Justice

We return to Lockdown to the bouncing beats that open Therapy?’s “Teethgrinder”, the Nebraska fans immediately snapping to attention upon hearing the Northern Irish metal grinding its way out of the speakers. A mild grumbling begins in the crowd as the song’s extraordinarily catchy groove riff kicks in, the semi-surf rock tones appealing to some if not for whom they knew they meant. The riff repeats, the drums drop in… …and the mild grumbling turns into audible jeering, drowning out the heavyfuckingmetal as a massive figure throws the curtain aside, making room for both his bulky frame and those of his two accomplices, striding out onto the ramp and bobbing his head to the song as he makes his way down the ramp with not one, but two identical belts around his waist. “Ladies and gentlemen, the following contest is scheduled for ONE FALL! Introducing first, from Saitama Prefecture, Japan, weighing in at 264 pounds. He is one half of the SWF World Tag Team Champions, and represents the TORU-KOJI Organization…TO-RUUUU…TAAAAKAAAAHAAAARAAAA!!!” “BOOOOOO!!” With a nimble leap that belies his size, Takahara leaps to the apron, and waits only a moment before hoisting himself up and over the top rope into the ring, where he takes his twin tag team belts and hands them to Chris Card whilst Natasha removes his trenchcoat. Knowing what happened last time he kept his sunglasses on, he hands the eyewear to Natasha as well. “Ladies and gentlemen, this is NOT a friendly match next,” says Pete, skipping formalities and cutting straight to the chase. “To put it simply, TKO and Cucaracha Internacional hate each other. To put it even more simply, TORU and Johnson hate each other. And even more simply than that, JJ Johnson and El Luchadore Magnifico hate each other.” “See, now I don’t see why TORU and Johnson can’t just be friends,” muses King, drawing a glare from Pete. “Well, next time somebody breaks my arm and puts me out of action for months, possibly forever, we’ll see how well you get along with him,” snarls the Longdogger. “Are you kidding?” asks King. “He’d be my idol.” “Okay, that’s a bad example, bu-“ Pete attempts to get his statement out before what he knows is coming comes, but he’s just not fast enough, and number 1 contenders wait not for philosophical musings. Especially not this one… …as the lights drop out. “HE HAS NOT CONFESSED, HE HAS MADE NO STATEMENT, CHARGES OF MURDER HAVE BEEN ACCEPTED AGAINST HIM.” The two thundering opening notes of “Scapegoat” come rolling out of the sound system, hitting all unfortunate enough to be close to them with a shockwave that could leave a ringing in their ears for several days. Those same fans receive a heaping helping of seizure-tastic flashing lights, chugging into life and then shutting off just as quickly. History repeats itself as the song lights up once more, and the lights once again blaze to life. The lights are not the only thing that kick into life as the Smarktron snaps into animation, showing various highlights from Johnson’s matches - murdering Zyon with a top-rope Dragon Suplex, spiraling down on El Luchadore Magnifico with Air Canada, and crushing TORU’s cheekbone with a rolling elbow (prompting a wince from the massive Saitaman). The lights fade up to a deep red, the song’s tempo begins to kick up, smoke begins to billow from the entranceway... RRRRRRAAAAAAAHHHH!!!!! ...and with it comes the number one contender, the Ultimate Fighter’s frame visible through the smoke thanks in large part to the brightly flashing lights. The figure draws closer and closer to the end of the cloud until finally, he emerges. “YYEEEEEAAAAAAAAHHH!!!” And is immediately met with a reaction he wasn’t exactly expecting as the Omaha crowd leaps to their feet with glee! If Johnson is shocked, he doesn’t show it - does he ever show emotion? - as he strides down the ramp, his eyes locked on TORU (making sure to keep at least his peripheral vision on Card and Natasha, of course. He’s not an idiot.). “And his opponent, from Windsor, Ontario, Canada, weighing in at 219 pounds...J! J! JOHNSON!” “YEEAAAAAHHH!!!” Walking right past Card and Natasha without so much as a glance, Johnson stomps up the steps, steps between the top and middle ropes, and begins making his way to the second rope, counting on the ref to hold TORU back as he spreads his arms wide, “HEY HEY!” *BOOOM!!* And so goes the intro to “Tu Final”, the signature reggaeton anthem of the World Heavyweight Champion not well received as per tradition as the Omaha crowd rises to it’s feet again. This time, to rain hatred and the occasional beverage on the hated champ. “This is odd...I know Magnifico requested some time on the show today, but we’re about to have a match,” ponders the Dogger. “Quiet, Pete!” squeals King before hopping up and down in his seat and waving his arms, attempting to attract the attention of the luchador that’s currently making his way down the ramp. Mexican flag in hand, head bobbing to the music, his traditional striped referee shirt on... ...and Johnson does a double take. Looks at Magnifico. Ref shirt. Looks at ring. No ref. “Oh, shit,” mouths Johnson, obviously more than happy that the family-friendly rules have been repealed as Funyon raises the microphone to his mouth for an announcement the Canadian already knows is coming, but really doesn’t want to hear. “And introducing your special guest referee...” “WHAT?!” protests Pete. “...ELLLL LUCHADOOOOORE...MAAAAGNIIIIFIICOOOOOOO!!!” The Heavyweight Champion sets his flag aside, taking careful care to put it far away from the ring - and Johnson - as possible before sliding into the ring and, with a cocky smirk aimed Johnson’s way, signals for David Blazenwing to ring the bell. DING DING DING! Johnson immediately turns his gaze over to the World Champion; Magnifico returns the glare with a look that says “Go ahead, try it”. Johnson suppresses what is obviously a massive string of swears and ethnic slurs... *SMACK!* ...and in his suppression, fails to notice the right arm of TORU that shoots in and catches him with a lariat! “And we’re off to the races,” says King, “and with a very good start!” ?“Good start my ass!” cries Pete, still angry at Magnifico’s sudden guest refereeing duties. “There’s no way Johnson could pull this out with all of the odds stacked so much against him!” “Pish tosh, Drain-Clogger. Magnifico will no doubt be as just and fair as anyone else,” confirms King. Pete is completely lost for words as Takahara immediately mounts Johnson and starts raining close-fisted punches to the face of the number 1 contender, his hands bouncing off of the cranium of the Canadian as Magnifico looks on - completely ignoring the illegal punches of the tag team champion. Knowing this, the Japanese Hammer forges on...but doesn’t remember until it’s too late that Johnson is craftier than imagined, the Canadian hooking TORU’s arms back with his legs and rolling him backwards and onto his shoulders for a flash pin! Magnifico drops down to count, draws his arm back and brings it down for the count... ...at about the speed of a snail, TORU rocketing his shoulder up as the hand nears the halfway point of the first fall...at about the same time a normal ref would have hit 2. Takahara immediately rolls away from Johnson before athletically kipping up to his feet and delivering a running kick to the face...that the Canadian dodges before doing a kip-up of his own and catching a turning TORU with an elbow smash! *CRACK!* The massive Saitaman stumbles backwards after being caught off-guard with the blow, finds purchase in the ropes that he reaches, then charges forward and throws another lariat! Johnson ducks again, and spins again, looking for his rolling elbow! That Takahara ducks before tucking his head under the left arm of the Ultimate Fighter and hoisting him up for Ore Ga TORU! That Johnson backflips out of, rolling down the Japanese Hammer’s spine before leaping up and delivering a picture-perfect dropkick right between the shoulder blades of Takahara! TORU stumbles forward into the ropes, his momentum sending him back towards Johnson...who grabs him in a rear waistlock before bridging back for a Dangerous German! That TORU blocks, sticking his legs in between those of the Canadian before reaching down and breaking the waistlock that Johnson has, then spinning and securing a waistlock of his own out of the standing switch! Johnson is certainly caught off-guard, and Takahara capitalizes by, in a show of his massive strength, hoisting Johnson up and over his head as the Canadian falls face-first on the mat, victim of a standing German suplex! *BANG!* Johnson hits his ribs hard, but he wastes no time in bouncing back up to his knees... *CRACK!* ...just in time to catch a vicious running knee to the face that both knocks Johnson for a loop and ends that particular string of reversals as Takahara drops down to cover, Mags following him down with his arm brought up. ONE! TWO! T-Kickout by Johnson, ELM signaling that it is indeed only a two count to the indomitable David Blazenwing. “What? No fast count from Magnifico?” asks the Longdogger, justifiably confused. “No, of course not,” scoffs the Heartbreaker. “Like I said, Magnifico is just and fair.” “That explains why, when Johnson pinned TORU, Magnifico didn’t count at all,” says Pete, arching an eyebrow as if to challenge the Gambling Man to explain that one. King is silent as TORU drags Johnson to his feet with a grunt, blatantly pulling the hair - and Magnifico blatantly ignoring it - as he brings the Canadian to a vertical base before burying a knee in his stomach and scooping him up for the Oklahoma Slam backbreaker that served him so well at Ramadomination! Unfortunately for TORU, Ramadomination was a month ago, and Johnson knows by now to reverse the backbreaker before...well, his back gets broken, sliding over the tag champion’s shoulder and securing a rear facelock, then reaching up and securing a fisherman’s hold, bending deep and beginning to lift... ...but just as Johnson saw the Oklahoma backbreaker coming, Takahara sees the modified Codebreaker coming, delivering a hard punch to the jaw that, while not particularly damaging, is certainly enough to loosen the Canadian’s facelock, and release the leg hook as well. TORU capitalizes by spinning himself into a front facelock before driving forward... ...but Johnson recovers from being knocked for a loop just in time to ram a hard knee right into the crown of Takahara’s skull, still maintaining the facelock! *CRACK!* TORU immediately stops driving, and Johnson wastes no time shoving his left arm under his chin before securing a hold and attempting to roll, looking for his Anaconda Choke... ...but TORU is too strong, which he shows by planting his hands on Johnson’s hips before doubling down with his knees and bringing Johnson vertical, then dropping back into a suplex! *BANG!* Unfortunately, what Takahara did not account for is the location of his head. So instead of delivering a powerful suplex, he instead gave himself the mother of all neckbreakers, something Johnson capitalizes on by rolling over and on top of the Japanese Hammer with his second cover of the match! And once again, Magnifico completely ignores him, this time not even humoring him by dropping down. Instead, he simply crosses his arms in front of his chest and gives Johnson a look like “What, you expect me to count?”. Johnson snarls before turning back to face his fallen opponent...whom has rolled out of the ring, being tended to by Card and Natasha. “Damn it, Magnifico!” bellows Pete. “You’re the referee, do your goddamn job!” “He’s doing his job!” insists the Heartbreaker. “Look, he’s counting TORU out.” As Magnifico rests in the corner, buffing his fingernails and decidedly NOT counting TORU out, Johnson figures out that it’s up to him to get Takahara’s ass back in the ring, and so he lifts himself to his feet before sprinting to the ropes in front of him. On the outside, Natasha sees him coming and makes herself scarce, jogging - as best she can in high-heels - away from the potential point of impact. Just like at Ramadomination, Card notices the escaping Goth Bitch and knows exactly what’s coming, also fleeing the scene. TORU looks around with his eyebrow arched, then looks back at the ring... ...and catches a JJ Johnson elbow suicida! This is where the sound effect usually goes. However, by ‘catches’, I do not mean ‘Johnson hit him really hard in the face’; by ‘catches’, I actually mean TORU moves out of the way before reaching out and catching him around the waist over his shoulder before driving him down into the mats on the outside with a bionic spinebuster! *SPLAAAT!* “BOOOOOOOOOOO!!!” The crowd finally reacts to the in-ring action - that isn’t even in-ring action - as the back of Johnson’s head ricochets off of the thin mats, Magnifico having a hearty chuckle inside the ring as TORU bellows “I AM TORU!” before making his way around the ring, towards the announce table. “Why is TORU coming over here?” asks King, who despite supporting the bad guy is a tad nervous around the Japanese Hammer. “Last time he was near us, he stole something.” As King quickly removes his watch and shoves it in his pocket with an innocent look on his face, TORU avoids the announce table, instead shoving David Blazenwing out of his seat before taking said seat, lifting it high above his head, and snapping it shut. “See?! See?! He just steals stuff!” cries the Heartbreaker, pointing a knowing finger at the Japanese Hammer, who for his part completely ignores the Gambling Man as he makes his way back towards the rising form of his opponent. “Who cares that he stole something from Blazenwing?” asks Pete. King nods. “What’s important is that TORU has a steel chair right now, and Magnifico is ignoring said fact.” “He’s not ignoring it, he’s waiting to see what TORU does,” defends King. “He might just be getting it to sit down and take a break.” “OR,” begins Pete, “SINCE HE’S A PRO WRESTLER, HE MIGHT BE LOOKING TO HIT JOHNSON WITH IT.” “Jesus, Pete, touchy,” deadpans the Gambling Man, drawing a frustrated scream from the Miami Menace. As TORU approaches with the chair, Magnifico locks eyes with TORU and nods. The Japanese Hammer responds in kind... ...and, knowing he can’t call it if he can’t see it, Magnifico looks away. “BOOOOO!” Takahara smirks, then holds the chair in front of him, sizing up his target before swinging... ...which is why he’s so confused when said target lunges upwards with a hard elbow smash that sends the chair smashing into his skull! *CA-RUNCH!!* “YEEAAAAHH!!!” Magnifico’s head snaps around as if on a swivel as Johnson favors his arm, rubbing the elbow slightly before moving in and hoisting a dazed - and bleeding - TORU to his feet, and proceeding to roll him into the ring before hopping on up to the apron himself and hoisting himself over with a slingshot elbow drop! *BANG!* TORU sits up after the elbow slams into his left shoulder, grabbing at the limb and wincing. Johnson, however, shows no mercy as he shoots in and wraps a somewhat meaty arm around the definitely meaty neck of the tag team champion, before bringing the wounded left arm back into a Buffalo Sleeper hold! “YEEEAAAAHH!!” “Buffalo Sleeper!” cries Pete. “TORU showed weakness for only a second, and Johnson, knowing full well that he can’t pin Takahara thanks to Magnifico, latches on a submission hold!” However, we don’t get the chance to see if Magnifico will acknowledge a submission, as much like at Ramadomination, TORU reaches back with his free arm and whips Johnson over with a snapmare! Johnson rolls through to his feet, TORU mimicking him, and the Canadian immediately throws his right foot out for a high kick! TORU throws his hands in front of his face to protect against the blow...so Johnson plants that foot before using it as a pivot to drive a vicious spinning back kick into the left shoulder of the Japanese Hammer! The force of the blow spins Takahara around, and Johnson immediately pounces, looking for a Fujiwara armbar takedown...that TORU still has the strength to reverse by lifting the Ultimate Fighter and driving him down onto his knee with a pendulum backbreaker! Johnson tumbles off of his knee, and TORU grins now that the match is back in his favor, leaping up and dropping a standing TORU Hammer! *BANG!* For those to be effective, however, one generally has to connect with them, and Johnson got pretty tired of knee drops back at Ramadomination. So he rolls out of the way before hopping to his feet, bouncing off of the ropes, and STEPPING UP ONTO TORU’S KNEE FOR A SHINING WIZARD! TORU thorws his hands up in front of his face... ...and Johnson capitalizes, seizing one arm before yanking it back as he drops into a triangle choke! “YEEAAAAHH!!!” “Astounding!” cries Pete as TORU begins grasping for breath, not quite sure how he got into this predicament but positive he wants out. “A shining triangle choke!” “Eh, it’s not so great,” mutters King. Fortunately, TORU has a counter to lift King out of his doldrums as he buckles down and lifts Johnson up before driving him into the mat with a powerbomb! *BOOM!* Johnson is dazed, but for his part, he holds onto the choke, refusing to let go even in the face of...well, getting his ass kicked. TORU grimaces, but knows he has to get out of the hold somehow, and so he doubles over before lifting once more...and driving Johnson into the canvas with a second powerbomb, this one stacking him on his shoulders as Magnifico drops to count! *BOOOM!* ONE! TWO! TH-But Johnson gets a shoulder up, STILL maintaining the hold. TORU is pissed now, and so he puts as much effort as he can into lifting him, gathering as much momentum as possible... ...and Johnson puts his plan into action, spinning himself off of Takahara’s shoulders and rolling forward with his legs wrapped around his arms, the momentum of his roll bringing TORU onto his back...and right into a juji-gatame! “YEEEEAAAAAHHH!!!” “JUJI-GATAME!” shouts Pete, jumping out of his seat as TORU immediately begins grabbing at his left arm, attempting to free it from the hold before he suffers the same fate as his tag team partner. His scrabblings pointless, he attempts to shove his way to the ropes...but Johnson is laying near the ropes, and to move the opposite way is to stretch his arm even more. With all of his options exercised, and with Card and Natasha screaming at him, and with Magnifico looking on with a rather nervous look... TAP TAP TAP TAP TAP “YEEEEEEAAAAAAAAHHH!!!” Funyon lifts the mic to his mouth, more than ready to make the announcement of Johnson’s victory. But something stops him. The bell hasn’t rung. “What?!” asks Pete as TORU continues slapping the mat with increased fervor. “He tapped, ring the fucking bell!” “Pete!” scolds King, “don’t use such language!” TORU, on the other hand, is free to use all the expletives he wants, and he does so. Johnson, for his part, is not letting go of the hold, tugging at the arm like a pitbull, Takahara’s elbow slowly but surely tearing himself a part. And a few factors run through Magnifico’s mind. He doesn’t want Johnson to win, he’s sure of that. But if the hold is on much longer, he loses his remaining bodyguard, PLUS he’s got Card yelling at him some more. And so with a heavy sigh... ...Magnifico signals for the bell. DING DING DING! “YEEEEAAAAHHH!!!” “Scapegoat” blasts over the speakers as Johnson immediately breaks the hold, rolling out of the ring and making his way to the back, as always. Magnifico, with a blank stare, simply watches him go. “Here is your winner, by submission...J! J! JOHNSON!” FADE OUT

FADE IN “Welcome back to Lockdown,” says Longdogger Pete, “where we’re just about ready for our Triple Impact match between the Wildchild and ‘the Icon’ Max King. And King, I’ve got to tell you, this is one of the most unpredictable styles of matches that you’re ever likely to see!” “That’s right!” agrees the Suicide King. “And the reason for that is because there’s no way for the two men in the ring to have a strategy planned out ahead of time; the unique thing about a Triple Impact match is that you have to hit your opponent with a move three times in order to win, but you don’t find out what move you have to hit until just before the match starts!” “And when you have two opponents that are of two different sizes and who wrestle two completely different styles, such as we have here tonight, it adds an additional dimension!” adds Pete. “Suppose the move which gets drawn is an aerial maneuver, King; how is Max King going to be able to move fast enough to hit Wildchild with a top rope move three times?” “And, on the flipside of that,” counters King, “what if it’s a power move? Suppose something like a gorilla press slam comes up; there’s no way that Wildchild will be able to get Max King over his head even once, let alone three times!” “Especially not when he’s recovering from a partially strained left shoulder,” says Pete, pausing long enough to allow the production team to roll the footage of Jay Hawke attacking WC with the International Championship Belt. “Wildchild, of course, still recovering from injuries sustained at the hands of Jay Hawke in the Triple Threat match last week on Smarkdown. And I’ll be interested in seeing how Wildchild responds to Jay Hawke’s comments last week.” “Well, Wildchild had better not be thinking about anybody other than Max King right now,” replies King, as the camera shifts back to the announce table, “or else he’s going to be on the short end of the purse tonight!” “With that said, let’s send you up to Funyon in the ring, for our official introductions!” DING! DING! DING! With the sound of the bell, all eyes are drawn to the center of the ring, where Funyon, who is holding a sealed manila envelope, stands beside referee Red Herrington. “The following contest is the Triple Impact match!” booms Funyon. RAAAAAAAAAAH! “Once both men are in the ring,” continues Funyon, raising the envelope into the camera’s view, “the referee will open this envelope, which contains the name of a wrestling move. The winner of the match will be the man who is able to successfully deliver this maneuver to his opponent three times!” With that, the lights dim in the Qwest Center, and the fans are silent for a brief moment, until they can hear the sounds of Max King's voice, as he cries out: THE KING...HAS...RETURNED! BOOM! Saliva’s “Superstar” begins to blast through the speakers as Max King and Kelly Connelly step out onto the stage, looking out to the crowd with smiles, before looking to the ring. “Introducing first,” says Funyon, “the manager: the self-proclaimed ‘Queen’ of the SWF, Kelly Connelly!” BOOOOOOOOOO! “And she represents, from Philadelphia, Pennsylvania, and weighing in tonight at two hundred fifty pounds… the Icon, MAAAAAX KIIIIING!” Kelly espouses Max’s virtues in a loud voice as King makes his way to the ring with a focused look on his face. Max and Kelly then get onto the ring apron, and enter through the second rope at the same time, pausing only a moment to give each other a deep, passionate kiss, before going to the center of the ring. “The Icon definitely looks ready for this matchup,” notes Pete, as Max demands the microphone from Funyon. “Hold up!” shouts King, as the lights come back on. “The Icon is about to speak; keep it down, MacDougal!” “Cut the music!” BOOOOOOOOOO! “Listen to the boos, King!” “Hey,” snaps King, “I said keep it down!” “I feel sorry for all you women out here in Omaha,” begins King. “All you have around here to look at are some overweight, pasty white, corn-fed farm boys, with beer bellies and tobacco-stained Cornhusker jerseys!” BOOOOOOOOOO! “I know that when you have to roll on top of your old man tonight for your monthly relations, you’re going to be thinking of me! You’re going to be wishing that I was the one that you that you got to straddle, instead of rocking back and forth on top of Gomer for three minutes!” BOOOOOOOOOO! “As Kelly will tell you, the Icon can go all night long, unlike that two-pump chump of a husband that you have to go home with tonight!” YOU SUCK! YOU SUCK! YOU SUCK! YOU SUCK! “So I’m going to do the ladies of Omaha a public service: I’m going to bless you with the sight of my magnificent body! I’m going to give you something to feast your eyes on, and get your motors running for when you have to go back to the trailer park tonight with Billy Bob… But, don’t get too excited, ladies; remember, you can look, but only Kelly here gets to touch… Hit the music!” With that, “Superstar” comes back on and Kelly removes King's vest and shades, standing behind him and rubbing his chest sensually with her hands before spinning him around and once again kissing him passionately in the center of the ring. “This is ridiculous!” spits Pete, as King poses for the women in the audience. “There’s no place for that kind of behavior in a wrestling ring! It’s completely inappropriate!” “Unacceptable?” queries King. “I don’t think that there’s anything at all inappropriate about wrestlers getting a chance to show their affection; in fact, I think that Max King has the perfect disposition to be a champion! Can you imagine Max King as the World Heavyweight Champion? Just think of what he and Kelly might do together in the ring!” “I’d rather not,” replies Pete. “Let’s leave that sort of behavior for some of our less tasteful competitors.” Max’s music fades out, to be quickly replaced by the sounds of Mystikal’s “Bouncin’ Back.” YEAAAAAAAAAAH! “YOU KEEP BUMPIN’ ME AGAINST THE WALL! YEAH, I KNOW I LET YOU SLIDE BEFORE! BUT, UNTIL YOU SEEN ME… TRUST ME… YOU AIN’T SEEN BOUNCIN’ BACK!” “And his opponent,” booms Funyon, “being accompanied to the ring by Melissa Fasaki and hailing from the Bahamas, weighing two hundred fourteen pounds: the WIIIIILDCHIIIIILD!” Wildchild’s left shoulder is heavily taped, but otherwise, he seems none the worse for wear, even rotating his shoulder to demonstrate his mobility. “Well, I don’t think that you have to worry about Wildchild looking past Max King anymore,” notes LDP. “He definitely looks ready!” “That’s all well and good,” replies King, “but it remains to be seen whether or not it’ll make a difference; remember, we still don’t know what the move is going to be!” Wildchild removes his shin guards and hands them to Melissa, giving her a brief hug before somersaulting between the bottom and middle ropes to enter the ring. He acknowledges the fans and then turns to face his opponent as his music fades out. “This match is just about to get underway, King, and I can’t wait!” Red Herrington opens up the envelope and looks at the words inscribed on the card within, as Funyon exits to the arena floor. He calls both wrestlers over to him, and says a few words, which cause the Icon to break into laughter. “And Max King looks pleased with what he just heard,” notes Pete, as Herrington walks towards the edge of the ring. “I can’t imagine that means good things for the Wildchild!” Herrington leans through the ropes and says something to Funyon, who raises the microphone back to his lips: “Ladies and gentleman,” booms Funyon, “I have just been informed by the referee that the winning move for the Triple Impact match will be: a Powerbomb!” “Whoa!” exclaims Pete. “A powerbomb! That means that the winner has to powerbomb his opponent three times to win; no wonder Max King was smiling!” “Well, you’ve got to project Max King as the prohibitive favorite now,” adds King. “I just can’t see any way that Wildchild will be able to get him up for a powerbomb even once, let alone three times!” Herrington orders the timekeeper to ring the bell, signifying the start of the match: DING! DING! DING! “Bell’s gone,” says Pete, “and we’re underway!” Within seconds, Wildchild dashes across the screen and begins hammering Max in the face with rapid-fire right hands! King attempts to knock him away with a sweeping right hook, but the Human Hurricane quickly ducks underneath and continues punching: BAP! BAP! BAP! BAP! WHOOSH! BAP! BAP! BAP! “Well, Wildchild may be at a disadvantage,” says Pete, “but that’s not going to stop him from taking the fight directly to Max King, as he assaults him with a series of right hands!” Max finally succeeds in slowing down his aggressor, stunning him with a tremendous kneelift to the midsection! King grabs Wildchild by the wrist and whips him across the ring, but WC ducks a clothesline attempt as he bounces off the ropes, and then explodes into the air as he rebounds a second time, whipping his leg fiercely through the air to knock the Icon to the canvas with a flying leg lariat! Wildchild easily beats King to his feet and hooks his arm underneath that of the Icon, before taking him over with a gorgeous armdrag! King scrambles back to his feet, only to be armdragged again, and then taken over with a textbook hiptoss! Wildchild springs off his feet as King stands back up, and blasts the Icon in the chest with a standing dropkick that sends him stumbling back to the edge of the ring and bounces off the ropes! WC stuns him with a kick to the midsection and then pulls him into a standing headscissors. “Look at this!” shouts LDP. “He’s going for a powerbomb right now!” WC locked his hands around Max’s waist and pulled, lifting King’s feet several inches off the mat… but he got no further, as the Icon began to fight him. “Hah-hah!” snorts Suicide King derisively, as Max struggles until his feet made contact with the canvas once again, and abruptly straightens his back out, sending WC overhead with a modified back-body drop. “I told you, MacDougal, he’s not strong enough!” Not to be daunted, however, Wildchild rolls over King’s shoulders and down his back, pulling Max backwards as he falls into a Sunset Flip, and then rolls through, keeping his hands locked around King’s waist and planting the balls of his feet against the canvas as he tries to lift him again! YEAAAAAAAAAAH! “Whoa!” exclaims Pete, as Wildchild continues to strain. “Wildchild may have pulled a fast one, King!” Veins begin to bulge in WC’s neck as he struggles to lift King’s body off the canvas, but his weakened left shoulder cannot continue to balance its share of the load, and he finally has to lower King back down, giving the Icon a chance to push Wildchild away with his legs. “Like I said before, MacDougal, he’s not strong enough, especially not with that injured shoulder,” taunts Suicide King, observing WC clutching his left shoulder in pain. “Look at him; he could barely even HOLD Max King, but for the pain in that shoulder. There’s no WAY that he’s going to be able to powerbomb him!” “Never say never, King!” replies Pete. “Where there’s a will, there’s a way!” WC begins to shake some feeling back into his arm and turns back towards Max King, only for the Icon to knock him silly with a running big boot that sends Wildchild flipping backwards, landing painfully on his stomach! “Hah!” laughs Suicide King. “Never say never, huh? Tell that to Wildchild’s teeth, if you can even find them!” Max King pulls Wildchild to his feet and leads him to a nearby corner, grabbing him by the back of the head and smashing his face into the top turnbuckle! Max then pulls WC out of the corner and doubles him over at the waist with a kick before trapping him in a standing headscissors. “Here we go!” shouts Suicide King. “Here comes the first powerbomb!” Max pulls Wildchild off the canvas with ease, but before he can drive WC down, the Tropical Tumbler arches back suddenly, snapping the Icon over with a Hurricanrana! Wildchild maintains a mounted position over Max and begins to batter his face with more piston-like rights! “Nice awareness on the part of Wildchild to counter that powerbomb!” praises LDP, as WC gets to his feet. “And now it looks like he’s going up top!” “That’s not going to help him to be able to lift Max King,” replies Suicide King. “See, it would make some sense for Max King to hit big moves one Wildchild, and maybe even some top rope moves, to take the starch out of him. There’s nothing that Wildchild can do to Max King to change the fact that he’s two hundred and fifty pounds!” WC climbs up to the top turnbuckle and waits for the Icon, but Kelly runs over towards the corner, and leaps up to the apron to distract him. “Kelly Connelly’s trying to prevent Wildchild from letting loose with some of his high-risk offense,” notes Pete, as Kelly begins grabbing onto his leg. “And look at this! It looks like Melissa Fasaki’s got something to say about it!” “We’ve got a catfight down on the arena floor!” shouts King, as Melissa pulls Kelly off the apron and tackles her to the ground! “And me here on the other side of the ring!” Wildchild is distracted from his objective, which allows Max King just enough recovery time to scramble to his feet and lunge towards the corner, crotching WC on the top turnbuckle! “Well, Kelly Connelly seems to be getting the worst of it against Melissa Fasaki!” exclaims Pete. “Maybe so,” replies King, “but she did her job; she slowed Wildchild down enough to give her man a chance to turn the tables, and now it looks like he’s going for the Superb Plex!” Max traps Wildchild in a front-facelock and attempts to lift him off the turnbuckles, but WC grabs onto the top turnbuckle to block the attempt. When King braces for a second attempt, the Caribbean Cruiser springs into action, hammering Max repeatedly in the ribs. “We’ve got a battle of wills going on up on the top rope!” shouts Pete. “Wildchild and Max King are really going at it!” WC surprises Max with a headbutt to the midsection, doubling him over, and then leaps from the turnbuckle, locking both hands around the Icon’s waist as he rolls over the top of him… WHAM! … And plants him into the canvas with a Sunset Flip powerbomb! YEAAAAAAAAAAH! ----- WC: 1 MK: 0 ----- “Bahama Bomb!” shrieks LDP. “Wildchild got Max King with the Bahama Bomb! That was brilliant strategy by the kid!” “Well, I’ll give him this much credit,” concedes Suicide King, “that was a smart move, but it was also just about the only way that he could hope to powerbomb Max King… so, what’s he going to do now? Max King’s not going to be stupid enough to let him get caught up on the turnbuckles a second time, and there’s no way that Wildchild is strong enough to do it by himself!” Wildchild keeps the pressure on Max King, leaping into the air and delivering a legdrop across the Icon’s throat. He pulls Max to his feet and whips him across the ring, but King still has enough presence of mind to reverse easily. WC, however, is still too fast for him, and slides between the Icon’s legs as he rebounds, hooking Max around the ankles as he slides through, and tripping him to the canvas. WC immediately springs back to his feet and bounces off the ropes, leaping over Max’s head and slamming his face into the canvas with a flipping neck snap! “Whiplash by the Wildchild!” cheers Pete. “And he’s going to try again for a powerbomb!” “Is he crazy?” asks King. “Didn’t he learn his lesson the last two times he tried?” Despite the King’s sarcasm, Wildchild tries anyway… and fails predictably, as King tosses him aside with ease. As WC gets to his feet, Max stuns him with a boot to the midsection, and then goes for a powerbomb of his own… WHAM! … Only for the Bahama Bomber to counter on the way down with a DDT! RAAAAAAAAAAH! “Good grief!” exclaims Pete. “Counter after counter in this match, as both men try for the powerbomb! Wildchild can’t pick Max King up, and Max can’t keep Wildchild up; we could be here forever!” WC pulls King over to the corner and climbs up to the middle turnbuckles, where he begins to deliver a ten-count punch: ONE! TWO! THREE! FOUR! FIVE! SIX! SEVEN! EIGHT! NINE! TEN! “Wildchild appears to have the momentum,” says Pete, “but will he be able to capitalize?” WC grabs Max by the wrist and whips him across the ring, before following after him, bursting off the canvas and twisting in midair to crash into King with his patented Blue Crush splash, but the Icon lunges out of the corner, causing Wildchild to crash face-first into the top turnbuckle! King traps WC in an inverted front facelock as he staggers out of the corner and then hooks his leg as he lifts him up off the canvas, only to drive him down head-first with the King Buster! “King Buster!” crows Suicide King, as the Icon immediately pulls WC back to his feet. “And Wildchild’s defenseless!” King traps Wildchild in a standing headscissors and rips him off the mat… WHAM! … Before driving him back down brutally with a wicked snap powerbomb! ----- WC: 1 MK: 1 ----- “It’s all even up now,” laughs Suicide King. “And I predict that Max King will take total control of this match from here on in; there’s no way that Wildchild is going to be able to recover from that King Buster!” Max rolls out to check on Kelly, who assures him that she is alright, as she continues to straighten out her hair. “And you see that Melissa Fasaki isn’t smiling now, like she was when she knocked Kelly off the apron; she might have gotten a few cheap shots in, but when Max King wins this match, Kelly will have the last laugh!” “Don’t count your chickens before they’re hatched, King,” counters LDP, as Max rolls back into the ring. “This match is far from over!” Max King gets back into the ring and poses for the fans, who respond with boos. He wipes the sole of his boot disrespectfully across Wildchild’s face, before pulling him to his feet and trapping him in another standing headscissors. King bends down to wrap his arms around WC’s waists and lifts him up into a powerbomb, but before he can drop him down, Wildchild slides down his back and runs to the ropes, springing off the canvas as he bounces off the ropes… WHAM! … Only for the Icon to snatch him out of the air and drive him into the canvas with a belly-to-belly suplex! “Phenomenal suplex!” praises Suicide King, rising to his feet to applaud as Max King taunts the fans with a double biceps pose. “Yes! I’m going to say that he’s earned the right to showboat after that one! Max King would have suplexed Wildchild right out of his shoes, if he were wearing any!” Kelly cheers loudly for her man from the arena floor, while Melissa can only look on with a concerned expression on the other side of the ring. Max pulls Wildchild to his feet and drills him in the small of the back with a hard kick, before quickly following up with a kick to the back of the head to complete the Complex! “It’s all over now!” cheers Suicide King. “Max King is going to go up two-to-one here in a second, and will put it away not long after that!” “I’m a little surprised that Max King hasn’t made more of an effort to do damage to that injured shoulder,” notes Pete. “It doesn’t matter,” replies Suicide King nonchalantly. “Wildchild doesn’t have the strength to lift Max King into a powerbomb, with or without a bad shoulder!” King traps WC in a standing headscissors and lifts him up, but this time Wildchild flips backwards off of Max’s shoulders to land on his feet. King charges after him, arm raised to deliver a clothesline, which WC avoids easily by ducking, and kicks him in the midsection to double him over as he rebounds. The Bahama Bomber rushes towards Max and leaps over him as though attempting a leapfrog, but abruptly stops himself in mid-flight, landing on King’s back and hooking his legs underneath the Icon’s arms. Before Max can figure out what’s going on… WHAM! … Wildchild jerks his body towards the canvas, wrapping his arms around King’s waist as he rips him through the air, planting him into the mat with a Code Red Powerbomb! YEAAAAAAAAAAH! ----- WC: 2 MK: 1 ----- “Amazing!” cheers Pete. “Wildchild came from out of nowhere and hit that Code Red powerbomb, and now he’s taken a two-to-one lead! I can’t believe it!” “I won’t believe it!” snarls King. “I can’t believe that idiot Herrington counted that! That wasn’t even a real powerbomb!” “Well, he obviously ruled that it was enough of one to count,” replies LDP. “And now, you have to believe that the momentum has shifted to the Wildchild!” “I don’t think so!” counters King. “He still hasn’t proven to me that he has the strength to lift King up for a powerbomb!” “He might not need to!” shouts Pete, seeing WC attempting another Code Red. “He’s going for another Code Red; if he hits this, the match is over!” WC leaps onto Max’s shoulders… BANG! … But, before he can execute the maneuver, the Icon grabs his legs and snaps him forward with a ferocious Alabama Slam, before falling to the canvas in fatigue! “That was clutch!” praises Suicide King. “Great heads-up thinking on the part of Max King!” Max crawls to the ropes, where Kelly wipes his forehead with a towel, before pulling himself to his feet. He runs to the ropes as WC gets to his feet and leaps into the air to deliver a flying forearm, but the Tropical Tumbler drops back to the canvas at the last split-second, and King flies harmlessly overhead! “He missed!” shouts Pete. “Max King missed on that flying forearm!” Wildchild runs to the ropes as King scrambles to his feet and suddenly takes to the air, whipping his leg around and blasting the Icon with a leg lariat that sends him flying over the top rope and out to the arena floor! RAAAAAAAAAAH! “Beautiful leg lariat!” cheers LDP. “Wildchild took Max King over with a leg lariat, and now he’s looking for some high risk offense!” Wildchild races towards the edge of the ring and picks up speed as he bounces off the ropes. He leaps into the air as he runs back across the ring, flipping over the top rope as he sails down to the arena floor… WHAM! … But the Icon counters the tope con hilo attempt, grabbing WC around the waist and dropping to his knees as he falls, driving the Bahaman into the padded arena floor with a falling powerbomb! “Tremendous powerbomb!” praises King. “Tremendous counter! Wildchild never saw that coming, and now it’s all even up again!” ----- WC: 2 MK: 2 ----- King rolls WC back into the ring and accepts a quick kiss from Kelly before climbing back onto the apron. He steps between the ropes to enter the ring and walks over to Wildchild, who still hasn’t moved yet. Max pulls him to his feet and whips him into the corner, following him with a stiff clothesline! “Beautiful clothesline!” says Suicide King. “And look at the smirk on Max King’s face; he knows that he’s got this under control!” Max whips Wildchild back across the ring, following him in with yet another clothesline. “Wildchild doesn’t know whether he’s coming or going,” taunts Suicide King. “And this is it; here comes the third powerbomb of the match!” Max clasps his hands underneath WC’s waist and lifts him up… BANG! … But the Bahama Bomber slips out of King’s grasp and drapes his leg over the back of Max’s neck as he falls, driving the Icon face-first into the canvas! RAAAAAAAAAAH! “Cutter!” shrieks Pete. “He countered into the Caribbean Cutter!” “He’s only delaying the inevitable,” says King dismissively. “He’s still not strong enough to lift King, no matter how many times he can counter!” After several seconds, both men begin trading punches as they get to their feet, and King takes control, thanks to his strength advantage. He whips WC into a neutral corner, but the Tropical Tumbler leaps to the middle ropes before he crashes into the turnbuckles! Max bites on a WC head fake and drops to the canvas, giving the Human Hurricane enough time to set his feet on the top turnbuckle, waiting for King to stand up before leaping off to knock him back down with a flying back elbow! “Explosive top rope move by Wildchild!” cheers Pete. “Top rope moves won’t win him this match!” counters Suicide King. WC runs to the ropes, leaping into the air to deliver a flying forearm, but the Icon snatches him out of the air and spins sharply on his heel as he pounds the Bahaman into the canvas with a terrifying powerslam! “Max King with good ring awareness to counter that flying forearm,” says Pete, as Max King rolls out of the ring. “And now he appears to be back in control… but, what’s he doing?” “I’ll tell you what he’s doing,” replies Suicide King, as the Icon pulls a table out from underneath the ring, “he’s going to put an exclamation point on this match!” Max sets the table up in front of the ramp and rolls back into the ring. “This is completely unnecessary!” shouts Pete, as Max King drags WC over to the edge of the ring. “He doesn’t need to do this!” “Maybe not,” taunts Suicide King, “but it sure looks like he wants to do it! And there’s no disqualification in this match, so it’s his prerogative!” Max steps out onto the ring apron and then pulls WC through the ropes. “This is going to be gruesome!” groans Pete, covering his eyes. “I can’t watch!” Max wraps his hands around WC’s waist and whips him into the air, but as he turns to face the table, he hesitates to assert his footing, giving the Bahama Bomber just enough of a reprieve to slip off of the Icon’s shoulders and land back in the ring! King turns around to find his opponent, and WC kicks him in the nether regions to stun him, causing him to lean heavily against the top rope. Without even thinking about it, Wildchild rushes across the ring, picking up speed as he bounces off the ropes and leaping high into the air as he re-approaches the edge of the ring, wrapping his arms around the Icon’s waist as he flies over the top rope… CRUNCH! … AND DRIVING KING INTO THE TABLE WITH A SUNSET FLIP POWERBOMB! ----- WC: 3 MK: 2 ----- YEAAAAAAAAAAH! DING! DING! DING! The fans erupt as “Bouncin’ Back” begins to play again! Kelly Connelly screams in disgust as Melissa runs around the ring to help WC back to his feet. “Here is your winner,” announces Funyon, “the WIIIIILDCHIIIIILD!” “What a big win by the Wildchild,” praises LDP, “as he overcame a physical disadvantage, and used his innovation to pull off a stunning victory in an exciting Triple Impact match! We’ll be right back with more of Lockdown!” Melissa congratulates Wildchild as the pair return to the dressing room… As we: FADE OUT

“…what do you want me to do again, honey?” El Luchadore Magnifico sighs. It’s hard work being World Champion. You have to deal with morons, straight-edgers of varying shapes and sizes, over-roided monstrosities, psychotic Ultimate Fighters, prickly British managers and their dour Japanese clients, and last but by no means least, SWF officials. However, never up until now has ELM, happily married with children, had call to call on a call-girl. “I want you to go into the office and ask to see Joe Peters,” he explains carefully to the gum-chewing, dyed-blonde girl who tops him by a couple of inches in her stilettos. “You’re to flirt with him, but don’t overdo it - a dorm of teenage boys have got nothing on this guy’s hormones - and basically stop him from thinking.” “Doesn’t sound hard,” Shirley (if that is her real name) says, popping her bubblegum for emphasis. “It isn’t,” Magnifico responds, leaning backwards away from the gooey mess that somehow still ends up back in her mouth. “Uhh… is that really necessary? The gum?” “Oh, this? Hell, no!” Possibly-Shirley laughs, “I can’t stand the stuff. But punters like a girl with gum, it stops them from thinking I might have brains. If they think that they feel threatened, then I don’t get custom, and then I can’t pay my way through Law School.” Magnifico stares at her for a second, and a listener with particularly sharp ears might hear him mutter “Y deje a Mejico por esto?” However, moments later the World Champion is all business again. “Whatever,” he says, “just go in there and tease him. I’ll follow after about five minutes. After that you can do what you want with him, but I want him distracted while I’m there. But, Mary Mother of God, still clothed!” he adds with feeling as Shirley turns away and starts to sway down the corridor towards the door of Joseph Peters, Head of the SWF’s Creative Control. A couple of minutes pass. Magnifico passes the time by idly wondering to himself how good the multi-lingual Chris Card’s grasp of Spanish is, and therefore how many insults he can fling without angering him, but just as he decides that it’s time to make his move… “Um, excuse me? El Luchadore Magnifico?” Only one SWF employee has a voice that carries that tone of inquisitiveness combined with a nervous determination to get answers. Magnifico sighs and turns around. “Si, Ben?” “Why are you hanging around in the corridor outside Joe Peters’ office?” Ben Hardy asks, faithful cameraman Gus in tow. “I’m not ‘hanging around’,” Magnifico snorts, “I’m about to go in and see Senor Peters and demand to know why the World Champion has not been allocated any television time on this show!” “I see,” Ben says sagely, although the truth of that remark is debatable. “How about JJ Johnson? What is your prediction for his match tonight against TORU Takahara?” But Magnifico has turned his back on Hardy and Gus and is walking away towards the office of Joseph Peters. He doesn’t bother to knock, just opens the door and steps in. Ben Hardy waits until he’s quite sure the door has shut again, then: “Just you wait, Magnifico! You’re gonna lose that belt sooner or later, and then you won’t be so high-and-mighty! You’ll come crawling on your knees to me, asking - no! begging to be interviewed! And you know what I’ll do!? I won’t let you speak! Ahahahahahaaaaa!! No, I’ll talk over you, cut you off, and Gus will zoom in on every spot, zit, cavernous pore and imperfection in that smug Hispanic face of yours, my friend!!!” Hardy pauses for breath and leans against the wall, panting. Gus’s hand appears and he pats the interviewer consolingly on the shoulder, then jabs a middle-fingered salute at the distant door behind which El Luchadore Magnifico is presumably talking to Joe Peters. ------------------------------- “I need to see Joe Peters,” Magnifico says, readjusting the title belt on his shoulder. Peters’ secretary looks up at him and gives a nod to acknowledge his status in the company, but still shrugs. “Mr Peters is otherwise occupied at the moment I’m afraid, Mags,” she says in a bored voice. “If you’d like to take a seat I’m sure he won’t be long.” “Is he ‘in a meeting’?” Magnifico asks with audible sarcasm, but the secretary just smiles. “No, he’s with a hooker,” she explains, “which is why I doubt he’ll be very long…” Magnifico shudders slightly, then steps past her desk to the door of Peters’ inner sanctum. The secretary opens her mouth to protest, but closes it again and concentrates on her paperwork. No-one took any notice of her when she did this job for Tom Flesher, why did she think it’d be any different now? *click* “Just a minute!” The urgent call comes from inside Peters’ office as ELM opens the door, but by that time the World Champion has already stepped through and shut it neatly behind him. Magnifico quickly takes in the scene; the head of SWF Creative Control is sitting in his swivelling leather armchair (scavenged from Tom Flesher’s old office when the former Head Booker of Smarkdown disappeared from the company, allegedly after having a nervous breakdown from being forced to watch too many Ghost Machine matches and Bruce Blank Ultraviolent Title defences), and straddling his lap is Shirley. Peters’ shirt is unbuttoned and his hair is about as dishevelled as the blonde fuzz can get. “Hi, I didn’t mean to intrude…” Magnifico begins in a voice oilier than the Greek olive crop, but Peters cuts him off. “Hi! Magnifico!” he says with desperate urgency, “I’m a bit busy at the moment, but if you could just wait outside I-” “Sorry Joe, I’m on a tight schedule,” Magnifico smiles, “but I won’t keep you. I just couldn’t help but notice that I’ve not been given any airtime on the show tonight…” “No!? Really!?” Peters says, his mouth smiling but his eyes ready to commit murder at Magnifico’s continued presence, “well, I’m sorry about that but-” “I wondered if maybe you’d care to rectify that?” Magnifico asks smoothly. “A quick call through to the crew, just to let them know what I’ll be doing.” “Uh, yeah, sure,” Peters says, realising that he’s not going to get rid of Magnifico until the World Champion gets what he wants. He stabs for the button of his intercom, then hesitates and looks up again. “Uh… what are you gonna be doing?” “I know what you’re gonna be doing,” Shirley murmurs in his ear, prompting Magnifico to grin even wider; he couldn’t have fed her a better line. However, the World Champion composes himself and addresses Peters again. “I’m not sure yet, Joe, although I had a few ideas. I wondered if I could run them by you-” “Sorry, no time!” Peters gabbles, and jabs the intercom again. “Danny? Yeah, it’s Joe! Magnifico’s coming to the ring, tell production to cue up the music and pyro and just give him free rein to do whatever he wants, alright!?” “Whatever he wan-” “YES, dammit!!” Peters nearly screams, “he’s the World Champion, I’m sure he can be trusted! Just DO IT!!” He whips his finger away before Danny can raise any more objections, and turns a pleading face to the World Champion. However, Magnifico is already moving. “Thank you Joe,” he says as he slips out of the door, “you’re very accommodating. Enjoy the show...”

"Welcome back to SWF Lockdown!" hollers SWF play by play announcer Longdogger Pete, "coming to you LIVE from the Qwest Center in Omaha, Nebraska! We've had a great show so far, and with the SWF International Title on the line in tonight's main event, the show is only gong to get better!" "So you say," mutters color man Suicide King. "And yet, on my run sheet, I've got Landon Maddix up next." "Well, at least tonight, with Family Friendly Rules out of the window, you don't have to hold back on your thoughts about him." "Fuck yeah!" exclaims King. "Damn, it feels good to say that without being slapped by a fine from the FCC!" King pokes the grumpy Pete in the ribs. "Oh, lighten up. I thought you of all people would benefit from a little more color." A series of white flashing lights decorate the stage, and "I'm Alive" by Disturbed hits the speakers as the first competitor of the next match steps onto the stage. Kevin Coyote walks down the ramp, dressed in his new SWF T-shirt that reads "InJustice For All." Over the T-shirt, Coyote wears a blue jean jacket. Coyote ignores the audience entirely, chatting away on his small mobile phone as he makes his way toward the ring. The ring announcer, Funyon, begins his introductions by presenting the rookie. "The following tag team contest is scheduled for ONE fall! Making his way to the ring, from Brunswick, Georgia, weighing in at 225 pounds... KEVIN... COYOTE!" "The upstart has not fared well recently," says Pete, "losing a handicap match back on Smarkdown against Zyon and Spike Jenkins." Coyote's arrival is met with jeering from the Omaha audience, but he pays them no mind. As he reaches the base of the ring, he hangs up his phone, slipping it into the pocket of his jean jacket. He then takes the jacket off and sets it aside. Coyote slides into the ring to await his teammate as "I'm Alive" fades out. "PREPARE...FOR...LANDON!" ...WAAAAAHHHHH... *DUM DUM* The next entrance theme is "Megalomaniac" by Incubus. Landon Maddix steps out from behind the curtain, thrusting his hands to his sides as he walks across the stage to the top of the ramp. The audience continues booing as he walks down the ramp. Funyon is ready again with the introduction. "And his tag team partner... from Huron, South Dakota... weighing in at 224 pounds... LANDON... 'LA CUCARACHA'... MADDIX!" "Not exactly my first choice of tag team partners," mutters King, "if you ask me." "Are you really that bored out here, King?" wonders Pete aloud. Landon leaps onto the ring apron, and shoves his own leather jacket off, this one a black jacket with a Spanish design on the back. Landon climbs through the ring ropes to encounter a waiting Kevin Coyote. The two share a few words, likely discussing who will start the match. The pair back into the opposite corner, still speaking to each other as Landon's music fades out. The next music to hit is Cypress Hill's "How I Could Just Kill A Man." The audience bursts into applause as blue and white pyrotechnics explode from the stage and SWF mainstay Stryke emerges to the delight of the crowd. "Introducing their opponents!" shouts Funyon in the ring. "First, from Sydney, Australia, weighing in at 230 pounds... STRYKE!" The Australian exuberantly hustles down the ramp, slapping hands with a few grateful fans as he passes by them. Stryke gets to the bottom and climbs into the ring, hopping up to his feet and steeling himself for the match at hand, eyeing Coyote and Maddix from his corner. The music changes again, this time to "Barroom Hero" by the Dropkick Murphys. Cheap green shamrock confetti begins to fall from the rafters. Green and orange pyrotechnics explode from either side of the stage. The final entrant of the match emerges onto the stage. Tim Dillon throws a few shadow punches, excited by the audience's positive reaction as he heads down the ramp. "And his tag team partner... from Limerick, Ireland, weighing in at 219 pounds... TIM... DILLON!" "What is it with all these little guys?" asks King. "It seems the whole league is cruiserweights these days." "Seems like ages since larger guys like you and me ruled the fed," agrees Pete. "Who said anything about you?" asks King. Back inside the ring, Stryke steps through the ropes to the corner, content to let the Irishman Tim Dillon begin the match. In the opposite corner, Maddix starts to approach Dillon, but he is stopped by Coyote, who grabs his wrist, signalling to Maddix that he wants to start the match himself. "Looks like Kevin Coyote wants to take on Tim Dillon personally," explains Pete, "after being defeated by him two weeks ago on Lockdown." "I'd be angry too," says King, "if I let someone like Tim Dillon, of all people, get the better of me." Maddix finally consents and steps through the ropes, and Coyote takes a step toward Dillon. Funyon quickly exits the ring, leaving only the referee and the first two competitors inside the ropes. Dillon and Coyote close the distance, and the referee signals to the timekeeper to ring the bell, officially beginning the match. DING DING DING! "And this match is underway!" exclaims Pete. Reacting to the bell quickly, Coyote runs at Dillon before the Irishman has a chance to plan a strategy. Coyote leaps in the air, wrapping his legs around Dillon's neck and pulling him down to the mat in a headscissor takedown. Dillon lands on his back, and Coyote scrambles over Dillon, punching him several times hard in the gut. "Now here's a guy with drive!" says King in admiration. "A guy with heart!" "A guy with no respect at all," adds Pete. "Yes, a guy with no respect!" agrees King. "No respect from anyone. How can such talent go unheralded for so long?" "What are you smoking, King?" asks Pete. Dillon rolls out of the way to avoid another punch from Coyote, and he quickly leaps back to his feet before the rookie can inflict more damage. Dillon is prepared when the stooping rookie comes at him again, grabbing Coyote and dropping him backward into a DDT. Dillon retains the hold on the surprised Coyote and gets back to his feet, then drops Coyote to the mat again! Coyote rolls away after the second DDT, startled, disorientated and obviously upset at getting caught in one of Dillon's signature moves. An ecstatic Dillon performs a quick Irish jig for the fans. "Coyote gets caught in the Finn's Fall," says Pete. "And Dillon performs for the crowd!" "Catering to the fans instead of focusing on the match is going to mean trouble for Tim Dillon," warns King. Sure enough, Landon Maddix climbs through the ropes into the ring, sneaking up behind Dillon as he dances his jig. Maddix knocks Dillon over with a Maddix-Kick, a well aimed super kick to the back of Dillon's head. The referee admonishes Maddix for interfering as the illegal man, and Maddix returns to his corner with a smug grin. Meanwhile, Coyote rolls in and gets in a few good stomps on Dillon while the referee tends to Maddix, and as the referee refocuses his attention on the middle of the ring, Coyote hooks Dillon's leg for a pinfall attempt. ONE! TWO! Dillon gets his shoulder up off the mat to break the count. Coyote, undaunted, gets up, lifting Dillon off the mat. Coyote smashes an elbow across Dillon's jaw, knocking the Irishman back. Coyote presses his assault with a second elbow smash, backing Dillon against the ropes. Then, Coyote rocks Dillon with a high kick to the face, and Dillon falls over, leaning haphazardly across the top rope. Coyote grabs Dillon by the arm, yanking him forcibly away from the ropes and toward Coyote's own corner. The fighting Irishman falls into the corner as Coyote reaches out with his free hand and slaps hands with Maddix. "Coyote tags Landon Maddix into the match," says Pete. "Looks like the two of them are about to put a world of hurt on Tim Dillon." Instead of climbing into the ring, Maddix climbs over the ropes and stands on the second rope. Coyote knocks Dillon to the mat with a snap clothesline, and Maddix adds injury to injury by leaping off the rope, performing a second rope elbow drop into Dillon's midsection. Coyote gets in a few more good stomps on Dillon, as Maddix gets his bearings inside the ring and charges into Stryke, knocking him off the apron! The referee quickly pushes Coyote off Dillon, shoving him back toward the ropes as he is no longer the legal man. As that's happening, Maddix takes advantage by wrapping his legs around Dillon's and twisting into a figure four leg lock. Dillon struggles against the hold, but the pressure is merely compounded as Maddix reaches back and grabs the ropes himself for leverage on Dillon, all conveniently out of sight of the referee, who is still struggling to get Coyote back into his corner. Coyote is finally out but Stryke is now the referee's problem, now having to force him back towards his corner as he storms furiously into the ring. "And Landon is fighting dirty," says Pete, "bending the rules on that submission move!" "Well he HAS to...look at how badly the move is applied!" King snaps back at Maddix's indeed sloppy figure four. The referee finally notices Maddix's illegal hold on Dillon, and shouts at Maddix, forcing him to break the hold. "LAN - DON SUCKS!" "LAN - DON SUCKS!" "LAN - DON SUCKS!" Climbing back up Maddix continues to work on the weakened Dillon, locking on a cravaté, really just a sheepish looking headlock, but the move serves to hold Dillon in place for a moment or two while Maddix contemplates his next move. "Again with the submissions," says King. "Maddix continues to impress the world with his blandness. I mean, who follows up a figure four leglock with a crappy headlock, really!?!" Maddix finally tires of the cravaté and breaks the hold. The weakened Dillon slumps forward, but Maddix grabs him in a half nelson. That's coupled with a chickenwing by Landon, who then throws Dillon into a "Half and Half" Suplex, sending him over into an awkward landing on his neck! This time Maddix goes for the cover on Dillon. ONE! TWO! The referee's count is broken up by the arrival of Stryke, who runs into the ring and shoves Maddix off Dillon to break the count. The referee pushes Stryke away from the center of the ring, as Maddix lifts Dillon off his feet again to do some more damage. But Landon is still distracted by Stryke, which allows Dillon to suddenly begin delivering some offense, pounding Maddix suddenly with a few well placed boxing moves. A jab here, a thrust there... Maddix stumbles back a step, and Dillon kicks him in the gut. Maddix bends forward in pain, and Dillon greets him with a knee to the face. Dillon dances a quick jig, and then finishes off his move combination with a hard clothesline to send Maddix down to the mat. "Tim Dillon takes the advantage with a little Irish Fury," calls Pete. "Short lived if he can't get to Stryke soon," replies King. Holding his head, Dillon considers tagging in his partner for a split second, but reconsiders, and takes a risk instead, going for a cover on Maddix. ONE! TWO! TH-- NO! Maddix kicks out of the cover. Despite the flurry, Landon gets quickly to his feet to meet Dillon's next move. Still not deciding to tag, Dillon snakes an arm out and rushes Maddix to try for another clothesline, but Maddix snags Dillon's head and arm, and drops back to plant Dillon's face into the mat. "The Complete Shot," notes Pete. "Dillon should've tagged in Stryke when he had the chance," says King. "Stryke has yet to enter this match!" notes Pete. "And now he may not get that chance," continues King. Maddix attempts another cover on Dillon, forcing the referee to work a bit. The referee gets down on his knees and makes the count. ONE! TWO! THR-- NO! Dillon just manages to kick out, but it's close. Maddix raises three fingers in the air with a questioning glance at the ref, but the official is adamant... two count only. Both men are back to their feet, although only one of his own accord. Maddix has control and lands a couple of quick forearms before pointing a finger towards Stryke, assuming his in-ring opponent is dealt with. But Dillon once again tries to turn things around, pulling Maddix's arm into an Irish whip, only for Maddix to reverse the whip, sending the hapless Dillon hurtling into the ropes. Dillon bounces off the ropes, and Maddix prepares for Dillon's charge, but Dillon leaps into the air, performing a flying clothesline, barreling into Maddix and knocking him down. The move also knocks the wind out of Dillon, and both men lie on the mat, motionless. "Maddix took his eye off the ball for a split second there," says Pete, "and now both men are down!" "Somebody needs to make a tag, and quick!" shouts King. Both Stryke and Kevin Coyote reach their hands into the ring, shouting at their respective partners, trying to rouse their attention, but both Maddix and Dillon remain down. The referee waits a moment before starting to count the competitors out. ONE! TWO! THREE! FOUR! FIVE! SIX! At "SEVEN!", both Maddix and Dillon slowly start to move, and crawl slowly toward their respective partners, inching agonizingly slowly toward their destinations. "Who's going to reach their corner first?" asks King. EIGHT! NINE! Before the referee can call "ten," both Maddix and Dillon make a last ditch dive toward their partners, and both men just manage to slap hands in their respective corners! Coyote and Stryke are quickly in the ring as Dillon rolls out, out of breath. The fresh Stryke bowls Coyote over with a running European uppercut. Maddix tries to get up to mount an offense, but Stryke knocks him down as well with a forearm smash. Coyote gets back to his feet, but Stryke swings into action with a quick hip toss to send Coyote to the mat once more. Back up comes Maddix again, but back down he goes with a standing dropkick that sends him flying through the ropes and to the floor! "Stryke's tearing shit up!" cheers King, if only to take advantage of Lockdown's language liberation. Stryke leans over the top rope and puts the badmouth on Maddix, then FIRES~ up the crowd...little knowing what wait behind him. Recovered from the hiptoss, Kevin Coyote is crouched in the corner, just begging Stryke to turn around. Stryke is done babyfacing it up and turns back around... ...SPEA... ...NO! Stryke leapfrogs Coyote's attempted Spear, tumbling over the bemused Coyote and dragging him by the waist into a flash-pin Sunset Flip... ONE! TWO! NO! Coyote slams his legs together and sandwiches Stryke's head, breaking the fall! "Coyote almost got shocked right there!" gasps Pete. Both men scramble back to their feet and it's Coyote who beats his veteran opponent to the punch, landing a knee to the gut. Grabbing an arm, Coyote then whips Stryke into the ropes, setting as he rebounds. But he doesn't reckon on Stryke, the freshest man in the match, using his thigh as a leg-up and snapping him over with a lightning sudden 'rana!! "Running, Step Up Hurricanrana!!" Pete again gasps, now struggling for air with all his gaspness. "Incredible move from Stryke!!" "Yeah, now watch him blow it." snickers King, to a groan from Pete. Stryke pulls Coyote back up and stays on the offence with a couple more quick forearms. Then, grabbing an arm, Stryke looks to send his opponent towards the turnbuckles with an irish whip. But Coyote says "This dog's not OK with that." and foils Stryke's plan by spinning out of the whip and landing a quick kick to the gut. Coyote then steps aside Stryke, setting for a Side Russian Legsweep. But Stryke says...uh, well, Stryke doesn't have a catchphrase. But if he did, he'd say it, then elbow Coyote repeatedly in the gut before hoisting Coyote up into a fireman's carry. Having just returned back to the corner, Dillon cheers Stryke on, as he then begins to spin around... ...and around... ...and around... ...and around... ...and around... "Uuguguguggghhhh." groans King dizzily, before falling off his chair. Getting to a seventh rotation, Stryke stops and sets his opponent down...before proceeding to stagger aimlessly around the ring. Luckily, Dillon manages to slap Stryke on the shoulder as he passes and tags himself in. Dillon rushes into the ring while Coyote is still dizzy and quickly takes advantage, pulling Coyote back into an inverted front facelock and giving the crowd a loud "OI!" "Blood and Whiskey...this is what finished Dillon off earlier in the year!" Pete astutely points out... ...just as Coyote, prepped for the move, manages to get extra lift on Dillon's lift and floats over Dillon's head, planting him with a Diving Reverse DDT!! ONE! TWO! NOOO!! "Wow...credit to Kevin Coyote, he knew the move was coming and had a counter ready prepared!" marvels Pete. "Me dizzy." groans King. And King isn't the only one who's dizzy, as Coyote stumbles to his feet, feeling the effects of the airplane spin still. Turning to his corner, Coyote realises Maddix isn't available to tag. So he goes back after Dillon and pulls him to his feet. Coyote lands a couple of his trademark gut punches, pausing to gain his bearings, before taking Dillon by the arm and whipping him into the ropes. *slap!* "Blind tag!" Dillon comes back, right into into the waiting arms of Coyote, who tosses the fighting Irishman up into the air with a release flapjack. Dillon crashes back down to earth with a thud, bringing a smile to Coyote's face. A smile which Stryke wipes off, with a Jumping Enziguri! "And Coyote didn't see the blind tag." grins Pete, smug in the knowledge he did spot the tag. Stryke is quickly up and wastes no time in hopping to the middle rope, trying to reel Coyote in with a mime-artist rope thing with his hands. Obviously, there's no rope attached to Coyote. That's what makes it a mime. But Coyote does end up stumbling over to Stryke and gets caught in a front facelock, as Stryke twirls the finger and looks for a Tornado DDT... ...but gets sledged in the back by Landon Maddix in mid-spin!! Dropping off of Coyote, Stryke falls to his hands and knees. And Landon, ignoring the protests of the referee, gleefully steps over Stryke's back and snatches Stryke's head back into the Land Of Nod!! "BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!" "Shades of last year's Clusterfuck...Landon Maddix, with the Land Of Nod locked in on Stryke!!" "Damnit, he's not the legal man!!" King yells in a rare pang of conscience. "Where do we keep getting these incompetent referees from!?!" Pulling back with everything he's got, Landon assumes he has Stryke beat. Nevermind that the referee is calling the submission off prematurely, just incase Stryke does give up, Landon doesn't care. All he's focused on is making Stryke pass out... ...meaning, he doesn't see Tim Dillon sliding into the ring behind him and TEARING OFF HIS SHIRT~! "THE SNAP~!" erupts Pete, as Dillon suddenly charges across the ring, bypassing the fear-filled Kevin Coyote and tackling Landon Maddix off of Stryke and right the hell out of the ring! Maddix tumbles to the floor and Dillon is right behind him, mounting Maddix and going absolutely nuts with a flurry of wild, mounted right hands! The crowd are going wild for this sudden eruption of action and cheer on Dillon, not least The Suicide King who is throwing every punch in spirit with Dillon, worrying Pete somewhat. Back in the ring meanwhiles, Coyote is watching all this in disbelief. Creeping up behind him though, Stryke has 100% focus on the match...or at least, whatever percentage of his braincells haven't fallen asleep. Stryke spins Coyote around and lands a quick forearm! And another! Forearm! Right hand! Knifedge chop! Right hand! Knifedge chop! The flurry has Coyote reeling, allowing Stryke to whip him into the ropes and finish Coyote off with a standing dropkick, followed swiftly with a cover... ONE! TWO! THR... NOOOOO! Coyote throws a shoulder at the last second! "This is chaos!" cries Pete. "YEAH! HIT HIM! HIT HIM! BASH HIS BRAINS IN TIM! OI OI OI!" "...uhm, can we cut his mic off? Anyone?" Dillon and Landon continue to brawl on the floor as Stryke pulls himself up and encourages Coyote to do the same. Slowly the rookie does get up and Stryke catches him on the way up, hooking him by the waist from behind and...NO! Coyote lands repeated elbows across the back of the head to block the Backdrop Driver! So Stryke release his opponent and trips Coyote by the legs, causing him to fall flat on his face, then leaps over in front. Coyote begins to come back up and gets trapped in a front facelock, Stryke pulling Coyote the rest of the way up and dragging him over to the ropes... *CRAAAAAAASH!* "Woah momma!" yelps King, as steel steps fly through the air. ...Stryke then lifts Coyote up, bouncing his legs off the top rope. But, suddenly, Stryke's legs are swiped from under him by Landon Maddix and Coyote's 225 pounds land across his chest! "BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!! "Landon from the outside! He sent Dillon crashing into the steel steps and then tripped Stryke from the outside!" cries Pete, for those of you too dumb to join up the dots. "And now he's got the legs!!" ONE! TWO! THREEEEE!! "BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!" "DAMNIT!" howls King, right on cue. Maddix scrambles away from the apron and tries to look inconspicuous...which he's not a whole lot of good at, but whatever. The Next Generation sneaks away from the ring with a mischevious grin, avoiding the various trash thrown his way. "Your winners of the match...the team of LANDON "LA CUCARACHA" MADDIX and KEVIN COYOTE!!!" "BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!" In the ring, Coyote celebrates his half earned, half stumbled upon victory and rubs it right in the faces of the fans as he leans over the ropes and yells his 'dawg' filled ranting victory speech. Maddix watches on from the ramp and applauds his partner, still smug in the knowledge he owes it all to a certain La Cucaracha. "DAMNIT!" King howls, for posterity. "Well, unfortunately injustice has been served tonight. Which ironically must have Judge William Hearford fuming..." "Yeah, him and about a gajillion other people! Damnit, Maddix was never even legal in the match and he still manages to weasel his way to a victory!?! DAMNIT!" "So...does this mean the losing streak is over?" asks Pete, confused. "Or, did Landon not technically win the match?" "DAMNIT!" "Indeed. Commercials go play now..."

The SWF cameras cut to a clip of a sunrise off an island, the sun peaking up over the water as its rays illuminate the lens and turn the water’s glimmering blue ripples to a reddish fire which spans over the water. The camera cycles through a short sequence of speed film which shows the sun rise and set. The sequence fades into darkness with patchy picture and scratchy audio, as if the film had been aged. ”The land of the rising sun,” we hear an English voice translate from a stern Japanese voice who speaks crisply and perfectly just before, “Home to discipline and courage – home to a warrior.” The camera fades to a grayscale clip of a young man no taller than 5’11’’ sitting in a dingy, dimly lit locker room, fists curled and pressed to his face. “The land of the rising sun, home to an eternal struggle for survival and redemption,” the clip begins spitting out the tune “Bad Company” by Bad Company as it once again shows the young man, this time pulling his own hair and manipulating his face with his fist in his own wallowing self-destruction. The music stops just before the chorus, and the camera fades away from the frozen image of the young man in pain. ”BAD COMPANY, I CAN’T DENY” the darkness turns to a sudden clip of the young man in a small darkened arena in the depths of the Underground region of Japan hitting his signature finishing move, Silent Rage Syndrome, on a small and out of shape Asian fighter onto a bed of barbed wire which shreds both of their skin in its unforgiving barbs. ”BAD COMPANY, ‘TILL THE DAY I DIE,” the clip fades to yet another clip, this time the man stands atop the top rope with another small and out of shape Asian fighter in front of a mountain of stacked chairs, barbed wire, and light tubes which are decimated by the young man who drops his opponent down hitting another one of his finishers called Desperation ’28. The audio for “Bad Company” halts and the camera fades again to darkness. ”Japan, home to a path of rage, home to a path of violence, home to a path leading to SWF Clusterf*ck – it’s only traveler, Michael Cross,” the darkness fades back to a grayscale clip of the young man, otherwise known as Michael Cross, picking the barbed wire and bits of glass from his own bloody and tattered skin in self satisfaction and gratification. “The land of the rising sun is now known as the land of the rising prodigy.” The clip fades for the last time to darkness, and a short sentence approaches, reading in grunge-like text, “Michael Cross and the Asia Underground, coming January 29th.”

“I feel like I wanna smack somebody…” “Turn around and bitch-slap somebody…” Lockdown returns from commercial breaks right into the next match as “Anxiety” by the Black Eyed Peas begins to play. For a moment, the fans are a little confused, having heard the music before, but not who’s using it. The answer comes moments later as Christian Fury comes out from behind the velvet curtain, being well-received by the fans in the arena, who pop for a familiar face returning. Fury remains confident and focused, as always, but the crowd barely registers with him. “Welcome back to famil… Lockdown!” cries Pete, almost forgetting the previous events as Fury walks down the ramp, a kendo stick in his hand as per normal. “Tonight has already been a crazy night for the SWF, but we’re only two matches in, and things are beginning to heat up further!” “So, we’re finally rid of the family-friendly rules then?” “Yip.” “So I can say *whatever* I like?” “Aye.” “… Tarantino is overrated.” “How was it?” “Un-freakin-believable.” Fury slides underneath the bottom rope, leaving his kendo stick as ringside as Funyon gets on the mic as he always does, booming his voice over the excited buzz of the capacity crowd. “Ladies and Gentleman, the following match is scheduled for one fall. Introducing first, making his return to the SWF… he hails from Cleveland, Ohio, and weighs in at two hundred and twenty-two pounds… please welcome back to the SWF, THE Fury… CHRISTIAN FURY!” The buzz over his return is high as a fairly loud cheer is heard for Fury, who even perks up and takes notice of it, not expecting a reaction such as this. The cheers only intensify as the sound of clapping and feet stamping is heard over the P.A… “Lot of knots, lot of snags, lot of holes, lot of cracks lot of crags. Lot of naggin' old hags, lot of fools, lot of fool scum bags…” As OK Go’s “Get Over It” begins to play, a spotlight suddenly shines down on the main entranceway, revealing Wes Davenport, looking eye-to-eye with a skull ALA Hamlet. “Oh it's such a drag, what a chore... oh your wounds are full of salt. Everything's a stress and what's more, well it's all somebody's fault!” The former actor begins his slow walk down the ramp, the spotlight following his every move as he flashes that famous smile, receiving the crowd’s adulation warmly as the song continues to play. “HEY! GET, GET, GET, GET, GET OVER IT!” “I think Wes needs to get, get, get, get, get over himself,” King says, patting himself on the back for that one, while Longdogger groans. “He needs to face facts: he doesn’t belong here. The only reason he’s won so far is by sheer luck and good fortune. I know for sure that Fury won’t give him an inch, or the satisfaction of beating him, not so soon after returning.” As Wes climbs the steps, rolling up the sleeves on his dress shirt and undoing the top button, Funyon gets on with his introductions. “… And, his opponent, from Hollywood, California… He weighs in at two hundred and fifty five pounds… please welcome… WES DAVENPORT!” “As long as Christian Fury has left his, shall we say, nefarious past behind him, he should go far, but Wes Davenport will be a big road block to face so early on.” Fury locks eyes with Davenport, as the actor hands his skull to the referee for this bout, Eddie Long, who looks bemused before pawning it off on Funyon before he leaves the ring. Finally, only Fury, Davenport and Long are left in the ring, and the crowd begins to stir once again as the bell ring to begin the match. *DING! DING! DING!* Wes continues to listen to the crowd’s applause, not believing he’d have this many people behind him ever again, forgetting the obvious fact that there’s two men in the ring and continues to soak in the applause like the incredibly good looking but insecure sponge that he is. Fury isn’t as captivated by the spectacle as Wes, and puts the shameless showboating to and end in violent fashion, connecting with a dropkick to the side of the actors head! Wes tumbles unceremoniously out through the second rope and hits the concrete floor with a thud, expecting the fans to rally behind him, but the cheers only intensify! “The crowd loves an inspiring return, and they show Fury that their glad to have him back,” Pete says while playing it straight, but you sense he has something he has to get off his chest. “…Even if he’s still a nasty son-of-a bitch.” There it is. “My, my Pete, you seem just a tad hostile this evening.” King replies, finding a golden opportunity to wind his cohort up. “Well, I for one am glad to have Fury return to us, and if he beats this insecure little bastard in the process, he’ll have me wholehearted support!” Pete grins, knowing Wes is a touchy subject for King. “Don’t be so sure of that, King. Wes may have had a temporary setback at Ramadomination, but nevertheless, he has still been on a roll, and continued to prove the doubters such as you wrong.” While the announcers thrill at the lack of family-friendly rules and their ever apparent lack of empathy for each other, Wes isn’t so thrilled by the boot marks imprinted in his cheek. His attitude only sours further when Fury steps back, inviting him into the ring to applause from the fans. After all, Fury wants a tough, but fair contest. Davenport just wants somebody to love him. As Davenport slides in and climbs to his feet, the returnee darts forward, catching Davenport off-guard once again as he slaps on a side headlock to the larger Davenport. Christian tries to wrench down on his opponents neck, keeping his battle strategy against larger opponents in mind, but Davenport pushes him into the ropes with relative ease. Wes ducks his head for a back-body drop that never comes to fruition as Fury returns and once again applies a side headlock. Wes hears a few chuckles from the front row and grumbles, but not from the pain. The former actor reaches up, trying to claw at Fury’s face to force him to relinquish his hold, but Christian is one smart cookie, and simply pivots and pirouette’s, locking on a Hammerlock on Davenport’s opposite side. “Great textbook wrestling from Fury,” King notes, keeping an eye on Pete from the corner of his eye. “He’s obviously seen Wes’ glaring weakness, apart from his lack of talent, and is making the crowd a non-factor, which Wes feeds off and spurs him on.” A low growl can be heard from Pete’s mic as Fury keeps Davenport’s right arm pinned against his lower back, causing great discomfort to the actor. Wes retaliates with a flurry of back elbows, but they miss their target each time as Fury ducks and weaves to avoid them. Davenport’s frustrations reach a boiling point as he lets fly with a massive backhand blow, but Fury ducks that as well! As Wes is put off balance by his desperate attempt, and as Fury ducks to dodge the hasty shot, the returnee grabs Davenport underneath the left leg, hoisting him up and over- *BAM!* -planting him on the back of his head with a Hammerlock assisted Back Suplex! “Very clever work from the recent returnee,” Pete shouts, putting his bias to one side for the moment, remaining professional. “He’s got himself under Wes’ skin and it sure is showing, with Davenport making the mistake, and Fury quick to capitalize on it.” As the crowd pops loudly for the cunning move, Fury makes another, quickly leaping on top of Wes and hooking him by the leg, wasting no time whatsoever as Long slides over and counts ONE! TWO! But Davenport manages to kick out at two to a mixed reaction from the crowd. “Davenport making a mistake is hardly anything new,” King answers, snickering. “But, he’s always had the ability to pull something out of the bag at the right moment. Tonight that may not be the case, as its clear Fury has done his homework, and if Davenport makes one too many mistakes, then Fury might have this in the bag!” That’s it, man, just keep this up. I didn’t train 6 months, toiled long and hard and put my heart into this business again just to rest on my laurels. I have him against the ropes; I just need to keep up the pressure… …And hey, the crowd actually seems to dig me. Fury lifts his weary opponent to his feet, shooting him into the far ropes. Davenport comes back, but is immediately taken down by a spinning heel kick crashing into his cranium. The former actor manages to groggily climb to his feet, staggering to the nearest corner for a brief respite, but Christian is on him in a flash. Fury is no fool, and he knows when his opponent is on the back foot. On the other hand, Davenport is quite a fool, and can’t seem to muster up anything in the way of defense as Fury takes him by the hand and whips him into the opposite corner, where Wes hits with a loud thump. The whiplash effect dazes Davenport, and Fury only adds to this as he follows the actor in close behind, spearing him with in the ribcage! Davenport groans, but Fury doesn’t let up and he fires in another, and another, and another! “Fury is wrestling this match almost perfectly,” comments King, liking what he sees. “Davenport’s offense, at this point of his SWF tenure, is extremely simplified. He’ll use the odd power move or impressive counter to hit back, but Fury isn’t giving him any chance to attempt anything by staying on top of him like a horny teenager on a mechanical bull.” “Good point, King,” answers Pete, before doing a double-take. “…Davenport is going to have to show us something special in order to put Fury away, because Christian’s got a fire in him we have never seen before, and he won’t let this opportunity slip through his fingers like so many times before. So many times before.” Much to Wes’ relief, Fury breaks off his attack, allowing Davenport to cough and splutter out from the corner, clutching his midsection. …Perfect… The camera zooms in on a weakened Wes as he stumbles forward, before his eyes suddenly widen, feeling his neck being clamped down on. Fury has him in another side headlock, but this time he won’t let Wes off as lightly as he charges forward towards the ropes, leaping into the air, hitting the top rope and pushing himself off… “…Fury does a one-eighty in mid-air…” Pete calls, watching intently, before shaking his head repeatedly “…oh no, this doesn’t look good for Davenport!” *WHAM!* Fury drives Davenport’s face down and squishes his handsome features into the canvas with a Bulldog! “…Oh YES!” King cries on impact as Davenport‘s hands cover his face, dreading what may have happened. “Wes just took a trip to the Dawg Pound!” Much to Fury’s surprise, he hears the crowd break out in applause. He even smiles briefly as he rolls Davenport onto his back and hooking him by the leg- ONE! TWO! -but once more, Wes manages to kick out, before retreating from Fury, holding his neck. This is just the sign Fury was looking for as he brings Davenport to his feet, gently pushing his head down, before reeling back and- *BAM!* -rocking Wes’ head back with a European uppercut! Davenport’s head snaps back in violent fashion as Fury advances, hitting uppercut after uppercut before Wes has his back figuratively and literally against the ropes. Wes tries to hit back with some uppercuts of his own, but Fury knees him in the belly to stop his advance. The Fury looks to live up to his name as he hurls Davenport across the ring into the opposite ropes with all his might, waiting eagerly for him to return in the centre of the ring. At this point, Davenport doesn’t even know where he is and turns out to be easy prey for Fury who wraps one arm around his neck, turns him around, and locks his opposite hand over his head, pulling him in close with a sleeper hold! “Fury’s focused his attacks on the head and neck region,” King points out, “and he feels he’s worn Davenport down enough to put this one away, using the sleeper hold to put him out of his misery.” “This will really test Wes’ resolve,” Pete replies, watching Davenport slowly fade as Fury tightens his grip. “A mark of a champion is fighting through adversity, and standing tall when the chips are down-“ “Enough of the melodramatic crap!” shouts King, cutting his partners grand speech short. “Wes’ is fading fast, and Long is about to count!” Sure enough, Eddie Long has Davenport’s arm raised as Davenport’s eyes glaze over and his face becomes beet red from the chokehold. Long drops his arm once- ONE! -and Davenport’s arm drops to his side, limp. He raises it again- TWO! -but it’s lifeless still. Long lifts the dead weight high into the air, keeping it there, milking the crowd’s response, before letting it drop, he and Fury thinking this is surely the end. TTTHHHRRREEEEEEE… … “… NO!” comes the cry from both commentators, as Davenport clenches his fist, trying desperately to hold on. “I thought that had to be it, but somehow, the B-Grade bastard hung on!” King shouts as Long confirms the count and backs away as Davenport suddenly shows some life. Fury tries to hold on, but he feels his grip on the actor’s throat slipping as Davenport wriggles and writhes in an attempt to escape. Suddenly, he fires a back elbow into Fury’s kidney, but Fury clings on as if for dear life. Come on, just a little more… God, I have this, I know it… Christian’s mind races as Davenport fires another stiff shot into his midsection, and the returnee is forced to loosen his hold! The actor suddenly darts forward, trying to relinquish Fury’s hold with a sudden burst of speed- *WHAM!* -but Fury drags him down, yanking him back and dropping him on the back of his head with a Sleeper Drop! “Unbelievable!” cries Pete as the crowd suddenly breaks into cheers. “Wes was building a head of steam, and a comeback surely seemed on the cards, but Fury cut it violently short in a cunning display of simplicity!” “I told you, Wes has nothing,” gloats King, watching Fury grab Davenport’s legs and flip over into a bridged pin. “He’s just a dumb ox, with neither the mind nor talent for Hollywood OR the wrestling ring.” ONE! TWO! TTTTHHHRREEEEE! But somehow, Davenport shoots a shoulder off the mat, and Eddie Long comes up from the canvas holding only the two fingers! Fury just shakes his head, wondering what exactly it will take to keep this man down. Fury wastes zero time bringing Wes back to his jelly legs, jabbing him in the face with rights and lefts, keeping him stunned. Satisfied with his work, Fury grabs Wes by the hand and attempts an Irish Whip… …but Davenport holds fast. A small, loyal portion of the crowd begin to utter a low “Wes” chant as Fury attempts it again, but he only gets the same results! This time, Christian aims a kick into Davenport’s sternum, allowing him to whip Davenport forward. Fury suddenly brings Wes back as if for a short-arm clothesline, but instead, he reaches down, lifting Davenport up and over with a Back Drop Suplex! The actor suddenly perks up, but almost too late as he comes crashing down… … But he somehow flips in mid-air, landing gingerly on two feet! “What great agility from Davenport!” Pete cries, nudging his partner. “Fury hit him with a Back Body Drop before, but this time, Wes’ instincts kicked in and he was able to counter!” “Don’t blow your load yet, Pete,” King replies, reveling in the lack of censorship. “Davenport’s going to have to do everything right to win this one, because Fury could win this at any moment with the right move.” Fury looks to his left, then his right, wondering why he hasn’t heard the sweet sound of body on canvas. He suddenly gets his answer when Davenport sweeps Fury off his feet, holding him in place, before- *CRUNCH!* -dropping him down across his knee with a vicious backbreaker! A loud groan is heard from Fury as he hits the canvas, and Davenport falls to his knees, feeling woozy from the constant blows to the head, but now, a few more fans start to cheer. Davenport shakes it off, his mind racing, but he still has the know-how to fall on top of Fury for the pin- ONE! TWO! -but Fury kicks out with great intent, having come too far to give up so easily. “Fury’s come too far to give up so easily,” Pete notes. “I think we’ve covered that.” Fury gets to his feet of his own volition, but Davenport is soon on him with stiff right hand blows that rock the former Clan member. Christian fires back with right hands of his own as the two begin to trade blows, but Davenport soon wins out, his superior strength starting to show through as he unloads on Fury, backing him into a corner. With every blow the crowd becomes noisier, beginning to rally behind Wes as he takes Fury by the hand, dragging him to the centre of the ropes and whipping him across the ring. As Fury returns, Wes grabs a hold of him, using his momentum to lift him up and swing him around… “Davenport’s got him up,” says Pete as Davenport teeters a tad, still groggy, “could it be the tilt-a-whirl Powerbomb we’ve seen him use recently!?” … but before Davenport can slam Fury down, the returnee pulls a rabbit out of the hat, tightening his grip around Wes’ neck and flipping him over at the right moment with a flying headscissors! “No, it won’t be,” answers King, snickering. Davenport skids across the mat as Fury crawls after him, hoping to get a quick pin as he hooks Wes by the leg- ONE! TWO! TTHHHRREEENO! A shoulder shoots off the mat, and Davenport keeps himself alive! Davenport, surprised by the pin attempt, knows he’s in trouble, and climbs to his feet with all haste. Fury meets him with a kick to the gut, doubling the actor over. Fury quickly hooks Wes’ arm, grabbing him by the belt and trying to Suplex him over… “Wes blocks it!” Pete cries. “He hooked his ankle around Fury’s leg in a veteran type maneuver. I can feel it King, he’s in the zone!” “Humph” is all King grunts as Fury tries again, but Davenport once again resists the move, quickly reversing it into a Suplex of his own! But instead of slamming Fury behind him, Davenport keeps Fury in a vertical position, letting the blood rush to his head. The fans are on tenterhooks as Davenport wobbles, almost tripping himself, but remaining steadfast as he suddenly drops Fury forward- *BAM!* -dropping him on the back of his head with an Orange Crush! “That could be all!” Pete shouts as the crowd begins to roar, and Davenport keeps Fury in his folded position, draping his legs over Fury’s arms, keeping him firmly in place as Eddie Long slides over! Fury struggles with all his might, trying to break out, but Davenport has him bundled up tightly! “ONE!” “TWO!” “TTTTTTTTTHHHHRRRREEEEEEEEEEE!” *DING! DING! DING!* The bell is finally rung as the fans cheer and “Get Over It” begins to play, much to Davenport’s surprise. The triumphant actor climbs to his feet, stumbling a little in a daze, but as Long holds his arm in the air, he begins to smile. “Here is your winner,” Funyon bellows into his mic, “at a time of four minutes, fifty two seconds… WES DAVENPORT!” “I just cannot believe it’s happened again,” King says, truly flabbergasted. “Fury dominated Wes, just like all his opponent’s have done. He controlled much of the match, focused his attacks, but still, Davenport steals the win. I don’t know how, but he did.” Pete has the last laugh, “He didn’t steal it at all King. He managed to counter at the right time, and had the technical know-how to pin Fury down for the three count. It’s a shame there can be only one winner, because Fury really did impress me tonight, it was just Davenport’s night.” Lockdown fades to a commercial break, showing Christian Fury on all fours, staring up at Davenport as he salutes the crowd. He may have been beaten tonight, but he’s not about to give up. As for Wes, well, his ego is satiated for another night.

After the various companies gets done with telling you why YOU need a fully automated toilet and a dishwasher with a built in TV we are taken backstage to Joseph Peters office where both Akira and Bruce are lined up with their backs to the camera. “With Bruce reinstated and the family friendly rules removed the best of 5 Ultraviolent matches series is back on and we’re having another match tonight” Peter starts to explain to the camera “Bruce should have stayed on suspension – saved him the humiliating loss tonight” Mr. Kobe interjects, an interjection that pisses Bruce off no end. “What? Are you out of your sake-loving mind? The first match was nothing, a bump in the road, a lucky fluke that Akira benefited from – it won’t repeat itself this week, or next week or any other time that tempura shrimp wants a piece of me” Bruce spits out. “Gentlemen, gentlemen” Joseph Peters admonishes Akira and Bruce “We’re here because the match needs a stipulation so I’m going to spin the wheel to find out just what match you will compete in.” Peters pulls out the wheel with the 8 remaining match stipulations and gives it a spin, as the wheel slows down the camera zooms in on the choices as they click by *clicka* Barbwire Ropes *clicka* Agony of Defeat *clicka* Brunkhouse Match *clicka* Open Arena *clicka* Sendai Thumbtack match *clicka* Japanese Death Match *clicka* Clockwork Orange House of Fun *clicka* Stairway 2 Hell *clicka* Barbwire Ropes *clicka* Agony of Defeat *clicka* Brunkhouse Match *clicka* Open Arena *clicka* Sendai Thumbtack match And that’s where it stops “Thumbtacks? Works for me” Bruce says and then just leaves the office not even bothering to look at Akira or Mr. Kobe or getting the specific rules of a Sendai Thumbtack match explained to him. “What exactly is a Sendai Thumbtack Match Mr. Kobe” Peters asks a little confused. “Mr. Peters-San it’s a regular thumbtack match except for 2 things. First there is a thumbtack for each inhabitant in Sendai” Mr. Kobe explains “Well how many people live in Sendai?” Peters asks, not very well versed in Japanese geography “Over 2 million” Mr. Kobe says, a figure that makes obviously Peters very uncomfortable. “The other is how you win it. To win it you will have to stuff your opponent into a crate full of thumbtacks that will be at ringside” “So I need to get 2 million thumbtacks and a wooden crate?” Peters asks, double checking before he sends someone out to raid the nearest Home Depot “Correct, this is a very special match to Akira – he fights for the honor of his home” “Yeah, yeah that’s nice” Peters says absentmindedly as he tries to calculate just how many bags of thumbtacks they’ll have to send someone out to buy and fast. Fade Out.

As we come back to Lockdown, the mysterious Crimson Skull is already in the ring. Without an entrance, his six backing dancers are in the ring with him dancing to “Gonna Make You Sweat (Everybody Dance Now!)” by C & C Music Factory. They are soon shuffled off by Heff though, to boos from the crowd. For some reason, The Crimson Skull has a lightsaber in his hands. Pete: This should be fun... King: Argueable. Very argueable. Funyon- "This match is scheduled for one fall. Introducing first, now residing in Kiev, Ukraine. Accompanied to the ring by his EVIL~! assistant Heff. He is THE CRIMSON SKULL!!" The Skull wields his lightsaber as Heff applauds. Skull then breaks the plastic toy over his knee to show off his strength and gives a loud, evil super villian laugh. His laugh is cut off by "Olé" by the Bounding Souls though and the entrance of Laberinto. Jogging down the aisle, Laberinto tags the fans hands which Skull glares at. Funyon: "And his opponent is making his SWF debut tonight! Hailing from Tocula Mexico and weighing two hundred, twenty pounds. This is, LABERINTO!!" Laberinto rolls into the ring and stands up to Skull with hands on hips. His super hero pose angers Skull who motions for Heff. Heff rushes over and points to Skull's flexed biceps one at a time before laughing in Laberinto's face. Evily.. King: Ooh, that's just evil. Pete: That's pathetic. What sort of a grown man plays superheroes? Imagine if we had someone pretending to be a superhero as a commentator, we'd be a laughing stock! King: Someone's been doing their research eh? Pete: What? King: Nevermind. Not scared by the evil muscles Laberinto moves forward, and both hero and villian meet in the centre of the ring as the bell rings to start the match. Both men stare at each other intently, Skull seeing fit to start jaw jacking with Laberinto. Skull continues the intimidation although it isn't working. And after a big finger in the face he gives Laberinto another evil super villian laugh before slapping him in the face. Evily. "Boooooooooooooooooo!!" Pete: That's uncalled for! King: Well duh he's a super villian! What do you expect him to do, hug the guy? Skull turns to Heff and gives him a demonstration of what he just did but is cut off when Laberinto stomps on his foot! Skull hops around on one foot while Laberinto flashes an heroic smile. He then goes after Skull with a flurry of right hands, the crowd going crazy in the background. As the fists rain in on Skull's masked head, he quickly drops to his knees to avoid them. And even more quickly hits a forearm which looks suspiciously low. Laberinto doubles over in pain, holding his groin as the referee looks confused, not seeing what had happened. King: Nice forearm to the gut from Bri… Pete: Oh please. Nobody’s gut is that low. King: I don’t know, you've been putting on a little weight recently… Pete: Can we please just call the match? Realistically? That was a lowblow. Skull doesn't even pretend to be innocent because he's evil and stuff. Instead, he screams "SILENCE!" at the referee and starts to put the boots to Laberinto. 5 or 6 stomps connect with Laberinto’s back, before Skull stops to shout abuse at some fans at ringside. Eventually Skull pulls Laberinto back up to his feet, hitting a knee to the gut as he does so, before whipping Laberinto into the ropes. Thinking quickly, Laberinto manages to hook his arms over the top rope to stop himself. Skull is confused but charges in towards him. Laberinto is waiting as he ducks his head and The Crimson Skull goes up and over the top rope. The bigman hits his back on the apron on the way down. The collision with the apron sends Skull sprawling forward and crashing into the steel guardrail, as Laberinto is already climbing up to the top rope. King: What is this crazy idiot going to do now? Laberinto gains his balance on the top rope, as groggily Skull begins to turn around. As he does, Laberinto takes flight from the top looking for a Randy Savage style double axehandle. For a few moments, it looks like Skull is frozen on the spot. But it's an evil plan. At the last second he manages to dive out of the way, causing Laberinto to crash throat first into the steel guardrail. Pete: AAAAOOOOHHHH!!! King: Yeah, I agree. Laberinto immediately clutches his neck, as Skull stands beside him still arguing with the fans. King: See one high risk move, and he may have cost himself the whole match. Finishing his argument, Skull grabs a handful of Laberinto’s hair and pulls him up to his feet. Laberinto is still favouring his neck as he’s forcibly thrown into the ring. Skull rolls back into the ring after him, driving an elbow to the back as he rolls past Laberinto. With a look of great confidence, Skull looks down on Laberinto and drops the point of the elbow into the back one more time. Pulling Laberinto to his feet, Skull seems in control as Laberinto slumps up against him. In one movement, Skull pushes Laberinto away and hits a stiff clothesline, again snapping the head of the newcomer back. Thinking quickly, Skull rolls Laberinto over and goes for a quick pinfall… ONE… TWO… T...Kickout by Laberinto Not looking worried about the quick kickout, Skull drags Laberinto to his feet. He takes a firm grip of Laberinto’s right wrist. With a quick tug, Kingsmen brings Laberinto forward, sending him into a short arm clothesline. As Laberinto crashes to the mat Skull keeps a hold of the wrist. He then pulls Laberinto up again. Repeating the move, Laberinto is pulled into a second short arm clothesline and again the hold on the wrist is kept on. Pete: This is good strategy. With every clothesline Skull's weakening the neck up, plus he’s not giving Laberinto time to recover after each one. Skull stops with Laberinto doubled over from exhaustion and hits a weak slap across the head. Evily. Skull then pulls him into another clothesline. Only for Laberinto to duck the clothesline and lock on a waistlock. Pete: I think Laberinto needs to rethink this move here… King: Ah, but that would take brains, see. Laberinto hangs onto the waistlock. But he can't do anything else which allows Skull the charge back and squash Laberinto in the corner. He squashes him again before stepping away and allowing Laberinto to fall. Laberinto lays face down on the mat clutching his neck in pain, as Skull is already climbing up to top rope ready for the Crimson Splash. Slowly Laberinto begins to try and pull himself up as Skull stops on the top rope, taking a little time to taunt the crowd. Pete: What is he doing? King: Super villian curse I'm afriad. When you have the hero in peril you have to stop and revel in your glee. With a little stumble in his step, Laberinto is up and catches Skull on the top. Skull tries to fight Laberinto off but he's unsteady and eventually loses his footing and falls across the top turnbuckle. "Oooooooooooohhhhhhhhhhhhh!!!" Skull ends up bouncing off the ropes by his thighs and flips onto his back on the mat. Seeing this Laberinto quickly climbs up the turnbuckles towards the top. Heff sees his winded master in trouble and jumps to the apron. But Laberinto kicks him off and then stands up top. Skull is too close for Está Terminado. So instead, Laberinto comes off with a short but effective Frog Splash! ONE... TWO... TH...KICKOUT! Jumping up, Laberinto waits for Skull to get up. As he does, he's angry. Evily angry. Skull charges at Laberinto with a big clothesline. But Laberinto ducks...and pulls down Skull's pants in the same move, revealing Skull's Batman boxer shorts!!! "Hahahahahahahahahahahaha!" King: OH NO! Pete: The shame! A shocked Crimson Skull stops and tries to save his modesty. Which allows Laberinto to run at him and hook around his body, spin Skull around and drop him face first with a spinning Novacain. Pete: That's "Aterrizaje Forzado". My Spanish sucks so I don't know what it means but it looked good. Skull flops onto his back with his boxers still on show as Laberinto dives on top... ONE... TWO... THREE!!! DING DING DING! "Here is your winner, by pinfall...LABERINTO!!!" "Yeeeeeeeeeaaaaahhhhhhhhh!!" Pete: Laberinto wins again! And he finishes off the SWF's favourite super villian in very quick time. Almost as if he's in a hurry. King: Probably on the run from border patrol. Pete: KING! Well, congratulations to Laberinto, who looks ready to move on to bigger and better things really soon!

*POP* *POP* *BANG* *BANG* *ZOOM ZOOM ZOOM* Pyro explodes all around the Qwest Center as SWF Lockdown finally arrives in 2006! The Nebraska fans rise to their feet, waving home made signs that include “The Future is Now,” “Bring Back The Mask,” and for some reason, “Nothing is Tighter Than Nebraska.” As the crowd begins to calm down, the words… “I’M BORN!” “I’M ALIVE!” “I BREATHE” …Smack the audience in the face, waking them back up. The SWF Cruiserweight Champion, Zyon jumps out from behind the back. “Vitamin” by Incubus begins to play as Zyon runs down towards the ring, diving underneath the bottom rope and sliding across the mat to the other side of the ring! He pops up to his feet and springs up to the middle rope, unstrapping the Cruiserweight Title from around his waist and holding it high in the air. Flashes go off around the arena as the crowd takes snapshots of the Unique Youth. “Welcome fans to SWF Lockdown! We are LIVE LIVE LIVE from Nebraska!” shouts Longdogger Pete, as he welcomes the audience to another SWF broadcast. “Why are we starting the show off with a spot monkey? Seriously now, we should be starting the show off with Jay Hawke again!” smirks the Suicide King. “Well, now it is Zyons’ time to talk. But later on tonight, for the SWF International Title, Jay Hawke will defend against Zyon!” Zyon is handed a microphone as he paces around the ring, obviously amped up on Red Bull. “What up, Nebraska?!?” chimes the Cruiserweight Champ, much to the delight of the crowd. Cheap pops are awesome like that. “Well, if you’ve been watching the fine SWF programming lately, you must know that I started 2006 off with a BANG!” Zyon shouts as he holds the Cruiserweight Title high above his head. The crowd again pops as Zyons’ grin widens. “But not only am I the SWF Cruiserweight Champion…after tonight…I will be the SWF International Champion, too!” Zyon looks around the arena, waiting for it to quiet down before he continues, “You see, I have so much on my mind and so much that I want to talk about. I want to start this interview off right! I want to start it off with a huge announcement!” Zyon nods his head as the crowd buzzes with anticipation. “What do you think the huge announcement will be, King?” questions Pete. “That he forfeits to Jay Hawke!” The crowd dies down, wanting to hear the HUGE announcement. Zyon looks around and lifts the microphone back up. “The huge announcement is this…” but Zyon doesn’t get to finish before… …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. “Hollywood” Spike Jenkins walks out from the back, a black “Folly” track jacket on and a wide grin as he makes his way to the ring. Zyon stares in confusion as his best friend slides into the ring and asks for the microphone. Zyon hands it over, attempting to ask Spike what he is doing out here, but Spike quickly turns towards the camera. “THANK YOU, ZYON, FOR THAT WONDERFUL INTRODUCTION!” The crowd cheers while a smaller percentage of them boo the disruption of the Unique Youth. Spike struts around, grinning from ear to ear as Zyon stands behind him, wondering why his interview time is being hijacked. “You see, SWF fans, Zyon was simply introducing me because I have a HUGE announcement that will shock the wrestling world!” Spike turns to look at Zyon, who mouths to him, “What announcement?” Spike just nods his head at the Confused Youth and continues on. “I’m sorry, Zyon. Was there more you wanted to say? Like, about how you were going to be the proudest SWF Cruiserweight Champion and defend it against all comers?” Zyons' eyes widen at this comment and moves in closer to Spike, the words “That was my announcement,” but Jenkins simply nods his head to calm him down. “Yes, you will be…behind me, of course. I was champion for One Hundred and Twenty Days, may I remind you…BUT ANYWAY! This huge announcement of mine that will shock the SWF fans and the entire wrestling world…I, “Hollywood” Spike Jenkins…have entered myself into the SWF Clusterfuck and will be…THE NUMBER ONE ENTRANT!” Spike holds his arms up in glory as the crowd buzzes around him. Zyon stares at his best friend, not sure what to say to him or if his announcement is the dumbest thing he has ever heard. Spike finishes posing and begins to speak again, “Thank you all and have a good night…oh…yeah…Zyon will be your new International Champion! THANK YOU, NEBRASKA!” Spike drops the microphone and kicks it out of the ring…before Zyon could pick it up. Spike turns to Zyon, a huge smile across his face as the Unique Youth scratches his head. “What an announcement! Spike Jenkins has entered the SWF Clusterfuck and will be the Number One Entrant!” “He will also be the first one eliminated…” “Probably.” And with that, SWF Lockdown cuts to a commercial break.

The Smartmark's Wrestling Federation presents... SWF FAMILY FRIENDLY(?) LOCKDOWN! LIVE, WEDNESDAY JANUARY 18th, FROM THE *SOLD OUT* QWEST CENTER IN OMAHA, NEBRASKA! It's a Lockdown... IN LIMBO! After a disasterous last show, the future of Lockdown itself, nevermind "Family Friendly," is in peril! Sponsors are dropping the show like a bad habbit, and new ones are looking rarer than Nazi war documents. As Joe Peters feverishly attempts to secure new funding for one of his marquee television programs, the workers of the SWF soldier on... for the *children.* Are Family Friendly rules in effect? Well, sort of. Maybe. Who knows? Nobody's quite sure. MAIN EVENT CANADIAN DEATHMATCH INTERNATIONAL TITLE BOUT Jay Hawke© vs Zyon© ->The fascists at the top of the SWF still feel that Hawke has held onto his damn belt for too long - but, unfortunately, the last time he went out to defend it, he held onto the damn thing. Well, if at first you don't succeed... this time, all the stops have been pulled out, as Hawke faces Zyon in an SWF ORIGINAL~! stipulation. Why Zyon? 'Cause he's fucking good, that's why! Rules:Regular DQ and count-out rules are not in effect. The winner is the first one to get a combined count of 10. For example, if one man pins the other for a 4 count, then a 3 count later in the match that’s a combined 7 count. Only 3 counts and higher can contribute to the combined count; you can’t just get 5 near falls in a row to win. Zyon's cruiserweight title is not on the line. SINGLES MATCH JJ Johnson vs TORU Takahara ->JJJ, that bastard, took out KOJI Kitano on the last show - even if you didn't see it, it happened, read the promo, I assure you. What does this mean for TKO!? Well, they can't defend the tag titles now. Big deal. This is different from the last 2 months how? Anyway, TORU seeks VENGEANCE here on Lockdown. Rules: Singles match. TRIPLE IMPACT MATCH "The Icon" Max King vs Wildchild ->Why these two? Well, why not? Two of the best the SWF has to offer THROW DOWN in a unique matchup. Does everything need two weeks of build and a thousand word description? Nah. Rules: At the beginning of the match, Funyon will read from a card one specific move. This move can be absolutely anything. (outside of something generic - dropkick, clothesline, forearm to the face, etc) The winner of the match is whomever performs it on their opponent three times. TAG MATCH Tim Dillon & Stryke vs Kevin Coyote & Landon "La Cucaracha" Maddix ->Kevin Coyote hasn't been doing so hot since his debut. Although perhaps if he wasn't so... overzealous in his attempt to earn "respect," he may not have gotten in over his head in a handicap match against Zyon and Spike Jenkins. Well, THIS time, he gets the benefit of a partner. A long-ass time ago, Landon Maddix found himself in much the same position, striving for respect. Maddix found Todd. Kevin may not be so lucky. Can Landon pass on some of the wisdom he's accrued during his long tenure in the SWF? Probably not, but who cares? Rules: Standard tag team match. SINGLES MATCH Christian Fury vs Wes Davenport ->Christian Fury, who you may remeber from Ramadomination, was last seen dressed up like a Jew, getting the shit stomped out of him by angry Muslims. I think we can expect that event to never be mentioned by Fury, ever. He faces off against Wes Davenport in, coincidentally, Wes' first match since Ramadomination. First-person perspective meets first-rate arrogance in what should be a Killer! (Though not The Killer - Wes only wishes he could be Chow Yun Fat) Rules: Standard singles match. SINGLES MATCH Laberinto vs The Crimson Skull ->The man... the myth... the legend... THE CRIMSON SKULL at long last returns! After a long haitus, his evilness (and his evil assistant, Heff) comes back to the SWF to continue his pursuit of vile superheroes! Rules: Singles match.

Your wish is granted.

Eh, yeah. But Zed can't count. So I'm giving everyone an extra hour, because I'm nice.

The freedom to walk outside is a right restricted to protect the populace from dangerous offenders. Allowing prisoners to vote poses no harm. Where do you draw the line when it comes to restricting which rights to revoke? That's not an argument: There's no reason why they shouldn't have an Olympic-sized swimming pool, either, but we feel they don't deserve it. Just because it doesn't harm anyone does not mean that it is any more right. Prison isn't just for our safety; It's also meant to be a punishment. Prison is meant to punish you by restricting your access to society. Not only this, many rights are already sacrificed when it comes to prisoners: Privacy for one (I believe the SCOC recognizes this), and Search and Seizure for another. Restrictions the rights is something inherent in the entire concept of prisons, and the right to vote is something simple and fairly logical to restrict. If you're in prison, should you really get a vote to decide what happens to people who have been obeying the law?

As a CC member, I'd say yes. We can work a limited schedule (Danny Williams couldn't do Smarkdowns for a while, I believe), so its completely possible. It'd be good to get even more veterans in here with the influx of a few new guys.

Hello, this is your connection-losing CC Member here, with a helpful post due to what happened with Jason. If you are still with us and active, please give one post, naming your character (Just for some helpful reference later). If you are inactive, and we might not know it (Like Spike, who didn't inform anyone that he was retiring o.0), post here as well. Later!

I don't recall anything about sanctions...we were too busy planning failed rescue attempts for the hostages. So long as we don't deal with the Iranians the way Eisenhower did. That's what got us into this mess in the first place. I'm not to knowledgable on the exact information, but seeing the word Eisenhower and the phrase 'deal with' automatically triggers this response: Don't you mean 'didn't deal with'? Or 'ignored'? Or 'brushed over'? Or 'forgot about'?

Simple. The fact that the feud is over... but could restart again at any second! DUH DUH DUUUUUUUUUUUH

... SWERVE-A-ROONI!!!

Maybe for a movie, they're okay (I did enjoy First Contact). But as an episode, they've played the 'Time Warp' card so many times, it hard not to see a bunch of Teenagers joyriding around, only to shoot off a star and warp back through time. Hell, why haven't any villians thought of time travel? It's just... Ugh. Whenever I see those episodes (It seems like there are forty of them), it just sort of reminds me about what I don't like about Star Trek.

Wow. NoCal has become yet a bigger joke. Talk about missing the forrest for inane conspiracies...

The Smarks Wrestling Federation presents... SWF SMARKDOWN! LIVE, JANUARY 9TH, FROM SAVVIS CENTER IN ST. LOUIS, MISSOURI! (7pm PST, 10 pm EST; check local listings) Like the many Americans before us, the SWF is going to be travelling across the great Heartland of the US on its way to the West Coast, and we'll be stopping at every big city inbetween*! First on the list in the Savvis Center in St. Louis, where we have Jay Hawke defending his title against two contenders instead of one, the beginning of the best of 5 Series between Akira and Bruce Blank, and much, much more. *Not a Guarantee Opening Promo: El Luchadore Magnifico MAIN EVENT INTERNATIONAL CHAMPIONSHIP TITLE MATCH Jay Hawke vs. Wildchild vs. Stryke -> CC thinks that Jay Hawke has held onto that International Title a bit too long. Time to throw in some rough competition for him! Stryke and WC are two worthy contenders and are not occupied, and Peters think this will be an excellent way to keep them busy. Rules: Elimination style rules. All three guys are in the ring at once. Word Count: 5500 Marker: realitycheck BEST OF 5, ROUND 1! LIGHTBULB DEATHMATCH! Akira Kaibatsu vs. Bruce Blank -> Well, Bruce made quite a return on Family Friendly*coughYeahRightcough* Lockdown. If I were Akira, I'd be running scared from such a mad-man. But he ain't me, and he's going for a best of 5 against the biggest ultraviolent Hardcore Champion since Dace Night and Jay Dawg. Is Akira going to be the man to stop him? Rules: Hardcore Match Rules. Two sides of the ring are lined with florescent light tubes for the wrestlers to use. Word Count: 5000 Marker: Justice HARDCORE MATCH JJ Johnson vs. Manson -> Ho-boy, is JJ ticked. After losing his Cruiserweight Title, JJ stormed into the office, asking for a match against ELM or the next best thing. Well, since they aren't meeting until Clusterf***, the next best thing is... uh... MANSON! Yeah, Manson. Well, with Hardcore Rules, anything can happen, and MANSONOSITY might just be able to break his slump and come out on top of the rising JJ. Rules: Hardcore match, so no rules. Word Count: 4750 Marker: chirs3 HANDICAP MATCH Zyon/Spike vs. Kevin Coyote Special Guest Announcer: William 'Justice' Hearford -> That Kevin Coyote doesn't get any respect. After losing a close match to Tim Dillon, the young upstart's path is only going to get tougher. In preparation for an upcoming Gauntlet Match, CC has decided to book him in a handicap match to see if he can take on two people, let alone four or five! Road Agent William 'Justice' Hearford, part of this decision, has also been assigned to help out at the commentary table. Rules: Standard Handicap match. The two must tag in and out. Coyote only needs to pin one of them to win. Word Count: 4750 Marker: chirs3 SINGLES MATCH Landon Maddix vs. TORU Takahara -> Due to an outbreak of the flu, KOJI is unable to wrestle, and thusly no Tag Title match on Smarkdown. Darn. Oh well, it looks like Landon Maddix and TORU Takahara are just going to have to face off without their partners. One on one, soon to be two on two... who will win in a skirmish between Tag Contender and Tag Champion? Rules: Standard Singles Match. Word Count: 4500 Marker: Justice SINGLES MATCH Ghost Machine vs. Max King -> Well, now that we've ordered the new and improved Ghost Machine model, it's time to really take it to its limits. Who better than Max King, one of the most talented wrestlers in the federation today. Like Deep Blue and Kasparov before them, this match looks to be the ultimate battle between Man and Machine! Rules: Standard Match. Word Count: 4000 Marker: janusd SINGLES MATCH Tim Dillon vs. The 70's Dude -> Holy overused Stereotypes, Booking Man! A guy who thinks he's in the 70's, and a Pikey! God damned if they weren't begging for a match together. Rules: Standard Singles Match Word Count: 3750 Marker: realitycheck NEXT SHOW MADDIKING VS. TKO FOR THE TAG TITLES, TKO CHOOSES THE STIPULATION! More to be added. Don't worry.

That was more of a jab at Star Trek, because everything I hate about Star Trek is summed up in their 'Time-Travel' episodes. They are truly have the dumbest premises I've ever experienced. Guh.

The only thing I really hope is that they will a overarching plot throughout the thing. I've seen Star Trek, and my main problem with it is that it's episodic. The less you focus on getting in and out of an impossible situation in one hour, the better the storytelling you can get. Oh yeah, and no time travel. Definitely no time travel.

Yeah... I'm guessing that Raynor, being in Utah, is experiencing difficulties. I appologize; it's really my fault, as I had trouble getting online the night of the show and couldn't mark immediately.

I disagree. Yeah, the Thrawn Trilogy beat it out, but that was very critically acclaimed and it's flaws (Like the Yslarmi). But you're saying the Jedi Academy Trilogy beat out the Rogue Squadron Series? I have a hard time believing that, since the Rogue Squadron a very popular series. It's not that they wouldn't sell, either. If they didn't, its more because they never got rid of the older characters so that new ones could take their place. Even in the newest books, Luke, Leia, and Han are at the forefront. They've had a ton of little characters that might be able to take their place if they simply gave them time to develop. Dash Rendar, for one, was not a main character, but was built up immensely and succeeded (At least, in my opinion). If they simply built time into it, they wouldn't have to have a new Suncrusher or Death Star or whatever every other book, but could focus on a new band of misfits that do incredible things. Hell, Knights of the Old Republic, 1 and 2, had far better plots and more compelling characters than anywhere in the Star Wars Series.