Toxxic

On a slightly more disturbing note, further calculations reveal that if I retain the title at Twas The Fight then I will automatically become the second-longest reigning World Champion of all time, as the Christmas break will take me over Edwin's 103-day mark. Now that's scary.

Who are the Boondock Saints?

So what time of day are you on?

Time: Half an hour after Lockdown Place: The car park of the Pepsi Arena, Denver, Colorado Christian Fury steps out of the elevator and heads for his car, bag containing his two SWF titles slung over his shoulder and a whirl of thoughts going through his head. On Smarkdown he will face off against Landon Maddix to try and advance to the next round of the Cold Front Classic, and La Cucuracha won’t find his task easy... Abruptly, Fury stops. He’s still several feet from his car, but something odd has struck him. Although the light over his parking bay is still working the lights to either side have both apparently failed, leaving the shadows of the concrete pillars long and dark. Christian shakes his head; he’s sure they weren’t like that earlier, but the likelihood of them both going in just a few hours... He hears footsteps behind him, and turns. “David?” he asks. He thought Cross had already left the arena, but who else could it be...? “Guess again,” the reply comes back, and into the circle of light steps the familiar figure of the World Heavyweight Champion, Toxxic. “Fury,” Toxxic says, flipping the Hardcore Gamer’s Champion a lazy, two-fingered salute. “I saw your video earlier.” “Did you like it?” Christian asks, grinning tightly. Toxxic looks at him for a moment, then grins back, the right hand side of his face creasing up. “Well let me see, an annoying, worthless drunk like Dagda getting the crap kicked out of him?” Toxxic snorts a laugh. “Yeah, I can live with that.” As quick as the smile arrived it disappears, and the straight-edger looks serious again. “I wasn’t so keen on what you said though. You see, I began to think to myself ‘if Fury’s prepared to do that to a guy in the preliminary round of the tournament... what’s he going to do to the guy holding the belt?’.” The Straight-Edge Sensation steps closer, and the grey eyes stare directly into Fury’s. “Not to mention the fact that you mentioned me... and my friends.” Suddenly, Christian Fury is aware that he and Toxxic aren’t alone down here. Two shadows have detached themselves from the pillars to either side of him and closed in. The smaller one must be Spike... and the bigger one is certainly Sean Davis. Fury turns his attention back to the Brit in front of him, and smiles nastily. “Why? Did I scare you?” “I don’t scare easily,” Toxxic tells him, walking right up to Fury, “and what you’ve got doesn’t cut it.” The straight-edger raises a hand and snaps his fingers. “Guys?” Fury suddenly finds his arms taken and pinned up against his back as Sean and Spike grab them and force them into hammerlock positions, before Davis grabs his hair and yanks Christian’s head backwards. The Hardcore champion watches Toxxic take a pair of brass knuckles out of one of his voluminous side pockets, slip them onto his fingers and- “So what,” Fury hisses, “you’re going to attack me and prove my point for me? You’re nothing but scum, Toxxic!” “You don’t need me to prove your point,” the Brit tells him, smiling slightly. “Everyone in the SWF reckons I’m ‘evil’ anyway. No, what I’m doing is proving my point.” Toxxic draws him arm back... and slams his fist into Fury’s gut. The breath whooshes from Christian’s lungs as he doubles over, but he can still hear Toxxic’s voice. “I’m sure you remember what happened the last time you tried to stand alone against a dominant stable,” the Straight-Edge Sensation tells him. “Believe me, I’m not Kibagami... but if you push me, you might find out I can be just as bad.” He kneels down and peers up into Fury’s face, head titled to one side as if watching something interesting. “I’ve got a big enough target on my waist without arseholes like you thinking they can take matters into their own hands outside the ring,” Toxxic tells the breathless Fury. “We could break a limb, put you into a coma... or that old favourite, internal bleeding. What we’re actually going to do is much less serious - we’re just proving a point. Sean?” The Perfect Storm responds by releasing Fury’s arms, turning him around, placing him in a standing headscissors and hoisting him up high... before powerbombing him down on the hood of his own car. *BANG!* “That’s got to hurt,” Toxxic says as Fury writhes on the dented metal, “but you should be OK for your match against Maddix, apart from a few bruises. If you can beat him, win the tournament and face me for the title I’ll be more than happy to settle this... in the ring.” Toxxic leans down until his mouth is next to Fury’s ear. “But until then, if you ever get the urge to do something stupid, do yourself a favour. Don’t make the mistake of telling me what you’re going to do before you do it.” Toxxic straightens up, turns on his heel and walks off, flanked by Sean and Spike. Meanwhile Christian Fury, spreadeagled across the front of his own car, simply stares up at the light above him.

Hmm. If I was Landon I wouldn't have picked Fury to be the one to get a free pass past Dagda and face in the first round. He's a damn good writer... but I think Maddix can get this one. #1 Landon Maddix #9 Christian Fury Spike to take out Rev-0's punching bag. #4 Todd Cortez #5 Spike Jenkins Gotta love the Muzz. The only ex-World Champion in the tourney takes this one. #6 Manson #3 Sacred Tricky tricky... but I think King just gets the nod. #7 David Cross #2 Max King SEMIS Spike can win this. He's beaten Landon before, and he's a very good writer when he gets going. BUT Landon's more consistent. So with a heavy heart I have to pick my stablemate to take the fall... that being said, if Spike DOES win I won't be that surprised. #1 Landon Maddix #5 Spike Jenkins Sorry Max (and Landon) but your dream final won't be happening. Sacred takes this one too. #3 Sacred #2 Max King FINAL Who knows. I certainly don't. This would be the ultimate competitive final (although I've love to see Spike/Sacred). It's pretty much too close to call, but I think Landon's consistency at showing might just tip the balance. #1 Landon Maddix#3 Sacred

Interesting... very interesting... But of course - an 'Olympic-style' match like Flesher would do is what Toxxic HATES. He can't mat wrestle for shit. He's an overblown spot monkey who just happens to specialise at beating wrestlers bigger and stronger than him. Bring it, Frisco. You've proved you're not such an arse after all... now let's see what you've got... *hurries off to write*

I'm grabbing opening promo, that is unless Dace wants it.

Yeah, here's an angle - you come back as my bitch in Rev-0 On a serious note - if you want to set something up, I'm all ears. Except for the bit of me that is cock.

*marks for Dace's return and loves his cock* Yeah, I DARE you to come back now, bitch.

Sorry Strangler, you're too late. No-one's getting this belt off me until Smarkdown at the earliest, so I've already beaten you... In fact, if my maths is correct, if I hold it until Twas The Fight I've got the third-longest reign ever...

Don't turn Batista full face. In fact, you probably don't need to turn him at all. He gets a big reaction - and it's a face reaction - simply from turning up, posing, powerbombing, spinebustering and generally brutalising people. People love to see Big Dave take people out. So simply make him his own man and point him at heels as well as faces and I could see Big D Batista dressing sharp, looking over his sunglasses at people, cutting some pretty reasonable promos and generally smashing shit out of the Raw roster. The matches wouldn't be technical masterpieces but he'd LOOK unstoppable, and he is capable of exciting the live crowd.

What really gets me is that 'visceral mass' is the technical term for a snail's foot (i.e. most of the snail that isn't shell). And they've got a guy called Viscera. Just call him King Snail (appropriate, given his pace).

*marks* I second that.

You're shitting me, right? Cheers for this, Slammer!

An alliterative haiku by Calvin. Oh and Muzz, do you wanna repost Sacred's stats instead of Ace's?

I know I struggle to get anything approaching a decent match in for under 5k.

Congrats to Andrea and Ghost, and especially to Maddix for writing an exciting Battle Royal. BOOOOOOOOO to people not promoing. Oh, and I now have money on Carnage's manager being Frisco. But Carnage is actually amusing and non-irritating, so that's all OK.

I'd like to point out that if the brackets call for Landon to meet Spike, that should be Spike's ICTV shot. Great promo Landon. Really gets across the importance of what you have done whilst looking higher. And personally, I think that 90 days with the ICTV is certainly long enough for someone to look up and say "you know what? This is great, but I want more." Bring it, you cocky Cambridge SOB.

The point being of course, that no other World CHamp this year has managed to get beyond a PPV with the belt. So the most anyone could have is from one PPv to the next. I've now gone beyond that, so I'm naturally going to be one of the higher reigns. Now the trick is to keep the damn thing for just a LITTLE bit longer... EDITED TO ADD: I could have sworn I held the ICTV for over 40 days. Ah well.

Unfortunately Robbie Brookside sucks arse. Unless he's improved DRAMATICALLY in the last year or so (or he just couldn't give a fuck about doing anything decent when i saw him).

I miss hardcore Toxxic too. That's mainly why i suggested a Street Fight to Annie. The trouble is Toxxic the character hates Hardcore, but I love writing it. Oh, and cheers for the props for me as a leader figure *goes off to choke on his own phlegm* Mmm, I love colds.

I call closing promo.

Happy birthdizzle, Thoth-jizzle

Well, at least it's not a little girl this time.

Toxxic, the Straight-Edge Sensation, the leader of Revolution Zero and SWF World Heavyweight Champion sits on the stone steps of the Council House in Nottingham’s Old Market Square and suppresses a shiver as the cold air of this dark November evening bites at his skin. Beyond the edges of the square, half-hidden by other buildings, sits the shiny new Travelodge Inn at the head of Maid Marian Way, the location of his lodging tonight; his, and the rest of Revolution Zero. It’s changed since I was last here, not even a year ago. The building where I’m sleeping tonight was still being built. The flashy new tram system wasn’t running, although it was messing up traffic well enough. It’s changed... I’ve changed. Toxxic had decided to use Nottingham as his base of operations the moment he heard the SWF was coming to the UK. On Saturday night he and the rest of Rev-0 -minus Sacred, who had preferred to stay separate- had stopped in a hotel in Manchester, but not before Toxxic had introduced them to Jilly’s Rockworld. The club had seemed a perfect place to soothe tempers, but the measure had only partly worked. Sean and Marcus had been uncomfortable, although it had been amusing to watch a space clear for the Perfect Storm in the moshpit the moment the big man had showed an interest in joining in. Jet, predictably, had loved every minute, while Spike... had just seemed cold. Toxxic had taken it as nothing more than jet lag or unfamiliarity, but events backstage at Ashes 2 Ashes had made it very clear what Hollywood’s problem had been. Now the Straight-Edge Sensation is back in his home city, the only World Champion since Genesis IV to retain his title on Pay-Per-View, at the head of the most menacing force in the business, and all he can do is worry about if he’s made a mistake. It should have worked, bringing in Sacred. The guy’s a former World Champion, he’s gone toe-to-toe with the best including Edwin fucking MacPhisto, and even in the later parts of his career he was still a force to be reckoned with. He gave the US title a credibility matched by hardly anyone. But I didn’t tell anyone that he was joining us, and that came back to bite me. Sean’s unhappy and Spike’s went downright hostile, although he was a bit happier after both he and I won last night. But I know they’re going to blame Sacred for the tag loss. Sean spearing him was an accident, but still... Tomorrow, Toxxic knows, the plans are set. They don’t have to be in Dublin until Friday morning, although they’re planning on taking a flight over on Thursday. Tuesday is going to be a day of relaxation -just as well, considering the battering Annie gave him- when he will guide Jet and the others (assuming they want to come) around some of Nottingham’s sights. The straight-edger is looking forward to returning to some of his old haunts; Nottingham Castle; Ye Olde Trip To Jerusalem, the oldest Inn in England; even wandering around the Broadmarsh and Victoria shopping centres will be a pleasant reminder of the past when a simple phrase wouldn’t set tens of thousands of people screaming for his blood, and being in possession of a belt wouldn’t make some of the most dangerous men and women outside of psychiatric institutions want to start hitting him. Oh yeah, thinking of psychiatric hospitals... I’ve got Carnage to look forward to. Lucky, lucky me. Still, better him than another match with Annie, I guess. Wednesday is lined up as well - a trip to Sherwood Forest (the Americans had been very insistent about that, despite his assurances that there was nothing of Robin Hood left there), and then he and Jet are going to visit his parents. His parents, who have never met their only son’s girlfriend before. His parents, still living in Radford and still refusing his offer of buying them a house in a more pleasant area of the city. His parents, who although not approving of wrestling had fully supported their son’s efforts to follow his dream. They’d only watched his first few matches, stopping after witnessing the gorefest that had been the 200 Lightubes HGC match of Toxxic vs Aecas at From The Fire. His parents, who as a result had no idea that he had subsequently fallen from the graces of the crowd and relied for news solely on what he told them. They’d been delighted to hear of his title wins, ecstatic when he had breathlessly informed them that he was now World Heavyweight Champion, recognised as the best in the business. I suppose I should probably leave Spike out of this one. It’s going to be bad enough making sure Naomi behaves herself... Toxxic looks around, at the various people still dotted around the square even this late at night. Up the road, he knows, Obsessions is taking place at O’Rileys. Tempting as it is to go clubbing again the thought of witnessing all those 16 year-olds pretending to be old enough to drink does not appeal, and he decides it would be best to wait until Rock City tomorrow night. Some things never change. The one time I spoke to Chris Card he told me he used to practically live at Rock City on a tuesday. Before my time, I guess. With a grunt, partly of effort and partly from the pain in his ribs, Toxxic hoists himself up off the steps and pauses to pat the stone lion next to him. Some things never do change. Earlier that day, when the others were out of earshot, Jet had asked him a simple question - how long can he keep proving people wrong? How long can it go before eventually, they’re proved right? His goal had been to retain the title on Pay-Per-View - where does he go now? She hadn’t been asking to mock him or get at him; she had simply wanted to know. And now, as Toxxic sets off across the paved area still being used (illegally) as a skate park by after-dark daredevils, he thinks he knows the answer. A bit longer yet. As long as I’ve got this place behind me and I know I can come back to it, I’ll remember who I am and who I was. And as long as I can do that, I don’t care what anyone else thinks of me. This is what’s real. Slowly, in some pain, but with a lopsided grin spread across his face, the Straight-Edge Sensation wanders across Old Market Square, across the tramlines and heads off towards his room where his girlfriend is waiting. It’s hard to be World Champion all the time. Sometimes you just have to be a 21 year-old who’s come home for a little while.