence he once had in his Franchise Tag, he inadvertently gave Williams the only opening he needed to win the match. King: Well Mak got what he wanted, Danny didn’t kick out of the Franchise tag. Pete: Mak still has all the tools to be a World Champion but he’s gonna have to regain his confidence if wants to go anywhere. Williams on the other hand looks as posed and resilient as ever with his Axe Bomber proving to be the one most reliable offensive weapons in the federation. Well, it looks like we have to take another commercial break so stay tuned we’ll be right back

Backstage, the SWF's ace reporter himself, Benjamin Hardy, is back...and standing with one half of the new World Tag Team Champions, Landon "La Cucaracha" Maddix. "Landon...congratulations on your Tag Team Title victory, in what was a truly incredible TLC Match." Maddix mugs slightly, adjusting the belt over his shoulder. "Your hyberbole amuses me greatly, Kemosabe. Please continue." "Well, obviously, you're not on the card tonight, nursing injuries sustained in the TLC Match. Your tag team partner Todd Cortez is in action tonight...but, the question I really have to ask is..." *EH - HEM!* Maddix and Hardy's heads reel around as the unmistakeable British accented cough of, guess who, interrupts them. Rolling his eyes, Maddix glares in anger...as limps into shot. Toxxic returns the look Maddix's way, stepping the other side of him next to Hardy and leaning on the scrawny interviewer's shoulder. "Well well well, would you credit it. Landon Maddix. It's been a long time, eh?" "Yeah..." "Not long enough, granted. But still a bloody long time." "Did you want something, other than to hog someone else's spotlight?" Toxxic chuckles under his breath, hiding the anger in his eyes. "That's a little rich, isn't it?" sneers the Straight Edge Sensation. "Coming from you of all people. No, no I am here for a reason. Rumour is...you've found your ballsack again and you're dropping this little 'Toxxic amnesty'. At least, that's what I heard. Quite frankly I don't believe you'd WANT to get back in the ring with me, seeing as how you picked that crazy-arse stipulation last time… and we both know how that ended." "Well, actually Toxx-" Trying to retake control, Hardy gets cut off in mid sentence, by Toxxic throwing a hand over his mouth. With a low growl, Toxxic takes Hardy hand mic, grabbing him by the collar and tossing him off screen. "How about you let someone with some credibility interview you, sunshine?" "Go ahead." Maddix sighs. "Okay. The question that I really want to know is... how is Todd Cortez doing?" "Excuse me?" "Well, seeing as you pushed him 15 feet off a ladder on Lockdown, I'd assume he's not too great," Toxxic elaborates. Maddix smiles to himself, biting his lip a little. He then removes the Tag Title belt from his shoulder and holds it so Toxxic can take a good look. "Do you realise how long I've been waiting to win this belt? Fourteen months. FOUR - TEEN MONTHS! It's taken me that long to get this Tag Team Title belt off of Wild and Dangerous' shoulders and onto mine. And Todd's, obviously. When I arrived in the SWF, this is the belt I wanted and this is the belt I went for from the start with Todd Royal. And sure, I moved on and left this behind for a while...but deep down, I always...ALWAYS...wanted to settle the score with Wild and Dangerous. So if you think when the opportunity came around, I wasn't going to take it...you obviously don't know me as well as you make out to, Toxx." "Oh, I know you Maddix. And I know you're a selfish little prick who'd screw over your own grandma just to get what you want. "Grandma?" "It's a word, sunshine. And the fact is, you've proved what I've been saying for God knows how bloody long. You don't give a flying crap about Todd Cortez. The only person you care about is Landon Maddix. Which is why you pushed him off that ladder. So that YOU could get what YOU wanted." "I know what you're trying to do Toxx. You're trying to create a little tension again. Well it didn't work last time and guess what, it's not going to work now. Me and Todd have talked things over. He knows why I did what I did. I sacrificed my own partner for HIS own good, as well as mine. I mean, "flippin' eck, guvnah"...he's sitting in the locker room right now with a Tag Team Title belt on his lap. If I hadn't done what I did, that might not have happened. He knows the score. In the same position, he would have done the same thing, I'm sure. Hell, if falling off a ladder is what it takes to become the Tag Team Champion, then load me up and send me flying right the hell now!" Sneering, Toxxic gives Maddix a look as if to say 'if only'. "I'm sure he's really chuffed about it. Now, I've got another important question...this rumour. Apparantly, you're coming after me again. Surely you're not that dumb, are you?" "No, you got it wrong Toxx." smiles Maddix. "I didn't say I was coming after you. I said I was coming after the SWF World Heavyweight Championship. And..." Maddix glances to Toxxic bare waist, raising the Straight Edge Sensation's ire. "...seeing as you're not the World Champion anymore, you're off the radar 'sonny boy'. Of course, if I've got to work my way back up the ladder then, who knows, maybe we'll meet somewhere along the way. But as for coming after you specifically...nah. I haven't got the time to be honest." "Real funn..." "No, I'm serious here Toxx. Danny Williams. Mak Francis. Lil' Buck. Johnny Dangerous. Todd. Wildchild. Ejiro himself. Pretzler. Hawke. Spike. IL. They're all as much in the running as you are now. You're back with the chasing pack now, Toxxic. And you're going to find out just how hard it is to get back into pole position. Because this time, Sacred isn't here for you to suck up to and piss off, so he'll give you an easy title shot. Let me remind you...when you won that World Title for the third time, you didn't deserve it. It should have been MY World Title shot! MY World Title rematch! It's only because Sacred had such a big god-damn ego and such a short temper that you got the shot, not me. Well, I'm not going to let that happen this time. And this time...there's more than two people chasing that title Toxx." The two hated rivals glare at each other for a moment. "So I suggest you get your mind off of my business and back on yours." "Oh, I wouldn't worry about that. Ejiro's 'not done with me', remember? Even if he wants a non-title match with me I’ll be ready for him next time, and after I beat him a title shot should follow shortly. And when I get that belt back and become the first-ever FOUR-TIME World Champion…” Toxxic leans in towards Maddix, the two sworn enemies going nose to nose. "...every single name that you just mentioned will get a title shot before you even get a SNIFF of MY belt!" "What makes you think I'd want to sniff anything of yours?" With a sigh, Toxxic steps back from Maddix, grinding his teeth as Maddix innocently smiles back at him and adjusts his belt. "You know what...you're not worth the bloody hassle." Toxxic strides off past Maddix and out of sight. With a wry smile, Maddix turns and watches the straight edger leave, taking a deep sigh and breathing in the smell. The smell of victory.

"Welcome back to SWF SmarkDown!" screams Longdogger Pete over thousands of screaming fans, as the show comes back to air. "Of course, we're here in Jakarta, Indonesia, where tonight Bryan Rodgers takes on Manson. They both lost in title bids on Lockdown, where along with Spike Jenkins, Rodgers came up short against Insane Luchador in a Dual Rules Match, while Manson and Arch Griffon lost out in a spectacular TLC Match as Martial Law walked out as Tag Team Champions." "Both have something to prove as they try and get back in the title race, and with the nature of these two, this match has the potential to get ugly," Suicide King speculates. "Well, I'm not sure if Manson wants to go that route. He could still have some lingering effects after the TLC, so he probably wants to stay away from the outside where, as we've seen, Rodgers is willing to go the extra mile," says LDP, as we go to the ring. "Ladies and Gentlemen," announces Funyon, "the following is a Singles Match scheduled for one fall!" "The world is a vampire…" As "Bullet with Butterfly Wings" by Smashing Pumpins begins, pockets of fans throughout the Jakarta Coliseum rise to their feet and cheer, some of them having heard of Rodgers and his work. "Sent to drai-ai-ain…" Moments later, Rodgers appears at the entrance way. He pulls out a Marlboro and places it in his mouth, and after reaching into another pocket, he pulls out a zippo and lights up. He takes a long drag off the cigarette and starts heading down toward the ring, slapping hands with the occasional fan as he saunters down the aisle. "Introducing first, hailing from Richmond, Virginia, USA and weighing in at two-hundred and thirty seven pounds… "MANIAC" BRRRYYYAAAANNN RRROOODGGEERRRRRSSS!" Rodgers climbs up the ring steps moments after Funyon's introduction, and after wiping his Nazi-stompin' boots off on the apron, he steps through the ropes. "Despite all my rage I am still just a rat in a cage! Then someone will say what is lost can never be saved! Despite all my rage I am still just a rat in a cage!" Bryan heads from corner to corner, smoking the rest of his cigarette and motioning to the crowd, pulling out his infamous and horribly outdated “Too Much Evil for One Hand” pinky to the lips taunt, to the cheers of those who, well, still care about Austin Powers. He snuffs his cig out on the lower right ring post and checks his wrist taping, before Referee Anthony Michael Hall comes over to check him out. In the process, Hall uncovers a fork in his jeans pocket, and tosses it aside, followed by a butter knife, a spork, a pair of salad tongs, a rolling pin, a wrench, a five pound weight, a bowling trophy, a bag of blinding salt, three packets of Kool-Aid for his patented mist, and finally, a tennis racket, all of which Hall stares at in amazement before throwing each out of the ring. "Where'd he fit all that?" asks LDP. "I think we're all better off not knowing." says King. Rodgers acts as surprised as Hall, when the house lights dim and Mastodon's "Crusher Destroyer" hits, complete with red strobes flashing in time with the music. The fans rise to their feet, the buzz in the reaching a fever pitch, and Manson emerges moments later, throwing up the horns to a massive round of cheers. "And his opponent," booms Funyon, "hailing from Denver, Colorado, USA and weighing in at two-hundred and forty pounds… MMMAAAAANNNNSOONNNN!" Manson heads straight down the aisle, focused on the task at hand. Approaching the ring, he rolls in under the bottom rope, pops up to his feet and backs into his corner, opposite of Rodgers as Hall signals for the bell. ::DINGDING!:: Manson and Rodgers exit their corners, and as they circle the ring, fear washes over Rodgers as he looks in Manson's eyes, as if looking at Death itself! He drops to the mat in the fetal position, apparently having heard the awesome tales of MANSONOSITY~ before, and now finally having had the pleasure of stepping into the ring with him. He sobs as Manson towers over him, begging Manson not to kill him, as Manson lets him off easy and places a foot on his chest and Hall counts, apparently not wanting to deal with The POWER OF MANSONOSITY~ either. "ONE!" "TWO!" "THREE!" ::DINGDING!:: "Your winner by pinfall," says Funyon, "and STILL Great Awe Inspiring God of the Universe, and Master of All That We Know to Be True!….. MAAAANNNSOOONNNN!!!!!!!" "Hey," Suicide King says, "let's all sacrifice a virgin to Manson!" "Sure," LDP says, as Manson flies out of the ringand into the sky.

“Fans, we’re back from commercial break,” Longdogger Pete greets the viewers, “and now we’re awaiting the arrival of Toxxic’s opponent for this evening!” *BAM!* The crashing guitars of Black Label’s ‘Lamb of God’ fires up over the arena PA as the drumming sends a bolt through the crowd. This brand of metal isn’t common listening in Indonesia; nonetheless the crowd knows who’s coming… “YEEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHH!” …and their cheer is answered by the voice of Randy Blythe. “AAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!” Bright white lights begin flashing at the entranceway and the familiar figure of Spike Jenkins emerges. “…and introducing his opponent,” Funyon booms, “from Hollywood, California and weighing in at 226lbs; ‘HOLLYWOOD’… SPIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIKE… JEEEEEENNNNNN-KIIIIIINNNNNSSSSSSSS!!” It’s a good job Funyon got his announcement out of the way in time, as instead of doing his normal pose at the top of the entrance ramp Hollywood just barrels straight down to the ring towards the waiting Toxxic! The former World Champion has no intention of playing fair in this encounter either, so the moment Spike shoots under the ropes Toxxic drops down and begins hammering right hands into him! *DING-DING-DING!* Referee Ced Ordonez grabs Toxxic and tries to haul the Straight-Edge Sensation away from his opponent but the Brit shakes him off and continues attacking. However, Ordonez is a former wrestler and isn’t so easy to get rid of… but then the Bermani Cross Wizard remembers that this is a hardcore match, and anything goes! With that realisation Ced steps back and leans on the ropes, letting the two protagonists get on with it. “Toxxic doesn’t want this to develop into a match,” Longdogger Pete exclaims as Spike tries to fight out from under the barrage of blows, “he’s just looking to beat Spike into the ground! Is this some sort of reply to Ejiro Fasaki?” “Nah,” King says dismissively, “these two just can’t stand each other.” Toxxic is hammering away with all his might, but Spike has managed to cover up reasonably well and now the Hollywood Superstar sees his chance. Toxxic is on one knee as he attacks, so Spike times himself between the punches and then lunges forwards, grabbing his opponent around the waist and forcing Toxxic back to the ground! Jenkins then sits on his opponent’s chest and fires away with a Shotei to the jaw! *CRACK!* “OHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!” *CRACK!* “OHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!” “Huh, if they think that’s nasty then they haven’t seen anything yet,” King laughs. “Guess they don’t watch much hardcore stuff in Jakarta, right?” “That’s not what the TV bill for your hotel room says,” LDP rejoins. Spike draws his hand back for another shot, but Toxxic isn’t ready to take any more blows to the head and he extends his right hand up, black-nailed fingers digging into Spike’s face! “YAAARRRRGGGGHHHHHH!” “The eyes! Toxxic went to the eyes!” Pete yells. “So much for his code of honour!” “No rules!” King shouts back. “He’s not cheating unless there are rules to be broken!” Jenkins rolls off Toxxic and scrambles away to try and give himself some room. Meanwhile Toxxic shakes his head, trying to dispel the pain and ringing sensation left by the palm of Hollywood’s hand. Both men start to get back to their feet, but as Spike turns around in a somewhat bleary search for his opponent it becomes clear that Toxxic got there first and the Straight-Edge Sensation nails Jenkins with a basement dropkick to the knee! “And Toxxic goes for that knee that Spike suffered an injury to in the SJL,” Pete exclaims, “…but look, Toxxic’s limping now! The impact must have jarred his knee, still damaged from his match with Ejiro on Lockdown!” Sure enough, Toxxic has regained his feet rather gingerly and shakes his leg for a moment before continuing. The pain that has flared in Spike’s kneecap isn’t going to keep the Hollywood Superstar down for long, but Toxxic reacts in time and dives over Jenkins’ back to hook him with an Oklahoma Roll! ONE! TW- -but Spike kicks out before Ordonez can even find the mat for a second time! Toxxic grabs a front facelock before his opponent can regain his feet but Spike isn’t in the mood for technical wrestling and begins to power up, then simply hoists Toxxic bodily off the canvas and drives him towards the corner! *WHAM!* The impact drives the breath from the Straight-Edge Sensation’s lungs and he releases his grip, allowing Spike to break free and straighten up. Spike sends another Shotei crashing into Toxxic’s face, then backs off. The former World Champion is dazed and breathless so Spike charges in… …does a handspring… …and leaps into the air to deliver a wicked kick to the head! *CRACK!* “YEEEEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHH!” “Tidal Wave!” Pete shouts. “Spike just hit Toxxic with the Tidal Wave!” “And people in South-East Asia are cheering,” King wonders. “Good job he didn’t name it the ‘Tsunami’, I guess…” Toxxic has slumped down in the corner following that attack but Spike doesn’t show any sign of wanting to go for a pin. Instead the Hollywood Superstar rolls out of the ring and begins searching underneath it. A buzz of anticipation grows inside the Jakarta Coliseum as the fans wait to see what instrument of destruction Spike emerges with, and Jenkins pulls out… a steel chair! “Well, start small and work up I guess,” King notes. Spike rolls back into the ring where Toxxic is struggling to pull himself to his feet and bangs his weapon against the mat, readying himself for action. The Brit turns to face his opponent and Jenkins swings… …but Toxxic ducks, and as Spike is carried around by the momentum of his blow Toxxic grabs him with a schoolboy pin! ONE! TWO!! …but Spike kicks out! “Toxxic still going for the win rather than damage, in direct contrast to his former stablemate!” Pete shouts. Meanwhile, Toxxic grabs Spike’s head and drives him facefirst into his good knee, then abruptly falls backwards- *BANG!* -spiking him with a DDT onto the steel chair to complete the Sobering Thought! “OOOOOOOOOOHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!” “You were saying?” King asks mildly as Toxxic again makes a cover and Ordonez drops to count. ONE! TWO!! TH- -but Spike kicks out again! Undeterred, Toxxic drops the steel chair in another location on the canvas, then drags Spike towards the corner. Once there the Straight-Edge Sensation hops up to the second buckle and grabs his opponent in a rear headlock, then points to the chair… “Looks like he’s going for the Final Shine onto the chair,” King laughs, “this’ll kill the few brain cells Spike has left!” …but Jenkins has no intention of dropping any more IQ points, and the former stoner reaches up to smash a palm strike into Toxxic’s temple. The blow gives Spike the moment he needs to readjust himself, and then he takes hold of Toxxic’s head and pulls forward to send the Brit sailing through the air and come crashing down on the steel chair with a super snapmare! *BANG!* “OOOOOOOOOOOOHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!” Toxxic grabs his back in agony as he bounces across the canvas and Spike wastes no time in following up, picking the chair up and raising it above his head… *CRACK!* …but Toxxic rolls aside at the last moment, and Jenkins gets nothing but canvas! Frustrated, Spike tries again… *CRACK!* …but this time Toxxic manages to roll clean out of the ring, and before Jenkins can recover himself Toxxic has grabbed his ankles and pulled to send him tumbling to the mat. The Straight-Edge Sensation takes a firm grip on Spike and pulls again, tugging the Hollywood Superstar out under the ropes, then the moment Spike slithers under the cables Toxxic wisely grabs the chair still clutched in his opponent’s grasp! Spike tugs, trying to free it, but Toxxic holds on firmly… so Jenkins reverses the moment and jabs with his weapon driving it into the Brit’s midsection with both his and Toxxic’s musclepower doing the damage! The Straight-Edge Sensation doubles over wheezing, and this time there are no sudden movements for Spike to recalculate for… *CRACK!!* “OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!” “…and Toxxic’s down!” Longdogger Pete shouts as the former World Champion crumples backwards to the arena floor. “Spike’s got all the cards now!” The Hollywood Superstar doesn’t seem interested in going for a pin just yet; instead Jenkins raises his weapon over his head and lets out a triumphant yell that a large part of the audience return. It’s been a few months coming, but finally Spike Jenkins is getting his revenge… “SPIIIIIIIIIKE!” “SPIIIIIIIIIKE!” Despite the language barrier, several of the Indonesians present have mastered that one syllable and a grin crosses Spike’s face as he turns back to his opponent. Ced Ordonez is on hand just in case Spike might want to, you know, make a pin… so Jenkins drops to the floor and covers his former mentor… ONE! TWO!! THHHH- -but Toxxic kicks out! Jenkins growls in irritation, but to be honest he’s not that bothered about having to give Toxxic a bit more of a kicking. Muttering to himself, Spike grabs Toxxic and hauls him upright, then focuses on a section of guardrail. That should do nicely… “He’s going to Irish whip him!” Pete shouts. “Hold onto your hats, folks!” …but the Indonesian fans that the Longdogger is addressing his remarks to do not end up with a speeding straight-edger colliding with the steel in front of them - instead Toxxic manages to vault up onto the guardrail at the last moment, wobbles for a second as his dodgy knee gives him problems, but then twists back to take Spike down with the Role Reversal clothesline! The Straight-Edge Sensation’s flight was more like a tumble than anything else but he got enough distance to lay Jenkins out and now lies next to him on the floor, alternating between holding his knee and his head. Ordonez goes to start making a count, then remembers (again) that it’s a hardcore bout and so leans on the guardrail instead, chatting to a couple of audience members. “Well, we thought that Spike had the momentum, but it’s still all to play for!” Longdogger Pete exclaims. “You might have thought that,” King sniffs, “I knew that it would take a lot more than a foreign object and a floppy-haired loser from California to take Toxxic down. Come on, this guy’s done it all!” However, despite King’s beliefs and the fact that it was Toxxic who executed the most recent move, a flying clothesline is never going to be as damaging as a chairshot. While the Straight-Edge Sensation tries to gather himself for another rally Spike is already moving, grabbing the guardrail and pulling himself up before launching a kick into Toxxic’s ribs. The Brit rolls sideways in an effort to escape his opponent but only comes into contact with the ring apron. Spike delivers another punishing boot to the body and, with no other option readily available, Toxxic dives underneath the ring… but Spike catches his boot! “YEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!” “He’s got him now!” Longdogger Pete shouts. “There’s nowhere for Toxxic to run to! Spike’s got him cornered and captured!” Heaving with all his might, the Hollywood Superstar drags his opponent slowly back out into the light… and finds himself face-to-face with a large black horn. As in, the large black horn of a fire extinguisher. A fire extinguisher with Toxxic’s hand on the trigger. *KSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!* “…you were saying?” King chuckles again as Spike stumbles back, blinded by the discharge from Toxxic’s large black horn. Before anyone can look too closely at the possible double-entendres of that phrase the Straight-Edge Sensation pulls himself up on the ring apron, then lifts the heavy canister with both hands and- *WHAM!!* -smashes it directly into Spike’s face! The force of the blow is so great that Jenkins almost flies back into the guardrail, but Toxxic drops the fire extinguisher to grab his opponent and send him sprawling under the bottom rope into the ring. The Straight-Edge Sensation, his earlier methodology of trying to get the quick pin apparently forgotten, then barks at Funyon to ‘move!’ and grabs the announcer’s chair. “Why does Toxxic need another chair?” Pete asks in bewilderment, “there’s already one in the ring!” “Maybe he’s very, very tired,” King suggests sarcastically. “Or perhaps you could shut your stupid Florida mouth and wait and see.” While the announcers bicker as SWF announcers generally do, Toxxic slides back under the bottom rope with the second chair in hand. Spike is starting to stir and holding his head but Toxxic doesn’t give his opponent a chance to regain his bearings, instead dropping a leg across the back of Jenkins’ skull to mash his face into the canvas again with maximum energy efficiency. That done, the Straight-Edge Sensation begins to haul Spike upright, then drags him to the ropes where he proceeds to twist Spike’s arms into the cables, trapping the Hollywood Superstar! “Ahh, we’ve seen this before,” King notes with some satisfaction as Toxxic finishes trussing his victim up and sets the second chair up in the middle of the ring before picking the original weapon up off the mat. “I think British Airways is about to take off, Drain-Clogger!” Toxxic retreats to the far side of the ring, then begins banging the chair in his hand with his other hand and starts shouting an archaic warcry originating in Spain but taken up and given a tune by the massed ranks of British soccer hooligans… “OLE, OLE OLE OLEEEE! OLEEE! OLEEEE!” …before running across the ring, using his good leg to vault off the chair and dropkicking the one in his hands right into Spike’s head! *CRACK!!* “In-Flight Meal!” King shouts in joy as Jenkins slumps down, the force of the impact having knocked one of his arms free from its constraining prison as well as opening up the semi-healed cut on his forehead from where the Insane Luchador Evenflow’d him onto the Death Chair in Japan. “I hope Spike liked that, because I don’t think he’s going to have enough teeth to eat anything except soup from now on!” Toxxic is not unhurt either, however; the jarring impact of the dropkick has obviously tweaked his bad knee again, and now the Straight-Edge Sensation’s limp is even more pronounced. Evidently deciding that high-risk moves are definitely off the menu now, Toxxic decides to see if the In-Flight Meal was enough to carry the day and hauls Spike out of the ropes to free up his other arm, then makes a cover and hooks the leg… ONE! TWO!! THHHHHHHHHRRRRRRRRRRR- -but Spike kicks out before three! “YEEEEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!” Toxxic turns for a serious discussion with the contest’s official, but Ced Ordonez waves away the Straight-Edge Sensation’s protests and reminds him to focus on the task in hand. Toxxic responds by flipping two black-nailed fingers at the referee, then grabs the nearest chair and drops it on the canvas before hauling Spike upright. The Brit then places his opponent in a standing headscissors and reaches down to underhook one arm… then the other arm… “It looks like Toxxic’s going for the Toxxic Shock Syndrome,” Pete exclaims. “This move beat Spike in their first encounter nearly a year ago, and it looks like Toxxic’s going to try and hit it onto the chair!” “Goodnight, thanks for playing,” Suicide King laughs. “What an anti-climatic end to months of pointless endeavour on Spike’s behalf. Ah well!” But Spike’s not quite ready to go down into ignominious defeat just yet, and with a tremendous effort the Hollywood Superstar manages to free one arm, then slams a forearm into Toxxic’s back knee! The Straight-Edge Sensation yells out in pain and lists alarmingly to one side, and with his opponent’s legs buckling Spike heaves upwards with all his might and back bodydrops his way out of the move! “HOL-LY-WOOD!” “HOL-LY-WOOD!” Spike tumbles backwards as well and sits down hard, but he uses the respite to wipe the blood from his face and try and clear his ringing head. Meanwhile Toxxic has landed painfully on his back again and had the breath knocked from his body, and for the moment all the former World Champion can do is wheeze noisily. However, after a few recuperative seconds each man starts to push himself up, neither one particularly steady on their feet but both very well aware that they don’t want their opponent to get there first… “HOL-LY-WOOD!” “HOL-LY-WOOD!” Toxxic is still marginally quicker, dodgy knee and all, and the Straight-Edge Sensation lashes out with a vicious European uppercut! *WHAM!* Spike staggers back, but the Hollywood Superstar isn’t going to be outdone and he fires back with a Shotei to the jaw! *CRACK!* “HOL-LY-WOOD!” Toxxic nearly goes over, but the Brit catches himself at the last moment, then fires off another European uppercut! *WHAM!* Spike staggers again and actually rebounds off the ropes, but Toxxic is too woozy to take advantage and Jenkins strides slightly unsteadily forwards and- *CHING!!* “OOOOOOOOOOoooooooooohhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh…” -nails Toxxic square in his happy-happy-joy-joy area! “…no rules, right?” Longdogger Pete says weakly to his partner. “…right,” Suicide King answers, shifting uncomfortably in his seat. Male genital trauma is a language that transcends all cultural boundaries and the testosterone-fuelled part of the Indonesian crowd are decidedly muted in their appreciation of Spike’s tactic; nonetheless, as Toxxic crumples to his knees and Jenkins shakes his head to clear the after-effects of the European uppercuts a chant begins to make itself heard again in the Jakarta Coliseum. “HOL-LY-WOOD!” “HOL-LY-WOOD!” Spike takes a quick look at the Brit on his knees in front of him and lashes out with his right boot… *THWACK!* …then again… *THWACK!* …Spike backs off, slams both hands into the canvas and lets out a triumphant roar before stepping up again and drawing his right leg back for the final, devastating kick to the jaw… but Toxxic knows this music. He’s wrestled Spike before, and they travelled together, trained together and tagged together for over half a year. So he ducks. … Toxxic raises his head again, and realises the unfortunate truth. Spike knows this music too, and he knows Toxxic knows this music. So he’s changed the beat. *CRACK!!* “YEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!” Toxxic slumps sideways, his jaw seemingly nearly disconnected. The Straight-Edge Sensation sprawls across the canvas as Spike lets out a breath he didn’t even know he’d been holding, but Jenkins isn’t content to let it stop here. He might be able to pin Toxxic right now but it’d be so much more satisfying to choke him out, just like he did to Dace Night. And since this is a hardcore match with no rules there’s no need for a fancy choke sleeper; two hands around the windpipe will do the job just as well. “HOL-LY-WOOD!” “HOL-LY-WOOD!” Toxxic grabs at Spike’s hands as Jenkins bears down on him, using all his strength and bodyweight to cut off Toxxic’s oxygen supply. Even Ced Ordonez looks a little concerned at the methods being deployed but he can do nothing except be ready to acknowledge a pin or submission should one take place. Neither seems likely at the moment however, as Toxxic’s thrashing keeps more than one shoulder from being on the canvas at any one time and although he is battering at Spike with his hands, it can’t really be construed as ‘tapping out’. Spike keeps the pressure up and Toxxic’s face starts to go purple, and as the Straight-Edge Sensation’s struggles weaken Jenkins leans down, his own blood dripping onto Toxxic’s face, to put his mouth near Toxxic’s ear. “I’ve beaten you, you son of a bitch…” Big mistake. “AAAAAAAARRRRRRRGGGGGGGGGHHHHHHHHHHH!!” Spike has finally put his head within grabbing distance, and two black-nailed hands flash up to fasten themselves onto his face. Toxxic digs his thumbs into Spike’s eyes, knowing as he does it that it’s his last hope of getting his former stablemate off him… and Spike releases his throttling grip! Hollywood scrambles off Toxxic, clawing at his streaming eyes and cursing audibly as Toxxic takes what seems like his first breath for hours, desperately trying to replace the oxygen in his lungs. Meanwhile Jenkins is fumbling his way across the ring, trying to get his bearings; unfortunately for Spike he knows that in this hardcore environment nowhere is safe, especially not for the temporarily blinded. “OK, I’m not sure we realised quite how much these two hated each other,” Pete says a little unsteadily. “Did we really want to put a hardcore grudge match on first?” Spike can’t see anything beyond a big light blur, meaning that he is at least in a better position than Han Solo fresh out of carbonite, but although Toxxic’s vision is clearing of the dancing black spots brought on by Spike’s attentions he can’t really force his body to move much. The Straight-Edge Sensation appears to have the muscle tone of wet tissue, but nonetheless he is trying to claw his way across the canvas to the nearest steel chair. Spike can either remember roughly where Toxxic is or he can hear the Straight-Edge Sensation’s attempts at movement, as the Hollywood Superstar starts to shuffle back towards his opponent with one hand outstretched to try and make contact. All Spike needs to do is grab Toxxic’s throat again and this should be over in a matter of seconds… but Toxxic’s hand has made contact with something too. A chair. “Look out-” Pete begins to shout, but it’s too late. Toxxic grabs and swings, knowing that Spike is behind him… *CRACK!* “Home run! Home run!” King yells. “That one right there was good enough for the SWF Softball Team!” “…the hell?” Pete replies, evidently not having been in touch with recent events. The Suicide King might have been exaggerating slightly about the shot’s effectiveness as Toxxic didn’t have much of a base to swing from and didn’t have time to aim either; the chair actually caromed off the top of Spike’s head, but the force of the blow was still enough to send the Hollywood Superstar sprawling. With a facial expression that clearly communicates the thought ‘bugger it, it’ll do’ Toxxic basically collapses on top of Spike and makes an attempt at hooking the leg, although the success of this endeavour is debateable. ONE! TWO!! THHHHHHHHHHHHHHHRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR- -but Spike kicks out! “YEEEEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!” “This man became the first person ever to kick out of the Franchise Tag,” Pete exclaims, “and he’s not ready to lose yet! It’s going to take more than that to beat Spike Jenkins!” “And Toxxic’s got more,” King snaps back. “Annie Eclectic became the first and only person to kick out of the Caffeine Bomb and Toxxic still beat her; not to mention he beat Mak Francis by a method that Spike never thought of!” “…and that is?” “Don’t get hit with the Franchise Tag in the first place!” Toxxic rolls off Spike and looks at the lights on the ceiling for a couple of seconds, trying to work out what he’s going to do now. However, the Straight-Edge Sensation doesn’t have much time for wool-gathering as a new sound reaches his ears. The fans have been popping for the big moves and weapon shots so far tonight, but now the sound level inside the Jakarta Coliseum is gradually increasing in a creschendo that’s likely to only mean one thing… “What’s he doing here!?” Suicide King yells. “He’s not due out here yet!” And King is right; he’s not due out here yet. Regardless, wandering down the entrance ramp is the man whom Toxxic probably least wants to see right now - the SWF’s new World Heavyweight Champion, Ejiro Fasaki. “E-JI-RO!” “E-JI-RO!” The chants ring around the arena as Toxxic squeezes his black-lined eyes shut and then opens them again in the fairly futile hope that the advancing Japanese-American will be gone; predictably, Ejiro is a little more persistent than your average boogeyman. “Er…” Pete says as the champion continues to approach the ring, “…he’s not stopping…” “…and it’s legal,” King finishes. “Shit,” he adds as an afterthought. Ejiro makes his way up the ring steps at a steady pace, then dips one hand into his trunks and pulls out his trust Memphis chain. The fans cheer the sight of the familiar foreign object and Fasaki pauses in wrapping it around his hand to point at Toxxic. The words are muted, but the meaning clear. “Is this your World Champion, MacDougal?” Suicide King yells in a fury as Ejiro finishes arming himself and steps through the ropes. “Not only does he cheat to win the most prestigious title in the business today, he interferes in his beaten opponent’s subsequent matches… for what? The hell of it?!” “I think you know exactly why Ejiro is down here,” Pete replies tensely. “He has stated that he wants to make Toxxic suffer for what he did to Melissa, and as we heard earlier Toxxic isn’t as cut up about losing the title as Ejiro hoped! I think the World Champion is out here to dish out a little more retribution, and he wants to see exactly how far he can push Toxxic before he snaps!” Toxxic struggles up to one knee, keeping both eyes firmly fixed on this new adversary. Ejiro unclips the World Title that is around his waist and lets it fall to the floor, then raises his chained hand high. “YEEEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAooooohhhhhh…” The reason the fans’ cheer has tailed out is simple; this is a hardcore match, and there are weapons lying around. Toxxic, showing the presence of mind that has made him such a domineering force in the company, has simply picked up his chair again. The Straight-Edge Sensation then uses it as a prop to raise himself to a standing position before taking up a stance not dissimilar to the softball batter Suicide King compared him to earlier… and grins lopsidedly at the World Champion, daring him to come within reach. “Hah! How’d you like it now things are even, Fasaki?” King shouts with a vicious joy. “Go on Toxxic, smash his skull in!” Toxxic cautiously advances towards Ejiro, taking care not to let himself fall off balance through weariness. Meanwhile Fasaki begins to circle slightly, looking for an opening. Ced Ordonez has apparently given up on trying to maintain any form of order and instead just stands back, presumably hoping that he’ll have a match left to come back to. Toxxic takes another step… *WHAM!* “YEEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!” …and Spike Jenkins floors him from behind! “No! That’s not fair,” King wails, “there’s two of them!” Indeed there are, but they don’t seem to necessarily be on exactly the same page. The moment Toxxic goes over Ejiro kicks him in the head before rolling the straight-edger over onto his back and drawing his right hand back for a chain-assisted punch, but Spike shoves the World Champion over! Fasaki pops back up to his feet, evidently angry but not quite ready to lash out at someone who after all is trying to hurt the same man as him… but that quickly changes as Spike shoves him in the chest, loudly demanding what the hell Ejiro is doing interfering in his match! Ejiro goes for a right hand but sees Spike stagger as he tries to cover up, so the World Champion just sneers and reaches out one hand to pieface Jenkins, sending the exhausted Hollywood Superstar toppling backwards. Fasaki then turns around to devote his full attention to Toxxic again… *BAM!* …and Spike flattens him from behind with an enzui-lariat! The crowd don’t seem to know whether to boo or cheer that move but Spike doesn’t care; he has no intention of letting someone else steal his thunder, World Champion or not, and having blindsided Ejiro down to the mat he proceeds to lay in the boots and kick Fasaki out under the bottom rope! Ejiro hits the arena floor clutching the back of his head, but as he starts to rise again SWF Security begin to flood down to the ring, presumably at the request of Tom Flesher to prevent any possible further injury to the SWF Champion! Ejiro tries to fight them off, first to get back into the ring and then to reach his title belt that still lies in one corner. Jenkins sees where the Rule is trying to get to and bends down to pick up the World Title, then laughs at Ejiro as he holds it up for it’s rightful owner to see. Moments later his laughter is cut short though as Toxxic has recovered enough to take him over backwards in a schoolboy pin! ONE! TWO!! THHHHHHHHHHHHHHRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRREEEEEEEEEEEEEEE- NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!! Spike kicks, and the arena erupts! Meanwhile Ced Ordonez hastily retrieves the World Title and hands it to a security guard who rushes it back to the struggling Ejiro as he is manhandled back up the entrance ramp. “HOL-LY-WOOD!” “HOL-LY-WOOD!” Jenkins is determined not to be taken by surprise again and even as he rolls back up to one knee he lashes out with one hand to slam a Shotei into Toxxic’s aching jaw! *CRACK!* The former World Champion slumps backwards and Jenkins continues his rise to his feet, then grabs his opponent by his hair and hauls him up before booting him in the gut. With that done Spike place Toxxic in a standing headscissors and points at the chair that the Brit dropped earlier… “Spike’s going for the Ratings Crash on the chair,” Pete gasps, “that’ll do it, no question!” Jenkins leans down and wraps both arms around Toxxic’s waist, then hoists upwards. The Straight-Edge Sensation’s body rises towards vertical… *WHAM!* …and both feet smash straight into Spike’s face as Toxxic desperately kicks out at his enemy! The unexpected blow causes Jenkins to release his grip and stagger back and Toxxic just manages to avoid landing on his head as he crashes back to the mat. Hollywood grabs his nose in pain and focuses two hate-filled eyes on his opponent as Toxxic scrabbles behind him for some sort of weapon… …Spike strides forwards… …and Toxxic brings his right hand around on a collision course with Spike’s temple. *BAM!!* “BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!” “Wha-” Pete gasps as Spike crumples bonelessly, but then the truth is revealed. “THE CHAIN! Toxxic just used Ejiro’s chain! Ejiro must have dropped it with Spike hit him with the lariat!” Toxxic looks at the weapon wrapped around his right fist and grins momentarily, then collapses to his knees and lays one arm over Spike’s chest. ONE! TWO!! “No, not like this!” Pete pleads. “Yes, like this’ll do fine!” King answers gleefully. THHHHHHHHHHHHHHRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!!! *DING-DING-DING!!* “GODDAMMIT!” Pete yells angrily. “Spike was so close! He had Toxxic right where he wanted him, and this, this-” “So he used the weapon of the man trying to take him out to beat the other guy trying to take him out,” Suicide King laughs. “Honestly, if that isn’t poetic justice then I don’t know what is!” Slowly and deliberately (not to mention painfully) Toxxic gets back to his feet, then carefully unwraps the chain from his fist. At the top of the ramp Ejiro Fasaki can be seen, held in place by security guards and with his eyes fixed on the Straight-Edge Sensation. Grinning lopsidedly, Toxxic raises the weapon into the air… “I think you dropped something!” “BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!” This prompts a new struggle from Fasaki, but Toxxic merely lays the chain carefully over the semi-conscious Spike Jenkins, then begins to gingerly climb out through the ring ropes to the floor as we FADE OUT

“Ladies and gentlemen, thank you for welcoming the SWF to your great country!” Funyon‘s voice booms over the PA system and prompts a spontaneous cheers from the fans in attendance. “Now,” the veteran ring announcer continues with the faintest hint of a smile, “our first match will be contested under HARDCORE RULES~!” The Smarktron abruptly whites out as the opening chord of ‘Rookie’ by Boy Sets Fire crashes out across the arena, the swiftly fades to black. As it does so jagged white letters flash up a familiar slogan: ‘PREPARE TO BE PROVED WRONG…’ “YOU TAPPED OUT!” “YOU TAPPED OUT!” The familiar chants start up almost immediately and continue on as the Smarktron shows notable moments from Toxxic’s career leading up to Mike Van Siclen being taken off a balcony and through a table with the Toxxic Shock Syndrome, the devastating landing timed to coincide with the stagewide blast of red pyro- *BOOOM!!* -that announces the arrival of the SWF’s premier straight-edger! “YOU TAPPED OUT!” “YOU TAPPED OUT!” Through the smoke and the pyro after-image comes a familiar spiky-haired figure wearing his customised England soccer shirt, glancing from side to side at the baying fans all around him. Toxxic just shrugs and heads on down to the ring, rolling under the bottom rope. “Introducing first,” Funyon booms, “from Nottingham, England and weighing in at 218lbs; he is the leader of Revolution Zero and the former SWF World Heavyweight Champion; the ‘Straight-Edge Sensation’… TOXXXXXX-IIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIC!!” “BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!” Funyon steps back as Toxxic advances towards him, but instead of doing his normal pose and setting off the ringpost pyros Toxxic instead snatches the ring mic from Funyon before motioning for his music to be cut. “Hmm,” Pete says, “I guess Toxxic wants to address the fans before his match. I suppose he might not be able to afterwards!” “YOU TAPPED OUT!” “YOU TAPPED OUT!” “Thank you,” Toxxic begins, “thank you all.” “YOU TAPPED OUT!” “I cordially invite you to go fuck yourselves.” “…?” “…BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!” “Did he just say that?” Suicide King asks. “Uh, I think so,” Longdogger Pete agrees, then shrugs. “Well, Thugg always used to get away with it, so…” “Yeah, but Thugg was a 400lb black man from ‘tha ghetto’,” Suicide King remarks, the quotation marks dropping audibly into place. “Are skinny white men from the UK allowed to drop the F-bomb on SWF TV?” This discussion notwithstanding, Toxxic appears to have succeeded in his aim; namely, cause the crowd to run out of breath by booing so he can have some space to talk in. “I know what you’re thinking,” Toxxic begins, pointing a black-nailed finger around at the fans in attendance. “You’re all thinking that I’m absolutely distraught about my loss on Lockdown to Ejiro Fasaki.” “YEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!” “You think that I am questioning myself and my ability.” “YEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!” “You know… you’re all rather amusingly wrong.” The Straight-Edge Sensation grins lopsidedly and leans back on the ropes. He is evidently still somewhat the worse for wear after his brutal match with Ejiro, but he’s still standing. In fact a certain tension seems to have drained from the Brit, even in the face of the crowd’s aggressive chanting. “YOU TAPPED OUT!” “YOU TAPPED OUT!” “I won’t deny that on Wednesday night I was feeling low,” Toxxic admits. “Actually, I was more feeling pain than anything else… but you catch my drift. And yeah, by rights I should be frothing at the mouth right now and demanding a rematch, wandering around and taking out my anger on innocent victims. Thing is, it’s not working out like that. I’m not angry. No… I’m interested.” That one surprises the crowd enough to shut them up for a moment. Even King and LDP just look at each other. “See Ejiro, I’m not sure if you’ve realised quite what you’ve done,” Toxxic begins, “but you’ve just destabilised the entire fed. For the first time since Genesis V, the World Title has nothing to do with me. I held it for three months after Genesis, and then Landon held it… but of course, Landon was after me, because that was the whole point of Martial Law. He was trying to take the belt because it was mine. Then of course,” Toxxic continues, his grin gradually widening, “Sacred won the belt from Landon. But Sacred was a member of Revolution Zero - my stable - when he won that title, and when he turned his back on us there was only ever going to be one man who would run him down and take it from him; me.” Whether or not the crowd believe what Toxxic is saying is uncertain, but the fans are rather subdued as they listen to the Straight-Edge Sensation expound his own peculiar logic. Meanwhile, even though Toxxic should be declaring war on Ejiro and all he stands for, the Brit’s mischievous grin just keeps growing. “You’ve taken all of that on your own shoulders now, Ejiro,” Toxxic states, “and I’m really rather interested to see if you can hack it. For one thing, you didn’t even manage a month last time you were World Champion before you were beaten by Danny Williams; a man I beat in our only one-on-one meeting,” Toxxic reminds the audience. “For another thing, you were coming for me because I hurt your sister. That’s fair enough, and that will have added a lot of fuel to your fire… but can you keep it going?” The Straight-Edge Sensation raises his hand and begins ticking off names. “Mak Francis, Landon Maddix, Danny Williams, Todd Cortez, Johnny Dangerous, Jay Hawke, Li’l Buck, Scott Pretzler, Spike Jenkins - hey, even the Insane Luchador’s doing pretty well for himself! Are you gonna be able to bring the fire for all of them, Ejiro? Are you gonna be able to pull out all the stops, to give everything you have each and every time? That’s what it’s going to take to keep that belt! That’s what I had to do!” Toxxic has begun to raise his voice, but the Brit seems to calm himself down, takes a couple of deep breaths and then continues in a more measured tone. “But there’s more, Ejiro. You see, you achieved a fairly complete victory on Lockdown. You beat me and took my title,” Toxxic states, “but that’s not all. You became the second person ever to make me tap out. You busted up my hand, you busted up my knee, you busted me open. And then, after it was all over, you stood over me in the ring and told me that ‘WE AIN’T DONE!’” “YEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!” “Ejiro… what more do you want from me?” Toxxic asks. “You’ve already had more than anyone else has ever got, but that isn’t enough. You’ve said that you’re going to ‘tear me raw’, that you’re going to destroy me until you find out what sort of a man I am, and I want you to think very, very carefully about my next question.” The Straight-Edge Sensation composes himself, then looks up at the entrance ramp towards the backstage area. “Do you really want to find out?” Toxxic grins again, but this one doesn’t have the same mischievous edge as before. The former World Champion appears to be laughing at himself as much as anything else. “Odd, isn’t it,” he starts again, “that I’ve been trying to hide the sort of person I am for the last few months. I didn’t want to be associated with the sort of things I used to do, but now it seems you want to push me back towards them. Maybe that is your revenge in some way, but I guess you deserve to be warned just like anyone else.” The straight-edger straightens his back and begins to speak almost formally. “Ejiro - you’ve taken a lot from me, and you want to keep taking. Trouble is sunshine, there ain’t a lot more you can take before I start taking back. You’ve said ‘we ain’t done’, but I recommend you leave it, mate. I’m not chasing that title, I’m not demanding a rematch - I’m only 22, there’s plenty of time if I want a fourth World Title reign. But if you really, really want to go at this again then you will find out the sort of man I am. You’ll find out why there’s no Nathaniel Kibagami anymore,” Toxxic continues with a growing note of menace in his voice, “why there’s no Justin Bowers. Why there’s no Sacred. Why Landon Maddix spent a month after From The Fire in a bloody neckbrace. Why the Urban Empire and Martial Law devoted themselves to taking me down. Why Mike Van Siclen put his career on the line for a chance to hurt me - not stop me, not retire me, just hurt me - by taking the World Title from me. And Ejiro…” Toxxic pauses to glance around at the fans with his dark-lined eyes. “…you will find out why each and every one of these men failed.” “BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!” “Fans, we’ve got to go to a commercial break,” Longdogger Pete says, “but stay with us, we’ll have Toxxic vs. Spike Jenkins when we come back!” FADE OUT

If I don't have the tag match by 12:30 AM EST, the show's going to be up tomorrow afternoon at around 3:00. People involved in high-word-limit matches will be PM'ed; everyone else's word limit will be lowered to compensate.

Actually, we pay no attention to the shows and as such had no idea that they'd lost.

My only real problem with the film was the ridiculous amount of times someone grabbed onto a ledge to save themselves. I lost count at six.

Check your matches, there's been several marker changes.

See, and I was thinking I could be pitcher and Tom could be catcher. Yeah, I said it.

I see you reading, Tony. Say something.

Damn, what an awesome card.

Wait, out of the four H-Town guys you think Lil' Flip is the one with talent? Are you retarded?

It's really not that bad. I always find myself smiling watching it.