Chuck Woolery

“Ladies and gentlemen, I am here backstage in the Alamodome with the World Heavyweight Champion, Toxxic,” Ben Hardy says, smiling into the camera before turning to the straight-edger standing beside him. “Toxxic, on Smarkdown you expressed your preference for facing Spike Jenkins tonight, but you didn’t get your wish as you are instead squaring off against Mak Francis. How do you feel about that?” “Doesn’t bother me,” Toxxic replies, grinning lopsidedly at the interviewer. “Y’see, Mak came into my dressing room after my match at Slay Ride, giving it all this about the mistakes I’d made against Landon and generally coming off as some big shot. Then he goes and faces Sacred at Clusterfuck and gets himself disqualified by pasting the Aussie bugger in the head with a chair repeatedly.” The Straight-Edge Sensation laughs briefly, then composes himself. “Thing is, Mak puts himself up as some wrestling guru, the super-cool Messiah of the Mat, but in reality he can lose it just as quickly as anyone else,” Toxxic explains. “Now I know Mak is a great wrestler, but you need more than that to beat me in the ring; you need focus.” Toxxic taps the side of his head a couple of times to make his point. “I’ve been in more World Title matches than anyone else on this roster. You can call it ‘getting in the zone’ or whatever other cheesy bollocks you want, but I am comfortable in there now. I know exactly what I can do, and perhaps more importantly I know what I can’t do, so I won’t try. Mak’s last shot ended in failure, and even though he caused it himself instead of getting beaten clean, that’s gonna be preying on his mind.” The World Champion raises his fingers and begins ticking them off. “Flesher and Janus. Dace Night. Johnny Dangerous. Mike Van Siclen. Andrea Montgomery. Carnage. Sacred. Landon Maddix. Todd Cortez. Those are all the people I have faced and beaten in World Title matches,” Toxxic grins. “That’s a lot of matches Ben, and Mak knows it. And think about this as well; since Mak Francis started wrestling again, he has never seen me beaten one-on-one. Think that’s gonna help his mental state any? I doubt it.” The Straight-Edge Sensation laughs and turns away to go, but Ben Hardy clears his throat again. “Er, Toxxic?” the bespectacled interviewer begins, causing the World Champion to pause and turn around again. “I was just wondering if I could ask you about the whereabouts of a couple of Revolution Zero members?” “Go ahead,” Toxxic replies, looking slightly confused. “Well first of all, I’d like to know about the condition of Sean Davis,” Hardy says. “We all know about the tragic accident that occurred-” “-that was no bloody accident Ben, and you know it!” Toxxic snaps. “Spike crippled Sean deliberately, and believe me when I say I will get payback out of his sorry carcass! But since you asked,” the World Champion continues, calming down slightly, “Sean’s doing OK. He’s still in hospital - it was a compound fracture, which wasn’t properly diagnosed at first - but he can walk around in a fashion. Of course, Marcus Washington tends to be with him, although he still handles our contracts.” “And your, erm, girlfriend Jet?” Hardy asks. “We haven’t seen her around much recently either?” “No, you probably wouldn’t have,” Toxxic confirms, eyeing Hardy with faint amusement. “You see, Jet’s stepped up her wrestling training at the SF developmental camp, so she can’t be with me on the road anymore. But don’t worry Ben, she’ll be back soon enough… and when she is, I’ll make sure to tell her you asked about her.” The Brit reaches out to pat Hardy on the cheek, then shoulders his World Title belt and saunters off. Hardy looks vaguely embarrassed, then turns round and glares at the camera. “What are you looking at?” The shot wobbles slightly as Gus shrugs. Hardy suddenly seems to remember that they’re still live, and clears his throat. “Erm, yes… fans, we now send you back to the ring where Johnny Dangerous and Landon Maddix are about to brawl~! Take it away, Longdogger!”

The camera focuses on the ladder that has been erected in the center of the aisle leading down to the ring. Once the image appears on the SmarkTron, the fans break into a loud cheer: RAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH! “What a night we’ve had so far,” says an excited Longdogger Pete. “And coming up next is the second of our four scheduled championship matches!” “That’s right,” agrees the Suicide King. “For the first time since Genesis, the World Cruiserweight Title will be decided in a Ladder Match!” “It’s one of the most unpredictable kinds of matches in all of the SWF!” adds Pete. “The kind of match that’s tailor-made for the fast-paced wrestlers in the Cruiserweight Division! And when you’re talking about fast, King, you’ve got to talk about the Wildchild!” “Well, Wildchild may have the speed advantage, but Scott Pretzler knows how to beat this guy!” replies King. “I talked to him about the Workrate Report that he wrote just after losing the Cruiserweight Title to Wildchild, and he told me that, with what he’s learned about how Wildchild wrestles in the matches they’ve already had together, he’s confident that he knows how to beat Wildchild!” “He may well know how to beat Wildchild in a wrestling match,” counters LDP, “but you have to throw all that out the window in a match like this! Scott Pretzler may not think too highly of Wildchild’s workrate, but he’s going to find that the Cruiserweight Champion is a handful, especially in a match like this!” “I’ll grant you that,” concedes King. “Wildchild definitely has more ladder match experience than Pretzler, but look at it this way: over a year ago at Clusterfuck, Tom Flesher clearly had more experience than Wildchild going into their ladder match, and Wildchild was able to surprise a lot of people by coming away with the win.” “That’s right,” agrees Pete. “A lot of people considered that match to be a symbolic passing of the torch in terms of Cruiserweight wrestling, with Tom Flesher, whom many considered to be the top Cruiserweight of days past, handing the mantle to the Bahama Bomber! And Wildchild, who has more ladder match experience than any other active wrestler in the SWF, has to feel confident going into this match!” “Wildchild might be confident,” counters King, “but it only takes one ladder match to break through. Remember, the more experienced wrestler doesn’t always win, and you can’t keep a talent like Scott Pretzler down forever; cream always rises to the top!” “Scott Pretzler is an outstanding wrestler,” says Pete, “but it remains to be seen whether he can translate his style to a match like this, so let’s go to Funyon in the ring!” The SWF’s steadfast ring announcer climbs into the ring, having changed for the third time tonight, this time into a royal blue tuxedo with a fuchsia bow tie and matching cummerbund. Upon receiving his cue, he raises the microphone to his lips and begins his introductions: “Ladies and gentlemen,” he says, “the following contest is for the SWF WORLD CRUISERWEIGHT CHAMPIONSHIP…” RAAAAAAAAAH! “And,” continues Funyon, “it is… A LADDER MATCH!” RAAAAAAAAAH! Suddenly, the stirring notes of Beethoven’s flood the Alamodome, heralding the arrival of Scott Pretzler. The fans begin booing in earnest as the Critic steps out onto the stage. “Introducing first,” says Funyon, “the challenger! From Toronto, Ontario, Canada, weighing two hundred twenty-six pounds… the ‘Critic,’ SCOTT PUH-RETZLER!” Pretzler stands at the head of the aisle; he stops and stands with his hands at his hips, looking down at the fans with disdain. “There he is,” says Pete, as Pretzler strolls down the aisle. “The former World Cruiserweight Champion!” Pretzler pauses midway down the aisle to look at the ladder. He places his hand on a rung, shaking it to assure himself of the ladder’s stability. “The once and future champion,” corrects King. “I’m going on record right now, and predicting that Scott Pretzler will regain the Cruiserweight Title here tonight!” Pretzler climbs onto the ring and steps in front of the camera, waving two fingers in front of his face. “All right,” says Pete, as Pretzler’s music fades out, “the two fingers of Scott Pretzler, showing that he’ll be come a two-time champion, should he win here tonight! But, I can tell you this much, King: as much as Scott Pretzler wants to win the Cruiserweight Title…” ATTENTION! “WILDCHILD WANTS TO KEEP IT!” finishes Pete. RAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH! ALL YOU NIGGAZ! 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… Only a solitary spotlight illuminates the Alamodome, flashing off and on in rhythmic time to Redman’s “Let’s Get Dirty” as it throbs melodiously throughout the arena. Forty thousand fans come to their feet as the Bahama Bomber bursts onto the stage… RAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH! “They’re on their feet here for the Wildchild!” shouts LDP, as Wildchild races back and forth across the stage, waving his arms in the air. “His opponent,” booms Funyon, “from Morgan’s Bluff, Andros, Commonwealth of the Bahamas, weighing two hundred fourteen pounds, here is the SWF’s reigning… AND DEFENDING… WORLD CRUISERWEIGHT CHAMPION… THE WIIIIILDCHIIIIILD!” Wildchild walks down the aisle at an uncharacteristically deliberate pace, stopping in front of the ladder and climbing up one side. RAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH! Wildchild stops at the top of the ladder and removes the Cruiserweight Title from his waist, raising it above his head and staring at his opponent, who glares back from inside the ring. “Folks, you can cut the electricity in here with a knife!” shouts Pete, as Wildchild climbs down the ladder. We’re in for a tremendous battle for the Cruiserweight Title!” Wildchild continues his relaxed pace to the ring, slapping hands with the fans clamoring the barricade as Redman and DJ Kool’s voices pulse throughout the Alamodome: IF YOU PUMPIN’ THIS ONE IN YA’ TRUCK (LET’S GET DIRTY!), SAY ‘LET’S GET DIRTY!’ (L-L-LET’S GET DIRTY!) AND YOU REALLY DON’T GIVE A *WHAT?* (L-L-LET’S GET DIRTY!) SAY ‘LET’S GET DIRTY!’ (L-L-LET’S GET DIRTY!) EVERYBODY GET YA’ HANDS UP! (L-L-LET’S GET DIRTY!) SAY ‘LET’S GET DIRTY!’ (L-L-LET’S GET DIRTY!) IF YOU AIN’T COME TO PARTY, *SHUT UP!* (L-L-LET’S GET DIRTY!) SAY ‘LET’S GET DIRTY…’ Wildchild somersaults into the ring and rolls to his feet as the lights come back on, turning to face Pretzler to prevent any threat of a sneak attack, before raising the World Cruiserweight Title above his head once more. “This match has been several weeks in the making,” says LDP. “Two contrasting styles who match up well against each other, but you have to admit that this match favors the Wildchild, King!” “Everybody knows what Wildchild can do in a ladder match,” concedes King, “while few, if any, know what Scott Pretzler is capable of… But I think that works to the challenger’s advantage! Pretzler’s an unknown commodity; there’s nothing that Wildchild could have done to prepare for this match, other than hope that his usual offense will be enough to carry him through. On the other hand, you KNOW that Pretzler has done his homework on Wildchild’s ladder matches in the SWF and in the JL; he’s got a gameplan, you can count on it!” Wildchild holds the Cruiserweight Title in front of him with both hands, looking nervously at his reflection in the polished gold. He brings the belt to his lips for a kiss before surrendering it to referee Ronald “Red” Herrington. “That’s right,” quips King, as Herrington walks to the center of the ring with the Cruiserweight Title, “kiss the title goodbye, Clown-boy, because you’re never gonna see it again!” Herrington slides the band of the belt through the solid metal ring attached to the harness and secures the hasp. He then tugs on the bottom of the belt in order to make sure that it won’t fall off, before motioning to the ring technicians to raise the harness. Wildchild and Pretzler both glance skyward as they watch the belt ascend towards the rafters. “Well, King,” says LDP, as the belt continues to rise, “as of this moment, Wildchild, for all intents and purposes, has lost the Cruiserweight Title!” “That’s right,” agrees King. “The only way he leaves San Antonio as the World Cruiserweight Champion is by climbing the ladder; this is one of the few types of matches in which the champion does not enjoy the ‘Champion’s advantage,’ and that’s one more thing that works in the favor of Pretzler. I’m telling you, MacDougal, the title’s going to change hands tonight, I can feel it!” Once the belt reaches its intended suspended height, Red Herrington exits the ring, no longer needed, and signals the timekeeper to ring the bell, signifying the start of the match: DING! DING! DING! “Bell’s gone,” shouts Pete. “It’s time to get down to bid’ness!” Wildchild and Pretzler continue to look up at the Cruiserweight Title as they walk towards the center of the ring, each vaguely aware of the proximity of their opponent. Once they bump into each other underneath the belt, they turn their attention towards each other, talking trash about who’s going to come away from this match the victor. “I wish we had a mike on those guys,” Pete says idly. “I’d like to know what those two are saying to each other!” Whatever it is that they’re saying to each other, Pretzler finally has enough, and he raises both hands to Wildchild’s chest, before shoving him backwards! BOOOOOOOOOO! Wildchild stumbles backwards a few steps, and then responds by lunging towards Pretzler and shoving him back! RAAAAAAAAAAH! Both men step towards each other once more and cock their arms back to punch each other: BAP! WHAM! BAP! WHAM! WHAM! WHAM! Pretzler gets the better of the fisticuffs, and then shifts into a side headlock, causing Wildchild to push him across the ring to get free. Wildchild bellies out as the Critic bounces off the ropes, and then leaps into the air to evade him with a leapfrog as he rebounds a second time. Wildchild leapfrogs Pretzler as he bounces off the ropes a third time, and thrusts his leg into the air as he anticipates the Critic’s return, but Scott grabs onto the top rope and stops his own momentum, just narrowly missing Wildchild’s foot! Pretzler waves his finger at the Bahama Bomber as if to say, “I don’t think so!” “Wildchild misses with the superkick,” says Pete. “Pretzler hung on to the ropes; he knew it was coming!” “He had to,” adds King. “Pretzler has that move well-scouted; he knows that if Wildchild can nail him with that, or that Caribbean Cutter, he’s going to be free meat for that Wild Ride!” Wildchild and Pretzler lock up in a collar-and-elbow tie-up, and Pretzler pushes Wildchild back into the corner Scott releases his hold on Wildchild, only to try and catch him sleeping with a right cross, but the Bahama Bomber avoids him easily, ducking behind Pretzler and drawing his right arm back as Pretzler spins around… BAP! … Snapping his head back with a lightning-fast jab! BAP! BAP! BAP! BAP! BAP! Wildchild lights Pretzler up with rights and lefts before grabbing him by the wrist and whipping him across the ring, only for Scott to reverse. Wildchild leaps into the air as he approaches the corner and plants his hands on the top turnbuckle, springing backwards to vault over what he presumes to be Scott’s charging body, but the Critic waits patiently behind him trapping him in an inverted front facelock! “Tildebang!” shouts King, anticipating Pretzler’s finisher, but the Bahama Bomber immediately pushes himself away, sprawling out of Scott’s grip and sliding all the way out of the ring.! “Scott Pretzler was a fraction of a second away from applying the Tildebang Driver,” says Pete. “And Wildchild got out of there in a hurry!” “Yes he did,” agrees King. “Both men trying to catch their opponent off guard with a quick finisher, but they’ve obviously both done their homework!” Wildchild rolls back into the ring and locks up with Pretzler, quickly taking advantage by grabbing Scott’s arm and twisting it into an arm wringer. He manages to give it one more twist before Pretzler reverses. The Critic twists Wildchild’s right arm into an arm wringer, and then draws his arm back… SMACK! “WHOO!” … Blasting Wildchild’s chest with a vicious reverse knife-edge chop! SMACK! “WHOO!” SMACK! “WHOO!” SMACK! “WHOO!” Pretzler tries to wind Wildchild’s arm up again, but the Tropical Tumbler pops him in the face with a sharp left jab! BAP! BAP! BAP! BAP! BAP! BAP! BAP! Wildchild continues to jab Pretzler until he releases his hold on the armbar, and then increases the intensity of his assault, hammering the Critic with rights and lefts until he forces him back into a neutral corner. Wildchild grabs Pretzler by the wrist and whips him across the ring, but Scott reverses, rifling him hard into the turnbuckles instead! Pretzler charges towards Wildchild to follow up with a running lariat… CRASH! … But the Bahama Bomber hooks his arm underneath the Critic’s and flings him out of the ring with a sensational hiptoss! HOLY SHIT! HOLY SHIT! HOLY SHIT! HOLY SHIT! Wildchild races across the ring as Pretzler stumbles to his feet, picking up speed as he bounces off the ropes before leaping into the air, twisting as he flies over the top rope… SPLASH! … Crashing into Pretzler with a corkscrew Tope con Hilo! DUB CEE! DUB CEE! DUB CEE! DUB CEE! “Beautiful move by the Wildchild!” exclaims Pete. “What amazing athleticism!” Wildchild pounds Pretzler repeatedly in the face before pulling him to his feet and whipping him across the arena floor, but the Critic reverses, sending Wildchild towards the corner… CLANG! … And bouncing off the solid steel stairs! “Pretzler sends Wildchild hard into the ropes,” shouts Pete, as Scott walks around the ring. “And he’s going for the ladder!” Pretzler staggers up the aisle, his eyes locked on the ladder, but before he can reach it, Wildchild recovers and races after him, leaping onto the Critic’s back and knocking him down to the floor! Wildchild springs to his feet and measures Pretzler as he rolls onto his back, nailing him between the eyes with a lightning-fast fistdrop! “Wildchild can thank his incredible speed for being able to keep Scott Pretzler from reaching the ladder!” shots LDP. Wildchild pulls Pretzler to his feet and leads him to the ring by the hair… BANG! … Slamming his head against the ring apron! He slides into the ring and reaches through the ropes, pulling Pretzler onto the apron. Wildchild traps Scott in a front facelock and then reaches down to hook his leg, and tries to pull him into the ring with a suplex, but the Critic fights back! Wildchild tries to suplex him a second time, but Pretzler reverses… CRASH! … Sending Wildchild over the top rope and down to the arena floor with a tremendous suplex! OOOOOOOOOOH! “Big time suplex by Scott Pretzler,” cheers King, as Pretzler rolls back in underneath the bottom rope. “He’s got Wildchild seeing stars after that one,” agrees LDP. “He can really do some damage now!” “You know what I’d do?” asks King. “I’d try to tie Wildchild up in the ropes, and then go for that ladder! Pretzler glances up towards the title, but then happens to notice Wildchild crawling up the aisle towards the ladder. He climbs out of the ring and walks briskly towards the Bahama Bomber, leaps into the air… WHAM! … And drops an elbow into the small of Wildchild’s back! Pretzler quickly returns to his feet, and stomps Wildchild in the head as he tries to push himself to his knees. He then pulls the Tropical Tumbler to his feet and grabs him by the back of the head, leading him to the edge of the ring and tossing him underneath the bottom rope. Wildchild scrambles to his feet and tries to gather himself inside the ring, only to be knocked back down by a stiff right cross! Pretzler quickly pulls Wildchild to his feet and whips him across the ring, but Wildchild surprises him with a reversal! The Caribbean Cruiser lowers his head to deliver a back-body drop as Pretzler rebounds off the ropes, but the Critic slams a double axe-handle into his back! Wildchild bounces up, clutching his back in pain, and Pretzler spins him around, trapping him in an inverted front facelock. “He’s got him hooked,” shouts King. “He’ll get it this time!” Scott grabs Wildchild by the leg and lifts him up into his patented Tildebang Driver, but the Human Hurricane instinctively rolls over Pretzler’s shoulder, landing on his feet behind the Critic, and trapping Pretzler in a waistlock. Wildchild pushes Pretzler towards the ropes, releasing him before he reaches the edge of the ring and leaping into the air as he bounces backwards off the ropes… CRACK! … Blasting Pretzler with a dropkick in the kidneys! Wildchild races towards the edge of the ring, leaping onto the top rope as Scott staggers backwards and curling into a ball as he springs back into the ring… CRACK! … And knocking him over with his patented Pinball attack! Wildchild pulls Pretzler to his feet and whips him into the ropes, but the Critic reverses easily. Wildchild comes streaking off the ropes and Pretzler fails to compensate for his speed, meaning that he is unable to move out of the way when Wildchild charges back… CRACK! … And the two men’s heads collide as they slam into each other! “Double noggin-knocker in the center of the ring!” shouts Pete. “Both men are down!” “Neither man has been able to establish control yet in this match,” adds King. “We could see our first major turning point in this match right now!” Wildchild rolls onto his knees first, and begins to stand up. He pursues Pretzler into the corner and hammers him with a few weary right hands, before grabbing him by the wrist and whipping him across the ring, only for Scott to reverse, sending him slamming into the turnbuckles instead! Pretzler grabs Wildchild as he staggers out of the corner, whipping him across the ring, and then charges towards him as he bounces out of the other corner… WHACK! … Knocking him flat on his ass with at running European Uppercut! Pretzler loses his balance from the force of his blow, falling down beside Wildchild! Sensing an opportunity, Scott rolls out of the ring and stumbles up the aisle towards the ladder. “He’s got it!” shouts King, as the Critic folds the ladder up. “Pretzler’s going to make his play for the title right now!” Wildchild pulls himself to a seated position, and then scrambles to his feet as he sees Pretzler walking towards the ring with the ladder in hand. He runs towards the edge of the ring, picking up speed as he bounces off the ropes and dives feet-first towards the ropes as Pretzler places the ladder up on the apron… WHOOSH! … But the Critic anticipates his attack and pulls the ladder out of the way, causing Wildchild to slide past him out onto the arena floor. Before Wildchild can plan a second attack, Pretzler rushes in towards him… WHACK! … And knocks him to the arena floor with a European Uppercut! “Excellent defensive wrestling by Scott Pretzler!” cheers King. “He saw that baseball slide coming the whole time, and suckered Wildchild into a trap!” Pretzler slides into the ring and scrambles to his feet, pulling the ladder towards the center of the ring and raising it off the canvas, setting it up underneath the belt. “Here we go!” shouts King, as Pretzler begins to climb the ladder. “Two-time Cruiserweight Champion!” Pretzler only gets a few rungs up the ladder, however, before Wildchild slides into the ring, pushing the ladder over and knocking Pretzler down to the mat! Wildchild folds the ladder up and lifts it to shoulder level with a clean-and-jerk. He waits for Pretzler to get back to his feet before swinging to his right with the ladder, only for the Critic to duck underneath it… CLANG! … But Wildchild follows through with his swing, and Pretzler stands up just in time to be smacked in the face with the other side of the ladder! RAAAAAAAAAAH! “Pretzler got out of the way of that ladder swing,” cries Pete, “but he didn’t plan on the backlash! And now Wildchild’s setting the ladder up!” Wildchild positions the ladder in the center of the ring and begins to climb: One rung… Two rungs… Three rungs… Four… As Wildchild nears the halfway point of the ladder, he sees Pretzler getting to his feet. Realizing that he’ll need to take on a different strategy, he waits for Pretzler to stand fully erect before leaping off the ladder, landing on Scott’s shoulders and locking his legs around the Critic’s neck as he arches back… SLAM! … Slamming Scott to the canvas with a breathtaking Dragonrana! DUB CEE! DUB CEE! DUB CEE! DUB CEE! “Spectacular maneuver by the Wildchild!” shouts LDP. “He just hit Scott Pretzler with a hurricanrana from off the ladder! Unbelievable!” Wildchild folds the ladder and lifts it up as Pretzler gets to his feet, charging towards him with the ladder extended… CLANG! … And nailing the Critic in the chest with a ladder shot that sends him tumbling out of the ring, and down to the arena floor! “Wildchild has definitely become the aggressor in the last few moments,” says Pete, as Wildchild stands the ladder up near the corner. “And what’s he going to do now?” Wildchild climbs quickly to the top of the ladder, steadying himself as down, almost twenty-five feet below, to see Scott Pretzler getting to his feet. Without a moment’s hesitation, Wildchild leaps off the ladder, spinning and twisting through the air as he falls… SPLASH! … And crashes into the Critic with a corkscrew moonsault! DUB CEE! DUB CEE! DUB CEE! DUB CEE! “Moonsault!” exclaims Pete. “Moonsault off the ladder! He must have been thirty feet in the air, King!” “Oh, he was not!” rebukes King. “That ladder’s barely even fifteen feet tall!” Wildchild uses the apron to pull himself to his feet as Pretzler tries to crawl away up the aisle, so he gives chase, leaping over the Critic and snaring him by the head as he sails through the air… CRACK! … Grinding Scott’s face against the concrete floor with a flipping neck snap! Wildchild drags Pretzler across the floor and lays him parallel with the edge of the ring. He makes a quick mental assessment of the distance between Pretzler and the apron before darting back into the ring and folding the ladder back up. “Uh-oh,” groans Pete, as Wildchild lowers the ladder over the top rope and down to the floor. “I don’t like the way this is going!” The Human Hurricane leans the ladder against the ropes and then races across the ring, leaping into the air as he rebounds and grabbing onto the ladder as he sails over the top rope and falls down… Down… DOWN! CRASH! … Onto Scott Pretzler’s chest, smashing the ladder into the Critic’s ribs! HOLY SHIT! HOLY SHIT! HOLY SHIT! HOLY SHIT! “Oh my God!” shrieks LDP, as Wildchild clutches his own chest in pain. “That move looks like it even hurt Wildchild! But, I’ll bet it hurt Pretzler that much more!” “That guy’s a lunatic!” growls King, as Wildchild rolls off of Pretzler. “He’s a menace to society! I don’t like him; he needs to be suspended!” “Well, while King tries to lower his blood pressure,” jokes Pete, “let’s get back to the action!” Wildchild crawls away from Pretzler and pulls himself to his feet, stumbling clumsily back down the aisle until he arrives at edge of the ring, leaning heavily against the apron while he catches his breath. He then bends down to pick up the ladder, pulling it down the aisle and leaning it up against the ropes, before rolling back into the ring. Wildchild begins to pull the ladder back into the ring, but Pretzler’s hand seems to appear out of nowhere, latching onto his ankle! “It’s Pretzler,” shrieks LDP. “Where did he come from?” “He must have crawled all the way down the aisle,” remarks King. “He’s not going to let Wildchild get away with what he just did!” No longer able to concentrate on getting the ladder into the ring, Wildchild reaches down to try and get Pretzler off of him, but the Critic locks both hands around Wildchild’s ankle and pulls with the ferocity of a bulldog, dragging him underneath the bottom rope… WHUMP! … And dumping him unceremoniously out onto the floor! Pretzler leaps atop Wildchild and begins pummeling him mercilessly with hard right hands! “This is horrible,” moans King. “As much as I’m enjoying seeing Pretzler put a beating on Wildchild, it’s such a shame that he’s allowed Clown-boy to drag him down to the depths with his garbage wrestling!” “You should be happy that Pretzler has shown a willingness to adapt his style in order to try and win this match, King,” counters Pete. “What did you think he was going to do, wrestle his way up the ladder? This is a fight!” Pretzler pulls Wildchild to his feet and leads him to the ring barricade, grabbing him by the back of the head as he tries to slam him face-first into the hard rubber, but the Bahama Bomber slams his hands against the barricade to keep his head from getting bashed in! Pretzler tries a second time, and Wildchild blocks again, stunning him with an elbow to his bruised chest! As Pretzler staggers away, Wildchild lowers into a crouch, measuring the Critic for a superkick, but Scott sees him out of the corner of his eye, and catches Wildchild’s foot as he spins around. He clutches Wildchild’s ankle firmly as he twists in the air… SLAM! … And torques Wildchild’s knee unmercifully with a Dragon Screw Leg Whip! “Beautiful Dragon Screw by Pretzler!” gushes King, as the Critic staggers around the ringside area. “I love the way that Pretzler has come prepared for this match, knowing that superkick is probably Wildchild’s most dangerous weapon, since it’s one of the few moves in his arsenal that doesn’t require a head start or some kind of setup, and he’s completely taken it away from him thus far in the match!” “It looks like Pretzler is going for the standby ladder,” notes LDP, seeing Scott reaching underneath the ring. “Perhaps he feels as though that ladder might prove to be unstable, after Wildchild pretty much used it as a weapon against him!” Pretzler pulls the standby ladder from underneath the ring and leans it up against the apron before pushing it underneath the bottom rope. He slides into the ring and scrambles to his feet, dragging the ladder into position underneath the belt, but before he can start to climb, Wildchild pulls himself back to a standing position outside the ring. “Pretzler had better move fast,” warns Pete. “Wildchild is back on his feet!” The Tropical Tumbler slides into the ring and scrambles to his feet, grabbing Pretzler by the tights as he reaches the midway point of the ladder, and pulls him back down to the canvas! He then runs to the ropes, leaping into the air as he rebounds, before Pretzler has time to react… WHACK! … And knocking the Critic off his feet with his patented leg lariat! Wildchild picks himself up and begins to climb the ladder as Pretzler rolls towards the edge of the ring. “This could be it!” shouts Pete. “Pretzler’s on his back near the ropes, and Wildchild has a head start; can he catch him?” Wildchild looks up towards the Cruiserweight Title. “Only eight rungs to go,” he thinks to himself… Seven rungs… Six rungs… Five rungs… “He’s up,” shouts King, as the Critic uses the ropes to pull himself to his feet. “Hurry up, Scott; he’s almost there!” Four rungs… Three… Before Wildchild can proceed any further, however, Pretzler lunges towards the ladder, tipping it over! Wildchild’s knee becomes tangled between the rungs as the ladder falls… CLANG! … Leaving him helpless as the ladder crushes his knee against the canvas! OOOOOOOOOOH! A loud hiss echoes throughout the Alamodome as over forty thousand fans gasp at the sight of Wildchild’s knee being mashed between the hard canvas and the unforgiving ladder! “Oh my lord,” groans Pete. “Wildchild may have torn his knee on that fall, King!” “And it couldn’t happen to a nicer guy,” crows King. “I’m going to love seeing Pretzler take this guy apart!” Pretzler gets to his feet and walks over to the ladder, folding it up with Wildchild’s leg still caught between it. “Pretzler just closed that ladder over Wildchild’s knee,” cries Pete. “What’s he going to do now?” CRUNCH! Pretzler stomps down hard on the ladder, smashing Wildchild’s knee! He then backs into the ropes, getting a running start as he heads back towards the ladder… CRUNCH! … And stomps the ladder again! “This is hideous!” spits LDP. “Somebody has to put a stop to this!” “He had it coming,” counters King, as Pretzler continues his vicious assault. “Plus, this is brilliant strategy on the part of Scott Pretzler; Wildchild’s speed and agility give him the clear advantage in a match like this, so you take the man’s legs from him, and you take his advantage away!” Pretzler finally pulls Wildchild’s leg from out of the ladder rungs, but is far from finished dispensing pain, as he rolls the Caribbean Cruiser on top of the ladder, before lifting his injured leg up… CLANG! … And slamming it against the solid steel ladder! The Critic grabs Wildchild once more by the leg slamming that same injured knee against the ladder a second time! Pretzler picks up the ladder as Wildchild rolls around on the mat, clutching his knee. The Bahama Bomber struggles to get back to his feet, but the Critic stalks behind him, swinging the ladder… SMASH! … And clipping him from behind in the knee! Wildchild falls back down to the canvas and Pretzler drops the ladder in the center of the ring. He pulls Wildchild to his feet and scoops him up off the canvas, carrying him over towards the center of the ring… CLANG! … And slamming him, legs-first, down onto the ladder! BOOOOOOOOOO! “I can’t believe that Pretzler can be so vicious!” spits LDP. “He’s going to cripple the Wildchild!” “I know,” replies King. “It’s poetic, isn’t it? Pretzler is going to cripple Wildchild, a man who has ended or derailed many promising careers with his recklessness in the ring, and he’s going to take the one thing that Wildchild cares about most in the process!” Pretzler backs into a corner, still having a little trouble breathing, due to the injuries sustained to his chest. Looking down with contempt at Wildchild, he walks past him and over to the ladder, where he bends down to pick it up, and carries it over to a nearby corner, wedging it horizontally between the middle and top ropes. “Pretzler is definitely pulling out all the stops, King, I’ll give you that,” concedes Pete. “He’s doing his best to make sure that Wildchild can’t climb that ladder!” Wildchild crawls towards the edge of the ring, trying feebly to use the ropes to pull himself up, but Pretzler closes in on him methodically, stomping him in the back of his knee and knocking him back down! He then pulls Wildchild to his feet and leads him to the corner, smashing his face up against the top turnbuckle, before whipping him across the ring towards the ladder, but Wildchild can’t even make it all the way there, his knee buckling before he gets halfway across the ring! “My goodness,” cries Pete. “The damage to Wildchild’s knee must be serious; he can’t even run across the ring when pushed!” “If Wildchild can’t put any weight on that knee, this match is over,” King says gleefully. “There’s no way that he can climb the ladder if he can’t even stand up!” Far from showing any sign of mercy, Pretzler reacts to Wildchild’s weakness as a shark would to blood in the water, pulling Wildchild’s injured leg up off the canvas… WHAM! … And slamming it back down as he drives an elbow into it! Pretzler quickly rolls to his feet and drops another elbow! And another! PRETZ-LER SUCKS! PRETZ-LER SUCKS! PRETZ-LER SUCKS! PRETZ-LER SUCKS! PRETZ-LER SUCKS! The Critic ignores the fans that scream derisively at him and latches back onto Wildchild’s leg as he stands up, whipping his arm through the air rapidly as if signaling for a figure-four leglock. “Figure-Four coming up!” shouts King. “If he can slap this on him, that leg’s going to be done!” Pretzler grapevines Wildchild’s injured leg, and spins around to set up the figure-four… CLANG! … But, while his back is turned, Wildchild gets his good leg up and plants his foot underneath Pretzler’s rear end, pushing him into the ladder! Pretzler spits up blood as his already badly injured ribs slam into the solid steel! “Desperation move by the Wildchild!” shouts Pete. “And Pretzler goes chest-first into that ladder!” Wildchild tries to get back to his feet, but the Critic traps him in a side waistlock, cuffing the Caribbean Cruiser by the ankle as he lifts him up, and carries him back over to the corner… CLANG! … Slamming his knee into the ladder! “Wildchild wasn’t able to capitalize on Scott Pretzler’s injury,” reports LDP, “as the Critic slams Wildchild’s battered knee into that ladder! And he still has them up; he’s going to do it again!” Pretzler, Wildchild still trapped in his arms, charges back towards the corner, but this time, the Human Hurricane flips backwards over the Critic’s shoulders, landing on his good leg and planting both hands into Pretzler’s back… CLANG! … Shoving him back into the ladder! RAAAAAAAAAAH! “Some more quick thinking by the Wildchild stuns the challenger,” shouts Pete. “Now, if he can only build on it this time!” Wildchild tries desperately to crawl away from Pretzler, only for the Critic to stagger towards him and stomp him in the back of his injured knee, stopping his egress dead in its tracks! “But once again,” says King reverently, “excellent defensive wrestling by Pretzler! Staying on that knee!” Pretzler drags Wildchild to the edge of the ring and drapes his ankle against the bottom rope, straddling him before he leaps up… WHAM! … And drops down to the canvas, lowering his full weight onto Wildchild’s knee! PRETZ-LER SUCKS! PRETZ-LER SUCKS! PRETZ-LER SUCKS! PRETZ-LER SUCKS! PRETZ-LER SUCKS! WHAM! Ignoring the jeers of the fans, Pretzler lowers himself onto Wildchild’s knee a second time! He leaps up off the canvas to drop onto Wildchild’s knee a third time… CRASH! … But, once again, the Bahama Bomber gets his good leg underneath Pretzler’s posterior, and launches the Critic over the top rope and out of the ring! RAAAAAAAAAH! “Pretzler goes over the top!” exclaims Pete. “Can this be the break that Wildchild needs?” Wildchild scrambles painfully to his feet as Pretzler gets up outside the ring and limps energetically towards the edge of the ring, diving foot-first towards the ropes to deliver a basement dropkick, but he is simply unable to move at his usual high speed, enabling the Critic to sidestep his attempt at a baseball slide! He then grabs the ankle of Wildchild’s sore leg and raises it up… WHAM! … Before slamming it down on the edge of the ring! “My God,” croaks Pete. “There’s nothing but steel pipe under there!” “And lookit, again, MacDougal,” quips King, “again! Every time it looks like Pretzler gets into any kind of trouble, he goes right back to that knee! Brilliant defensive wrestling!” Pretzler walks deliberately up the nearby steel stairs as Wildchild crawls away from him. The Bahama Bomber pushes himself clumsily to his feet, turning away from Pretzler to shield his injured leg, causing the Critic to push him into the ropes. Scott draws his arm back to deliver a right cross… BAP! … But the Caribbean Cruiser blocks with his left arm, and comes back with a hard right jab! BAP! BAP! BAP! BAP! BAP! BAP! Wildchild assaults Pretzler with a battery of right and left jabs, daring to put a little more weight on his injured leg with each punch, as he drives Pretzler backwards! RAAAAAAAAAAH! “Wildchild’s got Pretzler reeling!” shrieks LDP. “Scott Pretzler may have underestimated Wildchild’s resiliency! This could be the turning point right here!” Wildchild backs Pretzler up against the ropes and grabs him by the wrist, whipping him across the ring, but the Critic easily reverses. Wildchild hobbles awkwardly into the ropes, and is tripped up as he rebounds by Pretzler, who takes him down with a drop toehold! “And Pretzler takes it back to wrestling,” says King approvingly, “and even though that drop toehold doesn’t directly affect the knee, you can bet that Wildchild felt the impact of that takedown in his knee when he fell!” With Wildchild on his stomach, Pretzler grapevines his shin before falling backwards down to the mat… WHAM! … Making the Tropical Tumbler scream in pain from a devastating quad buster!” “Quad Buster!” shouts Pete. “And Wildchild DEFINITELY felt THAT in his knee!” “I can’t tell you how impressed I am with the way Scott Pretzler has wrestled this match!” gushes King. “He has dictated the pace, and most importantly, he’s kept Wildchild from wrestling to his strengths! That’s the kind of stuff that champions are made of, Drain-Clogger!” Pretzler turns Wildchild over onto his back, only to stomp on his injured knee a few more times. He walks over to the corner where he left the ladder, pulling it out from between the ropes, and carrying it to the center of the ring. But, instead of setting it up underneath the belt, the Critic simply releases the ladder and watches it fall… CLANG! … Right onto Wildchild’s injured knee! PRETZ-LER SUCKS! PRETZ-LER SUCKS! PRETZ-LER SUCKS! PRETZ-LER SUCKS! PRETZ-LER SUCKS! “Pretzler’s sadistic!” spits LDP. “I can’t remember ever seeing anyone be so brutal to their opponent!” “What do you expect?” counters King. “Pretzler’s been in the ring with this guy before; he knows that Wildchild has what it takes to beat him. He HAS to pull out all the stops; they’re playing for keeps in there!” Pretzler kicks Wildchild out onto the apron and then, thinking that he has his opponent sufficiently incapacitated, walks back over to the ladder, setting it up underneath the Cruiserweight Title! “This is it!” shouts King. “Pretzler is about to dethrone the legendary Wildchild!” Wildchild uses the ropes to pull himself to his feet, and sees that Pretzler has already cleared the first two rungs… Three rungs… Wildchild limps over to the corner… Four rungs… He steps onto the bottom rope… Five rungs… To the middle rope… Six rungs… To the top rope… Seven rungs… “He’s almost there!” shouts King. “One more rung, and he’s the champ!” Unsure as to whether he has enough lift to reach Pretzler on one leg, but realizing that it’s now or never, Wildchild launches himself off the top rope and glides gracelessly towards the ladder… CRACK! … Slamming into the Critic’s back with a double-axe handle that hits him with just enough force to knock his face against the top of the ladder! Dazed by the blow to the head, Pretzler falls to the canvas as the crowd explodes! RAAAAAAAAAAH! “Not yet!” shouts Pete. “Wildchild keeps this match going a little longer!” “He got lucky,” replies King. “And you can see that he just barely got enough lift off of that one leg, just to be able to reach him from the corner! He’s never going to be able to get up that ladder fast enough to retrieve the title!” Despite still seeing stars, Pretzler is nonetheless able to beat Wildchild to his feet, scooping him up into his arms and running towards the ladder to drive him headfirst into hit, but the Human Hurricane slides down off Pretzler’s back, and shoves him forward… CLANG! … Knocking him headfirst into the ladder a second time! RAAAAAAAAAAH! “Pretzler’s back down!” exclaims Pete. “Wildchild has Pretzler down on the mat!” “But Wildchild’s not exactly in great shape, either,” counters King. “LET’S GO, WILDCHILD! LET’S GO!” CLAP-CLAP! “LET’S GO, WILDCHILD! LET’S GO!” CLAP-CLAP! “LET’S GO, WILDCHILD! LET’S GO!” CLAP-CLAP! “LET’S GO, WILDCHILD! LET’S GO!” CLAP-CLAP! “LET’S GO, WILDCHILD! LET’S GO!” CLAP-CLAP! “Listen to these fans,” shouts Pete, as Wildchild and Pretzler both writhe around on the canvas. “Forty thousand plus on the edge of their seats, cheering for the Wildchild!” “Then there are going to be forty thousand plus in here that leave with hurt feelings,” snipes King, “because there’s no way that Wildchild’s going to be able to come back!” Still the fresher of the two, Pretzler gets to his feet first, and goes immediately back towards the ladder, clamoring quickly up the first two rungs… Three rungs… Four rungs… Wildchild gets back to his feet… Five rungs… Six rungs… This time, Wildchild steps up on the ladder underneath Pretzler, trapping the Critic on his shoulders! RAAAAAAAAAAH! “He’s got him!” shouts Pete, as Wildchild backs off of the ladder. “Pretzler’s stuck on Wildchild’s shoulders! But what’s he going to do with him?” The Bahama Bomber staggers away from the ladder, losing his balance as he falls backwards… CRASH! … AND DUMPING PRETZLER OFF HIS SHOULDERS, OVER THE TOP ROPE, AND OUT TO THE ARENA FLOOR! HOLY SHIT! HOLY SHIT! HOLY SHIT! HOLY SHIT! “Holy Shit!” exclaims LDP. “What a drop! Scott Pretzler just fell ten feet to the concrete, and landed right on his head!” “He tried to kill him!” roars King. “Wildchild should be arrested immediately! Somebody get security down to the ring right now!” Wildchild collapses to one knee, hanging onto the ropes just to keep himself somewhat upright. He pulls himself to his feet, limping around the ring as Pretzler remains unmoving on the floor. “Go ahead Wildchild,” pleads LDP. “Pretzler is down; you might not get a better opportunity!” Wildchild walks over to the ladder, facing Pretzler to make sure that he doesn’t try anything. He wipes what’s left of his face paint clear before stepping onto the first rung. “One down, seven to go,” he thinks to himself. Six more… Pretzler stirs on the outside. Five more… Pretzler staggers towards the apron… Four more… Pretzler climbs onto the apron… “Wait, Wildchild,” groans Pete, as the Bahama Bomber drops down to the canvas. “What are you doing? You could have had it!” Realizing, contrary to the Longdogger’s opinion, that his injured leg was not going to allow him to climb the ladder fast enough to retrieve the belt before Pretzler got back into the ring, Wildchild instead drops back down to the ring and runs uncomfortably towards the corner, using his hands to help him vault up to the top turnbuckle before springing off, snaring Pretzler by the neck as he flies through the air… WHAM! … And planting him face first onto the barely-padded arena floor with a Tornado DDT! DUB CEE! DUB CEE! DUB CEE! DUB CEE! “Tornado DDT!” screeches Pete. “Pretzler’s out cold! Wildchild can retain the title if he can just get back into the ring!” “No way,” counters King. “He’s going to have to do more than that to Pretzler; even as bad a shape as he’s in right now, with that knee in the shape that it is, Wildchild’s going to need to create some distance between him and Pretzler to have a chance!” Sure enough, Wildchild pulls Pretzler to his feet and grabs him by the back of the head, leading him towards front of the ring, pass the still-leaning ladder, and further up the aisle. Nearly fifty feet away from the ring, he looks out into the crowd and raises both hands above his head before pulling them sharply to his chest: the sign for the Wild Ride! RAAAAAAAAAH! “Wild Ride!” shouts Pete. “If he hits that from all the way out there, Pretzler won’t be able to close the distance fast enough to keep him from getting to the top of the ladder!” Wildchild doubles Pretzler over and positions himself in front of the Critic, reaching back to hook one of Scott’s arms… CRACK! … But, before he can hook the second arm, Pretzler lunges forward, clipping Wildchild in the back of his injured knee! Wildchild cries out in pain as he releases his hold on Pretzler, and the Critic doesn’t hesitate, immediately trapping Wildchild in an inverted front facelock, and lifting him up… BANG! … DRIVING WILDCHILD HEADFIRST INTO THE CONCRETE WITH THE TILDEBANG DRIVER! “He did it!” exclaims King, as a hush falls over the crowd. “Tildebang! He hit the Tildebang Driver! It’s over! It’s all over!” “Wildchild’s down, and he appears to be out,” concedes Pete, as Pretzler rolls onto his knees. “But does Scott Pretzler have enough left in the tank to win this match?” Pretzler crawls over to the barricade and pulls himself to his feet. He rumbles, fumbles and stumbles all the way to the ring, collapsing against the apron, just to the right of the leaning ladder. “He’s almost there,” says King, practically giggling. “A few more feet, and it’s all over!” Scott glances down the aisle, checking to see that Wildchild is still unconscious before sliding underneath the bottom rope to enter the ring. “This is it!” shouts King. “All he has to do is get to his feet and climb those eight rungs, and he’s the champion!” Pretzler crawls to the corner and uses the turnbuckles to pull himself to his feet. He looks back down the aisle one last time, before staggering over to the ladder. “It’s over!” squeals King triumphantly. “Eight little rungs, and it’s all over!” One rung… Wildchild stirs on the arena floor. Two rungs… Wildchild sits up… “You hear that, Drain-Clogger?” asks King gleefully. “That’s the sound of Wildchild’s reign coming to an end!” Three rungs… Wildchild gets to his knees… Four rungs… Wildchild gets to his feet! RAAAAAAAAAAH! “Don’t count your titles before their won!” shouts Pete. “Here comes the Wildchild!” Five rungs… Wildchild begins to lumber maladroitly down the aisle, and looks up to see Pretzler nearing the top… Six rungs… Sensing that he’s going to have to gamble to have any chance, Wildchild runs as fast as his sore leg will allow, straight for the leaning ladder! Seven rungs… “He’s there!” exclaims King. “It’s over!” But The Human Hurricane runs up the leaning ladder, launching himself into the ring… Eight rungs! Wildchild snares Pretzler by the neck just fractions of a second before the Critic can reach up to grab the title, and falls towards the canvas… CRACK! DRIVING PRETZLER INTO THE CANVAS WITH A FLYING HANGMAN’S NECKBREAKER! HOLY SHIT! HOLY SHIT! HOLY SHIT! HOLY SHIT! HOLY SHIT! HOLY SHIT! “Neck Wrecker!” screeches LDP. “By God, a Neck Wrecker from the top of the ladder! I’ve never seen anything like that before!” DUB CEE! DUB CEE! DUB CEE! DUB CEE! “That neck wrecker is probably going to be the end of Scott Pretzler,” growls King, as Wildchild crawls over to the ladder, “but does he have anything left?” Wildchild uses the ladder to pull himself to his knees, and then to his feet, leading with his good leg as he steps onto the ladder… Two rungs… Three rungs… Four rungs… “This crowd is going crazy!” shouts Pete. “And Wildchild is only a few feet from retaining the Cruiserweight Title!” Five rungs… Pretzler stirs on the apron. “Pretzler’s coming around!” cries King. “This isn’t over yet, MacDougal!” Six rungs… Pretzler crawls to the ropes… Seven rungs… Pretzler pulls himself to his feet… Eight rungs! Pretzler dives towards the ladder and pushes it out from underneath Wildchild… BUT NOT BEFORE HE CAN GRAB THE TITLE! RAAAAAAAAAAH! DING! DING! DING! “He did it!” shouts LDP, as Wildchild crashes to the canvas, title in hand. “I can’t believe it! Wildchild held on to the Cruiserweight Title!” Forty thousand fans in the Alamodome erupt as “Let’s Get Dirty” begins to play once more! Funyon rises from his ringside seat and returns the microphone to his lips: “Ladies and Gentlemen,” he shouts, his voice barely audible over the screaming crowd, “the winner of this contest… and STIIIIIL SWF WORLD CRUISERWEIGHT CHAMPION… THE WIIIIILDCHIIIIILD!” “Wildchild has overcome impossible odds in this matchup!” cries Pete. “He overcame excruciating torture to his knee! He overcame a Tildebang Driver on the concrete floor! Hell, he over came the toughest challenger to the Cruiserweight Title that he’s ever faced! But when it’s all said and done, he’s still the champion!” Referee Red Herrington helps Wildchild to his feet and then holds his hand aloft in victory! RAAAAAAAAAAH! “I saw it,” growls King, “and I STILL don’t believe it! And what’s going on here in the ring between Pretzler and Wildchild?” Pretzler staggers over to the Bahama Bomber, sweat and blood pouring down his face. He looks across the ring at his nemesis, who glares back at him, expecting the worst… … And then he extends his hand! RAAAAAAAAAAH! “Well, King,” says Pete, “it looks as if Scott Pretzler has a newfound respect for Wildchild after this match!” “And it makes me sick!” spits King. “I can’t believe that Pretzler has gone soft!” Pretzler holds Wildchild’s hand up, acknowledging the better man as he leads the Champion around the ring… WHAM! … When he suddenly spins the unsuspecting Wildchild around and pulls him into a fierce lariat! BOOOOOOOOOOO! “I knew it!” crows King. “I knew that Pretzler wasn’t really that weak!” Pretzler walks over to the ladder and folds it up, carrying it back over to the Wildchild… BANG! … And slamming it down into his chest! “This match is over!” cries Pete. “Scott Pretzler doesn’t have a right to be doing this! Somebody get security out here!” “He has every right to do it,” replies King, as Pretzler continues to pound Wildchild mercilessly with the ladder. “He was cheated out of his victory! The better man didn’t win this match!” Finally, security runs down to the ring, separating Pretzler from his victim. Pretzler’s eyes bulge with rage as he watches EMT’s help Wildchild out of the ring, and onto a stretcher. “My God,” says LDP. “Look at the rage in Pretzler’s eyes, King! I thought that maybe this feud was coming to a head, but the look in those eyes tells me that this rivalry is far from over!” Pretzler continues to fight with security, who hold him down while the EMT’s remove Wildchild from ringside… As we: FADE OUT

“The Smarks Wrestling Federation’s Battleground is brought to you by Danny Williams’ Strong Style Ribs,” Pete begins, trying to kill some time as the ring is being put back in order for the next match. “ ‘Danny Williams’ Strong Style Ribs: His ribs will stick to yours! Provided that he hasn’t broken any of your ribs with one of his ultra-stiff elbows’. ” “And what a Battleground so far, and it only promises to get better!” Suicide King replies, oddly upbeat. “Because ‘the Critic’ Scott Pretzler is going to tear Wildchild apart in that ladder match.” “Well, King, you’ll just have to wait a little bit longer to be proved wrong, as right now, two relative newcomers in Lil’ Buck and Lord David will square off,” Pete says. “News flash: I don’t care, unless David smacks Buck around. It’d serve him right for beating Revolution Zero’s two newest members,” King adds. “Be that as it may, let’s get down to Funyon for the introductions!” A blaring guitar riff stops all conversation throughout the Alamodome in mid-sentence, and is shortly accompanied by percussion. Lord David leaps onto the stage, thrashing wildly to Gun’s “Word Up”. “Ladies and gentlemen, the following contest is scheduled for one fall. Introducing first, from London, England, he stands five feet, nine inches tall and weighs in at one hundred, forty pounds, LOOORD DAAAVIIID!” Funyon bellows over the wailing guitars. David makes his way down the ramp, air guitaring the entire time, garnering a slightly positive reaction from the crowd. “Jesus...look at this moron. Doesn’t he know that nobody, and I mean nobody likes mimes?” King mutters. “Oh, give the kid a break. It’s his second match in the federation. Don’t tell me you didn’t do stupid things as a rookie. Besides, what’s the matter with rocking out every now and again?” Pete asks. “Nothing as stupid as that. Sure, I tried to pander to the fans like some sort of simpering jackass. I’ve got no problem with rock, he just doesn’t have to look like Keanu fuckin’ Reeves in those god awful Bill and Ted movies. And what do you know about rocking, you beach bum of a Parrot Head?” King wonders, more than a hint of anger in his voice. Lord David comes to the ring, springs onto the apron and clambers up to the second turnbuckle as “Word Up” fades out. LD jumps into the ring and slips out of his jacket, waiting for Lil’ Buck. “And his opponent, hailing from Lanett, Alabama, he stands six feet, three inches and weighs two hundred, seventy pounds, Sugarhill’s Finest, LIIIL’ BUCK!” Funyon roars. Crime Mob’s “Knuck if You Buck” thumps over the speakers as Buck makes his way to the stage, brushing dirt from his George Gervin jersey, getting him a nice pop from the San Antonio crowd. Buck heads down the ramp, taking a sip from his pimp cup on the way. He slides the cup into the ring and rolls under the ropes. The Arrogant Alabaman strips off his jersey and hands it and the cup to Funyon. “This should be an interesting match up. Both men are undefeated, though Buck has a more impressive record. He’s also the stronger of the two, while Lord David has an edge in terms of speed. Any predictions, King?” Pete asks. “Hell no. I just want this thing over with quickly so we can get to something entertaining. Bring on Pretzler and Wildchild!” King shouts, wondering if snapping his fingers will make his wish come true. With Funyon out of the ring, referee Kris Kristofferson checks both men for hidden items, finds nothing of consequence, and calls for the bell. DING! DING! DING! Lord David circles around Buck, and decides to take a risk. He darts towards the Gangsta of Love and tags him with a dropkick to the legs. Buck takes a step back, but stays on his feet, giving LD space enough to get back to a vertical base. As Buck charges in, David nimbly side steps and takes Buck to the mat with a drop toe hold. David stays down and grasps Buck’s leg in a half crab. Kristofferson kneels down to see if Buck will submit, but Sugarhill’s Finest blows past him, nearly yanking LD off his feet with the speed Lil’ Buck is crawling to the ropes. “Nice half crab from Lord David, but Lil’ Buck is just too strong. He might as well be walking to the ropes,” Longdogger points out. “Yeah, pretty stupid if you ask me. The match has barely started, Buck’s still fresh, and Lord David thinks he can do something with a half Boston crab?” King wonders. “Well, I’m sure that there is some pressure on that leg, though I think Lord David should focus more on Lil’ Buck’s arms,” Pete adds. Buck grasps the middle rope and David quickly releases before Kris can even count one. The Arrogant Alabaman pulls himself up and gets hit with a dropkick to the stomach. David pops back to his feet and snares Buck with a front facelock, looking for a DDT, but Buck doesn’t stay bent over very long. As Buck straightens up, David’s feet leave the mat as he isn’t quite ready to let go of the chancery. David arches his back, trying to pull Buck down, but he might as well be trying to yank down a redwood. “Lord David seems to be in a bit of a pickle. He’s stuck up in the air, and there’s no way he can bring Lil’ Buck down with a DDT,” Pete states. “Unless Lord David gains two hundred pounds in two seconds,” King says. “That’s impossible, King. Who do you think he is, Rane?” Longdogger inquires. As David struggles, Buck’s hands begin creeping upwards, looking for a slam of some kind. LD reacts quickly and spins behind Buck, not an easy task from a stationary position with no prior momentum. Lord David drops down, slamming his legs into the back of Lil’ Buck’s knee. Buck stumbles forward and David hits another dropkick to his knee. David turns around, grabs the top rope and pulls himself off the mat. LD bounces off the cable, twists his body, and snares Sugarhill’s Finest in a side headlock. The extra force from the ropes is the deciding factor, as Buck gets a faceful of canvas. “Nice bulldog from Lord David. I honestly thought that Lil’ Buck would have dropped him on his head or something,” Pete says. “No, because that would only happen in my dreams.” David quickly scrambles to his feet and drops a leg across the back of Lil’ Buck’s neck. Hoping that it’s enough to keep him down, LD runs to the turnbuckles and climbs to the top. David takes a glance at the crowd, throws his arms up to get some encouragement, and jumps off, hitting Lil’ Buck with a double stomp, and sticking the landing impressively. “Double stomp from Lord David! He seems to be focusing on Lil’ Buck’s torso, which will work well for either his frog splash, or the sharpshooter,” Pete notes. “Is it just me, or does every cruiser use a damn double stomp?” Lord David rolls Buck over and hooks a leg as Kris bends down to count the pin. One! T--No! Buck kicks out, sending LD flying through the air. Buck gets to his feet, as does Lord David, but Lil’ Buck is a hair quicker and flattens David with a diving clothesline. Buck pulls David off the mat and sends him to the ropes with an Irish whip. Sugarhill’s Finest cocks his arms back and unloads on Lord David with a double axhandle, causing the Englishman to back flip and land flat on his face. “Big double axhandle from Lil’ Buck, and it looks like he’s in firm control of this match right now,” Pete says. “Thanks, Cap’n Obvious! I couldn’t tell, what with Lord David stretched out on the canvas, and Lil’ Buck standing over him. It just gets so hard sometimes to figure out who’s got the upper hand,” King replies. “Well, I know it’s tough for you, King, but just wait, and hopefully medical science will come up with a pill to cure whatever the hell you’ve got.” Buck picks LD up once more and locks on a front chancery. Kristofferson leans in to make sure Buck isn’t choking David, but has to back away as Lil’ Buck slams a forearm onto LD’s back and drives a knee into his stomach. Buck lands another combination of strikes and decides to lift Lord David off the mat. The Gangsta of Love lets Lord David dangle upside down for a moment before falling forward, driving LD into the mat with a powerbomb. “Orange crush bomb! Lil’ Buck might have snapped Lord David in half with that devastating move!” Longdogger shouts. “Good. It would be the first interesting thing to happen in this match so far,” King replies. Buck rises to his feet, but is met with a chorus of boos, as not many people enjoy seeing a large man beat up someone from England half his size, unless of course, it’s Toxxic. “BUCK SUCKS!” “BUCK SUCKS!” “BUCK SUCKS!” The Arrogant Alabaman lifts David to his feet and let loose with a mighty bitch slap, dazing LD. Buck steps back and crouches down, placing his right arm on top of his left, spelling out ‘Dirty South’ before springing forward, knocking Lord David to the mat. “Lord David just got his chin checked by Lil’ Buck! Buck’s certainly taken control of this match in a relatively short amount of time,” Longdogger notes. Once again, the San Antonio crowd show who they’re favoring. “LET’S GO DA-VID!” *CLAP-CLAP! CLAP-CLAP-CLAP!* “LET’S GO DA-VID!” *CLAP-CLAP! CLAP-CLAP-CLAP!* “LET’S GO DA-VID!” *CLAP-CLAP! CLAP-CLAP-CLAP!* Buck walks towards David and makes a nonchalant cover as Kris gets down to count it. One! Two--No! Lord David manages to get a shoulder up. Buck pulls David off the mat and rockets him into a corner. As LD slumps down, Lil’ Buck charges in after, crashing into him. Buck takes hold of David’s arms and loops them over the top rope, keeping LD in place. Sugarhill’s Finest walks away from David, shows off his ‘Dirty South’ tattoo to the crowd, and spins towards Lord David, slamming an elbow into his head. “Goodness! What an elbow from Lil’ Buck! I think he’s looking to take Lord David’s head off!” Pete shouts. “Now you’ve got my attention!” The Gangsta of Love grabs David by the back of his head and shoves him down to the mat. Buck casually rolls Lord David over and cover him. One! Two! T--No! Once again, Lord David manages to get a shoulder up. The Arrogant Alabaman rises to his feet, visibly upset at his inability to put Lord David away. Lil’ Buck pulls David off his feet and whips him into the ropes. Buck picks LD up and begins rotating him, but David locks his legs around Buck’s neck and twists his body, sending Sugarhill’s Finest to the canvas. “Lord David nicely reversed Ridin’ Spinners into a headscissor takedown. This might be the opportunity he needs to take control of this match,” Pete states. “Huh? Sorry, I dozed off there for a bit. Wake me up when something interesting happens,” King replies. Lord David scrambles to his feet and heads for the ropes. As he comes off the rebound, David dives towards Buck, nailing him just as he’d reached a seated position with a dropkick. LD reaches out and makes a cover and Kris Kristofferson dives to count it. One! Two! T--No! Buck kicks out with force, but before he can get to his feet, Lord David drops an elbow across his chest. “And Lord David seems to be firing on all cylinders now. He’s just got to keep up this quick pace if he has any chance of beating Lil’ Buck,” Longdogger points out. “He had a chance to begin with?” “So you admit you’re pulling for Lil’ Buck, despite you practically cursing his name a few weeks ago?” Pete asks. “No, not at all. I don’t think either man will win. I hope that someone comes down here and knocks them both out before this match draws on for too long,” King says. Lord David gets to his feet and aims a kick at Buck’s head before grabbing at his legs. David steps over and drops, trapping Lil’ Buck in a figure four leglock. Kris Kristofferson darts in to see if Buck will submit, but Sugarhill’s Finest shakes his head and with a shove, rolls over, effectively reversing the hold. Kris crawls to David, but before he can check for submission, LD lets go of the hold and climbs to his feet. “Very short figure four leglock from Lord David, as Lil’ Buck easily turned it over. David should have tried to wear Buck down a bit more before trying a move like that,” says the Longdogger. “What did you expect? I said earlier that Lord David isn’t the brightest of men, and it showed just there when he tried to use the figure four against a man twice his size,” King adds. David stalks towards Buck as he’s getting to all fours and LD darts in, snaring Lil’ Buck in a La Magistral cradle. Kristofferson quickly notices the pinning predicament and dives down to count. One! Two! Th--No! Buck manages to get a shoulder up, and the crowd has no qualms in voicing their displeasure. “BUCK SUCKS!” “BUCK SUCKS!” “BUCK SUCKS!” “Lord David almost got an upset there with that cradle. And listen to that crowd. They seemed to be pretty much split down the middle at the start, but I guess not many people enjoy watching a big guy pound on a little guy,” Pete says. “I’m sure Bobby Riley doesn’t mind watching that,” King replies. David disentangles himself from Buck and gets to his feet. He backs away from the Gangsta of Love until Buck is almost fully upright and rushes in, grabbing hold of Buck’s head and taking the Arrogant Alabaman to the mat. “Swinging neckbreaker from Lord David! He is definitely back in this match,” Pete states. “Does that mean the end is near? Please, let this thing be over soon,” King grumbles. LD gets back to his feet, walks around Lil’ Buck and grabs his right leg. Lord David lifts the limb off the mat and lashes out with a kick to Buck’s knee. David lets another kick fly, and another before he scissors it and falls to the side, stretching out the appendage. Kris slides in to see if Lil’ Buck will submit, but he’s ignored as Sugarhill’s Finest begins dragging himself and Lord David towards the ropes. “Nice crucifix kneebar by Lord David, but once again, Lil’ Buck is too strong for him, and he’s heading for the ropes very fast,” Longdogger points out. “He’s not too bright, is he?” “Well, it won’t last long, but that submission will take some toll on Lil’ Buck’s legs, and if Buck is grounded, he can’t drop Lord David on his head, too much,” Pete notes. Lord David tries to torque on the leg as much as he can, but within seconds, Buck has reached the ropes and LD releases the hold before Kris Kristofferson tells him to. David slides away, letting Buck get to his knees before moving in, grabbing the Gangsta of Love’s wrist, and whipping him into the far ropes. Lord David bounces off the near set and charges forward, arm stretched out and connects with the clothesline. Sadly, it doesn’t have his desired effect, and Lil’ Buck turns around, no doubt thinking to himself, “What in the hell is this cracka thinkin’?”. David makes to attempt another clothesline, but Sugarhill’s Finest is slightly quicker and scoops him off the mat and drapes LD over his shoulder. Buck makes his way to the middle of the ring, while David tries to either writhe free or pull Buck down for an inverted DDT. Lil’ Buck stops David momentarily with a left hand to the temple and begins spinning around. “Looks like Lord David is about to go on a trip!” Pete begins. “Gentleman, welcome aboard Crunked Up Airlines, your pilot today is Lil’ Buck,” says Longdogger, trying to imitate a pre-flight announcement. “Longdogger, what have I said about you trying to be funny?” King asks. “Not unless you’re too hammered to remember the next day,” Pete replies, upset. Buck completes his fifth (FIF!) revolution, staggers to the left, then right, and finally falls forward, driving Lord David into the mat. Buck stays down, as he’s conveniently covering Lord David. One! Two! Th--NO! David once again gets a shoulder off the mat before Kris can count three. “Another near fall for Lil’ Buck, and Lord David is proving himself to be very tough to put away,” Longdogger states. “C’mon, Buck, just bash him in the face with a chair and get this thing over with!” Suicide King encourages. Buck stands and pulls LD off the mat, holding him by his head. Sugarhill’s Finest cocks back his left hand, but David goes low, landing a dropkick to Buck’s ankle. Buck stumbles and falls flat, narrowly landing on top of Lord David. “LET’S GO DA-VID!” *CLAP-CLAP! CLAP-CLAP-CLAP!* “LET’S GO DA-VID!” *CLAP-CLAP! CLAP-CLAP-CLAP!* “LET’S GO DA-VID!” *CLAP-CLAP! CLAP-CLAP-CLAP!* David gets to his feet and drops an elbow across Lil’ Buck’s back before the Arrogant Alabaman can even think of getting up. LD darts towards Buck’s feet, grabs a leg, scissors it, and falls to the mat as Kristofferson leans in to check on Buck. “Reverse crucifix kneebar from Lord David! Looks like he’s going to try and wear down Lil’ Buck’s legs bit by bit, but as I’ve said countless times tonight, Lord David doesn’t have enough weight behind him to keep Lil’ Buck stationary for any extended period of time,” Longdogger notes. “So he should do what you do, Pete, and hit up some buffets,” King replies. The Gangsta of Love once again begins an easy crawl towards the ropes while Lord David tries to dig his heels into the mat, but to no avail. Buck grabs the bottom rope and David once more reluctantly lets go of the hold. David gets to his feet, frustration written across his face. As Buck pulls himself up with the ropes, Lord David pounces, swinging a wild clothesline that catches the Arrogant Alabaman on the side of his head. “Looks like Lord David is about to go psycho,” Pete mumbles. “What? Speak clearly. Wait, no, be quiet. You keep waking me up right as I’m about to fall asleep. If the Pfizer corporation could bottle this match, they’d have the best damn cure for insomnia around.” Buck eats another clothesline and quickly heads away from the ropes, providing Lord David the opportunity to bounce off of them and land another clothesline, this one to the back of Lil’ Buck’s head. Sugarhill’s Finest remains, standing, though, so LD switches up his tactics and dives low, knocking Buck down with a clothesline to his legs. “It worked! Lord David actually managed to take Lil’ Buck down with a clothesline!” Pete exclaims. “Good for him. When’s the medal presentation ceremony?” King inquires. “Is there any time when you aren’t a gigantic asshole?” Pete fires back. “I’d have to get back to you on that, Peter.” David seems amazed himself over this feat and quickly hops up to the top turnbuckle, arms uplifted. LD turns around and jumps, driving his elbow with pinpoint accuracy into Lil’ Buck’s knee. “DA-VID ROCKS!” “DA-VID ROCKS!” “DA-VID ROCKS!” Lord David rolls Lil’ Buck over and covers him, making sure to hook Buck’s leg and stretch it as much as possible while Kris Kristofferson counts the pin. One! Two! Thre--NO! “BUCK SUCKS!” “BUCK SUCKS!” “BUCK SUCKS!” “So close! Lord David almost had this match, but Lil’ Buck managed to kick out,” Pete says. “I don’t think that Lord David thought he was going to win just then. I mean, he was pulling on Buck’s leg. Why would he try to further weaken the leg if he thought he was going to win?” King wonders. “Well, that’s a good point, but I think that Lord David was just taking some precautions. If, on the chance that Lil’ Buck kicked out, which he did, his leg was weakened a bit more,” Longdogger points out. Lord David gets to his feet and aims a kick at Lil’ Buck, but the Gangsta of Love rolls out of range. Buck slowly gets to his knees and LD makes his way over to Sugarhill’s Finest, fully intent on picking him up. *WHUMP* That plan immediately fails after a double axhandle from Lil’ Buck finds its way into David’s stomach. LD bends over, trying to regain his breath while the Arrogant Alabaman stands up and turns his back on Lord David. Buck reaches behind and hooks David’s arms. “BUCK SUCKS!” “BUCK SUCKS!” “BUCK SUCKS!” “It looks like Lord David is about to go on a Buck-Wild Ride!” Pete clamors. “Good! That means the match is going to be over soon.” However, before Lil’ Buck can twist his body, Lord David lashes out with a kick to the back of Buck’s leg. LD lands another, and a third kick, causing the leg to buckle slightly, allowing David to wriggle free of Lil’ Buck and knock him down with a dropkick. “The ride has been canceled due to excessive kicks!” Longdogger shouts. “Damn it! Just fall down and don’t get up!” King shouts. “Who are you talking to, King?” Pete inquires. “I don’t care. Both of them.” David gets to his feet, crosses Buck’s legs up steps between, and falls to the mat. “Inverted Indian Deathlock from Lord David! You’ve got to think that all of this focus on Lil’ Buck’s legs is starting to pay off for him,” Pete says. “If it means an end to this match, then I’m all for it.” Kris Kristofferson checks on Lil’ Buck, but is promptly waved away as Buck once more heads for the ropes. “You know, Lil’ Buck is lucky that this isn’t under Pure Wrestling rules with a three rope break limit, as he’d already have used them all up,” Longdogger points out. “But it’s not, so what you just said has no point. I might as well comment on the match as if America didn’t win the Revolutionary War and was still under British control.” Lil’ Buck nears the ropes, but it seems that all of Lord David’s submissions have finally caught up with him, and Sugarhill’s Finest vociferates in agony as another spasm of pain wracks his body. Kris checks to see if Buck will submit, but the Gangsta of Love ignores Kristofferson and makes a fresh attempt for the ropes. “GIVE IT UP!” “GIVE IT UP!” “GIVE IT UP!” “Lil’ Buck really needs to get to the ropes. That inverted Indian Deathlock is not a good hold to be trapped in,” Pete notes. “Hey, Longdogger, tell me a submission hold that’s a real peach to have someone apply to you.” Sugarhill’s Finest pushes himself back up, drags himself and Lord David forward, and grabs hold of the bottom rope. Grumbling, LD releases the hold before Kristofferson can turn around to tell him to do so. Lord David gets to his feet and grabs Lil’ Buck in a side headlock before the Gangsta of Love can stand up straight. David heads away from the ropes, but before he can throws his legs out and complete the bulldog, Lil’ Buck heaves against LD’s back, sending him chest-first into the turnbuckles. “Lil’ Buck narrowly avoided that bulldog from Lord David, but he’s far from being out of danger. It looks like he’s having some trouble with his legs,” Longdogger points out. “This match is still going on? Isn’t it Monday already?” King asks. Lil’ Buck hobbles towards David and eats an elbow, nearly literally as it connects with his mouth. Sugarhill’s Finest responds with an elbow of his own to LD’s head. The Gangsta of Love picks Lord David off the mat, turns him around, and seats him on the top turnbuckle. “It looks like Lil’ Buck is going for the Dirty South Thang, and I can’t help but think that if he manages to connect, it’ll be all over for Lord David. And don’t say it, King, I already know you’re going to cheer for Buck on the sole principle that the match will be over.” “You never let me have any fun, Longdogger,” King gripes. “It’s not that, you’ve been sounding like a broken record the whole match,” Pete shoots back. Before Buck even sets foot on the bottom rope, LD coils up his leg and sends it into Buck’s face. Lil’ Buck takes a step back, but shakes it off as best he can and heads for the turnbuckles once more, only to get hit with another kick from Lord David. The Arrogant Alabaman stumbles backwards, giving David time to grab the ropes, and as Buck steps back in, extend both legs into his face. David pulls himself onto the top turnbuckle and jumps, hitting Lil’ Buck with a missile dropkick. “DAVID ROCKS!” “DAVID ROCKS!” “DAVID ROCKS!” “Top rope dropkick from Lord David, and he somehow managed to fight off Lil’ Buck’s attempts for the Dirty South Thang!” Longdogger shouts. “And the match goes on. Could someone tell me again why this thing was booked in the first place?” Lord David gets to his feet, walks back to the corner, and climbs up to the top turnbuckle. “Your wish might come true, King, as Lord David might be looking for his frogsplash!” Pete exclaims. “He either is or he isn’t, there is no ‘might’,” King says, channeling Yoda. With the crowd cheering him on, Lord David jumps off the top rope, jackknifes his body, and crashes down on Buck, bouncing off of Sugarhill’s Finest in the process. “Frogsplash from Lord David! This match should be in the bag for him!” Pete screams. “Thank you, God!” King shouts, even louder than Longdogger. “LET’S GO DA-VID!” *CLAP-CLAP! CLAP-CLAP-CLAP!* “LET’S GO DA-VID!” *CLAP-CLAP! CLAP-CLAP-CLAP!* “LET’S GO DA-VID!” *CLAP-CLAP! CLAP-CLAP-CLAP!* With the crowd urging him on, Lord David slowly gets to his knees, crawls towards Lil’ Buck and drapes an arm across the Gangsta of Love’s chest. Kris Kristofferson drops down to count, with the entire Alamodome counting along with him. ONE! TWO! THREE! NO! Kris surges to his feet, holding up only two fingers. “BUCK SUCKS!” “BUCK SUCKS!” “BUCK SUCKS!” “I can’t believe it! Lil’ Buck managed to kick out after that frogsplash from Lord David! What does David have to do to put Buck down?” Pete wonders. “Damn it! There is no God, because if there was, He would have stricken me blind before this match started. Or smote these two jackasses.” Lord David gets up, in total shock that Buck managed to get a shoulder up. “ONE MORE TIME!” “ONE MORE TIME!” “ONE MORE TIME!” David seems to be swayed by the crowd’s words, and heads back to the turnbuckles, but as he gets to the top, Lil’ Buck gets to his knees. LD jumps off the ropes as Buck stands, and Sugarhill’s Finest catches the Brit in mid-air, pivots, and drives David into the mat. “Belly-to-belly suplex from Lil’ Buck! He might be running on fumes right now, but they’re still high-octane fumes, baby!” Pete shouts. “Are we being sponsored by Exxon, now?” Buck doesn’t bother getting up, and Kristofferson drops down to count the pin. One! Two! THRE--NO! Lord David manages to get a shoulder up just in the nick of time. “DAVID ROCKS!” “DAVID ROCKS!” “DAVID ROCKS!” Buck pulls David up and drives a knee into LD’s gut, doubling him over. Sugarhill’s Finest reaches down, threads David’s left arm between his legs, and hooks the right arm. “Lil’ Buck is about to Pump it Up!” Pete exclaims. “So we are being sponsored by Exxon.” Lil’ Buck lifts Lord David off the mat, grabs him around the waist, and falls forward, introducing David’s neck to the mat. “BUCK SUCKS!” “BUCK SUCKS!” “BUCK SUCKS!” Buck remains on his knees, folding David over. Kristofferson notices the pin and gets down to count it. ONE! TWO! THREE--NO! Despite the extra weight, Lord David manages to get a shoulder off the mat. “He kicked out of that pumphandle powerbomb! Now Lil’ Buck must be wondering what he’s got to do to put Lord David away!” Pete bellows. “How about they both think of something to put me out of my misery?” King asks hopefully. Buck rises, pulls David to his feet, and whips the Londoner into the ropes. David bounces back, Buck scoops him up, but once again, Lord David wraps his legs around Buck’s head and spins, ending up this time behind Sugarhill’s Finest. Lord David seizes this opportunity, along with Buck’s right arm and takes his legs off of Buck’s neck, only to scissor Buck’s left arm with them. With a jerk, David pulls Buck to the mat and rolls his shoulders flush to the canvas. ONE! TWO! THREE--NO! Buck manages to get his legs past his head, rolling himself onto his stomach, thus stopping the count. “BUCK SUCKS!” “BUCK SUCKS!” “BUCK SUCKS!” “Amazing! Lord David once again countered Ridin’ Spinners, this time with a crucifix pin that almost got the three count!” Pete yells. “Hmm. I can’t believe my eyes. This match is starting to almost not be boring,” King adds. Lord David lets go of Buck’s arms and scrambles towards the Gangsta of Love’s legs, looking for another submission. David gets as far as lifting Buck’s right leg before the left collides with LD’s stomach. David stumbles backwards, allowing Buck to pull his legs in close to his body, and assume a kneeling position. David charges in, jumps, and drives his knee into the back of Buck’s skull. “DAVID ROCKS!” “DAVID ROCKS!” “DAVID ROCKS!” “You know, I think I’m starting to agree with those fans,” Suicide King begins. “Lord David’s head is full of rocks.” “You know perfectly well what they mean, and might I add: Damn! What a flying knee from Lord David! If he had either some more weight behind him, or a bit more speed, that might have taken Lil’ Buck’s head clean off!” Lord David pops to his feet and turns around to see Lil’ Buck slowly getting back to a kneeling position. LD rushes in and dropkicks Buck in the face, knocking him backwards. “Ooh, that can’t be good for Lil’ Buck’s legs. From a kneeling position to flat on his back, that might be a good pre-exercise stretch, but not if you’ve had a crucifix kneebar or two applied,” Pete comments. Lord David stands and goes to pull Lil’ Buck up, but the Arrogant Alabaman lashes out with his left hand, connecting with David’s temple. Buck slowly rises to his feet, and slams an elbow into LD’s head. Buck grabs hold of Lord David’s right arm, gives it a twist, and clubs his arm into David’s back, pulling him down. LD’s forehead connects with Buck’s knee, and it’s hard to tell who’s hurt more. “Armbar takedown from Lil’ Buck, and he’s so used to throwing that knee out, he must have forgotten it’s been battered a lot during this match,” Longdogger states. “Fascinating. Really interesting. Do continue,” King says, completely disinterested in the match. Lil’ Buck stands, holding his knee, and hauls Lord David, still dazed, up. Buck clasps his hands, pulls back, and drives them into David’s stomach, doubling him over. Buck turns around and hooks David’s arms. “BUCK SUCKS!” “BUCK SUCKS!” “BUCK SUCKS!” “Lil’ Buck going for the Buck-Wild Ride again! I wonder if his legs will hold up under the strain,” says the Longdogger. “Oh come on, Pete! Lil’ Buck used the Buck-Wild Ride on Arch Griffon, and he’s huge!” King shouts. Buck starts to twist underneath Lord David, but a kick from LD stops him. David lashes out with another, and a third kick to Buck’s legs. “LET’S GO DA-VID!” *CLAP-CLAP! CLAP-CLAP-CLAP!* “LET’S GO DA-VID!” *CLAP-CLAP! CLAP-CLAP-CLAP!* “LET’S GO DA-VID!” *CLAP-CLAP! CLAP-CLAP-CLAP!* Buck manages to ignore the pain long enough to get under David, but it doesn’t deter Lord David, who begins thrashing, trying to wriggle free. “I don’t have much hope for Lord David right now. Nobody’s managed to escape once Lil’ Buck has gotten an opponent on his back, nor kick out afterwards. Hell, it’s the only move that Scott Pretzler has succumbed to,” says the father of the world’s deadliest second generation wrestler, Ian. “You just had to bring that up about ‘the Critic’, didn’t you? He’s going to win that damn match!” King roars. Lord David doesn’t seem to know the facts Longdogger just spewed, and in this case, ignorance is bliss, as David manages to free himself with all of his flipping and flopping, and lands in front of Buck, who is still bent over. LD ducks his head underneath Buck’s, and flips over, dropping the Gangsta of Love with a neckbreaker. “DAVID ROCKS!” “DAVID ROCKS!” “DAVID ROCKS!” “Lord David just Dropped the Bomb! He fought his way out of the Buck-Wild Ride somehow, and just delivered that neckbreaker!” Pete screams. “Let’s have a parade for Lord David for escaping the Buck-Wild Ride, then.” Lord David would be in no condition to attend that parade right now, as it seems Lil’ Buck didn’t take the entire force of the neckbreaker. Both men lay on the mat, prompting Kris Kristofferson to start a ten-count. One! “LET’S GO DA-VID!” *CLAP-CLAP! CLAP-CLAP-CLAP!* Two! “LET’S GO DA-VID!” *CLAP-CLAP! CLAP-CLAP-CLAP!* Three! “LET’S GO DA-VID!” *CLAP-CLAP! CLAP-CLAP-CLAP!* Four! David rolls over and heads for the ropes. Five! Buck slowly sits up. Six! “LET’S GO DA-VID!” *CLAP-CLAP! CLAP-CLAP-CLAP!* Seven! Lord David gets to the ropes, but isn’t off the mat. Eight! “LET’S GO DA-VID!” *CLAP-CLAP! CLAP-CLAP-CLAP!* Nine! David grabs the top rope while Buck gets to his knees. “LET’S GO DA-VID!” *CLAP-CLAP! CLAP-CLAP-CLAP!* David pulls himself up and leans heavily on the ropes. “That was close! We almost had a no-contest after a very impressive match. I don’t know if either man has much left, but they’ve got to dig deep,” Pete says. “Any other sports clichés you want to toss out?” King inquires. Lord David turns around as Buck is getting to his feet, and heads straight for the Gangsta of Love, arm outstretched. Lil’ Buck sidesteps, though it’s not nimbly, but more of a shuffle. As David passes, Buck hooks LD’s arm, pulls him in, and grabs the other. “BUCK SUCKS!” “BUCK SUCKS!” “BUCK SUCKS!” Buck lifts Lord David up, and drives him to the mat with a full nelson drop. Buck keeps the hold locked on and leans onto Lord David’s back, bending him forward. Kris Kristofferson slides in to see if LD will submit. “Champion’s Requiem! Lil’ Buck has Lord David trapped, and I don’t think there will be any escaping on the part of David. It’s just a matter of time before he submits,” Pete notes. “YES! That means this match is close to being over!” King yells gleefully. “LET’S GO DA-VID!” *CLAP-CLAP! CLAP-CLAP-CLAP!* “LET’S GO DA-VID!” *CLAP-CLAP! CLAP-CLAP-CLAP!* “LET’S GO DA-VID!” *CLAP-CLAP! CLAP-CLAP-CLAP!* Lord David scrabbles on the mat furiously, trying to find some means of escape. Kris asks if he’ll submit, and gets back a garbled ‘No’. Lil’ Buck pushes down on David even more, forcing LD’s chin onto his chest. Kristofferson asks again, and the answer remains the same, only this time, it’s more choked. “Lord David should submit soon if he wants to avoid permanent injury,” Pete says. “And also if he doesn’t want me to kick his ass afterward for holding up the damn show,” King grumbles. “LET’S GO DA-VID!” *CLAP-CLAP! CLAP-CLAP-CLAP!* “LET’S GO DA-VID!” *CLAP-CLAP! CLAP-CLAP-CLAP!* “LET’S GO DA-VID!” *CLAP-CLAP! CLAP-CLAP-CLAP!* Kris goes to check once more, but stops as he sees David’s left hand feebly tapping against his own shoulder, then stops. Kristofferson stands, signals for the bell to be rung, and turns back to Lil’ Buck to get him to release Lord David. DING! DING! DING! “Ladies and gentlemen, the winner of this match by submission, Sugarhill’s Finest, LIIL’ BUCK!” Funyon screams over the fans and the thumping chorus of “Knuck if You Buck”. “BUCK SUCKS!” “BUCK SUCKS!” “BUCK SUCKS!” “He tapped! Lord David couldn’t take any more and finally tapped out! What a match!” Pete shouts. “Finally! Time for Pretzler to destroy Wildchild!” King cackles. Buck stands, accepts his cup and jersey, and hobbling, heads back up the ramp while the cameras focus attention on a shifty-eyed dog in the front row.

The atmosphere at the Alamodome of San Antonio Texas is nothing short of electric as SWF Battleground comes back onto the air. Predictably, the crowd lets out a stunning roar right on cue as the cameras pan around the arena to pick up the ever familiar signs such as "Toxxic Sucks" followed by the name of a fellow Rev-0 member, and a few the bear the age-old slogan of "F-U Fasaki!" in honour of the recently returned former member of Justice and Rule. In typical dramatic fashion the cameras swing down over the announce table in a blinding whirl of colour, to settle on the forms of the announcers. Longdogger Pete appears to be dozing in his chair and the Suicide King files his nails in a decidedly effeminate manner before noticing the camera. "Welcome back, fans and idiots alike!" he cries, while jabbing LDP with an elbow. "Gnnargh. They're not all IDIOTS, King." Pete mutters before realising they're on air. "Welcome back to SWF Battleground, everyone! We've seen a great show so far, and it can only get better!" "Or worse if someone like Wildchild actually wins their match." mutters King. "Nevertheless King, up next..." Abruptly, the sound at the announcer's booth cuts off, as an unfamiliar tune hums its way from the speakers. The crowd looks around curiously, trying to figure out just who could be making an appearance. It only takes a few frantic seconds for the announce team to re-establish their connection, as all the lights around the stage go an astonishingly soft shade of pink. Both announcers open their mouths at the same time, as the Smarktron lights up with a smiling, calm face. A face with green eyes and long white hair... that's tipped with neon-pink dye. The face of the strangest Australian to step into the SWF. Terrence Bailey... or depending on his attitude, Janus. As the fans and the announcers try to puzzle this out, the Smarktron view abruptly pulls back, and in perfect mimickry of Marilyn Monroe, the seven footer stands in a dress, over an air grate. And then the air rushes up from beneath, lifting the dress up. "My EYES!" LDP cries. "Good god!" King sputters. He's walking around In this dress that she wore She is gone, but the joke's the same Pretty in pink... Isn't he? The song is from the Psychedelic Furs, and it's called "Pretty In Pink". As the lyrics lilt out of the speakers and everyone rubs their eyes in unison as if to scrub out what they could have seen, the name of "JANUS" shatters the image, shining tall on the Smarktron in sparkling pink letters. All across the stage, bursts of pink pyrotechnic fire in machine-gun like, stacatto bursts, showering the entranceway in a shimmering pink haze. And through it all comes a seven foot figure. His pink-tipped long white hair swishes about his head as he turns it left and right to grin out at the fans, lifting one great hand to wave. "What's he wearing?" King asks incredulously. "A tuxedo." LDP replies with faint awe. "White shirt, but... it's a frigging... pink... tuxedo." The crowd is mixed between laughing, cheering and staring incredulously as the former Hell Machine presses his fingers to his lips and blows kisses out at the ground, still smiling as he proceeds down the ramp. He rolls easily under the bottom rope and rises to his feet, looking at the stunned Funyon with green eyes that seem to sparkle with a mischief one would have never expected of the giant. Janus spins around lightly on his feet and lifts his arms into the air, prompting PINK fire to explode from the turnbuckles and scaring Funyon out of the ring. Thankfully the announcer leaves his microphone behind and the big man scoops it up as the sound of "Pretty In Pink" fades out. "Surprise!" the big man calls out to the crowd, still beaming as he stands there in his flamboyant pink tuxedo. Half-heartedly, some still giggling and some still awed, some of the crowd shouts it back. "This is... unique." LDP manages. "This is Janus, right King? The same Janus who feuded with Nathaniel Kibagami, the same one who destroyed anyone who got in his way...?" "Yeah... and I don't know what happened to him." King says with a sad shrug. "Maybe he got dropped on his head." "I bet you're all wondering what the HELL I'm doing here tonight." Janus says, lowering his voice just a tad as he begins to pace the ring. "Well, if you're wondering, I'm NOT coming back to the ring just yet, but I did manage to wrest some ring time from the powers that be, and I thank their beautiful asses for it." The crowd has slipped completely into awed mode, their silence broken only be some giggles as the former Hell Machine paces back and forth, glancing from side to side before stopping and simply facing one side of the arena, lifting the microphone to his lips. His green eyes seem to dance with delight as he looks over the fans, before beginning to speak once more. "During my time off, I've noticed things. Serious things. Interesting things. Funny things, and some might even say romantic things. I speak, for example, of Wild and Dangerous. Sure, they've had rough times, sure they've had their spats, but in the end they always seem to really come through for each other, don't you agree? That has all the hallmarks..." The Australian's smile widens. "...of a beautiful relationship." "WHAT!?" King and LDP sputter in unison while the crowd lets out something between a cheer for the tag champions, the sound of confused laughter at the giant's words. "Now I don't mean that in the way that Toxxic did, as I caught wind of his little tirade and I'll get to him in a minute. I honestly think that were Wildchild and Johnny Dangerous that devoted to each other, they'd have a beautiful relationship and make an even more beautiful couple! They just need to go on a few dates, and I'm sure... but I get ahead of myself." With the crowd murmuring among themselves and giving the individual in the ring looks like he's gone crazy, the former Hell Machine appears to be quite delighted by the reaction he's garnered, turning neatly on his heel to address the other side of the arena, green eyes alight with mischief. "Now, there's also the topic of the charming young lad we all know as Toxxic." he begins, giving the crowd a moment to boo their united hatred of the World Champion. "Now, for all his misgivings and egotism when it comes to being the champion, for all I swear he looks like he wants to be Nathaniel... maybe he wants that relationship with me that Kibagami had!" THAT gets the crowd laughing, and even the Australian is grinning at that as he continues. "But no, what I meant to say is... that man is quite the team player. He's very good at it even with his heart set on the championship. He gives it his all for his stable, and for his stablemates, and maybe I'm the only one to see between the lines with how he sees Scott Pretzler. Now, I'm sure you all recognise he does have a girlfriend... but how he speaks to Scott, how he keeps the man motivated, is another hallmark of a potentially beautiful relationship." Again the crowd is left to murmur among itself while the announcers look at each other in complete bewilderment. "Is he implying..." King begins asking. "...can he get away with that?" LDP asks back The announcers look at each other for a moment longer, then at the pink-tuxedo clad figure standing in the middle of the ring. Janus seems sincere and yet clearly amused by what he's doing. Lifting his microphone to his lips a third time, he spins around to face the side of the arena, some of the crowd getting into the energetically cheerful way the seven foot 'monster' is moving. They wait for his next words, and with a laugh in his voice, the big Australian speaks. "You all love to chant, don't you? Come on, get into the spirit of things. Think about it! And repeat after me. Johnny loves Dub-Cee!" One or two people call it out, while the rest chortle to themselves. Undeterred, the former Hell Machine spins to the other side. "And you lot! Come on! How much would Toxxic -love- to hear you chant this? Toxxic loves Pretzler!" THAT gets a reaction, as the side of the arena he's facing launches into a rousing "TOXXIC LOVES PRETZLER!" chant. The seven foot Australian laughs out loud and turns around again, motioning to the other side of the arena as if to say 'you're going to let them upstage you?'. Getting into the spirit of things, the other side of the arena launches into a "JOHNNY LOVES DUB-CEE!" chant, which prompts the other side of the arena to simply get louder! No-one but the announcers notice the faint strains of 'Pretty in Pink' as the giant drops the microphone and rolls out of the ring, walking up the ramp and waving as the fans continue to chant at each other. "Well an interesting... and very surprising appearance from the former Hell Machine..." LDP begins, at a loss for words. "And he's caused a ruckus too!" King mutters. "Why can't these fans shush up!" "Well, we'll be back with more SWF action for you after this break, folks! See you soon!" The cameras fade to black as they cut to commercial, but the chants are audible to the last. "JOHNNY LOVES DUB-CEE!" "TOXXIC LOVES PRETZLER!"

The final image fades away and Battleground 2005 backstage at the Alamodome in San Antonio, Texas returns. Ben Hardy, dressed down in camouflage outfit with matching helmet, stands outside a locker room’s door. He awkwardly pauses before speaking. “We’re here at Insane Luchador’s locker room door because I hope to catch a few words on his match tonight. He’s going to be the challenger for the Hardcore Gamers’ Title bout with JJ Johnson. He, without doubt, is the most comfortable in a hardcore environment and is a staple of the hardcore world. He gained the Hardcore Gamers’ Championship during Calvinball II and in an interesting twist he lost the belt rather quickly to the rising star JJ Johnson who at the end of the match joined Revolution Zero!” The fans in the arena jeer at the summary. But a familiar voice comes from behind and Ben Hardy pokes his head around the hallway’s corner. The camera swings over to see JJ Johnson dressed down in his gear standing next to Toxxic! The fans boo intensely as the World Champion tries to give his stable mate some final words of advice. Johnson is looking down with his head hung low in a focused stare as he nods his head to Toxxic. He slowly reaches up with his arms and removes his red and white robe, handing it to Toxxic. “Well I wonder what’s going on here…” Ben Hardy says as the SWF employees switch their focus. Toxxic suddenly disappears from sight and JJ Johnson stands there with the Hardcore Gamers Title fastened snuggly on his waist over his red and white signature tights. He rolls his shoulders back and looks up at Hardy who’s peering around the corner like a peeping Tom. Toxxic reappears with a shove to Matthew Kivell who stands in front of JJ Johnson. Toxxic crackles in laughter as he pats Johnson on the back before turning away and leaving. JJ Johnson quickly stalks over towards the Luchador’s locker room as Ben Hardy panics. “Well back to you guys because I’m getting out of the war zone!” He quickly says before bailing from the scene. “Know what’s sad? He used to be a decent wrestler,” King says. “That’s true. But we are back and I think this match is going to start ahead of schedule!” LDP cries out. JJ Johnson detaches the belt and hands it over to Kivell. He turns into the narrow hallway with all the locker rooms as he pauses at Insane Luchador locker room door. He grabs the doorknob and swings the door open, charging in for the ambush. “Not very polite of him not to knock,” King quips. Insane Luchador, who sits on a steel chair in middle of the bare room, looks up in surprise but doesn’t have time to react. JJ Johnson is flying out with a high knee that smacks Luchador in the face causing him to fall down as the chair comes crash down also. The challenger rolls up to his feet but Johnson is ready as he approaches then knocks his opponent down with a short arm clothesline. He looks behind him at Kivell who shakes his head no and holds his ground. “Not until you two hit the hallway!” JJ Johnson grunts as the Insane Luchador is back on his feet and nails him with a jab! It acts as a catalyst as the two engage in a punching brawl- the two going toe-to-toe. “JJ Johnson may be an expert in the striking aspect from UFC but that doesn’t mean Luchador won’t try,” LDP says. “Well that’s because IL has killed off so many brain cells he doesn’t know any better,” King replies. But Johnson throws up a knee that causes Rickmen to double over. He grabs the back of his head and a hold of his shirt- heaving him out of the locker room. Luchador’s momentum carries him shoulder-first into the door across the hall as he flops onto the floor. “See that ambush was genius,” King says. “Cheap,” LDP corrects. JJ Johnson walks over and picks up the chair, folding it up and coming out towards the hallway. He stands in the door’s frame then lifts the chair above his head and smacks it against Luchador’s chest on the ground! He groans out in pain and tries to roll away but Johnson steps out and raises the chair up again. Kivell disgustedly calls for the bell. DING! DING! DING! “This match is underway!” Insane Luchador unleashes a high kick to the side of Johnson’s head as he drops the steel chair. He responds to Luchador’s attack with a haymaker right that the challenger is somehow able to avoid. In frustration he lunges out and lets the fists fly. The Luchador is pressed up against the wall and trying to bob and weave. But JJ Johnson’s keen striking skills forces Luchador to bend over in a desperate defense as Johnson sends his elbow cracking down onto the back of Luchador’s head! He crumbles to all fours and Johnson gives him a kick in his shoulder. He drops flat onto the cement and rolls over, clutching the steel chair with one arm. But his opponent simply steps onto the Luchador’s arm and leans forward to add weight onto it. His fingers let go of the chair and JJ steps away. IL gets to both knees and Johnson sends a kick flying towards his temple. But he ducks underneath it then pops up, smacking JJ with an uppercut. He feigns a left then unleashes his right hand- SMACK! “WHOO!” “Luchador trying to regain some momentum because he’s been at a disadvantage from the get-go,” LDP says. Johnson grits his teeth and retaliates- SMACK! “WHOOOO!” Luchador gives a short wheeze but draws back his arm and- SMACK! “WHOOOOOOO!” Johnson takes a step back and sees his red chest. He brings back his head and lunges- SMACK! “WHOO…OOOOHHHH!” The fans cry out in sympathy from the vicious chop. Johnson continues the assault- SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! “WWWWWWWHHHHHOOOOOOOOOOO!” The last chop leaves Luchador downed at one knee as the Champion throws out his leg, nailing his opponent with a kick to the temple. He falls to the cement and groans. JJ pauses and sees the steel chair nearby and he walks over to pick it up. “Insane Luchador could be in trouble here!” LDP proclaims. The HGC Champion swings the chair down to hit the Insane Luchador. But the wily veteran knows to roll out of the way and spring back to his feet. He charges forward and throws out his elbow but his opponent uses the steel chair as a shield. Luchador’s elbow smacks against the steel and he grimaces, stepping back. Johnson quickly brings the air into the air and smacks Luchador right on top of his cranium! He falls to one knee. The fans burst into jeers. “A vicious chair shot by JJ Johnson right on top of Luchador’s head!” LDP says. “I’d be more concerned about the elbow, he could’ve hit his funny bone right there,” King sarcastically says. Johnson slowly raises the chair in the air again to smack Luchador again but he instead comes out, taking his opponent down by the knees with a tackle! He topples over like a tree and drops the steel chair which Luchador snatches in one hand. He places it on top of Johnson’s face then scrambles to his feet- stomping right onto the chair. “I hope Johnson didn’t like his nose.” LDP cheers on the Luchador. He sends another stomp to the chair as Johnson flips over to his stomach, pushing himself up. Luchador quickly snatches the chair for security and waits. Johnson gets to both knees with his back turned as Luchador swings the chair like a baseball bat- nailing Johnson right in his back! He arches back and crawls forward in pain as Luchador follows in pursuit. The HGC Champion stands up and whirls around only to get the steel chair jabbed into his stomach! Luchador drops the chair underneath Johnson and secures a front headlock then falls down for the snap DDT. Johnson’s head bounces off the chair as he rolls away. “DDT onto the chair by Luchador and this match is shifting in his favor,” LDP says. Luchador bends over and slaps Johnson on the side of his head, taunting him to get up. As he starts to get up the Luchador grabs a hold of him then scoops him up onto his feet. He stands on the side of Johnson with a hand on the back of his head- tossing him away from the hallway and onto one of the main corridors. IL smirks and runs for the follow through. His opponent stumbles but regains control as he turns around and instinctively throws back an elbow which catches Luchador right in the face! He grabs his face and stumbles back only to have Johnson grab him by the back of his head. He draws back Luchador’s head and takes a huge step forward before smacking his head on the cement walls! He retains the hold as Luchador crumbles to one knee. “What about it being in Luchador's favor?” King asks. “Well the match has barely begun,” LDP mumbles back. JJ Johnson checks his surroundings- in one direction is a stretch of hallway filled with clutter for the show and the door towards the boiler room. In the other direction is an even longer stretch of hallway with many corridors branching off including doors to the locker rooms, an unmarked office, storage area, and finally ending with a turn in either direction. He glances in both directions again and he sends an elbow down onto his opponent’s head to buy time. He apathetically throws the Luchador down the cement as he shuffles over to smack him in the kidneys with a kick! Luchador begins to crawl for cover as Johnson throws out another kick but Luchador rolls away. He gets to his feet and tries to surprise Johnson as he throws out a punch but instead he gets caught in an arm drag! He begins to charge after but suddenly stops, seeing a fire extinguisher in a protective glass case. “Hey now, that’s for emergencies! That’s to put out flaming things!” LDP protests. “Well since Riley’s not here what other flaming things would we face?” King shoots back. “Da-boom, boom, t’ish,” LDP dead pans. Johnson takes a step back and sends a kick at the glass case. It shatters and he tugs out the fire extinguisher as he walks over to the Insane Luchador. He waits and sprays Rickmen in the face for humiliation before bringing the BUTT of the extinguisher against his opponent’s forehead. He drops the weapon as Luchador lies on the cement trying to get himself back up. He looks at the janitor’s bin down a bit from him with a broom leaning against it. JJ Johnson walks over to the janitor’s bin and glances into it seeing nothing fit. So he grabs the broom and begins to approach the Luchador. His challenger is at his knees and as Johnson approaches he throws a punch to his gut. He tries to capitalize but as he stands up Johnson times a knee perfectly- colliding with Luchador as he stands up. He stumbles back from the knee strike and Johnson steps behind him, choking him with the broomstick! Luchador wheezes and squirms but Johnson begins to choke out his opponent. “He’s going to try to choke the Luchador out!” LDP cries out. “Hey anything goes,” King says. Luchador’s face turns red and he struggles but Johnson keeps the applied pressure. He begins to slump down as his face reaches a shade of purple. He tries to worm his way out but Johnson instead pulls back even harder. Luchador wheezes and suddenly brings his leg back to smack Johnson in the jewels. “Hey!” King yells. “Anything goes,” LDP beams. JJ Johnson loosens the hold and Luchador slips away. He stands side-by-side to Johnson, grabbing the broom and holding it across his opponent’s throat, grapevines the leg then falls down for the broom-assisted side Russian leg sweep! Luchador bounces right back to his feet as he tosses the broomstick away. He grabs his opponent and hoists him onto his feet. The two collide in a grapple. It goes back and forth until Johnson overpowers his opponent and locks in the front facelock. He grabs a handful of Luchador’s baggy cargo pants before quickly snapping back, smacking him against the cement with a snap suplex! Both of the competitors roll right back up to their feet but Johnson is up more quickly. As Luchador stands up the HGC Champion bombards him with a massive dropkick! It sends the Insane Luchador right back onto the cement as Johnson scrambles back to his feet. He walks over and stomps on Luchador’s gut. He then bends over to tug his opponent up by a clump of his wild black spiked hair. He carefully aims and tosses the Luchador forward into a pile of wooden crates. He collides with them as they all fall out of place, Luchador in the middle trying to get up. Johnson approaches and picks up a wooden crate, holding it high in the air, and smashing it down onto Luchador’s back! The Psychotic Hero grunts but begins to crawl free as Johnson picks up another heavy wooden crate. He gets to his feet and turns around right as Triple J swings the wooden crate. He jukes out of the way and jumps into the air- dropkicking the crate into Johnson’s chest! The HGC Champion stumbles back and drops the crate as Insane Luchador runs forward. He hops onto the crate and springs off of it. He connects and wraps his arm around Johnson’s neck and swings his body weight before dropping down and planting his opponent with a tornado DDT! He quickly hooks the leg for the cover- “Oh! Luchador nailing JJ Johnson with a tornado DDT and now he is going for the pin.” ONE! But Johnson quickly gets his shoulder up and in the arena there’s a wave of groans. IL isn’t fazed as he gets to his knees, grabbing onto Johnson’s neck and tugging him up with him. He gets behind the HGC Champion only to be nailed with an elbow. Johnson whirls around with a roundhouse kick that sends Luchador off balance. He wraps his arms around the former HGC Champion and closes him in tight. But then he promptly picks the Luchador up in the air as he slams him down onto his back! Johnson hops onto his feet then barely jumps in the air with his legs bent- ready to smack Luchador with his knees. But Luchador rolls away and JJ smacks the cement on his knees. “He tried to rip a page out of Luchador’s playbook and instead is going to have a serious case of arthritis in his knees down the road,” LDP gleefully says. Luchador flops over to his side and launches his leg out while grounded- smacking Johnson in the head! He falls over and Luchador gets to his feet as Johnson wearily does also. The Psychotic Hero, Andrew Rickmen, energetically hops on his feet with his hands up in a defensive stance. He openly invites Johnson to take a swing. “Shouldn’t he know when he’s outmatched?” King asks. “Well apparently he’s killed away all his brain cells,” Pete sarcastically rehashes King’s earlier comment. “Yeah, don’t get bitter over me being honest.” JJ Johnson presses forward with his arms openly swinging as Luchador ducks and weaves. He blocks a hook with his arm tucked near his head so Johnson simply brings a knee into his stomach. Insane Luchador doubles over and his opponent grabs him- throwing him down the hallway. He quickly loses balances and falls to the ground but he gets right back to his feet. But Johnson is relentless as he is already right on top of the Luchador with vicious strikes including a particular nasty palm strike to his chin. That very strike sends him reeling back as JJ Johnson keeps the assault going with a roundhouse kick. But the Luchador is able to guard his head as the kick harmlessly bounces off his arm with a resounding smack. That doesn’t discourage JJ Johnson who leaps out with an elbow to Luchador’s face! With his guard down Johnson is able to slip behind him. He pulls out a classic ultimate fighting submission as he wraps his right arm over his neck and brings his left arm up while his right fingers grab that forearm for the extra squeeze. He then hops into the air and wraps both of his legs around Luchador’s arms at his chest while squeezing his legs muscles also. “JJ with a standing rear naked choke by on Luchador.” LDP follows the action. “This hold is a staple submission in mixed martial arts.” “It’s brilliant, King insists, “best thing possible is he chokes him out for the win and worst case- Luchador’s sapped of energy!” The jeers are even heard in the backstage area as Johnson squeezes and Luchador knows he has little time to act. He sways as the oxygen gets cut off but remembers his surroundings. He turns around and leaps back against the cement wall which sandwiches his foe. JJ lets the hold barely let up while IL takes a gasping breath. He looks straight ahead at the red door in front of them. With nothing to lose he moves as quickly as he can towards the door, spinning around and smacking Johnson against the door. The door nearly crunches as Luchador takes a step forward and repeats. Johnson tugs the hold a bit stronger but the Luchador begins to pick up the pace with leaning forward and bringing his foe back. “You’d think with a place called the Alamodome they’d compensate by doing a good job with their construction,” LDP muses. Johnson releases his legs and he grounds himself. Luchador quickly launches an elbow back into his opponent’s ribs. But he maintains the lock as Luchador’s face begins to turn a shade of red for the second time. He slowly starts to turn towards the door and bends over. The HGC Champion uses the chance to get his legs for trapping Luchador’s arms. But as Luchador struggles he fends off one leg then grabs onto the doorknob, swinging the door open. Still bent down he takes a few quick steps forward before using all of his leg muscles to leap out in a front flip. Johnson lets go of the hold completely in shock as he’s carried over, smacking against the cement, and finally being used as a cushion for the Luchador. “Now that’s brilliant! Luchador uses the space to flip the two over and break the hold!” LDP says. “It’s not –that- impressive,” King insists. Luchador gets to his feet and takes deep breaths as Johnson flops over to his stomach to collect himself. The two both finally gain their bearings and see the room they’re in. From the desk to the wooden stools to the mini-bar is a dark mahogany wood. “Who the hell is getting that sort of special treatment?” King asks. “Wait, how come I don’t get a room that nice!” He snaps. In front another closed door is suddenly flung open as Allison Onita runs out with a towel to cover her body. “Hey we just got strip Risk started!” Flesher protests inside his office loudly. From behind Johnson sends an axe handle to the back of Rickmen’s head. He staggers forward but turns around with a jab that smacks Johnson in the face. He grabs his competitor and throws him into Flesher’s office before stepping in himself. “Man this is like a bar room brawl and we’ve already had one of those!” King whines. Tom Flesher sits out his cleared desk with a Risk board spread out with a bra hanging from its corner. Behind him is a cardboard, life sized, cut-out of himself and otherwise the office is bare. He stands up from his desk in protest to reveal his lower body only in boxers. “Dear God,” Pete grumbles. “Definitely a great thing Riley isn’t around anymore,” King points out. Luchador and JJ Johnson ignore the Smarkdown commissioner while the two collide in a grapple. Luchador and Johnson go back and forth before Luchador gets the upper hand this time. He uses his height to wrap his arm around Johnson’s neck in a front headlock. But Johnson instinctively wraps his arms around Luchador and lifts him up into the air. He takes three running steps forward as Luchador begins to nail punches with his free arm into his foe’s kidneys. He suddenly smacks against Flesher’s desk as the Risk board goes flying, pieces and card in disarray. Johnson quickly squirms out of the lock and hits a nasty knife-edged chop. “Oh that’s it!” Flesher declares as he grabs a newspaper and rolls it up. He leans over his desk and smacks Johnson with it before walking around the desk, really taking whacks at the Hardcore Gamers Champion. He then turns around and bonks Rickmen on top of the head with it. “SHOO!” He cries at the two like dogs. Both whimper away slowly before Flesher follows them with more newspaper swings. Laughter rings out in the arena as both hardcore staple figures are driven out by the pissed off Flesher armed with a newspaper. “In their defense it is the Sunday paper and that thing can cause damage,” LDP says. He drops the newspaper as the two retreats and he holds out his hand in a smacking motion. “Damn cockblockers,” he mutters. The two are back in the outer office and they both stand there with their fists up. Luchador this time presses forward and launches two hooks and a leg kick before he tries for a clothesline. But Johnson ducks under it and springs back with a dropkick to Luchador’s back. The momentum sends him smacking against the minibar while Johnson comes charging forward. But Luchador reaches into the mini-refrigerator and grabs a bottle of Grey Goose Vodka. He swings it behind his head as serendipity brings it crashing right on top of JJ Johnson’s head! The HGC Champion takes a dazed step back and the Luchador wraps an arm around his neck from behind then falls to his knee, snapping his opponent over with a snapmare. The move causes him to roll outside Flesher’s office and back into the corridor where Luchador follows. “Close the door!” Flesher yells behind a closed door. IL then slams the door shut and sees Johnson already on his feet. He strikes the challenger with a punch to his face. His head snaps back and hits the door as Johnson draws back his hand and delivers a knifed-edge chop against his throat. He begins to crumble and JJ Johnson grabs a hold of his wrist. He Irish whips him towards the wall but Luchador puts his arms out and stops the momentum. He then turns around and sees JJ charging. He waits before swooping down in a spear. But Johnson side-steps then wraps an arm around his waist before flipping his opponent over with a gutwrench suplex. Luchador quickly rolls to his feet and catches Johnson off guard with a lunging clothesline. It sends his opponent smacking against the cement but he also gets up quickly as he can. The two collide in a grapple as they both jockey for a position. But they reach a stalemate as Luchador lets go then throws his head forward, catching his opponent in the face with a headbutt! He clutches his face and reels back as Luchador takes a step out and nails a spinning backfist. This sends the HGC Champion reeling back and he smacks against the corner of the corridor and a small, branching off hall. He sways over and falls to his knees in the smaller hallway as Luchador walks over to his opponent. As he approaches he picks up his pace and drops down with an elbow drop to Johnson’s back. He flips JJ over and goes for the pin- JJ Johnson quickly kicks out and rolls away. Luchador bends down to pick his opponent up but Johnson sends his boot smack into Luchador’s face! He reels back and through a swinging door. JJ Johnson rolls up and walks towards the door as Luchador kicks the swinging door to smack Johnson! He stumbles back and his opponent comes charging out and sends his leg up for a Yakuza kick! It sends JJ smacking back against the opposing wall and slump down. Luchador, however, turns back around and walks through the swinging door again. Matthew Kivell turns the corner and stares at the down Johnson then at the women’s restroom right across from him. Suddenly a shriek is heard and Allison comes running out again with the same towel to cover her chest. “Man she just can’t catch a break tonight,” LDP laughs. “I’m sure teenagers going through puberty are,” King starts. “Hey why is Luchador in there?” LDP asks and quickly cuts off King. Suddenly the ladies bathroom goes dark and everybody is in confusion. Slowly Johnson recollects himself and begins to get up. “Luchador better do whatever he needs to do quickly because JJ Johnson isn’t going to give up,” LDP says. Suddenly a loud, crashing sound happens and Luchador blurts out an obscenity. JJ Johnson stands up and leans against the wall momentarily before stepping towards the door. It unexpectedly swings open and a handful of glass shards come hurtling out- right towards his opponent’s face. He shields his face with his arms which get minor scrapes. The HGC Champion looks furious as he quickly swings open the door and steps in. But he comes reeling back and against the wall again as the Insane Luchador comes stepping out with a light tube in his hand! The crowd roars in absolute approval. “Come to think of it- Johnson pulling Luchador backstage is making him improvise instead of being able to pull anything from underneath the ring. But Rickmen is still being inventive,” LDP analyzes. Johnson cautiously backs away towards the main corridor for space as he keeps his defensive guard up. His opponent follows him with the light tube now being held like a batter ready to smack a grand slam. JJ glances behind him and sees one last slightly opened door before the hallways split into either direction. The two circle until their backs are turned to either long direction of the corridor. Luchador, whose back is turned towards the hallway split, presses forward and JJ Johnson doesn’t even flinch. With enough room to move the HGC Champion boldly comes at the Insane Luchador with a flurry of strikes! “It takes some big brass ones to charge somebody with a light tube,” LDP admires. Luchador tries to take the abuse but a kick to his chest causes him to stagger backwards and JJ Johnson comes charging before throwing his leg up, halting his momentum, and going for the Yakuza kick! The Insane Luchador lunges off to the side and Johnson quickly draws down his leg knowing he’s missed. But the momentum has him turn his back towards the Luchador to maintain his balance as the challenger draws back the light tube- “This doesn’t look good for our Champion!” LDP proclaims. Johnson turns back around and his eyes go wide as he only has time to brace himself for impact. The light tube seems to explode on his chest as it pushes him back as glass shards go flying. The fans cheers carry into the backstage area as Johnson stumbles back and the Insane Luchador charges at his opponent. He leaps into the air and curls his legs into a ball. He grabs both of the HGC Champion’s arms and rests his feet and the stomach, tugging down. They fall to the cement and Johnson falls into position on Luchador’s legs served like a platter as he throws him over in a monkey flip! Triple J soars through the air before smacking against the cement and tumbling to a wreck at the hallway’s wall where it splits. “Not just a light tube but then a monkey flip has given Luchador the chance he may need!” “But he’s too stupid to capitalize on it,” King says. Insane Luchador stands up and jogs over to Johnson who sits up. He hobbles to his feet as Luchador fiercely grabs him. The lock up in a grapple and JJ throws a knee to his gut. The two circle in their tie-up and Luchador lets go of it, shoving Johnson back hard. He stumbles back and Luchador takes a few steps forward before nailing him with a shoulder barge. The HGC Champion gets sent reeling backwards and he smacks against the double doors with the sign above it reading, “Parking Lot.” “Now things can really get interesting,” LDP says. “They better not touch my car,” King threatens. He leans against the doors and Luchador swings with a haymaker that Johnson ducks under. He comes back up with a palm strike to his opponent’s face to create space. He then worms his way behind the Luchador and nails another gorgeous dropkick. Luchador goes flying into and through the double doors, crumbling at the entrance of the parking lot. Johnson walks in and picks up the Luchador immediately. He locks in a front facelock then grabs a handful of cargo pants before arching over for a snap suplex. With time to think he looks at his surroundings. The lower level is a sea of cars and there’s a small ramp that curves up into a very tiny section for special visitors that overlooks the lower parking spot by ten feet. The section is less than two rows of three spots and there’s nothing but a skimpy wooden barricade as a fence. “That’s where my car is,” King brags. “…How’d you get the special treatment?” LDP demands. “I have friends,” King quickly adds. Meanwhile Johnson grabs Luchador by the hair and drags him more in the clearing. He tugs him up and steps behind, securing a waistlock. The Champion suddenly throws back in the German Suplex as he doesn’t release but keeps the hold. Luchador smacks against the cement at a dangerous angle while Johnson keeps the hold with a bridge for the cover- ONE! “This could do it!” LDP cries out. TWO! Matthew Kivell raises his hand up… But Luchador kicks out and rolls out of the bridge to his feet. Johnson rolls to his feet and charges at his opponent. He stops short and throws out a roundhouse kick that IL ducks underneath. Before Johnson can react he gets a kick to the gut and then wraps his arm around JJ’s neck. “IL might be going for the Evenflow!” LDP hollers over the crowd’s roar. He hops into the air and goes for the drop but Johnson wraps his arm around Luchador’s waist. He drives forward and smacks Luchador’s back against the wall before taking a step back and arching over, throwing his opponent over in an impromptu Northern Lights Suplex. He bounces off the cement and winces in agony but scrambles to his feet. He retreats near the cars as Johnson comes charging after him. But the challenger drops down for the drop toehold and trips the Champion smacking his face into the SUV’s window! The window spider webs as Luchador stays on the ground, grabbing his opponent and the two get to their feet. Rickmen throws him onto the hood of the SUV as he hops up also. “Oh man I hope there insurance can cover this…” LDP says. Johnson rolls up the car’s windshield to escape as his opponent begins to go after him. He charges up the windshield only to be met by a punch to IL’s face. He staggers back and JJ Johnson grabs him by the waist. He pulls him up to the hood and lifts him into the air as he gets him into a powerbomb position! He takes a step out and drops down releasing Luchador! He falls down and smacks through the windshield as Johnson leans over the hood and grabs both of his legs, pulling them forward for a pin! “This has to be it,” King says. ONE! “It is a bad situation for Luchador…” LDP admits. TWO! “IL! IL! IL!” The fans chant. THREE! But Kivell throws up two fingers in disbelief as Luchador breaks the pin and rolls away. He rolls down off the hood to his feet on the cement as he leans against the car. “JJ Johnson apparently doesn’t understand Luchador’s high threshold for pain,” LDP beams. “Oh shut up,” King sulks. JJ Johnson glares at Kivell before hopping down to the cement, walking over to Luchador. He grabs him by the head then forces his head to smack against the Neon. “Whoever owns that will probably be happy it’s about to be demolished,” LDP laughs. Luchador tries to resist but his head gets smacked against the car’s driver’s window. As Johnson pulls his head back up Luchador throws out his arm and grabs a hold of his opponent’s head! He slips his head from the Champion’s clutches and then smacks his head down with supreme force. The window nearly breaks as Luchador throws him back against the beaten SUV which makes the car rock. But Johnson isn’t intimidated and comes out with a grapple. The two struggles but JJ Johnson overpower the Luchador and tries to wrap his arms around his waist. “He could be setting up for his Ontariobomb!” LDP cries out. But Luchador brings his back up and flips Johnson over. He frees himself from the Champion’s grasp then walks towards the small ramp. JJ Johnson gets to his feet and he pursues Luchador who turns around and openly taunts him to follow him. “Oh Christ, they touch my car and I swear!” King says. “Johnson shouldn’t be doing this it’s obvious that IL has something planned!” LDP screams. IL keeps walking backwards with the verbal assault as Johnson is near him just walking quickly after him. The two curve up the ramp and down the stretch before entering the small, VIP parking. Luchador stands still at the ramp’s exit and Johnson breaks into a jog after him. With a huge smirk the challenger tucks into a ball and rolls down then smacks JJ by the legs! He collapses against the ramp as Luchador stands to his feet and grabs Johnson. He leads him up the ramp and tosses him against a hunter green jaguar. “Don't those two dare! I’ll come up there!” King yells. “Nice ride,” LDP admits. “You’re damn right it is!” Insane Luchador walks over and goes for a chop but instead Johnson grabs him by the shoulder and pushes him back before headbutting his opponent. After the headbutt he clutches him belly-to-belly then spins around to face the Jaguar’s hood. He then smacks down Luchador against the hood with a belly-to-belly slam! “Damn it!” King shrieks. He retains the hold and lifts him back up taking a huge step before slamming him against the cement! He hooks the leg in high hopes- ONE! “This really should be it.” TWO! “Luchador could lose this chance,” King says. But IL kicks out to JJ Johnson’s amazement. He looks in between the cars and sees the wooden barrier. With a malicious look in his eye he picks the Insane Luchador up. He drags Luchador along with him right near the barrier. He throws a kick to send the wooden barrier falls down, crashing down right near the closely parked cars. “He’s going to take a fall!” He pulls Luchador back after giving him a sampler and gives him a knee to the gut. Then he takes a huge step forward ready to throw the Luchador down! But he squirms free and gives his unnerving maniac laugh as he stands behind Johnson and locks in the Full Nelson. “Oh Jesus! We could be seeing a Brink of Insanity here!” LDP yells. The two struggle dangerously close to the edge as Johnson brings his hands over Luchador’s neck. He tries to reverse the Full Nelson but Luchador inches towards the edge and peers down apathetically. He takes a step back as JJ Johnson thrashes and he leads them in another step back. The Champion runs back and smacks him against the side of a car near the edge. But the Luchador applies more pressure to the Full Nelson and sides off to the side where he charges forward while dragging him along. He fearlessly leaps off and takes JJ Johnson down with him! “LUCHADOR GIVES OUR CHAMPION A BRINK OF INSANITY OFF THE VIP SECTION!” LDP screams. JJ Johnson and Luchador plummet down as Luchador retains the hold. CRUNCH! The two crash down as JJ Johnson is sent colliding with a Durango’s roof while Luchador releases the hold and smacks against a four door! HOLY SHIT! The chant begins. “He nails it, he nails it!” LDP hollers in disbelief. "These two have just had their fall broken by a car's roof!" Johnson coughs and flops over to his back on the collapsed roof as he breathes heavily. Above Matthew Kivell stares over the edge in disbelief and begins to head down the ramp. Luchador slowly slips off the nearly broken roof and his face reflects obvious pain. He forces him to crawl onto the hood and up the windshield. He looks over at Johnson and gives a small smirk before laying over him for the pin fall- “ONE!” The fans chant. “This is it! We’re going to have a new Hardcore Gamers Champion!” LDP yells with a hoarse throat. “TWO!” “I need to call my insurance company…” King grumbles. “TTTTTHHHHHHHHHRRRRRRRRRRRRREEEEEEEEEEE!” The fans let the declaration linger as Matthew Kivell stands on his tippy toes to barely lift Luchador’s arm into the air. The double doors swing open and EMTs come out with a stretcher and behind them is Ben Hardy who sheepishly walks over, glances at the carnage from the incredible fall, and holds the belt over to Kivell. Matthew Kivell hoists it in the air along with Luchador’s hand. “A brawl nobody will soon forget and Insane Luchador regains the Championship!” Pete declares. The crowd’s roar drowns out Luchador’s music in the arena but Funyon’s voice booms- “YOUR WINNER AND NEW… HARDCORE GAMERS CHAMPION… IIIINNNSSAAANNNEEEE LLLUUUCCCHHHHHAAADOOOOOR!” “Folks do not go away because the battle has just begun!” LDP yells. The EMTs swarm the scene as the camera slowly fades away.

“And the war continues here at BATTLEGROUND!” shouts out Longdogger Pete as the ring crew express finishes mopping up the sweat and assorted man juices from the previous match. “This next match is sure to be interesting contrast in styles as the strait-edge Todd Cortez mixes it up with the far … filthier Ejiro Fasaki.” “You got that right smoky bear,” replies The Suicide King. “The question of tonight is going to be truly who can make me sick the least. Will be it be the holy guy that thinks beer is the evil or the one that does not have the good sense to follow his own vile instincts. I think I will prep the barf bags right now.” “Well you have to wonder King is how long, if at all these two will hold onto their principles before they start upping the ante so to speak.” “I was up your Auntie just yesterday and…” “You leave Aunt Rose alone DAMN IT!” With the announcers squabbling like a couple of schoolgirls about Orlando Bloom, the crowd extends their visual attention to the now green shading that is positioning itself towards the main stage. With the sounds of Breathe pulsing through the sound system, the crowd starts to shout to the heavens with praise for the man who just might be an ‘Urban Legend.’ FLOOOOOOOOOOOSH! BOOOOOOOOOOOOOM! VROOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOM! A mammoth explosion bursts into the skyline but the roar of the pyrotechnics is dwarfed in a moment as the hum of a motor. Quickly accelerating through the ringside curtain, Todd Cortez looks as though he’s leading a motorcade as he roars down the aisle on a police issue motorcycle. Roaring down the aisle, Todd stops just before reaching the ring and hops off the cycle. Pulling the helmet off his black hair, Cortez lifts the helmet up into the air as the Texas crowd routes on in support. Putting the helmet across the handlebars, Todd hops off the bike and quickly unzips his trademark bulletproof vest before rolling into the ring and lifting his arms into the air yet again. Ceremoniously removing his cross and giving it a goodbye kiss, Todd puts the chain over the ring post as the crowd looks on in appreciation. “Introducing first… from Hollywood Boulevard and weighing in at 226 pounds. He is a member of Martial LAWWWWWWWWW this is the man, the myth, the URBAAAN LEGENNNNND TOD CORRRRRRTEZZZZZZ!” And his opponent… JUSTICE! RULE! POPPOPPOPPOPPOPPOPPOPPOPPOPPOP! “HERE THEY ARE BORN TO BE KINGS… THEY’RE THE PRINCES OF THE UNIVERSE… YEAH!” Charging out from behind the curtain comes Ejiro Fasaki with an EVEN MORE pronounced scowl on his face than usually as a certain person that is attached to a certain voice that calls Ejiro’s cell phone to the sound of The Fall Guy is fresh on his heels. And suffice to say, that person is substantially hotter than Judge William Hearford. “Who is THAT?” calls out LDP as the crowd breaks into a bit of a collective wolf whistle. “It’s Ejiro’s… SISTER!!! He brought his FREAKING sister to the ring! Man has Melissa filled out!” Standing in front of the camera with her arms stretched over her head, Melissa seemingly enjoys the attention that comes from a tight pair of hip hugger jeans paired with a ‘Rule’ football jersey cut off just so to show off her rock hard abs. On the other hand, Ejiro does not seem to get a whole lot of joy out of having the world check out his sister’s ass. Mumbling and cursing under his breath, Ejiro nonetheless heads to the ring and slides under the ring ropes. Getting up to his feet, Fasaki points right at his opponent as Todd Cortez looks on almost uncaring at the Fasaki siblings. Hopping up to the apron, Ejiro lifts his arm to the crowd and gets a great cheer in response, which may or may not have had anything to do with Melissa bending into the ring at the same moment. “He weighs in tonight at 223 pounds and hails from Sarasota, Florida… he is accompanied to the ring by Melissa… this is EJIROOOOOOO FASAKEEEEEEEEE!” Moving close to her brother, Melissa whispers in the former World Champion’s ear and motions towards Todd Cortez with a big smile. Rolling his eyes at whatever suggestion he just received, Ejiro nonetheless nods at the words and heads across the ring and puts a hand in the air. Quickly reaching out and accepting the shake, Todd moves back to his corner while The Suicide King debates what he just saw. “He… He… he didn’t cheap shot him! Ejiro Fasaki just shook hands with someone and didn’t kick them! WHAT THE HELL! WHAT THE BLEEDING HELL! I demand cheap shots! I demand them!” “You have to think now that Melissa is the one who has had the positive influence on Ejiro’s career. She must be the one pushing him to try and fight with honor from here on out.” With Melissa now heading to the outside as Ejiro quickly wipes his hand off on his tights as Cortez shakes his head in mild annoyance. And as the bell rings to officially start the match both men come racing at each other only to have Cortez quickly alter his trajectory and pull Ejiro to the canvas with an arm drag. But as Todd gets up to his feet his ankle is quickly swept out from under him as Ejiro takes a single leg and immediately crawls on top for… ONE! Immediately kicking out hard, Cortez pushes Fasaki off to the point where Ejiro virtually lands on his feet. Quickly hitting the ropes as Cortez gets to his feet only to be knocked to the canvas again with a shoulder tackle. Quickly hitting the ropes on the other side, Ejiro goes for another tackle only to have Cortez drop towards Ejiro’s feet so Rule has to hurdle him as he runs to the opposite side. Quickly following up, Todd gets to his feet and leaps into the air to leapfrog over his returning foe before taking him over with a tight hip toss. Immediately sticking his feet up in the air, Ejiro uses them to kick Cortez off and to the canvas as Rule uses the open to get back to his feet as Cortez kips to his feet. Not waiting for any ‘stand off applause’ nonsense, Todd quickly scoops Ejiro up for a body slam only to have Rule slide out of his grip and down his back. Immediately taking Cortez by the wrist as he turns, Fasaki sends him across the ring with a whip and manages to catch him under the jaw with a hard elbow to the side of the head. “And it looks as though both men are on even footing at the opening,” calls out LDP as Ejiro hits the ropes. “It appears as though neither man wants to give in the first significant advantage,” replies The Suicide King, “but sooner or later they are going to have to slow down the pace or one man is going to have to take a moment to rest.” Quickly dropping down to drop an elbow, Ejiro finds the pond empty as Todd moves to one side to avoid the blow. Quickly getting to his feet, Todd whips a leg towards Ejiro’s face only to have Fasaki quickly throw himself back to the canvas in order to avoid the kick. Quickly trying to capitalize, Todd tries to crush Ejiro under an elbow of his own only to have the alert Fasaki roll aside as Cortez hits only canvas. Snagging Todd around the arm as he gets to his feet, Ejiro winds the arm up in a wristlock only to have the advantage for a moment before Cortez rolls forward to the canvas to release the pressure and quickly reverse the hold. Moving Ejiro’s shoulder down a little, Todd peppers the arm with a flurry of light kicks as Rule grits his teeth against the pressure. Trying to use the arm to keep his momentum going, Todd uses it to whip Ejiro into the ropes only to have Fasaki stop and pivot to reverse the throw. Putting his arms out to catch his foe in a tilt-a-whirl, Ejiro soon finds his world turned upside down as Todd takes him to the canvas with a head scissors with enough torque behind it to whip Fasaki not only to the canvas but all the way out of the ring! “First big move of the day goes to The Urban Legend,” notes Longdogger Pete, “but will he be able to maintain the momentum? Well he’s GONNA TRY!” Quickly scrambling up the ropes, Todd perches on the top rope as Ejiro leans against the apron trying to shake off the impact of having his head smashed into the mat. Finally pulling his face off the apron, Rule turns towards his foe only to find his opponent twisting right at him! Down he comes! BOOOOOM! “SHOOTING STAR LARIAT TO THE FLOOR!” screams Pete as Cortez crashes into his opponent and both men lay stunned on the floor. “What a chance he took… what a stupid, stupid chance. It’s no wonder Martial Law can never win anything the way they throw their bodies all over the place like morons,” responds The Suicide King as Todd tosses Ejiro back inside the ring and slowly crawls in after him. Draping his body over the loopy Fasaki, Todd tries to send the fans home early as the referee counts… ONNNNNNNNNNE! TWOOOOOOOOOO! NOOOOOOOOOOO! Kicking out just after the count of two, Ejiro keeps himself alive as Melissa starts to pound the canvas from the outside in order to get her brother back into the contest. But Cortez is not going to let him off that easy as he pulls Ejiro off the canvas for a moment before using a snap mare to send Fasaki right back down before hopping into the air and crushing Ejiro under the weight of a high leg drop. Immediately pulling Ejiro over onto his stomach, The Urban Legend locks down on a camel clutch with one arm locked up tightly as the other hangs loose at the moment. Holding on against the pain, Ejiro reaches out for the ropes immediately as Todd seems satisfied to hold onto the chinlock for the time being. “And this is what Todd Cortez should be doing in this match,” calls The Suicide King. “If you really think about it, Cortez’s style is general hybrid of Wildchild and Johnny Dangerous with the flying and the martial arts… and Ejiro has a great history of clubbing those guys to death. But as far as submissions go, that kind of wrestler seems to give Fasaki a great deal of trouble.” But heedless of The King’s wrestling advice, Todd breaks his own hold in order to stomp down on the small of Ejiro’s back before grabbing him by the hair and picking him off the canvas. Scooping Rule off the mat, Todd slams him to the canvas with a slam before heading to the apron on the outside of the ring as Ejiro keeps a hand on his back to try and rub away the pain. Climbing all the way up to the top rope, Todd takes aim again and sends his body into the air before laying out for a huge senton back splash! THOOOOOOOOOOM! But the pool is empty as Ejiro rolls out of the way and Todd crushes himself against the mat! His spine impacted by landing on it from six feet in the air, Cortez squirms on the canvas in pain until Ejiro soon rolls over his form and clamps down with a vicious chokehold! “Ejiro! NO!” shouts Melissa as she jumps to the apron. Waving at her brother, Melissa tells him to get off the throat as Fasaki readily complies. Shaking his own head almost in order to have the wave of rule breaking anger break on the shore, Ejiro breathes heavily before going back to work with a stomp to the side of Cortez’s face. “You were right Pete,” says The King of Hearts, “that little punk is listening to his stupid sister and trying to ‘follow the rules’. God damn it! Why can’t the hoes stay out of man’s business! Grabbing the still stunned Cortez off the canvas, Ejiro shoves his opponent into a corner and starts to drive shoulders into his opponent’s breadbasket time and time again. With his opponent significantly stunned, Rule takes Cortez out of the corner with an Irish whip but stops short and wrenches Todd’s shoulder nearly out of joint as his feet go out from underneath him. Immediately snatching at his shoulder as he lands on his knee, The Urban Legend feels the true pain for just a moment before Ejiro grabs him from behind in a hammerlock and tosses him into the turnbuckles with a full head of steam. Dropping down to a knee The Urban Legend slaps the side of his shoulder in order to get some sort of feeling back in his limbs. Pulling Todd back into the center of the ring, Ejiro slaps on a hammerlock again but this time hauls him up onto his shoulder before dropping him to the mat with a slam on top of the arm. Quickly pulling his arm out from under his body, Todd keeps massaging the shoulder for a moment before Ejiro locks on with an armbar. Positioning his knee against the joint of the elbow, Fasaki uses it as a fulcrum as Cortez shouts out in pain under the pressure. “LETS GO TODD! LETS GO TODD! LETS GO TODD!” chants the crowd as Ejiro continues to work the hold as he knows how. “That’s what they think of you Fasaki!” calls out The Suicide King from the announce position. “No matter what a good guy you are, those schmucks will always like another schmuck more!” Surging under the cheers of the crowd, Todd rolls to his knees as Ejiro keeps the arm locked up as tightly as he can. Getting to his feet, Todd starts to walk himself and Ejiro about the ring for a moment before popping him across the face with a palm strike to the side of the face. Shaking his head, Ejiro simply grits back down on the arm and pushes Cortez right back to his knees before straddling over his fallen opponent with the pump handle armbar. Pushing on the shoulder, the former World Champion keeps Cortez subdued again as Todd reaches out now for the ropes in order to force a break. Pushing ahead with his knees, Cortez inches closer and closer to the safety of the ropes as Fasaki tries to keep him from getting there. But as Todd gets just within reach, Fasaki quickly wrenches Cortez to one side to keep his free arm away from grasping the ropes… of course Ejiro can still get to them. Snagging the ropes, Ejiro pulls on the top strand in order to add a whole lot of illegal leverage to the hold. “HEY REF!” comes a voice from the other side of the ring, “Ejiro’s got the ropes!” “Oh come on!” shouts Ejiro in response as Melissa informs on him like he just stole his dad’s wallet. Not even letting the referee tell him to break the hold, Ejiro tosses the arm to one side and goes to have an argument with the person he brought to the ring with him. Shouting at his sister for getting in the way of his own match, Fasaki gets a face full of a response as Melissa lays right back into her brother for continuing to break rules despite all the long meetings they have had on the topic. The crowd … does not help. “FU FASAKI! FU FASAKI! FU FASAKI!” Pointing out to the crowd, Fasaki shouts back at all of them together as Melissa simply stares back at her brother and yells right back in his face as the debate continues. That is until Cortez uses his healthy arm to pull Ejiro backward with a schoolboy roll up! ONNNNNNNNNE! TWOOOOOOOOO! NOOOOOOOOOO! Kicking his way free, Ejiro is up immediately and is there to boot Cortez across the chest as the martial artist from the streets gets to his knees. But Ejiro seemingly has a whole lot more issues to work on as he starts to bash Cortez across the face with hammering elbows to the head. BAM! BAM! BAM! BAM! BAM! BAM! BAM! BAM! BAM! BAM! BAM! BAM! BAM! BAM! He has a whole lot of issues. Finally allowing Todd to collapse to the canvas a bruised mess, Ejiro shakes with rage as his manager shakes her head as his sour demeanor. Rubbing his own elbow from the continuous impacts with someone’s skull, Ejiro ends his debate with his sister and backs away from the punch drunk Urban Legend. Taking Cortez by the back of the head, Ejiro puts him where he wants before hitting the ropes as hard as he can… WHOOOOOOOOOM! AND GETS CUT IN HALF! “HOLLOW POINT!” shouts LDP as Cortez leaps forward almost on instinct and knocks Ejiro flat to the canvas. Rolling to the side of the broken body that used to be Ejiro Fasaki, Todd moves his aching body to the ropes and uses them to get up to his feet as Fasaki barely begins to move. Still holding onto his shoulder Todd catches Ejiro under the chin with a palm thrust under the chin that knocks Fasaki back to the canvas. Continuing to grab Fasaki around the head, Cortez bashes his head against the top turnbuckle as the crowd starts to rally behind his offensive flurry. Taking Ejiro with his good arm, Todd tosses Fasaki across the ring with an Irish whip that causes the former World Champion to rebound out of the corner and right into a high backdrop toss into the stratosphere. Just barely getting to his feet, Ejiro is soon jammed right back down to the canvas with an STO takedown! Getting to his feet in a moment, Cortez slaps his shoulder once again in order to get his blood flowing yet again. Quickly heading to the ropes, Todd hops to the middle ropes and propels his body backward with a middle rope moonsault… CRASH! Landing right on his bruised face, Cortez puts a hand on his throbbing forehead as he ends up on his knees for almost a full three seconds before Ejiro knocks him all the way over with a running knee to the face! Quickly reaching over and hooking the far leg, Ejiro tries to send it home with a count of … ONNNNNNNNNEEE! TWOOOOOOOOOO! THRENOOOOOOOO! Shouting a shoulder off the mat keeps Cortez alive in the match for the time being if only Ejiro would give him a chance to get his wind back. But Rule is not about to allow that to happen as he quickly slams across Todd’s back and hammers a number of short forearms to the back of the head. Quickly securing a Fujiwara armbar, Ejiro quickly pushes his hips off the canvas and continues to crank on Todd’s injured shoulder. Wrenching on the shoulder, Ejiro calls for a submission as the referee moves in to check with Todd to see if he wants to continue. Waving his hand at the referee, the Urban Legend shouts that he is not about to quit as his opponent works to pull his arm out of socket. But something keeps Todd from quitting … something loud and pulsing through the Alamo crowd! “LETS GO TODD! LETS GO TODD!” Nodding along with the chant, Todd uses his free arm to call out to the people that he is indeed not going to just go out like that. Instead, he reaches out and uses his arms and legs to push himself and a pissed off Fasaki across the ring canvas until he can get a leg underneath the bottom rope in order to get the referee to break the hold. “IF there is one weakness to the Fujiwara armbar is that it leaves three points of movement to escape,” notes The Suicide King. “But by the same token, you can hold onto it without using a great deal of energy.” Releasing the hold just as the referee calls for the break, Ejiro breaks clean and wanders across the ring with his hands on his hips. As if calculating where to go next with his plan of attack, Ejiro pulls Cortez closer to the center of the ring and winds up the shoulder yet again and drives Todd down to a knee. Controlling the Urban Legend with the arm, Ejiro pulls his foe to a doubled-over position and throws a leg over the shoulder in preparation for the Fasaki fuser. But before Ejiro can hop into the air, Cortez violently rips his hand free and away from Ejiro’s grip and quickly rallies with a punch to the top of the head! But Ejiro counters immediately with a knee to the chest that knocks Todd right back to the canvas where Fasaki can drive a knee into his shoulder. “Narrow escape there,” calls out LDP as Ejiro drops another knee into to the equation, “but Todd Cortez needs to find a way around this focused attack and he needs to do it in short order if he wants to come out of this match with the win.” Knowing that as well as anyone else, Ejiro takes Cortez in a reverse hammerlock and uses it to pull Todd backward into a corner. Hopping up and into the middle ropes, Ejiro cinches up on the injured arm and looks to leap into the air for a Tornado single arm DDT that will finally seal this match in frozen amber. But before Ejiro can take to the air, Cortez counters with a HARD palm shot to the jaw! SLAP! Falling back over the top turnbuckle, Ejiro temporarily impales himself on the post as even the crowd shows sympathy for his plight… for about a second. That is until the wounded Legend climbs up after his opponent and hammers away with his healthy hand much to the delight of the Texas faithful. Climbing up all the way to the top rope, Cortez snatches Ejiro by the hair to pull his opponent up so that both men are now standing on the top rope strand. Standing there together for a moment the two men jockey for footing before Cortez leaps off the ropes and catches Ejiro around the head with his legs before pulling off the turnbuckle with a SUPER FRANKENSTEINER! SLAMMMMMMMM! Landing flat on his back, Ejiro shudders violently from the impact as Cortez once again keeps an arm on his shoulder as he scrambles across the fallen body of his opponent as the referee counts… ONNNNNNNNNNNNNNE! TWOOOOOOOOOOOOOO! THHHHREEENOOOOOOO! Barely getting off the mat in time, Ejiro looks over to his sister with a pleading look on his eye as Cortez gets up to his shaking feet. Keeping an eye on Fasaki as Rule keeps his eyes locked on Melissa, Cortez lines him up and aims a super kick right at his head! CRACK! Slaughtered by the kick, Ejiro falls to the canvas in a heap as Cortez once again ties to get the cover with a… ONNNNNNNNNNNNNNE! TWOOOOOOOOOOOOOO! THREEEENOOOOOOOOO! Looking at the referee with a questioning glance, Todd nonetheless goes back top work as he pulls Ejiro up and pushes him to a corner where he can send roundhouse kicks right into the chest of his opponent! Dropping down a moment, Cortez rises again with a mammoth palm strike that sends Ejiro into the air for a moment before he lands on his ass in the corner. Moving back to the other side of the corner, Todd races across the ring and puts both boots right in the face of his opponent! Backing off the fallen opponent, Cortez roars out to the crowd as Ejiro sends another pleading glance at Melissa who simply cheers for her brother as he continues to take an ass kicking. “You can do it Jerry!” calls out Melissa, “you can do it on your own!” But Todd does indeed feel a whole lot different about the matter as he once again kicks Ejiro across the face yet again before pulling him off the mat. Tossing Ejiro across the ring, Todd tosses a spinning wheel kick at his opponent only to have Fasaki go into a forward roll underneath the strike. But as he rises again, Cortez is there to strike again with a running boot to the head! BOOM! Not satisfied with just that Todd heads out to the ringside apron as Ejiro struggles to get to his feet. Using his arms to pull himself up to the top in one motion, Todd takes an extra moment to balance himself on the top rope due to his injured arm and leaps across the ring with a lariat… But he gets snagged! FLOOOOSH! Quickly adjusting on the fly, Ejiro grabs Todd by the injured arm and takes him over with an arm drag! Shouting at the pain of the drag, Cortez slaps his shoulder time and again as the pain has reached an obvious amount of concern for the Urban Legend. “Desperate maneuver by Ejiro Fasaki and now both men are down!” calls out LDP as Ejiro also has to get some semblance of sanity back in his brain again after being kicked in the head so often. Together both men get to their feet just about the same time but it is Ejiro who strikes first as he aims a kick right at Todd’s chest only to have it intercepted! But as Todd holds Ejiro’s foot there, he realizes just will happen if he tosses the leg to one side… CRACK! BUT YOU JUST CAN’T STAND THERE EITHER! “Enziguri to the shoulder!” calls out LDP as Ejiro swings around and cracks Todd against the head and shoulders and knocks him to the canvas! Quickly moving on top of his opponent, Ejiro locks it down… COOOOOOOOOOOBRA CROSSFACE! “TAP! TAAAAAAAAAAAAP!” shouts Ejiro as he cranks back on the hold! Keeping the hold on tightly, Ejiro looks to outside as Melissa cheers for his brother as he inches closer and closer to getting out of Battleground with the win. But now Ejiro needs to focus on causing enough pain, blues and agony to get his ass out of there. Lying underneath, Todd can do nothing but reach out for the bottom ropes in the hopes of forcing a… TAP! TAP! TAP! “Its all OVAH!” calls out LDP, “and he won the match fair and square! No interference, no cheating, Ejiro Fasaki did it on his own!” Releasing the hold, Ejiro leaves Todd all a quiver on the canvas as he tries to assess just how badly he’s been hurt by the crossface. Sitting up on the mat, Ejiro picks his battered face off the canvas and looks at the damage he has done with just about the least amount of filthy cheating that his nature would allow. But the important thing to him is that he was still able to get out of the match with the victory. And that is what he feels as Melissa gives him a round of applause which is followed by a polite ovation from the crowd as well. “I’m so going to hurl all over this arena, I swear,” calls out The Suicide King as a severely weakened Todd Cortez gets up to his feet with a hand still cupped under his shoulder. Clearly unhappy from having to tap out (which is sure as heck a better idea than getting your shoulder pulled out of its socket), Cortez glares across the ring at his adversary. Finally standing to his full height, The Urban Legend makes his way across the ring to his foe and extends a hand of respect to the victor. “Blarg… BLAAAARG!” Looking on with a wary eye, Ejiro stares at the hand as though it is probably poisoned in some way. Ejiro glances at his sister for a moment Ejiro finds that she is more than happy to urge her brother to take the hand of his opponent. Cautiously joining hands with The Urban Legend, Fasaki shakes the hand of his opponent as the crowd happily cheers the good sportsmanship shown here tonight. “FFFFFFFLLLLLAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAARGH!” “Ew. Fans, as we clean up after the Suicide King, get ready for the next contest as Battleground is about to CONTINUE!”

Pete: “Battleground is off and running, King!” King: “Can you believe that was only the first match? We still have seven or eight matches to go tonight!” Pete: “And we’re getting ready to determine a challenger for the International Championship as Jay Hawke takes on Manson.” King: “Let’s be honest here, Pete. It has been absolutely no secret that Jay Hawke’s goal is to gain that International Championship. The man came within an eyelash of winning that championship in that tournament a few weeks back, and he’s done nothing but chase Johnny Dangerous since. Can you imagine how explosive that rematch would be?” Pete: “But Manson has been on a roll lately, seemingly rejuvenated. He’s looking better than he has in a long time, so make no mistake about it, the winner of this match is going to have to earn their victory.” King: “It’s just that Manson will have to work that much harder for it.” Pete: “I don’t necessarily agree with that.” King: “You should, because when I’m right, I’m right. And I’m always right.” Pete: “We’ll find out how right you are in just a few moments. Let’s go to Funyon for the introductions.” Funyon: “Ladies and gentlemen, the following contest is scheduled for one fall with a 30 minute time limit, and it is to determine the number one contender to the SWF International Heavyweight Championship!” The lights dim, eliciting a pop from the capacity crowd, but the cheers quickly turn into boos as the opening notes of Pink Floyd’s “Learning to Fly” begin to play over the public address system. Funyon: “Introducing first … from the Hall of Fame City of Cleveland, Ohio … weighing in at 215 pounds … ‘The Dean of Professional Wrestling’ … JAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAY HAWWWWWWWWWWWKE!” The boos grow louder as Jay Hawke emerges through the curtain, the spotlight illuminating Hawke’s beautiful black and purple sequined robe. Hawke looks at the crowd in disdain as the boos turn into a familiar chant: “JAY HAWKE SUCKS! JAY HAWKE SUCKS! JAY HAWKE SUCKS!” Hawke reaches the ring, wiping his boots on the ring apron before stepping between the middle and top rope. As he takes off his robe and folds it, he glares at the crowd with a disgusted look on his face. He hands the robe to the referee, then turns to the crowd and makes the “I want the belt” motion with his hands, prompting even more jeers from nearly 20,000 fans. Pete: “Jay Hawke certainly isn’t making any friends with these gestures to the crowd.” King: “Oh, they’re probably still upset about the damage Hawke did to their precious hero Johnny Dangerous about three weeks ago. Not that it matters, since I don’t think Hawke wants to have too many friends anyway.” As the house lights dim and red strobes pulse the fans rise to their feet, the buzz in the arena reaching a fever pitch, as Mastodon's "Crusher Destroyer" blasts from the speakers. Funyon: “And his opponent … from Denver, Colorado, and weighing in at 240 pounds … MANNNNNNSON!” Manson emerges moments later to an explosive round of cheers, throwing up the horns in stride and heading straight down the aisle, focused on the ring. He rolls in under the bottom rope and immediately pops up to his feet, going over to his corner. Pete: “Can you believe how these fans have gotten behind Manson in the last few weeks?” King: “I still can’t believe people thought Ringo Starr was a good drummer. How the hell am I supposed to believe the crowd reaction for Manson?” *DING DING DING!* That bell signals the beginning of the match, and both men casually walk to the center of the ring. Jay Hawke quickly makes the “I want the belt” motion once again, and Manson rolls his eyes. Hawke notices the eye roll and goes, “Do you really think you can take me, pal?” Manson simply smiles, and Jay Hawke responds by spitting in Manson’s face. “OOOOOOOOOOOOOO!” Manson responds with a hard slap to the face… “OHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!” …then immediately takes his anger out on Jay Hawke, backing him up with a series of right hands that would make Vitaly Klitschko go, “Damn, that’s an awesome series of right hands.” King: “Manson quickly throwing the rulebook out the window!” Pete: “Jay Hawke apparently didn’t do his homework, as he set off that fiery temper of Manson in short order!” A few more punches has Hawke backed up into the corner. Manson uses as much leverage as he can muster to whip “The Dean” all the way into the opposite turnbuckle, following in with a clothesline that rocks the last-ever USJL Champion. Manson immediately grabs Hawke, hooking him as if to go for a Russian legsweep, but Hawke pokes Manson in the eye to prevent the move. Hawke does a head BUTT… Pete: “A head BUTT from Hawke! We’ve never seen him use that before!” …and Hawke holds his own head in pain, showing there’s a reason he’s never used the move since joining the SWF. King: “Well…umm…I guess the picture speaks for itself right there.” Hawke shakes off the cobwebs and levels Manson with a forearm that staggers him about three steps backwards. “The Dean of Professional Wrestling” whips Manson into the ropes, but he’s unprepared for the rolling elbow that catches him flush in the face. Hawke immediately falls flat onto his back as Manson covers, neglecting to hook the leg: ONE! TWO! Kickout. Pete: “A tremendous countermove by Manson there, and he wasted no time trying to get the victory!” King: “There’s an old adage in wrestling that the promoter doesn’t pay you by the hour, and you get more money to win. And in this case, you also get a shot at the International Title. I hate to give Manson credit, but that was tremendous judgment to go for the pin right there!” As Hawke makes his way to his feet, Manson tries to keep him grounded with elbows to the head and kicks to the stomach. Hawke stands, and Manson tries to whip Jay into the ropes. Hawke spreads his legs to block the whip and reverse it. Manson quickly tries to go into a flash “Consequences” diamond cutter, but Hawke shoves Manson into the ropes, then hits him in the face with a dropkick that sends his opponent out to the arena floor. Pete: “Manson went for the kill right away, but Jay Hawke had that one well-scouted.” King: “He went for the end of the match way too soon. Trying a flash pin is one thing, but trying to hit your finisher in the opening two minutes is like asking your opponent to counter!” Jay Hawke steps through the ropes to prevent Manson from catching his breath, and he immediately focuses his attack on the head and neck, leveling Manson with a series of elbows to the back of the head. ONE! TWO! THREE! FOUR! Jay Hawke attempts to whip Manson into the steel steps, but Manson reverses it, driving the Dean’s knees into the ring steps. FIVE! SIX! Manson rolls Jay Hawke back into the ring. SEVEN! Manson slides back into the ring, forcing referee Scott Ryder to stop the count. Pete: “Both men beating the referee’s count of ten, and had either man been counted out, the other man would have advanced to face the winner of tonight’s International Title match!” Manson takes Jay Hawke down with a dragon screw leg whip, then locks in a toehold, twisting the foot to put the Dean in added pain. King: “I don’t understand the strategy of Manson’s there, though. I doubt that Jay Hawke was returning to the ring after hitting the steps like that. Why wouldn’t you just roll into the ring and take the countout victory?” Jay Hawke rolls over onto his front and gets on his knees to alleviate the pressure of the toehold. He slowly makes his way to his feet and faces his opponent. He leaps for the enzuigiri, but Manson ducks the hold. Hawke hits the mat hard and rolls over to his back, and Manson is quickly there to drop an elbow and make the cover: ONE! TW--kickout. Pete: “Jay Hawke kicking out even before the two count there.” King: “Another impressive move by the Dean of Wrestling. Hey, why take the risk of the referee hosing you with a fast count? Get out at one and take it out of the referee’s hands!” Manson grabs the left leg of Jay Hawke and drops his knee onto Hawke’s inner thigh. He goes for a spinning toehold, but Hawke uses his free leg to push his opponent from behind, and Manson winds up hitting the turnbuckle shoulder first. Manson falls to the mat clutching his shoulder, and Jay Hawke smiles eerily when he sees it. King: “Here we go! One move right to the shoulder, and now you’re going to watch Jay Hawke do what he does best, Pete!” Manson slowly makes his way to his feet, doubled over in pain as he clutches the shoulder. That makes him a sitting duck for Hawke to lock in a front facelock. Hawke hangs on to the hold for only a few seconds, as he takes his larger opponent down with a swinging neck breaker. Hawke goes for the pin, hooking the right leg for leverage: ONE! Kickout. Hawke refuses to give Manson a chance to get to his feet, as he grabs the arm, extends it across the mat, then drops a leg across it. Another cover, this time with the left leg grapevined: ONE! T -- kickout. Pete: “Jay Hawke is in firm control of this contest so far, but Manson refuses to even let the referee get to a two-count before kicking out!” King: “What a stupid move! He should wait for the two count and save his energy!” Pete: “Wait a second. You were praising Jay Hawke for kicking out at one a minute ago!” King: “Well, Hawke’s a wrestling genius, so I gave him the benefit of the doubt.” Pete: “Uh huh, sure.” Funyon: “Five minutes have gone by, 25 minutes remain.” Jay Hawke clearly heard the announcement of the time remaining, as he begins to slow the pace down by hooking Manson’s arm behind him in a hammerlock. Hawke yells “Ask him” at the referee, but Manson makes no audible indication aside of grunting from the pain. Hawke begins to stand, presumably to release the hold, but instead he drops a series of knees onto the left arm. Each knee brings out a slightly louder yell from Manson as the pain begins to intensify. Hawke then tightens his grip on the hammerlock, bringing another scream from Manson. King: “The Dean’s strategy is obvious here. He’s got the shoulder hurt, and he’s going to keep hurting the shoulder.” Pete: “Smart strategy, but I figured he’d have gone after Manson’s neck considering the problems he’s had with that in the past.” King: “Have you ever had an injured shoulder, Pete? If your shoulder is hurt badly enough, at some point the pain will extend throughout the arm, as well as to the neck. Hawke could be damaging a nerve in the shoulder muscles, and that’s going to take out his opponent’s neck.” Manson shows his resiliency, making his way to his feet despite clearly being in intense pain. He takes a couple of steps forward and ducks, and the momentum of the move sends Jay Hawke through the ropes to the concrete floor. Manson shakes the arm a few times to get some circulation back, then rolls to the outside. Pete: “Manson taking the fight to the outside, and this could be a mistake, King.” ONE! King: “I certainly hope so. Manson holding any title just doesn’t sound like it will draw any money.” TWO! Manson grabs Jay Hawke by the hair and drags him over to the right side of the ring. THREE! He rams Jay Hawke’s face into the broadcast table, sending Suicide King away from his seat. FOUR! Pete: “King, get back here.” FIVE! King: “With these two that close to us? Forget it, I’m retired!” SIX! Manson drags Jay Hawke over to the top side of the ring, but Jay Hawke stops him in his tracks with an elbow to the midsection… SEVEN! …then tosses Manson over the barricade with a hiptoss! EIGHT! King: “Yes! No Manson in the title hunt!” NINE! Jay Hawke rolls into the ring and celebrates, thinking he’s got a sure countout victory, but Scott Ryder stops his count to berate The Dean of Professional Wrestling for his behavior. The former USJL Champion is dumbfounded. What the hell was the point of returning to the ring at nine if the referee was just going to stop his count for no apparent reason? Ryder turns around and counts: ONE! King: “Wait a minute here! What the hell is going on?” Pete: “The referee is going to try to count out Manson!” King: “About damn time! He’s been on the floor for over 30 seconds already!” The count’s gotten to four, but Manson has made his way back over the guardrail. A disgusted Hawke shoves the referee aside and returns to the floor, ready to finish the job. The Dean moves in methodically, seemingly with an idea of how to finish the job, but Manson fires back with a clothesline that knocks Jay Hawke flat on his back. ONE! Manson grabs Hawke by the head again… King: “Watch yourself!” TWO! …and rams Hawke’s head into the broadcast table again. THREE! Manson grabs Hawke by the hand, and the fans anticipate an Irish whip into the guardrail. And they’re right. What they don’t anticipate is Hawke reversing it, sending Manson crashing into the barricade. FOUR! Jay Hawke walks over to his opponent and lifts him onto his shoulder. FIVE! Jay Hawke turns 145 degrees and sees his target… SIX! THUD! …and he rams Manson’s already damaged left shoulder into the steel ringpost. SEVEN! Manson clutches the shoulder yet again and lets out a scream that nearly pierces the ears of the front row fans. EIGHT! Jay Hawke rolls Manson back into the ring. NINE! And Jay Hawke follows, barely beating Scott Ryder’s count of ten. King: “Now why the hell didn’t the referee stop the ten count when Manson reentered the ring?” Pete: “I can only guess that it’s because Hawke rolled him in instead of Manson returning on his own accord.” King: “That makes absolutely no sense, Pete!” Jay Hawke climbs up onto the second rope, waiting patiently for Manson to get to his feet. Manson does so, doubling over as his shoulder begins to hang on his left side. Jay Hawke leaps and flips in midair, taking Manson down with a beautiful flying neck breaker. Pete: “Blockbuster by Jay Hawke!” King: “And now’s where he works the neck, which can’t be feeling well after all the work Hawke’s already done to the shoulder courtesy of a steel ringpost. I love it!” Pete: “You would!” Jay Hawke drops a leg across the throat of Manson. Some wrestlers would go for the pin here, but The Dean senses his opponent is still in decent shape. He picks up Manson and drops three hard elbows to the back of the neck. He goes for a fourth, but Manson catches Hawke with a couple of weak punches to the midsection, then a couple of harder ones to the face. The punches become more frequent and begin staggering Jay Hawke. Manson senses weakness and whips Hawke into the ropes, but he ducks his head too early. Hawke comes in and twists Manson’s neck in an uncomfortable looking manner with a spinning neck breaker, then quickly goes for the pin: ONE! Hawke hooks the leg. TWO! Kickout. Jay Hawke gets to his feet, glaring at the referee and shouting “Why don’t you count faster?” Pete: “Jay Hawke is getting a little frustrated with the referee’s count.” King: “And look at Scott Ryder. I think he’s getting intimidated. That’s what you get for having a rookie referee out here in an important match like this.” Manson is still down, and Jay Hawke takes advantage by standing on his throat. Manson gasps for breath as the referee tries to make Jay Hawke break the chokehold: Funyon: “Ten minutes have gone by…” ONE! Funyon: “Twenty minutes remain.” TWO! THREE! FOUR! Jay Hawke releases the boot chokehold, but he makes sure to stomp on the shoulder when he does. The referee warns Jay to break cleanly, but Hawke ignores him, putting his hands up as if to say “What? Me? Cheat? Never!” Manson rolls to the outside, hoping to catch his breath, but Hawke wastes no time going right out after him. Pete: “This is a different Jay Hawke than we’re used to seeing, King. He’s spending more time on the floor than we’ve ever seen him.” King: “Outside of maybe the Texas Tornado Match a few weeks ago, I think you’re right.” ONE! King: “I think he snapped after the unification match with Dangerous. He still wrestles smart, but he’s had an incredible mean streak since then.” TWO! Manson begins to walk away from the ring, trying anything to get a breather. THREE! Jay Hawke stalks him around the ring until Manson turns around… FOUR! “OOOOOOOOOOOOO!” …and spits right in the Dean’s face. FIVE! Partly angry and partly stunned, Hawke is wide open for another series of punches from Manson. SIX! Manson grabs a wobbly Jay Hawke, but Jay Hawke knees Manson in the midsection and whips him into the ring post. SEVEN! Manson’s left shoulder hits the post hard, and it’s still against the post when Hawke comes charging in with a clothesline to the back of the head. EIGHT! Jay Hawke rolls Manson into the ring, then reenters the ring himself before the referee can finish his ten count. Pete: “Both men make their way back into the ring, and I can’t believe this match has been on the floor this long, King.” King: “I can. The winner gets a shot at the International Championship, and the easiest way to put your opponent away is do damage on the floor with all the steel and cool little toys.” Jay Hawke kicks away at Manson’s injured left shoulder, shouting “Get up” after each kick. Manson valiantly tries to follow the Dean’s advice, but Hawke drops an elbow to that shoulder. Hawke looks to the crowd with an evil grin as Manson crawls to the ropes, using them to pull himself to his feet. The Dean levels Manson with a forearm to the back, then grabs him. He begins to hook his right leg around Manson’s left, but Manson elbows Jay in the gut. Manson catches Jay with a few well-placed knees to the stomach, then he hooks Jay Hawke… “YAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAY!” Pete: “STO! STO by Manson, seemingly out of nowhere, and he’s going for the pin!” ONE! TWO! Kickout. King: “But with that left shoulder hurting the way it is, he was unable to reach over and hook the leg!” Manson slowly makes his way to his feet, still favoring the left shoulder. Jay Hawke makes his way to his feet, but Manson catches him in the side of the head with a hard forearm smash. A second forearm catches Jay Hawke right in the jaw, and Hawke falls down like a barrel of bricks from the roof of a 15-story high rise. Manson is quickly into the cover… ONE! TWO! Kickout. Still hurting, Manson gets to his feet, but he’s quickly down again after dropping a knee to the chest of his opponent. Another cover, again without a hook of the leg: ONE! TWO! Kickout. Manson waves his good arm in an attempt to get the crowd behind him… “RAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!” …and it works. Manson runs into the ropes and extends the left arm for a lariat, but Hawke side steps and hooks the arm, bringing his opponent down to the mat and applying pressure. Pete: “Fujiwara armbar! Jay Hawke applying pressure to that already-injured shoulder!” King: “It’s only a matter of time now, Pete! He’s in the center of the ring, and I don’t see any way he can make it to the ropes!” But one thing Manson isn’t is a quitter. He begins crawling for the bottom rope in front of him. He gets maybe a foot forward before Jay Hawke cranks further back on the arm. Manson screams as it looks like Hawke might just rip the arm out straight from the shoulder socket. “LET’S GO MAN-SON! Clap clap clapclapclap! LET’S GO MAN-SON! Clap clap clapclapclap! LET’S GO MAN-SON! Clap clap clapclapclap!” The chant from the crowd seems to rejuvenate Manson, as he adds just a little bit more effort in his attempt to reach the ropes. He crawls until he’s about six inches away, weakening Hawke’s grip on the hold at the same time. He’s just out of reach, but he makes a seemingly desperate lunge for the ropes, just getting enough on it to reach the ropes and force the break. Hawke doesn’t release the hold right away, prompting a count from the referee: ONE! TWO! THREE! FOUR! Jay Hawke releases the hold just in time to prevent the disqualification, then pulls his opponent into the center of the ring. He locks Manson’s head into a rear chancery, then leans back… King: “Dragon sleeper! Finish him off!” Pete: “Aren’t you supposed to be impartial?” King: “Screw impartiality! Make that man tap out!” Jay Hawke cranks back on the hold, but Manson catches Hawke in the face with a knee. Hawke releases the hold, but before Manson can take advantage of the situation, Jay Hawke kicks Manson straight between the shoulder blades. Manson’s face contorts in pain, but Manson makes his way to his feet. Not for long, as Jay Hawke wraps his arms around Manson’s waist and takes him backwards into a German suplex: ONE! TWO! THR… kickout! Pete: “Only a count of two! Jay Hawke is less than half a count away from finishing Manson off right there!” King: “And Ryder’s counting slow!” Pete: “No he’s not!” The count doesn’t concern Jay Hawke, as he grabs Manson for a vertical suplex. He lifts Manson off the ground slightly, but Manson hooks his leg behind Hawke’s to block it. Manson knees Hawke in the midsection, then hooks Hawke’s leg before swinging Hawke around into a modified fisherman suplex… Pete: “Moss-covered three-handled family gredunza, and the shoulders are down!” ONE! TWO! Jay Hawke punches the left arm, causing Manson to release the cradle and hold the shoulder again. Hawke stands up, waiting for his opponent to do the same. Manson gets to his knees, and Jay Hawke floats behind him, motioning for Manson to get to his feet. King: “You know what’s coming here, Pete!” Manson gets to his feet, and Jay Hawke goes for the crossface chickenwing portion of the Wing Span. Manson turns his body to prevent the hold from being locked on, and Hawke peppers the back of Manson’s head with a series of elbows as he attempts to lock it on. “MAN-SON! MAN-SON! MAN-SON!MAN-SON!” Manson uses his right arm to grab the Dean by the head and snap mare him over. The move gives Manson just enough time to back into the ropes and charge with a Western lariat… “OHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!” …but Jay Hawke senses it coming and avoids the move…with Manson then hitting Scott Ryder, who happened to be behind The Dean. Funyon: “Fifteen minutes have gone by in the match, fifteen minutes remain!” Pete: “Oh no! At the halfway point of the contest, Manson accidentally clotheslines the referee!” King: “Great. Every good guy’s best friend. The sleeping referee!” Manson looks down at the referee, who is showing no signs of moving. Jay Hawke comes up from behind as the crowd screams: “NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!” But Manson turns around and takes Jay Hawke down with a Diamond cutter out of nowhere! “YAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAY!” Pete: “Consequences! Manson just took Jay Hawke down with the Consequences, and he’s got the match won!” Manson covers instinctively, and the crowd counts: “ONE! TWO! THREE! YAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAY!” King: “The crowd can count to three all day long if they want to, but unless Scott Ryder wakes up and makes the count himself, it doesn’t count!” Manson gets off of Jay Hawke’s prone body and goes over to try to wake the referee up. Pete: “And Manson is aware of that as well, as he tries to wake the referee up!” King: “Not smart! This is giving Jay time to recover!” Jay Hawke rolls out of the ring and slowly heads over to the timekeeper’s table, where he reaches for his folded robe. Pete: “Maybe Hawke thinks the match is over. He’s reaching for his robe as if to get out of here!” Jay Hawke reaches into the pocket of his robe and pulls out a lead pipe. King: “Um, Pete…I think that all he really wanted was an equalizer!” As Jay Hawke rolls into the ring, the crowd screams at Manson that Hawke has a weapon. He apparently doesn’t hear them though. Just as the referee starts coming to, Manson turns around… SMACK! “OWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWW!” …and walks into a shot from that lead pipe, courtesy of a homerun swing from Jay Hawke. Jay Hawke immediately tosses the evidence out of the ring, then collapses to the mat as if he’s just been taken down with another Consequences. The referee finally regains his composure enough to turn around, and all he sees is both men down on the mat. Pete: “What a cheap shot by Jay Hawke! That man will do anything to get that championship belt!” King: “What do you expect? He’s been waiting nearly a month for that rematch now, and he’s got to sit back and earn it while lesser guys get shots!” Jay Hawke “conveniently” regains his composure and grabs a fallen Manson, and this time he locks the Wing Span on. “BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!” Pete: “There’s that Wing Span submission hold from Jay Hawke, and I don’t see how Manson can hold out this time!” King: “Hawke’s even locked that arm scissors on the free arm this time! There’s nowhere for Manson to go!” The referee checks on Manson, who vehemently refuses to give into the intense pain. Jay Hawke cranks back on it just a little more to add pressure, but Manson still refuses to give in. “PLEASE DON’T TAP! PLEASE DON’T TAP! PLEASE DON’T TAP!PLEASE DON’T TAP! PLEASE DON’T TAP!” Manson hears the crowd’s plea, and it seems to fire him up. He clenches his right fist and tries to get to his knees to alleviate the pressure. The crowd begins stirring, thinking Manson is going to break the submission hold. Pete: “Look at Manson fight the hold!” King: “I can’t believe it! Any other man in this company would have given in by now, but Manson is still trying to find a way out of the hold!” Manson has made his way to his knees, but Jay Hawke is still applying every bit of pressure he can to the hold! Manson makes one last effort to get to his feet and possibly counter the hold, but he quickly falls back down. “LET’S GO MAN-SON! Clap clap clapclapclap! LET’S GO MAN-SON! Clap clap clapclapclap! LET’S GO MAN-SON! Clap clap clapclapclap!” Again the crowd rallies behind their favorite, but he’s fading fast. He tries in vain to reach forward for the ropes, unable to free his arm from the arm scissors. One more lunge follows, but Manson collapses. Jay Hawke leans back on the hold as Scott Ryder asks for the submission. Pete: “Manson’s not answering the referee!” King: “Then he can’t continue! Ring the bell!” Scott Ryder decides to check Manson’s arms. He lifts it… “LET’S GO MAN-SON! Clap clap clapclapclap!” …it falls! “LET’S GO MAN-SON! Clap clap clapclapclap!” He lifts the arm again… “LET’S GO MAN-SON! Clap clap clapclapclap!” …and it falls again. King: “One more and it’s all over!” “LET’S GO MAN-SON! Clap clap clapclapclap!” He lifts the arm a third time… “LET’S GO MAN-SON! Clap clap clapclapclap!” …and it falls. Scott Ryder immediately calls for the bell. *DING DING DING!* “BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!” King: “What are these people booing for? The better man won!” Manson is completely unconscious, but Jay Hawke refuses to release the hold. Scott Ryder practically begs Jay Hawke to release the hold, then decides to just start counting: ONE! TWO! THREE! FOUR! Jay Hawke releases the hold, just in time to avoid having the referee reverse his decision. Funyon: “Ladies and gentlemen, in 18 minutes 27 seconds, your winner of this contest … and the number one contender to the SWF International Championship … ‘The Dean of Professional Wrestling’ … JAAAAAAAAAAAAY HAWWWWWWWWWWKE!” “JAY HAWKE SUCKS! JAY HAWKE SUCKS! JAY HAWKE SUCKS!” Jay Hawke smiles as “Learning to Fly” blares over the PA and the crowd continues their all-too-familiar chant. Pete: “Jay Hawke has won the match to become the number one contender to the International Title, but I don’t approve of the way he did it, King!” King: “What are you talking about?” Pete: “Jay Hawke used that lead pipe while the referee was down, and in my opinion, that was the one thing that finally put Manson away!” King: “Well, just to show you I’m a fair man, Pete, I’ll go ahead and say it. Truly a gallant effort on the part of Manson, as he was in the Wing Span for nearly two minutes without submitting. But the cream always rises to the top, which is why Jay Hawke will rise to the International Championship as soon as that match is signed.” Jay Hawke goes to the ropes to leave the ring, but he stops short. He then looks down at Manson, who is still facedown on the mat. Pete: “Wait a second. What’s going on here?” Jay Hawke leans in closer to Manson until his nose is maybe six inches away from Manson’s head… King: “He’s just getting a closer look at the damage he did.” …then he spits on his fallen opponent before adding, “Thank you for warming up for Dangerous.” Pete: “Can you believe the nerve of that man?” King: “Hey, he’s cocky, he’s arrogant … but he’s the number one contender to the International Championship. I wouldn’t want to be Johnny Dangerous or Landon Maddix if they have to face this man.” Jay Hawke leaves the ring and makes the “I want the belt” motion as he heads to the back. Pete: “Well, beating Manson with a lead pipe is one thing. But can he beat the International Champion if he can’t get hold of that pipe?” King: “He can beat anybody on any night, Pete. The pipe’s just an insurance policy.” Jay Hawke holds one arm over his head as he exits through the curtain.

Really?

That's because you refuse to let me put you in a title feud, you bastard.

Apparently Mak just gained access to the CC board. Atta boy.

God only knows how, but Toxx is through to the next round, a 'player's choice' round. Now let's see you take that SWF flavor and show them what our fed does best. I want to see something that's up there with Chicken McNuggets for the Soul, Revenge is a Dish Best Served in Vermont, Operation POOFNAR... you know how to do. If you put up a rough draft RP in the next couple of days, the rest of us will give you feedback to make it number one.

The Smartmarks Wrestling Federation presents... SWF BATTLEGROUND, APRIL 24TH, 2005, LIVE FROM THE ALAMODOME IN SAN ANTONIO, TEXAS! (11:00 PM EST; 8:00 PM PST. Check local listings.) SWF WORLD HEAVYWEIGHT CHAMPIONSHIP Toxxic (SWF World Heavyweight Champion) v. "The Franchise" Mak Francis -> Mak Francis slogged through a bitter feud with Spike Jenkins, who apparently still can't come up big when it counts, to earn this title shot. Toxxic, meanwhile, slogged through matchless show after matchless show, and it's a wonder he's not four hundred pounds on a couch somewhere as Battleground rolls around. Tonight, Francis gets his second title shot this year -- but can he make this one count? Rules: Standard singles. Marker: Ace309 SWF INTERNATIONAL CHAMPIONSHIP Johnny Dangerous (SWF International Champion) v. Landon Maddix -> So Johnny and Landon aren't really happy with one another. I guess. I know they cut some promos on one another a while back but nothing actually became of it, and since we wanted to put an International Championship defence on PPV we figured hey let's pull the trigger. Dangerous/Maddix V -- commence! Rules: Standard singles. Marker: Chuck Woolery MYSTERY MATCH ??? v. "Hollywood" Spike Jenkins -> Who is ??? Well, I know and Tom knows and ??? knows, and we all three know that Jenkins deserves an ass-kicking after Smarkdown. Can ??? deliver? Rules: Standard singles. ???, PM your stats to Jenkins. Marker: Justice SWF WORLD CRUISERWEIGHT CHAMPIONSHIP LADDER MATCH Wildchild (SWF World Cruiserweight Champion) v. "The Critic" Scott Pretzler -> Can you believe that I'm satiating Wildchild's ego by calling it the World Cruiserweight Championship? Neither can I. Fact remains, no matter where on the card he is, SWF fans will associate Wildchild with the Cruiserweight Championship. He's the closest thing (besides Toxxic) that this fed has to an icon right now, but there's one man out to prove that he should be the face of the Cruiser division -- "The Critic", Scott Pretzler. Rules: Standard ladder match rules. Marker: chirs3 SINGLES MATCH Lil' Buck v. Lord David -> Lil' Buck is the man. I fully expect him to contend for the World title soon, but until then he'll be battling it out with SWF newcomer Lord David for pride -- and a chance to move up in the eyes of SWF brass (aka me). Rules: Standard singles. Marker: Justice SWF HARDCORE CHAMPIONSHIP JJ Johnson v. Insane Luchadore -> IL is exercising his rematch clause. This looks like an exercise in futility. Is it? Rules: NONE Marker: Chuck Woolery RANKINGS MATCH "Urban Legend" Todd Cortez v. Ejiro Fasaki -> On the CC board, Tom, Raynor and I have super-secret rankings that no one else knows about -- and Ejiro and Cortez are currently high up in those rankings. This match will have huge implications on the rankings, so the big question is -- who will win it? Rules: Standard singles. Marker: Ace309 SWF INTERNATIONAL CHAMPIONSHIP #1 CONTENDERSHIP Jay Hawke v. Manson -> So, uh, both of these guys are pretty good. Hawke is itching for another shot at Johnny, while Manson is itching for a shot at any title. He's already worked himself in line for a shot at the Tag titles, but right now he gets a chance to attain his singles title goals against the man who was so hot a couple weeks ago, Jay Hawke. Rules: Standard singles. Marker: chirs3 BAR ROOM BRAWL Arch Griffon v. Mohammed Koran -> It's America v. Arab in a bar room! LET'S GET IT ON! Rules: None. You two will be brawling in the 'Brawling Titty' bar two blocks down from the Alamodome. Marker: Ace309

People, go bump a fucking thread if you want a nostalgia trip.

I want the entire cast of Mucha Lucha to come fill out our undercard.

Remember when I was booked in a 2/3 falls match against Fugue and completely took him to school on how to write a technically sound match? Well, I do. And Z does. While I'm here, Lord David's match showed a good handle on wrestling, and I'm sure he'll read this show and get an idea of what he needs to do to improve. A very solid first effort, and I'm sure he'll be writing SWF Style in no time.

Okay, my draft of the card's going up now, markerless and stuff, so you guys can start writing. I'm more pissed than I initially thought I was (not just because of fed matters), so I'll make it look all pretty-like later on tonight. EDIT: Or if Tom, Raynor, or one of that crew wants to, by all means

“The following match-up is a TWO out of THREE falls match for the number one contender to the SWF World Heavyweight Championship!” The house lights shut off as the wispy sounds of a digital xylophone echo throughout the arena. You can feel the pulsation of the light dings, as a hard beat done by violins, suddenly strikes up slightly overshadowing the original background rhythm. “So do you wanna’ be a Franchise… And live large… A big house… five cars…” The SmarkTron flares up with a blue and white photonegative image of Mak Francis, which is followed by ‘The Franchise’ in large green lettering, flashing on the screen in time with the beat. “The rent charge… Comin’ up in the world, don’t trust nobody… Gotta’ look over your shoulder constantly!” As the opening lyrics from Rock Superstar by Cypress Hill, slightly altered of course, blare over the PA system, it takes a little while but eventually the self-proclaimed franchise makes his way through the curtain. The lights come back up and Francis comes out onto the stage, tilting his shades down on the bridge of his nose, before looking left and then right… “I remember the days, when I was a young kid grownin’ up… Lookin’ in the mirror dreamin’ about blowin’ up!” *FWISH-BOOM!* *FWISH-BOOM!* *FWISH-BOOM!* *FWIIIIIIIIIISH-BOOOOOOOOOOM!* “Making his way to the ring—from Philadelphia, Pennsylvania, and weighing in tonight at two hundred and forty pounds! He is one the true “FRANCHISE”… MAK FRAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAANCISSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS!” That cues multiple short bursts of green pyrotechnics erupting from either side of him. He readjusts his shades with a smirk, before slowly strolling down to ringside trench coat billowing behind him. After walking up the ring steps, Mak cockily wipes his feet on the apron, giving a salute to the crowd, before entering through the middle ropes. Francis walks past Mark Hebner with a smirk and inaudible chuckle then proceeds to climb the turnbuckle posing with both fists raised in the air and hand of his coat to the nearest attendant. “And his OPPONENT!” Every light in the arena goes to full power as the Smarktron whites out. For a moment the only sound is that of a needle scratching over vinyl... And then *BAM* The crashing guitars of Lamb of God’s “Black Label” send a bolt through the crowd. The drumming sends a jolt throughout the arena, as the pace of the intro begins to pick up. Finally… “AHHHHHHHHHHHHHH” The high-pitched scream of Randy Blythe breaks through the speakers as the bright white lights begin flashing at the entranceway. Spike stumbles out dryly from behind the entrance curtain, the black hood of his cut-off sweatshirt covering his face, with only a few strands of hair being visible. Spike drops down to one knee, leaving one arm to hang to the ground, while the other is firmly placed on his knee. After a few moments, Spike raises both arms into an “X”, symbolizing his Straight Edge life style. Spike rises to his feet and begins to make his way down the isle towards the ring. ”From Hollywood, California and weighing in tonight at Two hundred and twenty-five pounds! He is… “HOLLYWOOD”… SPIKE JEEEEEEEEEENNNNNNNNNNNNKINNNNNSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS!!!!” Spike rolls underneath the bottom rope, until he hits dead center in the middle of the ring. Spike rises to one knee, no poses right now, as he locks eyes on the man that forced him to tap out. His supposed mentor. The man he’s going to beat tonight, within an inch of his life. “And here we go!” Pete shouts, as Spike Jenkins practically throws himself at Mak Francis and they crash together like two sub atomic particles, causing the crowd to wince as if a shockwave of illumination was emitted from the collision. *BAM!* “Cheap shot,” King bemoans, as Hollywood lands a sharp right… and another to the face of his foe! “He’s attacking before the bell!” *Ding! Ding! Ding!* The bell is soon to follow at the behest of Mark Hebner, as Spike swings his fist again, meeting the side of Mak’s head. The Franchise, momentarily stunned, begins to cotton on and fires off right hands of his own, fighting back, but Spike is too far ahead as they fall to the canvas. Jenkins attempts to mount Mak, but the Franchise sits in half guard, just trying to keep his defenses up! *BAM!* *BAM!* *BAM!* “Spike Jenkins is taking it directly to the Franchise here tonight.” Pete notes, as Mak begins shifting his body weight in a roll, both men ignoring the official’s pleas to break somewhat cleanly. “A distinct departure from how all of their previous matches have started.” “Well, Jenkins is pissed off…” King responds to the Longdogger’s statement, while Francis twists Spike off him and rolls on top of his opponent, who adopts a similar defensive position. “And now he’s about to get pummeled!” *BAM!* *BAM!* *BAM!* “No shortage of punches so far tonight. Those pure wrestling rules of the last match have nothing to do with this encounter.” Spike, from his half guard slides Mak onto his side, but the Franchise just rolls with it, trying to keep on the attack. The two combatants roll towards the ropes, both swinging away as they tumble under the bottom cable and to the outside landing with a dull thud on the thinly padded floor. Mak holds his neck on the outside, apparently breaking Spike’s fall with the back of his head, while Jenkins rises to a knee. The Franchise sits up and receives a knee to the side of his head, for his troubles! The front row has already risen to it feet, pounding on the barricade, as Spike scores another knee to Francis sending him sprawling towards the barrier! The pounding on the wall intensifies, as the pounding on Mak’s head by Spike does. “This isn’t a wrestling match—Hebner, do you job and get it back in the ring.” Inside the ring, Mark Hebner sticks his head between the ropes and shouts to bring the action back inside. If Spike heard him, he doesn’t acknowledge, picking Mak up by the arm and tossing him into the barricade back first! Hebner just shakes his head and begins his count, hoping to gain some control over the match. “One!” “Two!” Fans pat the Franchise on the back briefly and then quickly back away from the scene unfolding before them. “Hollywood” Spike Jenkins running head long into Mak Francis… “Thre-” …who grasps him about the waist and takes a step forward, more like a little hop, as he pops his hips and sends Spike FLYING overhead, past the barrier and into the CROWD! “That was an overhead belly to belly suplex INTO the crowd!” LDP shouts, as Spike lands in the audience, his head hitting the chair of a fan that dove out of the way while Mak leans back against the barrier. The Franchise rubs at his face, trying to regain his composure from the initial onslaught. In the ring, Hebner remembers to start his count again, momentarily paralyzed by the thrown into the audience. “…Four!” “Indeed it was, Dippity-dog!” King says, as Mak walks back towards the ring, rolling under the bottom cable. Hebner sighs in relief, only to see Francis roll right back to the outside! “And even though I don’t like him, Mak Francis just did something that even I have to admit was cool.” “Cooler than saying… or a gun all the time?” “Depends on how many times you run the joke into the ground…” King responds, as Mak makes his way back over to the front row. Spike, feeling multiple hands patting him blinks back to reality and sees the upside down faces of audience members, when Mak grabs him by the hair and assists Spike over the wall and back to the floor. Leading Spike back towards the ring by his hair, Mak waves off the referee, who continues to insist that they bring the match back in the squared circle. Jenkins, having regained his bearings somewhat, fires off a right hand to the ribcage of the Franchise… and another – but Mak just turns and raises a knee into his midsection, knocking the fight out of Spike for the moment. “Back inside we go finally.” Pete notes, as Spike gets tossed under the bottom rope; it seems just to shut Mark Hebner up. Back inside, Spike pushes himself to a knee and grabs the ropes, pulling himself up in the corner, while Mak sidesteps Hebner and any warnings he may be giving. Making his way to the corner, the Franchise suddenly jerks back, his chest stinging from the impact of Spike’s hand— *Smack!* “WHOOOOOOOO!” But Mak lands a toe kick to the stomach, and then grabbing the ropes stomps away with a side kick… and another… and another! Effectively winding his opponent before answering back— *Smack!* “WHOOOOOOOO!” Nailing Spike with a knife-edge chop! The crowd begins to rally behind the Franchise with “WHOOO’S!” as he once again— *Smack!* “WHOOOOOOOO!” —Plasters the former Revolution zero member with another hard knife-edge chop! Mak quickly pulls his arm back again— *Smack!* “WHOOOOOOOO!” —Hitting a third scintillating knife-edge chop!! Spike shudders from the impact and Francis backs Jenkins out of the corner and into the ropes, sending him off in an Irish whip. “Irish whip—no, reversal, Jenkins puts on the breaks!” Pete says, calling the action, as Spike stops on a dime and twists Mak around, kicking him in the gut. Then he loops his arm around the throat of Francis, looking to sit out and hit a side shoulder jawbreaker—nope, Mak counters with rapid fire back elbows stunning Hollywood and stopping him dead in his tracks, only to grab his arm and dive backwards towards the mat in a Single arm DDT! “Spike proving just how minor a threat his ‘Minor Threat’ is!” King adds gleefully, as Hollywood clutches at his right arm. Spike grimaces into the mat, as Mak sits up, a smirk coming across his features as he points to his head, tapping his temple three times. LDP shakes his head at the bad joke, but gives it credence. “Tonight the tables have turned. Just like Spike was able to do in their previous match, Mak Francis has flipped the script by using his knowledge of a hold he himself uses to his advantage.” Spike, not one to stand down for long, rises to a knee, wiggling his fingers to get the feeling back in his arm. Mak stands and does what he does best – follows up – grabbing Spike by the arm and twisting it overhead in an arm wringer! Spike winces slightly, trying to gain wrist control with his other hand, but Mak yanks down on the arm sending a fresh wave of pain and stopping any thoughts of countering in their tracks. The Franchise swings Spike down in an amateur arm drag takedown and steps over attempting to bar the arm, but Spike rolls into his body alleviating the pressure. Now without any added torque on his arm, Spike tries to squirm away from Mak’s grasp, but Francis doesn’t want another stand up battle against Jenkins; he has Spike down on the mat, exactly where he wants him. Grasping a hold of Jenkins’ arm, Mak keeps close to Spike as he applies a key lock, then slides away slightly preventing Spike from connecting with one of his stiff strikes, like the elbow he received in their last match. Mak pushes down and Spike’s shoulders hit the mat. Hebner already at his knees to check the hold; makes the count… ONE! TW—No. Spike lifts his shoulder back up. LDP looks on at the scene unfolding in the ring. “Mak always has a game plan and it is evident here. Maintain arm control and work the limb over. Nothing has changed for the Franchise, even after Spike’s early flurry of offense.” Pete notes, as Francis calmly exerts more pressure on Hollywood’s right wing. “That’s why he’s one of the best ground tacticians in this bid’ness.” Spike does however manage to climb to his feet, cringing as Mak applies even more pressure to his arm, but fights up with an elbow to the gut… and another… and another! Finally getting some separation, Spike thinks out his next plan of attack, but that momentary pause allows Mak Francis to shoot his left leg out and sweep it towards Spike’s ankle… …but Jenkins remembering their last encounter spots the cross arm-breaker set-up with seconds to spare and hops over the flash takedown! Francis’ eyes widen in surprise, sure he had a chance at a submission, when an elbow lands flush with Mak’s face, stunning him! *CRACK!* “RAAAAAAAAAAAH!” Spike, like a shark smelling blood, presses his new advantage, feeling a twinge in his arm with each forearm he lands on the Franchise, backing him into the ropes. “Irish whip—reversal and Spike hits the ropes.” Pete calls as a still groggy Mak cannot avoid getting hit with a running elbow from Hollywood! Francis falls to the mat, holding his face, while Jenkins shakes out his arm. No pain, no gain. “Does Jenkins grind his elbows to a point with a pencil sharpener or something?” King questions, while Spike picks Mak back up and pushes him into the ropes for an Irish whip. Francis is sent to run the ropes and upon his return, ducks a back elbow from Hollywood. Mak rebounds off the ropes and preps to raise his leg for a Yakuza kick, but notices that Spike is already one step ahead of him, sliding forward in a Toxxic-esque soccer tackle! Francis stumbles briefly, trying to regain his balance and does so, just barely leapfrogging Spike as he attempts to undercut the Franchise’s bad knee. Missing his target, Spike pops up to his feet, raising his leg for a high kick that Mak ducks under!! Both men run towards their respective ropes and bounce back, leaping into the air and colliding body to body with dueling cross-bodies! “Cross-body to cross-body, King!” LDP shouts, as the two warriors hold their stomachs on the mat. “They had the same idea and you know what they say about great minds thinking alike!” “Well they’re both stupid in my book.” King says snidely. “Now neither of them has the advantage.” Hebner bends down and looks at the two wrestlers, as they begin to move, the crowd stomping their feet awaiting to see if they’ll get to yell the standing ten count… when both Mak and Spike push themselves up to a knee. Mark claps his hands signaling they’re getting up and backs away, as Francis gets to his feet first, punishing Spike with a forearm to the face! Jenkins stumbles slightly, but answers back shooting up from his knees and whacking the Mak attack with a strike of his own! The Franchise holds his jaw, but leans forward again, nailing Spike with another strike! Spike, though his arm is hurting knows that this strike battle is the chance he needs to turn the tide in his favor. He’s the better striker, so he acts like it, pushing forward, the pain in his arm having ebbed away since Mak hasn’t been able to focus on it. A forearm and another… and then… RIGHT! RIGHT! … “RAAAAAAAAAH!” “ROLLING ELBOW!” Pete shouts, as Spike spins around to hit one of his signature strikes, but Mak pushes him in the back as he turns, sending him into the ropes! Mak raises his leg for a high kick as Spike returns, but Jenkins ducks under skidding to a stop… “…Shit.” He mumbles. …Mak turns on instinct and as he sees the foot of “Hollywood” Spike Jenkins flying towards him he remembers back to when he used to be able to throw a decent superkick… and the one counter that anybody who throws one hates the most. Checking Hebner’s positioning with practiced ease, so as not to give himself away, Mak ducks his head slightly and fires his left hand forward socking Spike directly in his ball sack!! “OOOOHHHHHHHHHHH!” “LOW BLOW!” Longdogger Pete and the Suicide King shout. One pleased, one chagrined, as Spike, nearly crumples from the extreme pain. Clearly parts of the crowd saw the indiscretion, but all that matters is Hebner did not. Mak quickly fires off a toe kick, barely even connecting but Hebner can’t tell that. Spike hunches at the waist and slaps on a front facelock… Cradles the leg… Lifts a helpless Spike Jenkins into the air and kicks his legs out, jumping into the air and simply sending Hollywood’s head careening into the canvas with the cranium crushing FRANCHISE TAG! Spike’s body goes limp for a second, as Mak sits up from the canvas as raises an eyebrow to a mixed reaction. Mark Hebner drops to the mat, vaguely suspicious but forced to count none the less, and even the crowd counts along half-heartedly… “ONE!” “It’s over, Pete!” “TWO!” “Nobody kicks out of the Franchise Tag!” “THREE!” And so far nobody has… *Ding! Ding! Ding!* Funyon’s voice comes through on the microphone, after Hebner waves his hands signaling for the bell. “The winner of the first fall, by pinfall, MAK FRANCIS!” Pete sits slightly disgusted by the scene in front of him. “Spike Jenkins was just robbed in broad daylight, folks. Mak is a great competitor, but that was highway robbery of a fall, right there!” “And what Spike did in their previous matches wasn’t?” King questions, while Spike alternates between his head and his hurting nether regions. “I didn’t say that, King. Don’t put words in my mouth.” Pete says, while Hebner checks on Jenkins. “But this is the rubber match between these two guys and I was hoping for a clean contest all the way through… though knowing just who we’re watching I should have known better.” “Please,” King starts. “This IS the rubber match. For a shot at Toxxic and the SWF World Heavyweight Title! If anything they should cheat more than they did in the earlier encounters. As long as they don’t get caught, that is.” Hebner haven given Spike past the mandatory ten seconds to recover, realizes his error and signals for the bell again. *Ding! Ding! Ding!* “And the second fall is under way!” King notes, as Mak walks over to the stunned Spike and grabs at him. Jenkins swats his hands away and rolls, but Francis is persistent and grabs him by the hair, lifting him to his feet. Hebner warns Mak about the hair, and since he just got away with a low blow, Francis obeys quickly releasing the hair and snitching in another front headlock. “He’s going for it again!” King shouts, as parts of the crowd rise again while he attempts to hook Spike’s leg, but Hollywood won’t allow him to hook the leg, so Francis follows up his Franchise Tag with a vertical suplex floating over into a pin! ONE! TWO! THR—No! Hollywood slides out of the lateral press in a not so impressive kick-out. “Close call for Spike there, King! He did well to avoid that Franchise Tag, cause we just saw what it can do, low blow or not.” Pete adds as the Franchise sits up and thinks on his next plan of attack. He grabs Spike by the hair, quickly letting go again at the referee’s warning and then pulls him up to his feet, dragging him towards the ropes. Mak tosses Spike into the ropes face first and belts him in the kidney with a forearm! Jenkins stumbles back into the ropes on wobbly legs, but somehow uses the momentum to spin and lunge forward, blasting Mak in the face with an elbow!! “Francis going for that Kidney punch into a side Russian leg sweep. A staple combo of his, but Spike still has a lot of fight left in him!” Mak pivots blinking in pain, as he turns back around, only to see Spike Jenkins sliding at his left leg and crashing into it with a soccer takle! Mak leg buckles and he falls to the mat, remembering the injury Sacred exposed in their championship match. And with his face seething, Mak checks his knee, feeling that raw pain again. As Spike pushes himself up to a knee, Francis doesn’t even waste a second tackling Spike to the mat! Mak, on his hands and knees grabs Spike by the hair and mounts him, pounding away with straight right hands to the face! *BAM!* *BAM!* *BAM!* *BAM!* “It would seem that going after Mak’s knee was not a good idea for Spike’s health.” “We’ve seen this before and we’ll see it again. Everybody should know by now that going after Mak’s knee is taboo. He may not flip out like he did against Sacred, but he’ll inflict some real punishment on you for the rest of the match.” And Mak stays on him grabbing Spike by the hair and glaring at the ref, as if to say ‘I don’t give a fuck’ before lifting him to his vertical base. Mak backs Spike into the ropes with a few punches to the face and sends him away on an Irish whip, lowering his head for a back body drop—nope, too early! Spike as out of it as he is, capitalizes on this mistake and gets a kick to Mak’s chest! Francis covers up, the wind knocked out of him for a second and that second is all Spike needs, snitching in a front headlock and pulling Mak down towards the canvas!! “Guillotine choke!” Pete calls, as Spike attempts to wrap his legs around Francis’ bodyto get the submission. “This could even this match up right here.” “But flash submissions are Mak’s specialty, Toilet clogger!” King responds, since even as he speaks Mak begins to sprawl, countering the attempted body-scissors. Not able to get the guillotine, Spike sandbags hoping to buy some time, but Mak fights up to his feet, forearming at the ribcage of his opponent and then suddenly arching backwards, lifting him overhead in a beautiful Northern Lights suplex!! ONE! TWO! THR—No! Spike bridges out; finding strength from god knows where and pushing up with all he has left! The crowd marvels at the move, cheering like crazy as they rotate around… and into position for a back slide!! Spike drops down onto his knees and leverages Mak over, Hebner moving into position and the crowd counting in hopes of seeing a third fall. “ONEEE!” “TWOOOOOOO!” “THREEEEEAAAAHHH!” “Noooooo!” Pete shouts. “So close!” he adds, as Mak falls onto his belly, haven broken the roll-up! Mak ends up on his hands and knees, as Spike pushes himself up, after being so close to tying up the match… *WHAM!* Only to have the Franchise EXPLODE forward and clock him with a clothesline! “Mak is pissed!” King says, stating the obvious, as Francis seethes from nearly having the match tied up. “But it also seems that his anger leaves him prone to mistakes, King.” LDP adds. “We forget that Mak is still young and even with all of his in ring and amateur experience, he falls prey to rookie mistakes when he’s not focused on his normally excellent strategies… minus the cheating of course.” “Of course.” Spike crawls into the nearest corner, which allows an irate Mak to hit his boot scrapes, and then adding insult to injury Mak gets a knee brace scrape! Then he sets-up for a Yakuza kick with Spike now standing propped up in the corner – but Mak misses a corner Yakuza kick, crotching himself on the turnbuckle and Spike loops behind and hits a Dangerous German suplex!!! Jenkins sits in in control with strikes to the face on Mak, who suddenly leaps into the air and counters with a Flying Cross arm-breaker, out of nowhere, which Spike turns into a roll up, but Mak quickly kicks-out the damage done! “Francis using a different method to get that cross arm-breaker, is right back in this.” Mak uses the ropes to work over Spike’s arm then gets a cross corner whip, leading to The Truth Hurts, but Spike turns and plasters Mak with a Lariat but can’t make the cover because of his arm! Spike backs away and goes for the Shinning Apprentice, but Mak ducks on and slides into a Flip-over German suplex!! “That suplex wasn’t just filthy—it was a ‘Super-filthy German suplex’!” shouts King as Mak remains in control. Sliding on the ground over to Spike… securing one arm. then securing the other arm for a double chickenwing, and flips forward into the Cattle Mutilation~!! “OM MY GOD! CATTLE MUTILATION! Spike was able to reach the ropes in their last match, but this time the move is locked in, center of the rin—COUNTER!” shouts Pete, as Spike slides his arm close together and forces Mak’s bridge to lessen. He then slips his arms out from between Francis’ in perfect position for a move… like a dragon sleeper!!! “RAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!” The crowd explodes to its feet as Spike with a bad right arm, struggles to hold on, grinding away at the weakened neck of the Franchise! Mak’s arms flail about wildly, any other grappler would have just tapped out once in this position, up a fall. Better to give up the fall, than to risk injury AND lose the fall! But Mak searches for something, anything to aid him in his quest not to tap out. “Can Mak Francis make the ropes, Pete?” “He’s fading fast! I think he’s too far away!” “How could this have happened?” Because damnit, Mak Francis doesn’t tap out! “You gotta’ TAP!” Mak Francis doesn’t tap out! “You gotta’ TAP!” …Mak Francis doesn’t tap out… “YOU GOTTA’ TAP!” …Mak Francis can’t tap out… Mak Francis does indeed… *tap-tap-tap* Tap out. *Ding! Ding! Ding!* Funyon’s voice comes through on the microphone, after Hebner waves his hands signaling for the bell. “The winner of the first fall, by submission, SPIKE JENKINS!” *Ding! Ding! Ding!* Mak rolls outside the ring to buy himself some time, and Spike follows, propping Mak up against the ring post in a Tom Flesher-esque move Spike runs forward attempting to Yakuza kick Mak into the steel ring post, but he misses as Francis dives out of the way!! “Oh no! Spike must have re-injured his knee in the process!” Mak rolls Spike into the ring and Hollywood hobbles around, but Mak gets a low dropkick then attempts The Truth Hurts, whipping Spike into the corner, but it doesn’t connect when Spike’s knee gives out on him during the Irish whip! “It’s over for Spike now!” Mak cruises in like a shark smelling blood and picks Spike up by the leg and sends him crashing down against his own knee brace in a shin breaker! The crowd groans as Mak picks him up again and hits another shin breaker! Pete calls the action. “Multiple Shin-breaker by Mak sends Spike hobbling towards the corner…” The Franchise rushes forward looking to put Spike down for the count, but Jenkins uses his good leg and he executes a Jack Briscoe Sunset flip roll-up! “ONNNEEE!” Spike looks at the ropes…. ”TWOOOOOOOOOO!” But he can’t bring himself to grab them for leverage… ”THREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEAHHHHHHH!” And Mak counters through the roll-up! “ONNNEEE!” ”TWOOOOOOOOOO!” ”THREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEAHHHHHHH!” … ”NOOOOOOOO!” So close, but only two for Mak! “Spike has a chance to grab the ropes for extra leverage but couldn’t do it!” Both Spike and Francis get to their feet, and Mak dashes forward, as fast as he can anyways, leaping onto the ex-Rev 0 member, who does catch him… BUT can’t hold him! Spike’s knee buckles under the weight and ‘the Franchise’ shifts his own weight down causing Jenkins to fall head over heels, while Mak clasps his hands together and bridges forcing Spike’s SHOULDERS TO THE MAT IN AN OKLAHOMA ROLL! ONE! TWO! NOOOOO! Spike bridges back, reversing the pin and sending Mak to the canvas with HIS shoulders pinned adrenaline handling any pain in his arm for the moment!!! ONE! TWO! THRENOOOOO! Mak breaks the pin and rolls away, his back now facing Jenkins who props himself slightly on his good leg and yanks Francis down in a school boy!!! “SCHOOL BOY ROLL UP!” ONE! TWO! THRE—NOOOOOO! Francis drives a shoulder up off the mat and rolls off his back rotating from his knees… HOPPING OVER SPIKE WITH HIS LEGS WRAPPED AROUND THE ARM HE ATTEMPTED THE SCHOOL BOY WITH INTO A LA MAJISTRAL CRADLE!!!! The crowd goes ballistic as the quick pinfalls keep on coming, counting along as loudly as possible!!! “ONNNEEE!” ”TWOOOOOOOOOO!” ”THREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEAHHHHHHH!” … ”NOOOOOOOO!” Somehow… Someway… Spike Jenkins breaks his leg free and thrusts a shoulder into the air!!!! The crowd explodes at the fast paces action, nobody is in their seat!! Two men going counter for counter all their hopes and dreams could be over in less than three seconds! This is what a true main event is supposed to feels like… adrenaline running high and everyone screaming their voice horse!! After the last kick-out, Mak slaps Spike around but falls right into The Highlighter, which leads into the Ratings Grabber… …but Mak rolls out from underneath! Francis quickly loops behind the downed Spike and the Franchise grasps the former Rev0 member about the waist and his opponent, while still trying to shake off the effects of his injured arm and knee, fires off a back elbow that hits Francis directly over the his right eyebrow! Spike connects with a second elbow, but Mak shakes off the pain, holding his grip like a pitbull, as he pops his hips in a— *Thump!* “German suplex by the Franchise, but he’s not letting go! Rolling Germans!!!” Spike gets pulled up to his feet with Francis, but doesn’t surrender to his suplex, and agilely runs into the ropes! Jenkins struggles to hold on, as Francis fights to break his grip! Spike fires off back elbows again, as Mak succeeds in pull him away allowing Mak pops his hips in— *Thump!* —Another German suplex!! Francis rolls up to his feet again, with the crowd cheering both competitors on during this great contest, and Mak quickly interlocks his hands about Spike’s neck and arches back… *BANG!* PLANTING him into the canvas with a Cobra clutch suplex! Hebner moves into position as Francis falls into a cover… “ONNNEEE!” ”TWOOOOOOOOOO!” ”THREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEAHHHHHHH!” … ”NOOOOOOOO!” “Long time two count!” Pete shouts, as Mak places Spike up top for a move, but Jenkins fights out and maneuvers Francis into position for a Second rope Ratings Crash! Neither man can get up… Spike because his knee and Mak because he’s knocked out… Hebner bends down and looks at the two wrestlers, as they begin to move, the crowd stomping their feet awaiting to see if they’ll get to yell the standing ten count… “ONNEEE!” “TWOOO!” “THREEE!” ”FOUR!” “FIVE!” “SIX!” …when both Mak and Spike push themselves up to a knee. Mark claps his hands signaling they’re getting up and backs away, as Francis gets to his feet first, punishing Spike with a forearm to the face! Jenkins stumbles slightly, but answers back shooting up from his knees and whacking the Mak attack with a strike of his own! The Franchise holds his jaw, but leans forward again, nailing Spike with another strike! Spike, though his arm is hurting knows that this strike battle is the chance he needs to turn the tide in his favor. He’s the better striker, so he acts like it, pushing forward, the pain in his arm having ebbed away since Mak hasn’t been able to focus on it. A forearm and another… and then… They both get their legs up for a Yakuza kick! But Mak being two inches taller than Spike hits his more flush and falls into a cover! “Not like this!” “ONNNEEE!” ”TWOOOOOOOOOO!” ”THREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEAHHHHHHH!” … *Ding! Ding! Ding!* “The winner of this match and the number one contender to the SWF World Heavyweight Title… the one true “Franchise”… MAAAAAAK FRANNNNNNNNCIIIIIISSSSSSS!” “That’s all folks, we are rushed and out of time.” ============ SWF Smarkdown A Superior One Production Raising Workrate by Typing Really Quick

The shot cuts over and shows Suicide King and Longdogger Pete. Pete - Well, here we have relative newcomer to SWF… King – And soon to be resident jobber... Pete – Have you seen any of his past matches? King – Nope, and I don’t think I have any intentions of doing so in the near future. Pete – Anyway, newcomer Lord David, is going to take on Martin ‘Big Country’ Hunt here tonight. King – I’m gonna go make a phone call, I’ll be back after the boredom finishes. Pete – Sit back down! A guitar wails loudly through the arena at an amazingly high pitch, when a deeper guitar kicks in, the initial riff finishes and the drums kick in, and Lord David bursts through the curtain. Pete – and here he is. Lord David instantly begins head banging and air guitaring at the entrance, as “Word Up” by Gun plays loudly. King – What a goof. Ring Announcer – This match is for one fall, introducing first, in his debut match here in SWF, he weighs in at 140lbs and hails from London, England, he is Lord David! The lyrics start up, and Lord David begins singing away as he makes his way down the aisle. King – So he’s called a Lord, however he has no relation to anyone of royal blood, hasn’t been made a Lord, and he has worse dress sense than Tim Curry in The Rocky Horror Picture Show. I mean what is with that jacket? Pete – Will you stop pointing out the bad things about him? King – Sure. As soon as he stops giving me stuff to point out. He comes out here, wearing plain black jeans, a plain blue shirt, and a god-awful jacket, and I’m meant to try and respect this guy? Lord David jumps onto the apron, and then onto the outside of the middle turnbuckle, he proceeds to begin slapping his hands together, attempting to get the crowd to join in with the beat of the song. On camera we can see that one or two odd fans are doing so, but the rest just look on, waiting for something to happen. King – I see he brought his family along to cheer, all five of them. Pete – He’s still a relative unknown, I think the crowd will get into it once the match starts. King – Into what? Their popcorn? Lord David jumps over the ropes and into the ring as the music fades out. "A Country Boy Can Survive" plays by Hank Williams Jr as Martin "Big Country" Hunt struts out from behind the curtain proudly wearing his fraternity's letters, blue jeans, and boots that look fresh for kicking ass, while in his hand, he holds a baseball bat. King – At least this guy will beat the stuffing out of our so-called “Lord”. Pete – So how come you’re not attempting to get on his case about fashion sense? King – He doesn’t pretend to be a Lord, and he’s even brought a bat to use on our new guy. What more could you want? Ring Announcer – And his opponent, weighing in at 220lbs, and hailing from Boone, NC, he is Martin ‘Big Country’ Hunt! Martin Hunt smirks at the crowd and begins mocking a fan in the first row, before sliding underneath the bottom rope, Martin proceeds to place the bat in the corner of the ring, the music begins to die down, and the referee signals for the bell. King – Let the ass kicking commence! The two begin circling each other in the middle of the ring. Pete – Both men trying to get a feel for the other. King – Can’t Martin just put his boot in Lord David’s face and let it be over? They lock up, and almost instantly Martin uses his strength advantage to shove Lord David away, David rolls right back onto his feet and charges straight for Martin, who spins around to drill Lord David with a stiff back elbow, knocking the newcomer to the canvas. King – Oh that was beautiful! Not five seconds after they first lock up, Lord David’s on his ass. Lord David staggers back to his feet. Martin grabs a handful of David’s hair, and charges across the ring to nail him with a turnbuckle smash in the corner, then a second, a third, a fourth… Pete – That can’t feel good. King – ‘Nor should it. Martin continues driving Lord David’s head into the buckle, before spinning him around and beginning to fire in with stiff right hands onto Lord David’s jaw. King – This is great, I told you Lord David was going to be in and out of here. Lord David slumps in the corner, the ropes being the only things holding him up, Martin fires in a final right hand, before pulling him out of the corner, and whipping him towards the ropes, Lord David rebounds, and runs straight into a hard powerslam from Martin, who hooks the leg, 1..2.. Lord David gets a shoulder up! Pete – That was almost a quick match. King – Slow count, it had to have been. Martin pulls Lord David to his feet by the hair, and wrings his arm, before raising his free arm in the air, he yanks Lord David towards him, and goes for a short arm clothesline. Lord David ducks straight underneath the move, and is quick to dropkick Martin in the back, sending him forward and straight through the ropes to the floor. Pete – What a counter by Lord David! King – It was okay, I’ve seen better. Lord David looks up from the canvas, as Martin starts to pull himself up. Lord David stands up, and looks over at Martin, who’s holding the back of his head from the landing. David hits the ropes, and charges towards Martin, before nailing him with a baseball slide, which sends Martin straight into the barrier, as Lord David lands on his feet. Pete – Lord David managing to get the upper hand here. David pulls Martin up, and drives his head into the ring apron, before shoving the bigger man back into the ring. Lord David turns to the and pounds his chest while shouting out a “come on!” To try and get the crowd behind him, he slides back into the ring, and Martin stands up at the same time. The two lock up once again, and Martin’s strength allows him to get the upper hand with a headlock. King – I knew it wouldn’t last long. Martin drives a couple of hard fists into Lord David’s temple. David attempts to break the hold by driving some shots into Martin’s kidneys, but due to his lack of being able to get any force behind them, they don’t seem to do any damage. Martin stands up, and snaps David back into the canvas with a beautiful russian leg sweep. King – He can’t even punch properly. Who’s responsible for letting this idiot into SWF anyway? They should be fired! Martin makes a cover, and the referee drops to the canvas, 1..2.. kickout by Lord David! King – And someone speed that referee up, his batteries are dying out or something, that should have been it right there. Pete – Have you ever thought that Lord David may actually have some toughness in him? King – He wants some food in him, that’s what he wants, if he was any lighter he’d float away. Martin Hunt pulls David to his feet by the hair, despite the referee trying to stop him using the hair. He backs Lord David up into the ropes, and once again whips him across the ring, Martin ducks his head down for a back body drop as Lord David hits the ropes. David runs back, but ducks his own head down so that he can catch Martin’s, before jumping straight over him with a Drop The Bomb. King – What the hell was that? Pete – Drop The Bomb, high impact neckbreaker. Lord David rolls over, and places an arm across Martin’s chest and the referee drops to the canvas, 1..2.. Martin raises a shoulder! King – It’ll take more than a neckbreaker to keep Martin Hunt down. Lord David starts to pull himself to his feet using the ropes. Martin begins to stand up as well, and Lord David charges in with a clothesline, he rushes in with a second clothesline just as Martin stands up, Martin stands up once more and Lord David lands a third clothesline, Martin slowly pulls himself to his feet once more, and Lord David lands a fourth clothesline, before taking his jacket off and throwing it across the ring, the jacket landing on the top rope. King – He’s nuts! Pete – Psycho actually, but close enough. Lord David throws both hands up in the air, as some more of the crowd start to get behind him, Martin begins to get up, and Lord David drives a hard right hand into his jaw and attempts a whip to the ropes, Martin counters and David hits the ropes. Martin looks for a clothesline, but David slides straight underneath Martin’s legs with a baseball slide, tripping Martin over as he goes. David jumps to his feet quickly, and drops a leg across the back of Martin’s neck. Pete – That’s why he’s here! King – Because he can get lucky at times? Well now I know. David rolls Martin onto his back, and makes a lateral press, 1..2.. kickout! Pete – Strong kickout by Martin Hunt. King – You expected anything less? David stands up, as does Martin, Lord David hits the ropes and nails Martin with a hard spear, taking him down to the canvas with authority. Pete – Lord David could have it right there. King – You could say he has an ‘edge’ over Martin for the moment. Get it? ‘Edge’? Pete – If you ever do stand up comedy, make sure I’m not around for it. Lord David jumps to his feet, and quickly climbs to the top rope. Pete – Incoming! Lord David flies off the top rope with a Frog Splash, but Martin raises his knees, and all Lord David finds is a painful landing. King – I knew he’d do that! Martin rolls over to the ropes, and uses them to help pull himself to his feet, spotting Lord David’s shirt on the ropes as he does so, he pulls it from the top rope, as Lord David gets to his hands and knees, Martin stands over Lord David, and wraps the jacket around Lord David’s neck while sitting on his back, almost into a modified camel clutch. Pete – Now come on! That’s not right! King – He’s teaching this jobber a lesson. The referee tries to pull Martin’s hands from the shirt, but fails, and so begins a count, 1..2.. 3..4..Martin lets go of the shirt, and stomps on Lord David’s back. Pete – Blatant cheating there. King – He had a five count to release it, and he released it. Lord David chose to wear the jacket in the match, he can live with the consequences. Maybe they were kind and fair in the federations he’s been called a legend in, but here, if you’re stupid enough to wear a jacket in the ring, it’s going to be used against you. Lord David struggles to get to his feet, and Martin locks on a Black Out. King – That’s it! It’s over! Martin cinches the hold on, cutting off Lord David’s oxygen. King – He’s going to win this thing. Pete – Through cheating, that’s why! This isn’t right! Lord David looks to be fading as he searches for the ropes, with Martin holding him back. Lord David makes a final desperate attempt, and manages to jump and get his feet on the top turnbuckle, he pushes off and Martin lands on his back, shoulders on the canvas, but with the move still locked on, the referee drops to the canvas, 1..2.. Martin rolls over with the hold still on. But Lord David gets his feet in the ropes. Pete – He’s in the ropes, make him break the hold. The referee tells Martin to release the hold, which he refuses to, forcing the referee to start up a count again, 1..2..3..4..Martin releases the hold. Pete – I don’t like this one bit. Martin Hunt stands up and spits down at Lord David, before raising his arm in the air as the crowd boo’s loudly. Pete – And the crowd agree with me. King – What do they know? Martin shoves Lord David over the bottom rope, and places his knee onto David’s back, forcing David’s neck into the bottom rope. Pete – He should be disqualified. Once again the referee begins a count, 1..2.. 3..4.. Martin stands up and holds up his hands, and then places his knee back on Lord David’s back once again. The referee begins his count once more, 1..2.. 3..4.. Martin stands up again, and Lord David rolls over, coughing as he holds his throat. King – Poor guy’s fallen down, and he can’t get up. Martin pulls Lord David to his feet and shoves him into the corner, before drilling him with a stiff uppercut, he pulls Lord David out of the corner, and whips him across the ring to the ropes, Lord David runs back and Martin lifts him straight in the air for a press slam. King – Watch for the impact! Martin holds David up there for a moment, and Lord David manages to shift his weight, he comes down in front of Martin and rolls him up into a pin, 1..2.. kickout! Pete – That was almost a shock there. Martin and Lord David both stand up, Martin looks pissed and charges in for a clothesline, but Lord David manages to hit a front dropkick into the chest of Martin, taking him off his feet, Martin gets up quickly though, and is taken back down with an arm drag, both men get to their feet and Lord David hits a hurricanrana on Martin, sending Martin across the ring. Pete – David’s got himself a second wind here. Lord David stands up, and uses the ropes to hold himself up for a moment, as Martin slowly gets to his feet. Martin walks over towards Lord David, and gets a kick in the gut for his troubles, David shoves Martin’s head between his legs, and grabs the back of Martin’s knees. Martin, however, stands up with Lord David on his back. King – Oh dear, poor guy, I think we’re about to get rid of our most recent jobber. Martin uses his own shoulders as a kind of pivot, and drives Lord David into the canvas with a hellacious spinebuster. Pete – He could have just broken Lord David’s back in two. King – We can only hope. Martin makes a cover, 1..2.. Lord David raises a shoulder! King – That had to be a slow count! Pete – I see nothing wrong with his count, it’s clean and fair all the way through. Martin looks down at Lord David as he stands up, and proceeds to grab the baseball bat from the corner of the ring, he raises it above his head as the referee tells him to put it down, Martin ignores the referee and brings the bat down, just missing Lord David as he rolls to the side and to his feet, Martin swings the bat horizontally, aiming for David’s head, but Lord David ducks underneath and kicks Martin in the gut, forcing him to drop the bat, which the referee kicks to the outside of the ring. Martin doubles over and David drops him with a desperate DDT. Pete – Both men are down! King – It’s a shame, Lord David should be out cold from that baseball bat right now. Pete – But then Martin Hunt would have been disqualified. King – And it wouldn’t have mattered, as he could have put this fake out of the ring for good. The referee begins a count, as both men are down and don’t seem to be getting up any time soon, 1..2.. 3.. Lord David begins to move, followed closely by Martin Hunt, 4..5.. Lord David throws an arm over Martin, 1..2.. Martin lifts a shoulder! Pete – This is getting close. King – If Martin kicking Lord David’s ass, and Lord David getting lucky is close, then it’s amazingly close. Lord David locks a reverse chinlock on Martin, trying to force Martin to either submit or pass out. But Martin’s having none of it, and begins to stand up, he drives an elbow into Lord David’s gut, and a second, and a third, before changing his stance to lift Lord David onto his shoulder, Martin shoves Lord David’s legs upwards, sending David clean over his shoulder, and into a face first drop on the canvas. Pete – That can’t feel good. Martin grabs David by the hair, and just yanks him to his feet, and proceeds to set him up for a Sweet Southern Comfort. King – And here we go, the end of the match, and the end of Lord David’s SWF career! Lord David isn’t having it though, and jumps, launching himself straight over Martin’s shoulder, he waistlock’s Martin, and somehow manages to land a german suplex, albeit with next to no impact, Lord David bridges, 1.. 2.. kickout! King – He’s not going to get a pinfall with that… Both men begin standing up, Lord David kicks Martin hard in the gut, and proceeds to set him up for a pump handle slam. Pete – Lord’s Slam! King – What? Lord David stands up slightly, still holding the move on, and lifts Martin up over his shoulder and into a back suplex, he releases the arm of Martin, and hooks his hands together as he brings Martin down to the canvas, David bridges and the referee drops down, 1..2..3! Pete – That! King – How did he… he won? How?! Martin should have had that! Pete – With an amazing Lord’s Slam to win, that’s how he did it! Ring Announcer – The winner of the match, Lord David! King – I can’t believe it… I just can’t believe it!

“Welcome back from the break SWF fans,” Ben Hardy says, beaming into the camera supported by the faithful Gus, “I am backstage with the SWF World Heavyweight Champion, Toxxic! So Toxxic,” the interviewer continues, turning to face the Straight-Edge Sensation, “what do you think about the respective chances of ‘Hollywood’ Spike Jenkins and ‘The Franchise’ Mak Francis of winning their rubber match tonight and earning the right to face you for your title at Battleground?” “Well, it’s gonna be close,” Toxxic says, “because they’re both sneaky little bastards who’ve cheated to win before now. If you want my professional opinion, I’d say that if Mak can keep it on the mat he should have the advantage but if Spike can get a bit of separation and turn it into a striking contest he’ll come out on top.” “…and if I ask for your unprofessional opinion?” Hardy says, knowing a cue when he hears one. Toxxic grins lopsidedly in response, his mouth creasing up humourlessly. “Unprofessionally Ben, I’m rooting for Spike.” “Er… right,” Hardy says, slightly thrown. “Given the bad blood that’s been brewing between yourself and Spike Jenkins I’m sure that news will come as a surprise to many people watching, not least Spike himself should he hear it. Is a Revolution Zero reunion in the offing, or are there other reasons at work here?” “Too bloody right there are,” Toxxic affirms forcefully, then turns away from Hardy to stare into the camera, steel grey eyes boring out into millions of living rooms. “Spike, I’ve wanted to get my hands on you for ages. You know very well how our last match against each other ended - and sure, I won, but only because you pasted me in the head with a steel chair and got yourself disqualified. Since then you’ve run your mouth and broken Sean Davis’ ankle and to be honest sunshine, I am bloody sick of you taking up space in my federation.” The Straight-Edge Sensation pats the World Title sitting on his shoulder to emphasise his point. “I know you won’t get yourself DQ’d if this is on the line, so I wanna see what you can bring to the ring on Sunday. I want to see if you can really step up and step out of my shadow, cos I don’t think you can. You’ve always had the athletic skills Spike, but you were wandering around with your head in a cloud of narcotic fumes and doing nothing with them,” Toxxic explains. “It took a loss to me to snap you out of it. Now you’d better remember one thing; everything you know about passion, about killer instinct, about not stopping until you get what you want…” Toxxic taps himself in the chest with two black-nailed fingers, “…you learned that from me. Now, it might be that all my teaching is gonna come back around and bite me in the arse if I face you on Sunday and you know what? I can deal with that.” Toxxic steps forward and leans into the camera lens so that even Ben Hardy is obscured from view. “I just want you to remember one thing. Everything you are now, and everything you will achieve, is down to me. You would never have got here on your own.” The lopsided grin returns, mirroring that which Spike himself has been using of late. “One year, two years, five years into the future, I want you to get up and look in the mirror, Spike. I give you my bloody promise, sunshine - you’ll see me looking back at you.” With that, the Straight-Edge Sensation turns on his heel and walks off down the corridor, leaving Ben Hardy looking after him. FADE OUT

FADE IN “It’s time for the first half of our double-main event!” says an excited Longdogger Pete. “Wild and Dangerous teams back up for the first time in over a month to defend the Tag Team Titles against Landon Maddix and Todd Cortez of Martial Law!” “With all the upheaval in the tag team division over the past several months, Martial Law has emerged as the last team standing,” says the Suicide King. “You have to believe that they’re more than a little frustrated with Wild and Dangerous making their grand comeback, just weeks after they formed, and taking all the opportunities that should have been theirs!” “It was only a few months ago,” adds Pete, “that Landon Maddix, Todd Cortez, Alan Clark and Mak Francis banded together in order to fight against Revolution Zero. They were poised to be the next Superpower in the SWF, and on track to collect quite a bit of championship gold!” “And then,” chimes in King, “in out of nowhere, swoop Wild and Dangerous, stealing all the opportunities that Martial Law think should have rightfully been theirs!” “No question about it,” agrees Pete. “All of the momentum that seemed to be working in favor of Martial Law was shifted to Wildchild and Johnny Dangerous, and now Martial Law is out to prove that those opportunities should have been theirs all along, by taking those championship belts from the Tag Team Champions!” “It’s possible, but I have to think that momentum favors Wild and Dangerous right now,” replies King. “The Tag Team Champions haven’t teamed together in recent weeks, but neither have Landon Maddix and Todd Cortez. And as far as singles competition goes, Wildchild and Johnny have been much more successful.” “I think you forget, King,” says LDP, “that Landon Maddix and Todd Cortez teamed up just a couple of weeks ago on Storm.” “Well,” counters King, “while you’re on the subject of refreshing my memory, Drain-Clogger, why don’t you remind me how that match turned out for them?” “Well,” stammers Pete,” that’s not important. What matters is that you said that they haven’t teamed together, and even in a loss, they managed to develop some continuity. The only question is whether or not that continuity will be sufficient to overcome the Tag Team Champions.” “Well, Wild and Dangerous don’t appear to have been on the same page lately,” says King, “but I’ve become impressed with Johnny’s attitude in recent weeks; he’s decided that he’s tired of standing around and waiting for things to happen for him, and to go out and make them happen! As long as Wildchild shows that he’s smart enough to let Johnny take the initiative, they have a good chance to retain!” “And let’s not forget that Wild and Dangerous are coming into this match with a slight mental advantage, as a result of Wildchild’s win over Landon Maddix last week on Lockdown,” says Pete. “It’s definitely going to be a tremendous confrontation, so let’s get right to the action!” With that, the camera shifts to ring announcer Funyon in the center of the ring, who raises the microphone to his lips as he says, “Ladies and gentlemen, the following contest, scheduled for one fall, is for the SWF WORLD TAG TEAM CHAMPIONSHIP!” Suddenly, the lights fall in the Kiva Auditorium, earning a loud cheer from the fans: RAAAAAAAAAH! The Albuquerque fans come alive as “Save Yourself” begins to play. A series of pyrotechnic explosions light up the stage as Landon Maddix and Todd Cortez step from behind the curtain, with Megan Skye right behind them! “Introducing first,” says Funyon, “the challengers! Being accompanied to the ring by their manager Megan Skye, at a total combined weight of four hundred forty-six pounds, here are Landon ‘La Cucaracha’ Maddix and ‘Urban Legend’ Todd Cortez, and they represent… MARTIAL LAAAAW!” Maddix and Cortez arrive at ringside and slide underneath the bottom rope before rising to their feet and racing to opposing corners, leaping onto the turnbuckles as the fans give them their vocal support: RAAAAAAAAAAH! “How about Martial Law,” shouts Pete. “Do they look ready or what?” “They look ready,” concedes King, “and we both know that they’re not above, shall we say, bending the rules, slightly. But whether or not that’s going to be enough to get past the continuity of Wild and Dangerous is another story!” Longdogger looks at him sideways. “Hey King, since when did you become such a big Wild and Dangerous backer, anyhow?” “I wouldn’t say that I’m a Wild and Dangerous supporter, per se,” replies King, as “Save Yourself” fades into the ethereal. “I mean, given the chance, I’d still push Wildchild under a bus, if I thought I could get away with it. But, I’ve been impressed with Johnny Dangerous’ attitude lately; it seems as though he may have finally figured out that what he needs to do to be successful is to look out for number one, and not worry about these idiot fans!” “That’s a horrible attitude!” cries Pete. “He’s had the support of the fans and his tag team partner for virtually his entire SWF career, and he rode that support all the way to the World Heavyweight Title; how can you say that he shouldn’t concern himself with the fans?” “I’ve got news for you, MacDougal,” snipes King, “None of those fans were in the ring when he won the World Heavyweight Title from Toxxic; he didn’t need their help to become champion! And, if you’ll recall, Wildchild was nowhere to be seen last August; he was too busy licking his wounds from the beating that Mike Van Siclen gave him; so obviously, Johnny didn’t need Wildchild’s help, either! Wildchild is dead weight to Dangerous; he’s holding him down in the stagnant Tag Team Division. Johnny has the potential to go on to greatness, if only he can get rid of that Caribbean Albatross that’s tied around his neck!” Maddix and Cortez discuss last-minute strategy in their corner, as the shrill guitar riff that heralds the arrival of the Tag Team Champions pierces the arena! RAAAAAAAAAAH! Prodigy’s “Fuel My Fire” floods the arena as Wildchild and Johnny step out onto the stage! “Their opponents,” booms Funyon, “at a total combined weight of four hundred thirty-one pounds, here are the SWF World Tag Team Champions… WILD! AAAAAND DAAAAANGEROUS!” Wild and Dangerous streak down to the ring, slapping hands with the fans clamoring around the ring barricade, and performing a victory lap around the ring before sliding underneath the bottom rope. Upon scrambling to their feet, they remove their title belts and raise them aloft, earning them more cheers from the crowd. “How about that, King?” asks Pete. “Wild and Dangerous came down to the ring without their singles titles; it looks like they’re showing the world that, when it comes time to put the Tag Titles on the line, they’re unified in their efforts tonight!” “Well,” replies King, “they’ve said before that they fight as one; after their singles success and everything that’s happened between them in recent weeks, we’ll have to see if that still rings true! We already know that Wildchild’s mind is on Scott Pretzler, now that he’s challenged him to a ladder match at Battleground, so it’s going to be up to Johnny to hold this team together!” Wild and Dangerous surrender their championship belts to referee Ronald “Red” Herrington, who holds them aloft to the crowd, who acknowledges them with polite applause. “There they are!” shouts LDP. “That’s what it’s all about!” Herrington hands the belts to the exiting Funyon and then motions to the timekeeper to ring the bell, signifying the start of the match: DING! DING! DING! “And there’s the bell!” cries Pete. “Time to get down to bid’ness!” Wildchild, as usual, starts the match off for his team, as Landon Maddix does for Martial Law. Recalling their tête-à-tête from Lockdown, Wildchild smiles as he extends his arm for a handshake, but Maddix flips him the bird, and the two continue to circle each other before locking up in a collar-and-elbow tie-up. “How about that,” says Pete, as Maddix backs Wildchild into the ropes, “Wildchild trying to continue some of that gamesmanship from Lockdown, and Maddix would have none of it; you can tell he’s focused, King!” Landon stuns Wildchild with a knee to the midsection before whipping him across the ring, but the Bahama Bomber reverses. Wildchild lowers his head to deliver a back-body drop as Maddix bounces off the ropes, but Landon flips through the body drop attempt, and lands on his feet. Before he can do anything else, however, Wildchild quickly spins around and leaps into the air… WHAM! … Nailing Maddix with a standing dropkick that sends him flying! “Whoa!” shouts Pete. “Maddix got the drop on Wildchild with that move on Lockdown, but this time, Wildchild was ready for it!” Wildchild beats Maddix to his feet and immediately charges at him, leaping into the air as he draws near his target… WHAM! … And blasting him underneath the chin with a leg lariat that sends him out of the ring! Wildchild takes a few steps back, eyeing Landon as he waits for the Cockroach to return to his feet, before suddenly spinning around without warning and charging the Martial Law corner… WHAM! … Driving a running forearm shot into Cortez’s temple that knocks him off the apron! “Look at that,” shouts Pete. “Wildchild with a cheap shot on Todd Cortez!” “Well, we know that there’s no love lost between Wildchild and Todd Cortez,” replies King. “The two of them were principle players in that very volatile feud between Wild and Dangerous and Hollywood Boulevard a year ago! And it all came back to a head just a few weeks ago, when they competed against each other in that fatal four-way!” Wildchild reaches through the ropes to grab Cortez by the hair, but he’s so engrossed with inflicting pain on the Urban Legend, that he fails to notice Landon Maddix sneak back into the ring and blast him with a running kneelift to the back! Cortez remains on the floor, out of position for a tag, so Landon grabs Wildchild by the back of the head… WHAM! … And rams him face-first into the top turnbuckle! He then grabs Wildchild and leads him across the ring, slamming his face into the neutral turnbuckle! Looking out into the crowd and pointing to himself as if to say, “that’s right,” Maddix grabs Wildchild by the back of the head once more and leads him across the ring to the other neutral corner, but Wildchild wriggles out of his grasp and maneuvers behind Maddix, pushing him into the corner instead. The Human Hurricane races to the edge of the ring as Maddix staggers out of the corner and leaps onto the top rope, curling into a ball as he springs off… WHAM! … And blasting the Cockroach in the chest with his patented Pinball attack! “Beautiful Pinball by Wildchild to take Maddix down,” shouts Pete. “And he’s going for the cover!” ONE! TW— KICKOUT! Cortez begins to step into the ring to break up the count, but quickly returns to the apron as he sees that Landon still has more than enough fight to kick out of the pinfall. Wildchild pulls Maddix to his feet and tries to lock up with him again, only for Maddix to back him into a neutral corner. Before Herrington can make his way to the corner to break them up, Wildchild manages to turn the tables, forcing Landon back into the corner. As Herrington comes between them, however, Maddix stuns Wildchild with a rake of the eyes! “Cheap shot by Maddix,” grumbles King. “I can’t believe he’d stoop that low!” “Well,” replies Pete, “consider it payback for the cheap shot Wildchild delivered to Cortez a few moments ago!” Landon charges out of the corner, arm reared back to deliver a mighty blow… WHAM! … And nearly knocks him out with a running forearm to the side of the temple! Landon pulls Wildchild to his feet and pushes him back into the corner, where he measures him for some knife-edge chops! SMACK! WHOO! SMACK! WHOO! SMACK! WHOO! Landon grabs Wildchild by the wrist and whips him across the ring into the other neutral corner. He runs in after him and leaps onto Wildchild’s chest, locking both hands behind his head to execute a monkey flip out of the corner, but as he arches back and sends Wildchild flying through the air, the Tropical Tumbler flips forwards and lands on his feet, waiting for Maddix to stand back up before taking him over with a textbook armdrag! “Spectacular counter by the Wildchild,” says LDP. “For a moment, it looked like Maddix was going to be able to take over this match!” Wildchild pulls Maddix to his feet and leads him over to his corner, where he makes the tag to Johnny. Wildchild whips Landon across the ring and runs to the opposing set of ropes as Johnny enters the ring. The Barracuda trips Landon with a drop toehold, and then rolls back out onto the apron just as Wildchild bounds off the ropes and leaps into the air… SPLASH! … Crashing down into the Cockroach’s back with a running splash! Johnny uses the ropes to pull himself to his feet, and then uses the top rope to slingshot his way into the ring, extending his leg as he falls to the canvas… CRASH! … Crashing onto Landon’s unprotected neck with a slingshot legdrop! “Vintage tag team wrestling by the Champions,” says Pete. “They’re going to work on the head and back of Landon, which will make him vulnerable for their finishers!” Johnny pulls Maddix to his feet and leads him over to a neutral corner, where the crowd begins to chant along as he bashes the Cockroach’s face into the top turnbuckle! ONE! TWO! THREE! FOUR! FIVE! SIX! Landon staggers backwards as Johnny releases him, and falls to the canvas on his posterior! Johnny pulls Landon back to his feet and leads him by the scruff of his neck to the other neutral corner, only to repeat the process: ONE! TWO! THREE! FOUR! FIVE! SIX! This time, Maddix takes a nearly punch-drunk swing at the air before collapsing to the canvas! The Barracuda looks out into the crowd as they erupt to voice their approval: JOHN-NY! JOHN-NY! JOHN-NY! “Listen to these fans show their support for the aggressive behavior of Johnny Dangerous!” shouts Pete. “As well they should,” replies King. “It’s about time that these cretins recognized something praiseworthy!” Johnny pulls Landon back to his feet and pushes him into his corner, encouraging him to tag in Cortez. “And look at this: he just threw Maddix into his own corner! He’s saying, ‘go tag your partner!’ I have to say, I’m liking this new, more assertive Johnny Dangerous a lot more than the previous version!” “Well, now we’ve got the two power members of these two teams in the ring,” says Pete, as Cortez accepts the tag and enters the ring. “I’d hardly consider either of these two powerhouses,” replies King. “In fact, you can pretty much only consider them power wrestlers as compared to their partners.” Cortez and Johnny move towards each other to lock up, but end up quickly pushing each other away. Cortez runs to the ropes and slams into the Barracuda with a running shoulderblock… but neither man moves! Johnny steps towards Todd in another attempt at a lockup, but the Urban Legend instead waves him off, and points towards the Champions’ corner, demanding to square off against Wildchild. “Whoa!” exclaims Pete. “Look at that: Cortez wants a piece of Wildchild!” “There’s more than a little fire in the eyes of Todd Cortez as he looks across the ring at Wildchild,” says King. “Obviously that fatal four-way went a long way towards re-opening old wounds!” “Right,” LDP says sarcastically. “I’m sure that that cheap shot earlier in the match had nothing to do with it!” Johnny makes the tag to Wildchild, and then has to try and hold him back as he attempts to race across the ring right away to get his hands on Cortez. “How do you like that leadership on the part of Johnny Dangerous?” says King. “Keeping Wildchild from letting his temper get the better of him; if he can just keep that fruitcake under control, the Champions shouldn’t have any trouble retaining!” Pete just shakes his head in disbelief as Wildchild steps towards the center of the ring, standing nose-to-nose with the Urban Legend. They exchange some heated banter for a few seconds, before they start to trade punches! BAP! WHAM! BAP! WHAM! BAP! WHAM! WHAM! WHAM! WHAM! Eventually Cortez, the experienced street fighter, uses his strength to force Wildchild back against the ropes. He whips him across the ring and starts into his patented discus clothesline as he rebounds, but Wildchild ducks underneath the clothesline easily, exploding off the ropes as he rebounds a second time… WHAM! … And knocking the Urban Legend off his feet with a flying back elbow! Wildchild beats Cortez to his feet and races to the ropes, leaping through the air as he rebounds flipping through the air, grabbing Cortez by the head as he sails gracefully overhead… WHAM! … And grinding him into the mat with a flipping neck snap! “Whiplash!” shrieks LDP. “Wildchild’s heating up in there!” Wildchild pulls Cortez to his feet and whips him to a neutral corner, but the Urban Legend reverses and sends Wildchild in with all his strength, rifling him hard into the turnbuckle! Cortez races towards the edge of the ring as Wildchild staggers backwards out of the corner and erupts off the ropes as he rebounds… WHAM! … Knocking Wildchild silly with the Hollow Point! Cortez collapses to his knees to catch his breath as the fans show their approval: COR-TEZ! COR-TEZ! COR-TEZ! COR-TEZ! “Big time Hollow Point by Todd Cortez!” exclaims LDP. Cortez leads Wildchild back to the neutral corner and backs him up against the turnbuckles before scaling to the middle ropes. He looks out to the crowd, raising his hand above his head, before beginning a ten-count punch, with the fans counting along: ONE! TWO! THREE! FOUR! … But, unseen by Cortez, Johnny Dangerous sneaks into the ring and grabs him by the waist… FIVE! SIX! WHAM! … As he falls back into the ring, bouncing Todd off his head with a ferocious elevated German! “My God!” exclaims Pete. Red Herrington admonishes Johnny as he returns to the apron, but the Barracuda has already done the damage. “What a vicious suplex by the Barracuda! That could have broken Todd’s neck… and he wasn’t even the legal man!” “Brilliant move!” praises King. “Excellent leadership by Johnny Dangerous! That’s tag team wrestling at its finest!” Wildchild staggers over to his corner, where he is able to make the tag to Johnny. “And now Johnny’s back in the match!” The Barracuda legally steps into the ring this time, and with Wildchild’s help, pulls Cortez back to his feet before whipping him across the ring, grabbing him as he rebounds and lifting him off the canvas… WHAM! … Slamming him back down with a shattering double-spinebuster! In one fluid motion, Wildchild and Johnny each grapevine one of the Urban Legend’s legs with their near leg then reach across their bodies with their far arms and lock hands, before finally rolling forward to pull Cortez off the mat and through the air… WHAM! …And slams Todd back down to the mat with a double leg-whip powerbomb! “Big time maneuver by the Tag Team Champions,” shouts Pete as Herrington orders Wildchild back to the apron. He then drops down to the canvas to deliver the three count: ONE! TWO! NO! Cortez kicks out to a thunderous cheer! He begins pushing his way up to his hands and knees but is barely able to get that far before the Barracuda stomps his boot into the small of Cortez’s back, forcing him back into the canvas face-first. Once more, Cortez starts to push up with his hands and this time he gets pulled into a Camel Clutch from Dangerous! It’s more startling than painful at first, at least until Johnny exerts some serious pressure and gets a cry of pain out of the Urban Legend’s mouth! “You can see the determined and calculating mind of a secret agent at work here now, Pete,” says King. “With that Camel Clutch the Barracuda seems to be slowly chipping away at Cortez’s neck and getting him ready for that deadly Interrogator submission!” “He’s not going to be chipping away for too long though – here comes Landon!” Sure enough, Maddix isn’t just going to stand on the apron and watch his partner sit trapped in excruciating pain and leaps into the ring! Herrington tries to intercept the Cockroach, but he slides right past the referee and jumps up… CRACK! …And plants a drop kick into the back of Dangerous’ head, jarring him loose from Cortez! “Landon may have very well saved the team with that save,” says Pete. Landon steps towards Johnny, but this time the referee steps right in his path and orders Maddix out of the ring. Begrudgingly, he obliges, not wanting to get disqualified with his one chance at the Tag Team Championship. As he exits to the apron Cortez starts to pull himself up to a vertical base by way of the ropes, just as Johnny gets back up himself with a hand clenching the back of his head and steps towards Cortez. He knows he doesn’t want to let the Urban Legend to get too far away and risk the possibility of bringing a fresh man into the match, and he grabs around Todd’s waist for another German. However, Cortez sends and elbow flying blindly back to bat the Secret Agent away and nails him in the side of his head! “COME ON, TODD!” Maddix shouts to his partner from the apron with his hand extended, but before Cortez is able to get even one step closer to his partner, Johnny clubs him in the back over and over! It knocks the Urban Legend off balance and down to one knee, making him unable to resist as Johnny reacquires him around the waist then hauls him up and over… WHAM! …And back down into the mat neck-and-shoulders first with a German Suplex! Johnny quickly moves in and covers his opponent as the referee drops and counts for: ONE! TWO! T – NO! Once more Cortez thrusts his shoulders off the mat, saving himself from certain defeat! He isn’t so quick to make it up to his feet this time, though – the effects of the continuous attacks from Wild and Dangerous have slowed him down tremendously, so Johnny grabs him by his head, pulls him up, and blasts the Urban Legend in the chin with an uppercut! CRACK! OOOOOOOOH!! The fans let out from the hit, and Cortez unintentionally staggers back into the Wild and Dangerous corner, making it quite easily the easiest tag of the night. Smack! “Wildchild’s back in,” says Pete as the tag is made, and Wildchild hurdles over the top rope. “Wild and Dangerous have effectively cut this ring in half – keeping Cortez away from his partner while rotating themselves in and out.” “Well that’s how you win tag matches, Drain-Clogger,” adds King. Wildchild grabs Cortez by the arm and whips him across the ring, and nails him with a swift leg lariat on the return. “The Tag Champions certainly know what they’re doing and tonight is no exception. At this rate, even if Maddix is able to tag back in, I don’t think Cortez will be of much assistance!” However, the fans start to build a chant in favor of the Urban Legend, hoping that just maybe it’ll spark a little life into one their favorite member of Martial Law. “LET’S GO, COR-TEZ, LET’S GO!” CLAP! CLAP! “LET’S GO, COR-TEZ, LET’S GO!” CLAP! CLAP! Wildchild pulls Cortez up to his feet and once again whips him across the ring, only this time he sends the Urban Legend back into the Wild and Dangerous corner, causing Cortez to slam back-first into the unforgiving steel post, and then races in and nails Todd with a spinning elbow! Cortez slumps into the corner, completely stunned out of his mind. “Oh, man,” says Pete, “These two have been utterly ruthless to Cortez – I had no idea how much hate that four-way a few weeks ago would have brought back.” Before continuing with any more of an assault on Cortez, the Bahama Bomber bolts for the other side of the ring, to the Martial Law corner where Maddix eagerly awaits the coming of his partner, only to get nailed in the face with a sucker punch from Wildchild instead! Enraged, Maddix steps through the ropes – to say he’s a little frustrated with the way this match has been going would be an understatement, and now Wildchild had the nerve to sucker punch him? Nonetheless, Herrington steps in the way of Maddix to keep him from coming in the ring while ordering him back out. Wildchild, his anger far from abated, continues to try to get his hands on Landon, reaching over the top of Herrington, as the referee struggles to keep the two wrestlers separated. “Now that’s what I call some damn good officiating,” says King. “About time someone tried to actually keep Smarkdown the true wrestling show!” Unbeknownst to either Wildchild or the referee, however, Johnny wraps the tag rope around Cortez’s throat and begins to squeeze! “But he’s not even paying attention to Johnny – he’s choking the life out of Cortez with the tag rope,” Pete hastily replies, pointing towards the Wild and Dangerous corner where the Barracuda is, in fact, choking the Urban Legend with the tag rope. When the referee finally gets Maddix back out of the ring and turns around, Johnny lets go of the rope and innocently strolls away from the corner as Todd drops to his knees, gagging with both hands clenched around his neck. “Isn’t the referee going to at least say something?” questions Pete, “surely he’s not playing favorites here!” “Well it’s kind of hard for him to pay attention to what Johnny’s doing when he constantly has to keep Maddix and Wildchild from trying to kill each other,” King replies. “It’s all Landon’s fault, anyway: if he would just stay put, he’d never leave Cortez open to such an attack.” Cortez staggers up to a vertical base though still stunned, and once more he finds himself on the receiving end of an Irish whip as Wildchild grabs him by the arm, but Cortez plants his feet into the mat and uses what little strength advantage he has against the Bahaman and sends Wildchild for the ride instead! Wildchild goes flying across the ring, into a neutral corner, and slams chest-first into the steel post! He stumbles back out of the corner while clenching his chest and grimacing in pain and quickly gets rolled up from behind as Cortez swoops in and the fans explode into cheers! ONE! TWO! TH – KICK OUT! “Oh my, God!’ exclaims Pete. “Cortez nearly won this match on pure surprise. Imagine how the Tag Champions would have felt losing to something like that after all the work they put into trying to put Cortez away!” “It doesn’t matter what *would* have happened with Wild and Dangerous,” quips King. “They didn’t get pinned, anyway!” Wildchild pulls Cortez out of the corner and whips him across the ring, but Todd reverses easily. Cortez raises his arm to deliver a clothesline as Wildchild bounces off the ropes, but the Caribbean Cruiser ducks underneath and leaps onto Todd’s back, wrapping both arms around Cortez’s neck to trap him in a sleeper! “Sleeper!” shouts LDP. “This could do it!” Cortez, supporting Wildchild’s full body weight, begins to shuffle his way, step-by-step, towards his corner. Just when he seems like he could be close enough to tag, however, Johnny pantomimes as if he were about to enter the ring, goading Landon into jumping the gun and running in after him. As Herrington rushes over to the challenger’s corner to chase Maddix away, Johnny sneaks surreptitiously into the ring, grabbing Todd by the side of his trunks and pulling him backwards, causing him to fall onto his posterior, all while Wildchild maintains control of the sleeper. “Todd Cortez appeared to be on the verge of making the tag, but Johnny Dangerous was able to stop his momentum cold!” shouts Pete. “More excellent leadership on the part of Johnny Dangerous,” gushes King. “Not only did he keep Cortez from making the tag, but he kept his Maddix out of the ring and kept the referee in the dark the whole time… he even managed to keep Wildchild from realizing that he did anything at all!” “That’s right,” concedes LDP. “Wildchild’s full body weight was on Todd’s back, and he couldn’t see Johnny from his point of view; for all he knows, Cortez simply lost his balance!” After what seems like several minutes, Cortez finally starts to fade out, prompting Red Herrington to raise his arm up, watching as it slumps lifelessly to his side. “That’s once,” says Pete. “If that arm falls three times, it’s all over!” Herrington raises the arm a second time, watch as it once again falls. He lifts the arm a third time and steps back… BUT IT STAYS UP! RAAAAAAAAAH! “Look at Cortez fight back!” shouts Pete. Todd shifts his legs underneath him and begins to stand up a second time. Once he makes it to his feet, he begins to shuffle back to his corner, but Johnny calls the referee over to his corner, complaining about a loose tag rope, and leaving Herrington unaware when Todd finally reaches his corner and makes the tag! RAAAAAAAAAH! “Tag is made!” shouts Pete. “And in comes Landon Maddix!” “But the ref didn’t see it,” replies King, as Herrington orders Landon back to his corner. “Herrington can’t allow the tag if he doesn’t see it; more quick thinking and excellent ring generalship by the new and improved Johnny Dangerous!” Still on his feet, however, Cortez turns his back towards a neutral corner and slams back into it for all he’s worth, crushing Wildchild between his back and the turnbuckles! He collapses to his knees and begins to crawl towards his corner, only for Wildchild to get his bearings back and leap out of the corner… WHAM! … Nailing Cortez with a running elbow smash that knocks him flat on the canvas! Wildchild pulls Todd to his feet and whips him across the ring, but the Urban Legend reverses, scooping Wildchild into the air in a press slam as he bounces off the ropes and carrying him towards the edge of the ring… CHING! … Before crotching him on the top rope! RAAAAAAAAAH! “Whoa!” shrieks LDP. “Wildchild’s gonna be singing soprano after that move!” Still on his feet, Todd finally staggers over to his corner… SWAT! … Where he makes the tag to Landon! The Albuquerque fans erupt as the Cockroach leaps over the top rope to enter the ring, whipping Wildchild across the ring, leaping into the air as he rebounds and nailing him with a flying forearm! Johnny comes in to aid his partner, charging towards Maddix to deliver a running clothesline, but the Cockroach ducks underneath and spikes his leg sharply through the air as Johnny spins around… CRACK! … Blasting the Barracuda with a tremendous superkick, sending him spiraling to the mat and out of the ring! “Sweet Cuca Music!” exclaims Pete, “Landon Maddix is tearing down the house and keeping Martial Law alive in this match after all!” Maddix heads back over to Wildchild, grabbing him by his locks as he tries to get back up to his feet, and instead pulls Wildchild’s head into his knee! The Bahaman’s head glances off of Maddix’s kneecap and he falls backward to the mat. As expected, Maddix pounces onto him for the cover… ONE! TWO! THR-NOOO! “Not yet!” shouts King. “Wildchild barely got the shoulder up!” Landon pulls Wildchild to his feet and leads him over to Martial Law’s corner, where he makes the tag to his still-weary partner Todd. “Landon may have made a premature tag to his partner,” notes Pete, as Cortez positions Wildchild against the ropes. “They’d better be planning to put this match away right now!” Todd grabs Wildchild’s legs, holding him up against the top rope as Landon runs towards the ropes. “He’s Coming In For Landon!” exclaims LDP, as Maddix reaches the edge of the ring… CRASH! … And falls out of the ring, down to the floor, as Johnny pulls the top rope down! BOOOOOOOOO! “Outstanding!” praises King. “Once again, Johnny’s quick thinking has saved the Tag Team Titles for Wild and Dangerous!” “This is so unlike Johnny Dangerous,” says Pete. “I don’t know what’s gotten into him!” Cortez, realizing that something must have gone wrong, drops Wildchild and walks across the ring, where Johnny is holding up his arms to the crowd, as if to say, “I’m innocent!” Cortez reaches over the top rope and grabs Johnny by the hair, pulling him up to the apron! RAAAAAAAAAH! “Looks like Cortez has had enough of Johnny’s antics,” says LDP. Todd rears his arm back to deliver a clubbing forearm shot, but the quick-thinking Barracuda stuns him with an elbow to the ribs, and then grabs him by the back of the head and drops down to the arena floor… clotheslining the Urban Legend on the top rope! Todd stumbles backwards and turns towards the center of the ring… right into the waiting Wildchild, who doubles him over and twisting him around, before lifting him up, and… WHAM! “WILD RIDE!” exclaims Pete. “He nailed him with the Wild Ride!” The Albuquerque crowd gives off a mixed reaction as Cortez is driven headfirst into the canvas by Wildchild’s devastating finisher! Wildchild quickly floats over to cover his opponent as Herrington drops to count for: ONE! TWO! THREE! DING! DING! DING! “Well,” begins Pete, “I’m not too crazy about Johnny’s tactics tonight in that ring, but that was a tremendous match, nonetheless! Once more Wild and Dangerous have flexed their dominating muscles – this time silencing Martial Law!” “You win any way you can,” quips King, as Johnny reaches out and grabs his tag partner by his hand, helping him up to his feet while Cortez lies motionless on the mat. When Herrington returns to the ring with the Tag Team titles, Johnny eagerly, almost greedily, snatches up both title belts, holding them both aloft to the crowd briefly before surrendering his partner’s share. “The winners of this match,” bellows Funyon, trying his hardest to make his voice audible over the raucous crowd, “and STIIIIIL SWF WORLD TAG TEAM CHAMPIOOOOOOONS… WILD! AAAAAND DAAAANGEROUUS!!!” ‘Fuel my Fire’ kicks up on the speakers once more - pounding out over every inch of the arena in celebration as the referee raises the arms of Johnny and Wildchild in victory. “You can credit that win to Johnny Dangerous,” remarks King. “His leadership anchored this team, and enabled them to hang on to the titles. Unfortunately for Martial Law, Wild and Dangerous were a much more cohesive unit tonight; Johnny is clearly the captain of the team, and with Wildchild showing enough sense to follow his lead, they’ve proven that they’ve gotten past whatever issues they were dealing with at From the Fire. If they continue to wrestle like this, I may even grow to like this team… What’s it going to take to stop them?” Landon returns to the ring to check on his partner, staring with burning intensity at the retreating forms of the Tag Team Champions… As we: FADE OUT

"Welcome back to Smarkdown here at the Kiva Auditorium!" announces Longdogger Pete, amongst thousands of screaming fans. "Just now we had Mohammed Koran facing Austin Sly in a Grudge Match, and now in action are the two men who defeated them on Lockdown, Arch Griffon and Manson!" "Ah, but that was child's play compared to the challenge they face tonight, as they face Revolution Zero's JJ Johnson and Scott Pretzler. Johnson defeated Manson in his second match a short time ago," Suicide King adds. "It's not as if Johnson and Pretzler have been working together for very long either," counters LDP. "If I’m not mistaken, this is their first match together." "I assure you," King begins, "Pretzler and Johnson have spent long hours sparring and training since coming together, while Manson and Griffon haven't had that luxury, nor do they have a motivator like Toxxic behind them." "Whatever, we'll get this match started, and then we'll see how easily the axe slices through the meat!" shouts Pete. We pan over to the stage, where the SmarkTron whites out, as every light in the arena ramps up to full power. For a moment all that can be heard is the faint scratch of a needle on vinyl of a needle on vinyl, when suddenly… "WEL-WEL-W-W-WELCOME TO THE REVOLUTION!" A deep voice booms out over the arena as the brutal guitars of Otep's "Battle Ready" kicks up over the PA system. After a few seconds the drums come in, and that's when… *BOOOOMM!! * Jolts of lightning shoot down from the heavens and strike the stage, blasts of red pyro firing up in response! For a moment all that can be seen is the smoke left over from the explosion, but then "The Critic" Scott Pretzler and the newest Revolution Zero member JJ Johnson stride out, glaring at the crowd who respond with a less than friendly reception. The full house boos and jeers the two as they stop at the head of the ramp, Pretzler standing with his hands on his hips, smugly looking out toward the crowd, as Johnson, in a long white and red robe stretches his arms out in a crucifix. "Ladies and Gentlemen," Funyon announces, "the following is a Tag Team Match scheduled for one fall! Introducing first, at a combined weight of four-hundred and forty five pounds, and representing Revolution Zero… J… J… JOOOHHNNNSOONN and "THE CRITIC" SSCOOOTTTT PREEETZLEERRRRR!" The two individuals near the ring and turn the corner, with Pretzler heading up the stairs with his head held high, followed by Johnson, who throws his hood back and heads up as well. Johnson enters and heads down to the lower right corner and ascends the turnbuckle, holding his arms out in another crucifix, as Pretzler heads up the turnbuckle on the opposite side and raises his arms, garnering another chorus of boos from the crowd. Both climb down and Pretzler meets Johnson in their corner, with Matt Kivell checking them out as they do so, when "Battle Ready" fades out and the lights drop. Red strobes begin pulsing and flashing as the buzz in the arena rises, when Mastodon's "Crusher Destroyer" blasts from the speakers! Moments later, Manson and Arch Griffon emerges to the roar of the fans, bursts of blinding white pyro exploding on each side of the stage! “And their opponents, at a combined weight of five-hundred and forty two pounds, ARCH GRIIIFONN AND MMMAAAANNNNSOONNNN!" booms Funyon once more, as Manson and Griffon continue down the ramp, with Manson throwing up the horns in stride. Manson and Griffon enter the ring under the bottom rope and quickly pop back up to their feet, keeping a watchful eye on their opponents across the ring. Just like before, Kivell checks them out as well, as Funyon exits the ring. Deciding everything is as it should be, Kivell gives a nod to the timekeeper, who strikes the bell… *DING DING!* "Jesus," LDP says, "it's surely due to Griffon, but he and Manson outweigh Revolution Zero by one-hundred pounds! Their size and strength in comparison to them is just awesome." "Yeah, but speed and technical ability can often bring down the biggest guys, and Pretzler and Johnson have that in spades," King counters. "If only they still had Sean Davis," adds an insincere LDP. Pretzler and Griffon each take their positions on the apron, as Johnson finishes undoing his robe, and hands it to an attendant. As usual, Manson and JJ dance around the ring to start things off, before coming together in the old collar-elbow. Before the bigger, stronger Manson can push him back, the spry Johnson throws him down on the mat with an armdrag. Manson bounces back up to his feet and charges at Johnson, as Raging Bulls are prone to do, and tries for a clothesline, but Johnson remains light on his feet and easily ducks the attempt. Johnson follows up with an array of jabs and punches on Manson in the corner, but Manson manages to block one of the shots, and gets in a few of his own, succeeding in pushing Johnson back, and with one good punch, knocking him down to the ground. "For all of Johnson's MMA training, in a brawl Manson will still come out on top," comments LDP. "He's nearly unmatched in his ability here." "Even I'll admit that much, which is why Johnson has to rely on his submissions and speed." Johnson comes back up, met by Manson who hits him with a chop and gets the customary "WHOOO!" from the crowd. Johnson is sent back, and Manson hits yet another chop, followed by a right hook to the face, driving him back to the lower left hand corner. Manson grabs him by the wrist and flings him across the ring with an Irish whip, but Johnson holds on and reverses, sending Manson to the opposite corner. Johnson heads in after him, and jumps into the air, looking for the running elbow smash, but Manson ducks out of the way. Johnson is able to land on the second rope, and Manson is quickly on him, hitting a forearm off the back. Manson wraps his arms around Johnson and drags him down off the rope, then tries to lift, but Johnson sandbags him. Manson releases JJ for a spell, hitting more forearms, then locking him around the waist once more. Manson grunts and lifts Johnson, planting him with a German suplex! Manson bridges into the cover, but Johnson immediately kicks out. "Manson with the bridging German, but Johnson doesn't give Kivell a chance to count, as he kicks out early," Pete says. Manson stands and pulls Johnson up with him, dragging him by the back of his neck over to Manson's own corner, where he tags in Arch Griffon! Griffon enters to a pop, hitting Johnson with a kick to the stomach, doubling him over. Griffon follows that up with a nasty running knee to the side of the head, knocking JJ down to the mat. Johnson stands slowly, holding the side of his head, as Griffon places him in a standing headscissors, already going for the Arch Nemesis as a concerned Pretzler looks on! However, JJ blocks Griffon as he tries to lift him up for the piledriver, and as Griffon tries a second time, Johnson uses the momentum to pull himself onto Griffon's shoulders. JJ then snaps back and takes Griffon with him into a headscissors takeover! Both hit the mat, and Johnson already begins making his way toward his corner. "A headscissors to counter the Arch Nemesis and here goes Johnson, trying to make a tag," comments LDP. "There was very little chance of him hitting it this early, especially on someone as talented and resourceful as Johnson, and now it cost him," sayeth a snide Suicide King, as Griffon gets to his feet, and begins going after Johnson. Griffon nearly reaches him, but is just a second too late, as Johnson lunges and connects with Pretzler! "Pretzler is in the match!" screams Pete, as The Critic comes in and hits Griffon with a kick to the stomach. Griffon is hardly fazed, and Pretzler hits a European uppercut. Griffon's head snaps back, as Scott next hits a chop to the chest, which of course gets the "WHOOO!" from the fans. Griffon stumbles back further and finds himself pinned against the far camera side ropes, as Pretzler grabs him by the head, wrapping his arms around Griffon's neck and locking in a side headlock. But Griffon is just too big and strong, and the massive man shoves him off, toward the opposite side ropes. Pretzler comes back and Griffon hits a powerful shoulderblock, knocking him down to the mat. "Big knockdown by Griffon!" Pete shouts. Running toward the right hand side ropes; Griffon bounces off, jumping over Pretzler who stays low, laying flat on his stomach. Griffon hits the opposite side of the ring, where Manson blind tags him. Griffon runs into a surprise armdrag by Pretzler, who transitions into an armbar, complete with a knee in the ribs, but Manson then enters the ring and hits him with a forearm high on the back, forcing him to release Griffon. Griffon gets to his feet and pulls Pretzler into his grasp, then lifts and drops him across his knee with a backbreaker. In the meantime, Manson steps onto the second turnbuckle of the lower left hand corner, and with Pretzler in position, Manson jumps off, hitting a leg drop across his throat! Pretzler clutches his neck and rolls on the mat in agony, as Manson goes for a pin and Griffon makes his way toward his corner. "A backbreaker-second rope legdrop combination by the team of Griffon and Manson, and here's the cover!" LDP screams, as Kivell begins counting. ONE! TW-NO! "KICKOUT!" Pete says, as Manson pulls Pretzler up to his feet and hits an elbow smash to the face. Manson hits another elbow, following that up with a knee to the stomach, causing Pretzler to stumble back toward the near camera side ropes before going down to a knee. Manson pulls Pretzler back up and grabs him by the wrist, intending to whip him across the ring. However, Pretzler keeps a white knuckle grip on the ropes, forcing Manson to deliver another knee to the stomach, again bringing Pretzler down. Manson then brings a leg up and delivers a short knee to Pretzler's face, knocking him into the ropes, and nearly out of the ring. Pretzler slowly but surely pulls himself up with the ropes, and Manson grabs him by the wrist again, this time succeeding in whipping him across the ring. Pretzler bounces off the opposite side ropes, and Manson awaits him in the center of the ring, grabbing him around the chest, under the arms, and hoisting him up, then pivoting and planting him on the mat with a side belly to belly suplex and going into a cover! ONE! TWO!! "JJ broke it up!" Pete screams, as Johnson delivers a stomp to Manson and retreats back to his corner. "I hate to admit it, but at this rate, Revolution Zero is on borrowed time," King says, sighing to himself. Manson pulls Pretzler up with him and goes over to his corner, where he tags in Griffon, but not before a kick to the gut, doubling Pretzler over, and a knee lift to the face, knocking him on his back. Griffon brings Pretzler up to his feet, and Pretzler hits a chop to the chest, looking to rally back for his team, but Griffon cuts him off with a big right hand, sending him back. Scott goes down to a knee, but bounces back up right away, and lands a kick to the stomach, followed by an elbow smash to the face, then many more in rapid succession, taking Griffon off balance. Taking advantage, Pretzler wraps an arm around Griffon's head and takes him down with a DDT. Griffon bounces off the mat face first, and Pretzler quickly crawls over to Johnson and tags him in. "Pretzler finally tags back out, after taking some heavy punishment at the hands of Griffon and Manson," Pete says. "Hopefully Johnson can find a way to work his speed into this, because what they're doing isn't working so far." Griffon begins to get up to his feet, but Johnson puts a stop to that with a kick to the side of the head, knocking him back down on the mat. Johnson and Pretzler quickly take advantage, as they deliver numerous stomps to Griffon, until Kivell finally forces Pretzler out of the ring. “Not very legal, but very effective double teaming from Revolution Zero,” says a concerned Pete. Johnson continues to stomp away at Archie, as Griffon slowly rises to his feet. JJ grasps onto Griffon’s wrist, and backs him up to the far right side of the ring. He goes for an Irish whip, by Griffon reverses. Johnson comes off the ropes, and ducks a hissing clothesline. The speedy Johnson comes back off the other set of ropes. JJ slams Griffon in the jaw with a Yakuza Kick! “Johnson uses his exception speed to lay Griffon out with that Yakuza Kick,” reports Pete. “If these two men want to defeat Archie and Manson, they need to use their speed and agility. I like what I see,” says King, as Johnson goes for the cover on Griffon. Referee Kivell slides into position. ONE! TWO! TH-NO! “And Griffon kicks out,” says Pete. Johnson stays focused and delivers stomps into Arch’s midsection. Slowly, JJ peels his foe off of the mat and backs him into the corner. After a quick boot to the stomach, Johnson spins around, and catches Griffon in the jaw with his Roundhouse Kick! Griffon slumps over in the corner. “Griffon is in no man’s land. I am sure he doesn’t like the fact that a fresh Scott Pretzler stands behind him,” says King. With his opponent subdued for a moment, JJ speeds over to the opposite corner, and slugs Manson. The Raging Bull absorbs it, and then charges into the ring. Mathew Kivell quickly cuts off Manson, and slowly escorts him back to his corner. “Trouble is afoot, King,” Pete tells his partner. “No, just good strategy,” King answers back. Taking a hold of his tag rope, he reaches around and tugs it around Griffon’s neck! “BOO!!” “C’mon, ref! Get in there,” yells Pete. Arch gasps for air and frantically claws at the white nylon rope fastened around his throat. The jeers from the crowd raise a new level of hostility as Johnson goes to work on Griffon’s left knee. He starts off with a few well placed kicks to the big man’s kneecap. Meanwhile, Manson finally starts to calm and get back to his tag rope. “Bulls are dumb, and irrational creatures,” chuckles King. Pretzler eyes the referee. As Kivell turns back towards the action, Scott quickly lets the tag rope go. A deep red abrasion is left on Griffon’s neck, and his face a light shade of purple. Johnson delivers a crunching forearm to Archie’s jaw, rocking his head back. After doing this, JJ picks up Archie’s left leg, and puts the hook of his left boot into the middle rope. With Arch’s knee already bent, Johnson grabs the top rope, leaps up, and curls up his right leg. He comes down right into Griffon’s knee! Arch screams in pain and crumbles to the mat, grasping his knee. “A dastardly double team from Pretzler and Johnson,” says Pete. JJ connects with a soccer kick to the ribs. “That’s the way you do it! Kick ‘em when their down,” says an approving King. Johnson and The Critic share a casual tag, and actually give each other a smile like it’s the end of a buddy cop show episode. “Some confidence shown here by Johnson and Pretzler,” says Pete. On the other side of the ring, Manson nearly tears the tag rope out of the corner, as he paces back and forth. “WE WANT MANSON!” “They want to see the Raging Bull,” exclaims Pete. “That’s nice. However, the fans should realize that in this case, Revolution Zero are friggin matadors,” says the poetic King. Back in the middle of the ring, The Critic drags Griffon off the mat. Scott quickly delivers a sharp European uppercut to Griffon’s jaw. Griffon backpedals into the near corner. He falls to the seat of his pants after his knee folds on him. Pretzler chuckles at Griffon’s situation. As Scott approaches the corner, Griffon swings down with a fist and nails Scott right in the foot. The pain jolts the smaller man, and he hobbles to the middle of the ring. The crowd cheers as Griffon climbs to his feet with assistance from the corner and takes a deep breath. He advances over to Pretzler and nails him with a punch. Pretzler’s head snaps back. Scott comes back with a right hand of his own. Griffon catches the fist in his baseball mitt of his a hand, stopping the punch. Griffon then slides his hand to The Critic’s wrist, and takes hold, then hits him with a short armed clothesline. But, Griffon doesn’t let go, and drags the woozy Scott to his feet. Griffon hits the smaller man with another clothesline! “Arch has just placed Pretzler in Griffon’s grasp! Pretzler is in trouble,” bellows Pete. “These aren’t the same clothesline’s we have seen before. Griffon’s knee troubles have taken some of the luster out of these clotheslines,” says King. Griffon drags Scott to his feet again. Before he can hit Scott with another clothesline, Pretzler drops down and hits Griffon’s injured knee with a dropkick! Arch lets go of Scott, and both men fall to the mat! “Do you find it funny how Griffon is the one who gets his knee worked on, while Manson wears that heavy knee brace,” Pete asks King. “Everyone knows he doesn’t need the knee brace anyways. It is rather humorous, though,” King answers Pete. “WE WANT MANSON!” The crowd continues to roar as both Pretzler and Griffin crawl to their respective corners. The Critic tags out first. Johnson sprints across the ring, and hits a sliding elbow drop on Griffon, putting a halt to his progress. “It is now apparent that Griffon’s knee is going to be a deciding factor in this math,” says Pete. Manson curses humanity in the corner, as Johnson goes back to work. The crowd voices it’s displeasure as JJ picks up Arch, and immediately puts on a rear waistlock. Arch throws a few back elbows, but Johnson ducks down, dodging them. Finally, Griffon reaches down and pries the Hardcore Champ’s hands off of him. Griffon then hobbles behind Johnson, and puts on a waistlock of his own. Using tremendous power in his back, Griffon lifts up Johnson and tosses him behind his head. JJ floats in the air. JJ lands on his feet behind Griffon, and then quickly dives forward. He drives his shoulder into the back of Archie’s left knee! Griffon goes down after the malicious Chop Block! “Brilliant! Great counter by Johnson,” King yells. “This is it for Griffon. He is in tremendous pain,” observes Pete. JJ, not wasting any time, advances back over to Arch’s knee, and drags him to the right side of the ring, away from Manson and towards Pretzler. He then switches attention to the right leg, grabbing it. Quickly, Johnson spins around, and puts on a Figure Four Leglock! Pretzler drops from the apron and to the floor. He stands on the outside, looking at JJ. Griffon screams like a Roman Gladiator getting gutted by a lion. “Trouble is brewing,” says Pete. Mathew Kivell stays with Griffon on the mat, asking if he gives up. Arch keeps shaking his head no. Seeing this, Scott and JJ grasp hand and put more pressure on Griffon’s left knee. Kivell can’t help but notice the renewed vigor in Griffon’s yells, and looks towards the outside of the ring, where Pretzler stands. He shrugs his shoulder. “That sly dog, Pretzler,” chimes Pete. Kivell turns his back to Pretzler once more, and JJ and Scott lock hands. Kivell sees Archie freaking out again, and this time is quick to charge over to the ropes, and catches Revolution Zero in the act. Kivell kicks their hands loose. “There you go, Mathew,” cheers on Pete. Now that the decks are even, Griffon makes a last ditch attempt to break out of the hold. He starts to slowly move side to side, and he picks up momentum. Johnson has trouble stopping all the weight rocking back and forth. Soon, Griffon is able to reverse the hold! The crowd cheers madly, as Griffon winces with effort, trying to give JJ a taste of pain. The attack is short lived, however, as JJ grabs on to the ropes! “Sure, Griffon has escaped, but what about two minutes from now? What about a week from now at Battleground?” King realizes. Johnson is the first back to his feet, and is infuriated at Griffon. Scott Pretzler now stands in the corner, asking for a tag. JJ will have no part of it. Johnson drags Arch to his feet and then immediately backs him into the ropes. He then attempts to Irish whip Griffon across the ring, but Archie uses power from his right leg to reverse. Griffon waits while JJ blazes off of the far ropes, and comes back. He tries to knock Griffon’s head off with a clothesline, but Archie ducks out of the way. JJ comes back again, but Arch is waiting for him. Archie picks him up with both arms, spins on his right leg, and drives Johnson to the mat with a Twisting Spinebuster! “Spinebuster on Johnson! Griffon has to make the tag,” Pete frantically screams. The arena gets very excited. Both men lay in the middle of the ring. Griffon slowly crawls towards Manson, as does Johnson for Pretzler. “WE WANT MANSON!” The arena claps in unison, as both Pretzler and Manson contort and stretch their bodies, looking for the tag. Griffon and Johnson are almost neck and neck in their race. Johnson has a glazed look in his eyes, as Arch scowls, dragging his left leg behind him. Griffon is first to his corner, and makes the hot tag to The Raging Bull! “RAH!!” “And the fresh Manson is in! The Raging Bull is running,” says Pete. “Ah…shit,” curses King. The crowd roars in glee, as Manson charges into the ring, and makes a direct line for the unsuspecting Critic. Manson flies into the corner and nails Scott with a forearm blow, knocking Scott hard to the floor. The crowd goes bat shit then, as Manson starts to stomp away at JJ. Then, Manson picks Johnson up to his feet, and whips him into the far ropes, next to Griffon, who sits in the corner of the ring, need able to stand. The woozy Johnson comes back to the middle of the ring, where the charging Manson is approaching. The Raging Bull unleashes a devastating STO on Johnson, driving him hard into the mat! Manson quickly puts on a cover. ONE! TWO!! THRE-NO!!! The jammed packed arena exhales at the exactly the same time, almost giving each other carbon dioxide poisoning. Manson can’t believe it, but before he can get to Kivell, the referee is in the corner imploring Arch to get out of the ring. As Manson looks on confused, a desperate Johnson sneaks up behind him and rockets his arm up between The Raging Bull’s leg, and takes him down with a low blow. “Smart, underhanded move there by the Hardcore Champion,” applauds King. Kivell doesn’t see the low blow, as he moves back towards the center of the ring. Johnson is out of it on his feet, but still manages to pick up Manson. He immediately puts Manson in a standing head scissors. He signals to the angry fans for a Piledriver. He walks Manson over to the center of the ring, and then attempts to pick the bigger man up, but Manson resists. The Raging Bull instead picks up his opponent over his head. Manson holds him for a minute, and then throws JJ back to his feet. Johnson, confused, doesn’t have time to block his stomach as Manson lets loose with a kick to the gut. JJ doubles over, and in one swift, yet pretty uncoordinated motion, grabs the back of JJ’s head, leaps, swings his body through, and drops Johnson with Consequences! The crowd explodes and gives off a sound of awe, as Johnson flops around like a fish out of water, and then winds up sprawled out on his back. Still tending to his mid section after Johnson’s low blow, he throws himself on top of Johnson, doing the best he can do. “Consequences! Manson and Griffon are going to defeat Revolution Zero,” Pete yells at the top of his lungs. “Not of Pretzler has anything to say about it,” Riley says. Kivell gets into position, as a rejuvenated Pretzler climbs back into the ring. Griffon, still down in the corner, can see the scene unfolding in front of him. Manson is on top of Johnson. Kivell is down at Johnson’s shoulders. They make a line dissecting the ring. Of course, there is the desperate Pretzler, trying to make the save. Griffon grabs the ropes nearby and quickly gets to his feet. He then hobbles to the middle of the ring. ONE! Right before he steps on Johnson, Griffon plants his right foot, and leaps into the air. Pretzler is just a second away from Manson. TWO!! Pretzler tries to dodge the majestic flight of Griffon. Archie winds up floating over The Critic, but is able to latch onto Scott’s left hip and right leg. Griffon spins, and takes Pretzler down to the mat! THREE!!! “NO! God damned Griffon!” King yells. The arena explodes with cheers, as Griffon and Manson take down Revolution Zero. “Your winners of the match, ARCH GRIIIFONN AND MMMAAAANNNNSOONNNN!” booms Funyon once again. Mastodon’s “Crusher Destroyer” blasts high into the heavens, as Manson climbs up to his feet. He walks over to Griffon, and helps him to his feet. The two prop each other up by their shoulders, look out into the stands, and give their own metal horns to the fans. “RAH!” The fans put up metal horns of their own. The two then walk out together, Griffon struggling to walk, but Manson making he sure he can walk out. Meanwhile, Revolution Zero talk in the ring, wondering what went wrong. “Griffon is not going to be ready for Koran on Sunday,” King says. “Oh he’ll be ready. Stay tuned folks. Tonight we decide who faces World Champion Toxxic this Sunday at Battleground,” Pete says as SWF Smarkdown fades to commercials. <FADE OUT>

We come back to the Kiva Auditorium in Albuquerque, New Mexico. In front of a Smarkdown back drop stands Ben Hardy, microphone already in his hand. “We are here waiting for Arch Griffon to give us a few words before his tag match tonight. Much talk has been made about his upcoming bar room brawl with rival Muhammed Koran,” says Hardy. Coming into the screen is Griffon, his side to the camera. He is already prepared for his match, his pale skin glowing with perspiration. He comes in from the right side, abruptly stops, showing off his profile, and then takes a quick left turn into the camera. Now he stands on the side of Hardy, dwarfing the small reporter. “Archibald Griffon, tonight you are teaming up with Manson once again to take on Scott Pretzler and JJ Johnson of Revolution Zero. What is your outlook on the match?” quizzes Ben. “Well Ben,” Archie pauses for a moment, and then continues. “Manson and I are going up against quite a challenge tonight against Revolution Zero. Both men may not have the size that Manson and I have, but they are skillful, and not ashamed to fight cowardly. We will win tonight, because I believe Manson and I don’t have ego problems inside of the ring. We just want to win, baby,” Archie says. He chuckles after the end of his monologue and looks back at Hardy. After he pushes up his glasses, Ben continues, “Six days from tonight, it will be you, and Muhammad Koran duking it out in a barroom. “How are you preparing for the match?” Hardy asks. “I am going to prepare for this match like I would if I was going to fight someone in a bar. I will wear a t-shirt, bring my smokes, wear a pair of jeans, wear some kicks, have a few Godfathers, and then go for the eyes and make them fill with blood!” Griffon raves. The camera pans back to Hardy, who has obviously been disturbed by Griffon’s words. Hardy’s hand doesn’t move to Griffon’s face, so Arch helps Ben along by softly grasping onto his forearm. “There is no cutting weight for this match. There is no tape watching. There is nothing to do except for me to unleash the rage that Koran has brought up inside of me after calling me out in front of the world. He made a mistake, and he will deal with it,” Arch calmly concludes. “Thank you for your time, Arch.” Ben finishes, almost stumbling through his words. Griffon gives Ben a nod, takes another left turn, and comes back from where he came from

ATTENTION! ALL YOU NIGGAZ! 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… The Kiva Auditorium erupts as Redman’s “Let’s Get Dirty” begins to play, and the Bahama Bomber steps out onto the stage! “Ladies and Gentlemen,” booms Funyon, “please welcome one-half of the World Tag Team Champions, and the SWF World Cruiserweight Champion… the WIIIIILDCHIIIIILD!” Wildchild walks briskly down to the ring, barely even acknowledging the fans at ringside, and slides into the ring, stalking deliberately over to Funyon and demanding the microphone from him. “Looks like Wildchild has something on his mind,” says Longdogger Pete, as the Bahama Bomber gestures to the audio technicians to cut his music. “Let’s find out what it is!” “Pretzler!” BOOOOOOOOO! “Scott Pretzler,” shouts Wildchild, “I showed you de respect you had earned before I beat you for dis!” Wildchild pauses to hold the World Cruiserweight Championship above his head before continuing. “I don’ care for you much as a person, but I’ll give you credit for bein’ a damned good wrestler! I would have given you a rematch if you’d had de class t’be patient an’ wait your turn, but you had t’attack me from behind! You wan’ t’hit me wit a ladder?” “Uh-oh,” moans Pete. “I think I know where this is going!” “Well,” screams Wildchild, “since you’re in such a hurry t’get beat again, let’s do it at Battleground!” RAAAAAAAAAAH! “Dat’s right,” continues Wildchild, “you an’ me. At Battleground. For de Worl’ Cruiserweight Title… “IN A LADDER MATCH!” RAAAAAAAAAAH! “A ladder match!” shouts Pete. “You heard it here first, ladies and gentlemen!” “Come on wit’ it, Pretzler,” growls the Caribbean Cruiser. “I’ll bring de belt; all you have to do is bring your bitch ass…” RAAAAAAAAAAH! “An’ I will put you down.. For. GOOD!” With that, “Let’s Get Dirty” begins to play again, as Wildchild drops the microphone and walks out of the ring. “Well there you have it, folks,” says LDP. “Wildchild has issued the challenge to Scott Pretzler; a ladder match for the World Cruiserweight Title! Will he accept? Stay tuned for more action!”

Koran/Sly

Wildchild conducts his usual stretches in the locker room as he prepares for their title defense against Martial Law, although it is clear that his mind is preoccupied. As he nears the end of his routine, his tag team partner Johnny Dangerous steps around the corner, boots in hand, and sits down to lace them up. “Hey man,” begins Wildchild, glaring harshly at his best friend, “how come you haven’t had my back de last few weeks? When you were getting attacked, I came out t’help you, but when Rev-Zero is beating me down wit ladders an’ t’ings, I can’t get no support from my tag team partner? I know you’re frustrated about not getting de big title shots, but what does it have t’do wit me?” Johnny sighs loudly. “I’m sorry, ‘Nic; I know I’ve had a lot on my mind, and I’d be lying if I said I didn’t want another shot at the Heavyweight Title, but you know that I’ll always have your back, right? We’re going out there to defend this,” he says, pausing to pat his half of the World Tag Team Championship, “and right now, my focus is on this and this alone!” Wildchild looks unconvinced, but his expression softens somewhat. “Well, if you want t’show dat you’re focused on de Tag Titles tonight, how ‘bout we leave our singles titles in de locker room tonight?” Johnny looks at him skeptically. “Are you serious? How is that going to show that we’re focused?” “Easy,” replies Wildchild. “When we come down to the ring wit only our Tag Titles, dat shows dat nothing else is on our minds; dat we’re not distracted by what we’re doin’ as individuals, an’ only worried about de team!” “Well,” says Johnny unsurely, “I’m not sold on that, myself, but if it’ll make you happy, consider it done!” “Thanks,” says Wildchild, finally smiling again. “Now, I have jus’ one more t’ing dat I need t’take care of before our match; I’ll be back in a minute!” With that, Wildchild grabs his title belts and heads out of the locker room… As we: FADE OUT