Ace309

SWF Storm returns from its previous commercial break, as we fade into Ben Hardy standing backstage. Microphone in hand, the producer of the segment signals that he is on-air. “Welcome back to SWF Storm,” he gleefully shills. “I am Ben Hardy and joining me at this time is a man who made his return to the squared circle last week in a big way. That man being ‘Hollywood’ Spike Jenkins! Spike?” With that, “The New Straight Edge Sensation” and newly returned superstar, “Hollywood” Spike Jenkins steps into camera-view. “Spike, on Storm you made your return, interrupting the victory speech of the new World Heavyweight Champion, Alan Clark. I believe the message you sent to him was loud and clear and that you are after one thing.” Jenkins, sporting a black “HEARTLESS” hooded sweatshirt, takes a breath before responding. “Well, Ben, I’m glad to see that with all of my time off, that you still have a job doing what you do best.” Ben’s face lights up with delight. “Thank you, Spike!” “…Pointing out the obvious…” “…Oh…” “Yes, Ben. I did return on Storm and yes, I do believe that I sent my message, loud and clear, to Alan Clark. And yes, Ben, I am after one thing. That being the SWF World Heavyweight Championship.” “When Alan Clark won the World title at 13th Hour, there is no doubt he knew he was going to be chased down by anyone and everyone. It just happened to be that you, Spike, are the first man to call him out. But what makes you think that you deserve a title shot? Where have you been the past several months?” “Where have I been the past few months? I’ve been training, Ben. I’ve been training non-stop, everyday for the past couple of months. Not only improving my professional wrestling skills, but also my Muay Thai Kickboxing and my Brazilian Jiu-Jitsu. I have become, I guess you can say, a Jack of all trades.” “Certainly taking advantage of the sudden surge of mixed martial arts, you will be able to show off your new found skills in the ring tonight as you go one-on-one with the leader of the Four Norsemen, Rikard Fleihr!” “It’s very unfortunate for Rikard that he has to be booked against me in my return match…” Before he can finish his sentence, Spike’s attention is drawn off camera and he quickly turns his body towards the direction it is coming from. The camera pans out and none other than the Four Norsemen come into view. Rikard Fleihr leading the troops, the rest of the group standing firmly behind him. “WOOOOO, BEN HARDY, WOOOOO!” “Ummm…” “SPIKE JENKINS! WOOOOO! YOU THINK…YOU CAN COME CHARGING BACK INTO THE SWF, WOOOOO, AND GET A WORLD TITLE SHOT? WOOOO!” Spike Jenkins turns towards Ben Hardy, speechless. Confused and annoyed, he stands there and lets Fleihr continue. “WOOOOO! SPIKE JENKINS, THE FOUR NORSEMEN, WOOOOO!” “Four Norsemen!” the other three shout in the background, as they all hold up four fingers. “WOOOOOO! THE NORSEMEN KNOW WHO YOU ARE! WE HAVE STUDIED VIDEO TAPES, WOOOOO! WE KNOW THE KIND OF WRESTLER YOU ARE AND WHAT YOU BRING TO THE TABLE. SO YOU CAN COME OUT HERE AND TALK ABOUT NEW SKILLS, WOOOOO! WE ALL KNOW YOU ARE STILL THE CHAIN WRESTLING, CRAVATE HOLDING WRESTLER YOU’VE ALWAYS BEEN, WOOOOO! AND TONIGHT! TONIGHT, OH TONIGHT, WOOOOO! THE FOUR NORSEMEN ARE GOING TO SHOW YOU THAT WE RUN THE SWF! WOOOOO! “Four Norsemen!” “WOOOOO! LETS GO GUYS, WOOOOO!” The Norsemen give Jenkins another four-finger salute, as they turn around and walk away. Clearly in awe, Spike turns to Ben. “You have got to be kidding me…”

“Ladies and gentlemen, the following tag team contest is scheduled for one fall,” Funyon booms as we come back from the commercial break, “introducing first, in the ring; from Sacremento, California; he weighs in tonight at 209lbs, this is the Bemani Cross Wizard, CED… OR-DOOOONNNNNNNN-EZZZZZZZZZZZ!!” “LET’S GO CED!” “LET’S GO CED!” Ordonez waves to the crowd as a small chant starts up, then pulls off his hockey jersey and places it over the ropes. The larger man beside him waits his turn as Funyon redirects the audience’s attention. “And his tag team partner, also in the ring… from Newcastle-on-Tyne, England-” “YEEEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!” “-he weighs in tonight at 256lbs, he is ‘The Extreme Solution’, JOHNATHAN… CLAAARRRRRRRKE!!” “H-D-K!” “H-D-K!” Clarke (no, not the World Champion) grins at the fans and slaps hands with Ordonez as the two of them confer, perhaps discussing tactics for the upcoming match. However, all attentions is drawn to the entranceway as the Smarktron whites out and every light in the arena hits full. For a few moments there is only the *skritch-skritch* of a needle scraping over vinyl. Then: “WEL-WEL-W-W-WELCOME TO THE REVOLUTION!” The deep voice booms out across Wembley Stadium with the skittering jump of a scratched record, followed instantly by the elliptical guitar of Rage Against The Machine’s ‘Know Your Enemy’. The words ‘REV-0’ flash up onto the Smarktron and start rotating, first one way and then the other, with occasional split-second flashes of the members - a lopsided grin, a bulky figure in a leather jacket, hands holding the Cruiserweight Title belt, a girl with a can of lager in her hand. Smoke starts to rise from the soundstage as the drums come in and slowly the lights start to fade down… “YEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!” The fans know what (and indeed who) is coming and make their feelings known, but they’re momentarily drowned out as the main guitar riff hits. A few seconds later and three massive pyro explosions detonate on the soundstage- *BOOOM!* *BOOOM!* *BOOOM!* ‘KNOW YOUR ENEMY!’ -and through the flame and smoke comes Toxxic, trenchcoat flapping around him as he enters Wembley for the second time this evening. The fans don’t seem to have got bored of him yet, mind you: “TOXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX-IC…” “TOXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX-IC…” “And their opponents,” Funyon declares, “first, from Nottingham, England; he weighs in tonight at 218lbs and is the leader of Revolution Zero; this is ‘The Straight-Edge Sensation’… TOXXXXXXXXXXXXXX-IIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIC!!” “YEEEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!” However, as the veteran ring announcer looks around to find out who the new arrival’s tag partner is he draws a blank; Toxxic is unaccompanied, with not even his sister Amy coming down to the ring with him. Undeterred, the straight-edger rolls into the ring and pops up to his feet, then cockily extends one hand for the mic. Funyon shrugs and hands it over for the second time this evening, then departs from the squared circle to leave Toxxic, once again, as the centre of attention. “OK folks, I ran my mouth earlier this evening,” Toxxic says, “so I’ll keep this short and sweet; introducing my tag team partner, he hails from Detroit, Michigan…” “Narrows it down,” Mak Francis mutters, scribbling out several names on a pad in front of him. “…he weighs in tonight at 220lbs…” “Cruiserweight,” Mak mutters. “Doesn’t narrow it down,” King puts in. “…and is the newest member of Revolution Zero,” Toxxic announces with a grin, “please welcome on his return to the SWF, ‘IRON’… MIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIKE… CRRRRRRRRRROSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS!!” “Cross!?” Mak and King ask in unison as ‘Walk With Me In Hell’ by Lamb of God starts up. A few seconds later a mohawked figure walks out with a familiar expression of intensity on its face, and the close-up on the Smarktron confirms that it is indeed the former Suicide Machine making his way down to the ring. “Well, we haven’t seen Mike Cross in some months,” Mak Francis says, “a man who was last seen in the reformed Asia Underground with Akira Kaibatsu… we can only wonder what Toxxic has said or promised to get him to join Revolution Zero.” “Who wouldn’t want to join Revolution Zero?” Suicide King asks as Cross steps into the ring, “anyone with any sense would!” “Do you classify Mike Cross as having sense?” Mak asks, “the guy’s not exactly… normal.” “For once, you might have a point,” the Gambling Man concedes. Cross and Toxxic have their own brief conversation, and the end of it sees Toxxic step out to the ring apron while Cross starts the match against Johnathan Clarke. *DING-DING-DING!* The Extreme Solution and ‘Iron’ Mike Cross square up to one another as referee Brian Warner calls for the bell, but Cross clearly doesn’t like what he sees because the moment he hears the bell he lashes out with a forearm strike to the jaw! *WHAM!* Clarke staggers, but rallies with an elbow strike of his own! *WHAM!* Cross shrugs it off and nails Clarke once more- *WHAM!* -only for The Extreme Solution to wind up for a rolling version… *whoosh* -that Cross ducks! Clarke staggers past him, trying to catch his balance, and Cross grabs the larger man around his waist, hoists him off the mat and dumps him down onto his front with a reverse waistlock takedown. From there he floats around to his opponent’s front and simply starts laying in knee strikes to Clarke’s neck, shoulder and head! “Mike Cross has certainly lost none of his aggression while he’s been away,” Mak comments as Cross continues his assault, “Johnathan Clarke is already in trouble here!” Sure enough, after a few more seconds of assault Cross decides that he’s going to try a pin and rolls Clarke over onto his back, then makes a cover… ONE! TWO!! …but the Geordie kicks out, only for Cross to get back up to his feet, bounce off the ropes and jump up to drive a double stomp into his opponent’s midsection! The breath is blasted from Clarke’s body and Cross heads over to his corner, then reaches out to tag in Toxxic. The Straight-Edge Sensation starts to climb towards the top rope and Cross drags Clarke up off the canvas, then hooks The Extreme Solution up for a suplex and lifts him up before dropping to one knee and bringing Clarke down across the other into an modified backbreaker. “Akira called that the Divine Backbreaker, I’m not sure if Mike Cross uses the same name,” Francis says as Warner starts telling Cross to leave the ring, “but it’s certainly effective-” “Incoming!” King shouts as Toxxic somersaults off the top rope, landing a leg across Clarke’s throat with the Hangover. The leader of Revolution Zero then rolls into a cover and Brian Warner drops to make another count… ONE! TWO!! …but Clarke kicks out again! Toxxic starts to haul the bigger man off the mat, pauses to point at the Wildhearts logo on the back of his opponent’s shirt and give a thumbs-up to the camera, then delivers a European uppercut that sends Clarke staggering backwards into the ropes. The straight-edger takes hold of his opponent’s wrist and Irish whips Clarke across the ring but the Geordie reverses it and sends Toxxic into the far ropes instead; the man from the Midlands rebounds, ducks under Clarke’s attempted clothesline and rebounds off the ropes again. This time Clarke ducks his head for a back bodydrop, but Toxxic kills his momentum and- *CRUNCH-WHAM!* -hits the Sobering Thought! Clarke’s body remains more or less vertical for a second (albeit head downwards), then topples slowly sideways. “TOXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX-IC…” “TOXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX-IC…” The straight-edger gets back up to his feet and pulls Clarke up with him, then leads him back over to the corner where Mike Cross is waiting and reaches out a hand to tag in his partner. Cross obliges, and Toxxic places his head underneath Clarke’s jaw and sits out with a jawbreaker before rolling out of the ring to allow Cross to grab the staggering Geordie and apply a Muay Thai clinch. From there ‘Iron’ Mike starts delivering alternating knee strikes, finishing with one that knocks Clarke clean off his feet! “Johnathan Clarke needs to find a ‘Solution’ to the problems he’s got right now,” Mak calls, “and since the problems are extremely bad, he needs an-” “-don’t say it,” Suicide King warns, sparing viewers from a truly awful impending pun. Meanwhile, Mike Cross drops to make another cover… ONE! TWO!! TH- -but Clarke kicks out again! Cross doesn’t seem best pleased at this and heads for the corner where he starts climbing towards the top rope. Ced Ordonez shouts at his stricken partner in the hope of appraising Clarke of the situation, but it seems that the Geordie is out of it as Cross reaches the top buckle, then leaps off with both knees aimed at his opponent… *CRUNCH!* …but Clarke moves, and Cross crashes and burns! Clarke rolls towards his corner once… again… Cross reaches out to try and stop him but The Extreme Solution manages to reach up and tag in Ced Ordonez! The Bemani Cross Wizard hops over the top rope and launches into a run, then twists through the air and lands a power drive elbow onto the fallen Cross that drives the air out of the Detroit native. “LET’S GO CED!” “LET’S GO CED!” A small chant goes up for the former Tag Champion as he brings Mike Cross up and takes hold of his opponent’s leg, then spirals backwards and takes ‘Iron’ Mike back down with a dragon screw. Cross grimaces in pain and grabs at his leg. “Ced looking to capitalise on the fact that Cross landed badly on his knees from the top rope,” Mak points out, “that could leave him open to something like the Cross Lightning!” “Ced has no hope of hitting anything like that,” King snorts. Ordonez isn’t listening to the Gambling Man though (and not just because he’s too far away to hear him), and grabs hold of Cross’s leg again with the presumed intention of some sort of leglock. However, Cross gets his foot up and shoves the Bemani Cross Wizard away, then scrambles up to his feet. He’s a little too slow though, as Ordonez runs back in and launches a basement dropkick that hits Cross in the knee and drops him down onto it. Cross winces as he lands, and Ced runs to the ropes, jumps to the second one and bounces back off it into a hurricanrana… *BANG!* …only to get caught and powerbombed down hard as Cross regains his feet! The former Suicide Machine leans forward into the pin… ONE! TWO!! …but Ced kicks out! “TOXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX-IC…” “TOXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX-IC…” The crowd have started chanting for the man they really want to see in the match and as Cross gets back to his feet and limps a little he decides to oblige. He reaches out and tags in Toxxic- *smak* “YEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!” -to a massive reaction! The Straight-Edge Sensation hops to the top rope, bounces onto the top buckle facing out to the crowd, then backflips off to come down on top of Ordonez to complete an inch-perfect triple-jump moonsault! *WHAM!* Warner dives to count… ONE! TWO!! TH- -but Johnathan Clarke is not needed to break up the pin (despite the Geordie re-entering the ring) as Ordonez kicks out! Toxxic pulls the Bemani Cross Wizard up and starts firing off punches… RIGHT! “YEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHH!” LEFT! “YEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHH!” RIGHT! “YEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHH!” LEFT! “YEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHH!” Windup… DISCUS CLOTHESLINE! …which Ced ducks! “BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!” Ordonez tries to steady himself and leaps into the air as Toxxic turns back towards him, looking to nail the former World Champion with an enzuigiri, but now it’s Toxxic’s turn to duck! Ced manages to land on his feet but he’s disorientated, so Toxxic launches himself into action with another DISCUS CLOTHESLINE… that hits! “YEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!” ONE! TWO!! TH- -broken up by Johnathan Clarke! “Get him out of there!” Suicide King shouts at Brian Warner, who sure enough is trying to shepherd the still rather woozy Extreme Solution out of the ring. Mike Cross comes in to ‘help’ and races past Warner to mash Clarke with a forearm strike; meanwhile Toxxic is pulling Ordonez up again and starts to hook him up for the Caffeine Bomb, only for Ced to deliver a couple of punches to the gut and change his position, then start to lift Toxxic off his feet into a Fireman’s carry! Toxxic is having none of it and slams knees into his opponent’s head to counter, then as Cross turns back from clearing the ring Toxxic grabs a ¾ facelock and runs towards his partner… …who cups his hands… …and gives Toxxic the boost he needs to go up and over, then land with the Sunny In England! *BANG!* “YEEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!” ONE! TWO!! THREE!!! *DING-DING-DING!* “Ladies and gentlemen, here are your winners,” Funyon booms over the roar of the crowd, “the team of ‘Iron’ Mike Cross and Toxxic - REVOLUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUTION… ZEEEEEERRRRRRRRRRRROOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!” “TOXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX-IC..” “TOXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX-IC..” Toxxic gets up from the pin and slaps Cross on the back encouragingly, then the two Revolutionaries leave the ring and start to head towards the back while Ced holds his head and Clarke recovers from where Cross knocked him on the outside. “Well, Mike Cross is back in the SWF, and with a bang!” Mak Francis calls, “we’ll see what the future has in store for Revolution Zero, and the fed as a whole, but for now we’re taking a commercial break!” FADE OUT

[Fade in from a black screen] [shot of William Hearford III sitting in the office of the SWF’s gym, with a can of Frost brand cola in his hand.] JUDGE: What these guys have got to understand is, the money we’re offering… that won’t make the job easy. There’ll be times in that first year where one million bucks will seem like too little to justify all the knocks, the abuse, the scheduling, the crazy-ass stipulations… [Drew Kelk is in the ring refereeing a bout between two faceless trainees.] CIA: C’mon, you’ve got no time to think! Everything’s got to be natural, instinctive! We are not going to be paying you one million bucks for your first year with us to lie on the canvas like an asthmatic starfish, we want to see a return on our investment, and we will not get that if you have to spend ten damn seconds figuring out how to get out of a top wristlock! [Annie Eclectic is walking down a line of trainees carrying a kendo stick. The Hardcore Queen is wearing her power-blue fedora at a jaunty angle.] ANNIE: This is a big, hard stick, currently being held by a former Hardcore and ICTV Champion. It does not cost a million bucks, nowhere near it. What it will cost you is pain, welts, bruises, cuts and some severe dents in your self-esteem. Any of you who doesn’t like the sound of that had better leave through the door right now, because you’re going to come into contact with all sorts of things in the SWF, and you need to be ready for it. [bill Hearford is in the office again with a clipboard, going down names on the list.] JUDGE: What we’ve got to do is find the person, that one guy or girl with the most ability but also the most staying power, the person who’s going to take the knocks, the abuse, the scheduling and all the crazy-ass stips Tom or whoever can dream up, and still come back for more. We’re not looking for a ‘Rudy’ who’ll do anything to get into the SWF even though he hasn’t got the talent, we’re not looking for some prima donna who’s got all the ability in the world but tell them they’re in a hardcore match and they balk. The person who fits all our criteria, that’s the person who’s going to get that one million dollar contract. SWF SMARK ENOUGH II THE $1MILLION WINNER COMING SOON

As the cameras focus on the ring, Todd deKindes is visible doing a sort of warmup jog, as the Funyon blares. “Now in the ring, from Torontooooooo, Ontario, Canadaaaaaaaaaaaaa….Todd deKindes!” The Suicide King smirks, “Funyon obviously knows the most interesting part of deKindes is his hometown. He wasted more breath on that than anything.” “Dread Rock” hits the speakers as the video screen lights up with flashing screens of Alexander hitting his high spots on various opponents interspersed with Da Vinci’s “Vitruvian Man” complete with instructive highlighting of the injuries dealt to Alexander’s opponents. Funyon continues, “His opponent, from Greenville, South Carolina, the Mad Scientist of the Mat, Miiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiichael Alexaaaaaaaaaaaaaander!” Alexander makes his way down the ramp, smirking at the crowd, pointing at deKindes and shaking his head disdainfully. Mak Francis ignores King’s remarks. “Well, King, it looks like we’re about to get our first look at Michael Alexander here. I’ve heard good things about Alexander.” King nods. “Well, there’s a lot to like about this guy on paper, Francis. We’ll just have to see how he can handle himself in the ring tonight. Although honestly, I couldn’t see him having much trouble with deKindes.” “Well, you may be right, but anything can happen. I mean, remember the Manatee match at 13th Hour…” “Don’t even think about that,” King groans, rubbing his forehead. Alexander climbs into the ring, ignoring deKindes, and heads to his corner, inspecting his boots and stretching. Referee Eddy Long motions to the table at ringside. DING! DING! DING! Alexander and deKindes start things off with a collar-and-elbow. Alexander executes a perfect go-behind and waistlock on deKindes, then taking him down to the mat. “Looking good so far,” Francis says. Alexander then floats over into a front facelock position on deKindes. “Some excellent mat wrestling by Alexander.” At that point, Alexander hooks one arm under the deKindes’ shoulder and takes him over, applying a side-headlock snugly. “So far so good, I guess,” King sighs. “But nothing more than I could see watching high school wrestling on some underwatched sports network. This is getting boring.” Alexander keeps the headlock applied as deKindes works his way to his feet. Todd muscles Alexander over to the ropes and whips him off. Alexander comes off the ropes and deKindes drops down for a backdrop, but Alexander catches him a facebuster, then shifts around to hit a follow-up side Russian leg sweep, rolling over into a pin. “Yeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah!” The crowd whoops for the move and the pin. “Ouch,” Francis quips. “There’s a little excitement for you, King!” ONE… TWO… Kickout! “A little early for that, even with deKindes,” King laughs. “But that’s a step in the right direction. He calls that the ‘Whiplash’ I think.” Alexander rises quickly, kicking Todd squarely in the head as he was rising. Todd rolls towards the ropes, trying to use them to get back to his feet. Alexander follows up quickly with stiff shots to the head of deKindes, who is still reeling a bit from the Whiplash and the kick. “Todd deKindes had better get himself back in this, or this could still be a quick one…” King notes. Alexander whips deKindes into the ropes, meeting his return with a dropkick directly to deKindes’ right knee. Todd yelps in pain and collapses forward. “Vicious move, even if it is pretty basic,” Mak says. “No reason to be fancy if simple will work for you,” King replies. “Although a little flash never hurts.” Alexander smiles and raises his arms to the crowd, then points at deKindes and shakes his head in mock solemnity. “A good attitude helps, too,” King laughs. The crowd seems to be half boos and half cheers at this point. “Good?!” Mak spits. Alexander begins stomping on deKindes’ right leg, even as deKindes tries to lift himself back to his feet. Todd drops back to the mat in pain and Michael grabs Todd’s right leg pulling him over to the ropes. Michael rolls out onto the apron, pulling Todd’s leg in between the first and second ropes. Michael then steps onto the bottom rope with one foot on deKindes’ calf where it hangs on the rope. As Long begins to count, Alexander springs over the top rope, tope-style, landing on deKindes’ right knee with a double stomp. “OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOhhh!” The crowd pops for the move, and deKindes howls in pain trying to drag himself away from the ropes, holding his right leg. Alexander follows him, stalking up for a vicious stomp to the leg. He then grabs deKindes’ injured leg, steps over into what appears to be a standard toehold, but rolls forward, wrenching deKindes back and over, hyperextending the leg even further in the process. “Good God, King,” Mak whispers, “That could very well have ripped loose more than one set of tendons.” “And it could be heralding a victory for Mr. Alexander,” King replies. As his opponent attempts to curl up in pain, Alexander lifts him to his feet roughly. DeKindes leans on the ropes to maintain his balance, nursing his right leg. Alexander gets in his face and slaps him roughly. “BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!” “That is so disrespectful. It’s just unnecessary,” Mak bemoans. “He’s just making sure that deKindes knows where he stands…or stumbles in this case,” laughs King. This seems to light a fire under deKindes, who immediately fires back at Alexander with a stiff right hand to the jaw. Alexander staggers back, surprised, and deKindes, limping, continues his assault with a series of punches and forearms. “YEEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHH!” “It looks like deKindes has a very good idea of that for himself,” Mak remarks. “Those are some serious shots to Alexander’s seemingly overinflated head.” DeKindes seizes Alexander in a front facelock, and turns it into a vertical suplex. The crowd pops again for deKindes! “WWWWWWWWWWOOOOOOOOOO!” “This crowd must be really hard up for entertainment if they’ll whoop like that for a suplex.” King snarks. “Or maybe they just really want to see somebody adjust Alexander’s attitude!” Mak quips. Fired up now, but still slow from the injured leg, deKindes makes his way to the nearest corner, proceeding to the top rope very slowly. “I don’t think this is a good idea,” Mak warns. “Good ideas aren’t necessarily deKindes’ strong point,” King chuckles. Alexander recovers as deKindes is climbing the turnbuckle and manages to catch deKindes with a forearm shot to his injured leg. DeKindes drops down to crotch himself on the turnbuckle. “Well, something of DeKindes’ just got ‘adjusted’ well enough,” King smirks. “Where do you think deKindes is standing now, Francis?” Mak shakes his head. “Todd should have kept at him on the ground…the turnbuckle is obviously not a good place for him. And Alexander continues to focus on that leg.” Smiling viciously, Alexander routes deKindes’ right leg between the top and second rope, twisting it upward with a snap. “I’m really starting to like this guy,” King says. “That was just too perfect.” “A particularly vicious attack on that injured leg,” Mak agrees. “Alexander is staying on his basic game here.” DeKindes yelps at the sudden pain, but manages to fire off another quick right into Alexander’s jaw, causing the assault to falter. “But deKindes is not giving up yet,” Mak asserts. “Those shots to the jaw of Alexander are taking their toll as well.” “It’s going to take more than a few punches to end this match,” King points out. “So far deKindes is treading water, and that’s about it.” That gives deKindes the chance to get himself off of the turnbuckle before Alexander returns. Hobbling, deKindes tries to fend off Alexander with another right hand, but Alexander ducks it, shoots behind, and executes a release dragon suplex. DeKindes lands limply near the center of the ring. “OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!” The crowd pops again, for the move if not for Alexander himself. “Perfectly executed Release Dragon Suplex,” Mak observes. “Alexander is good, no doubt about that.” “You make it sound like there ever was a doubt, Francis,” King replies. “Alexander is showing he has some serious chops here.” Alexander rises, rubbing his jaw with a scowl on his face. DeKindes groans as he makes his way to his knees, still favoring the right leg a lot. As DeKindes gets partially to his feet, Alexander runs toward executing shining heel-kick enzuigiri, or at least it would have been, had not deKindes ducked it, either by stumbling or design. Alexander falls to the mat in surprise, giving deKindes the chance to regain his footing. "YEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHH!" The crowd pops again, although for the fall or for deKindes is an open question. “That was an excellent counter by deKindes,” Mak says. “He’s still in this match!” King snorts derisively. “What, by stumbling at an opportune moment? That only shows how well Alexander has done at weakening that right leg.” “Whatever you say, King,” Mak demures, smiling. Alexander is a little slow getting to his feet, but is fuming when he does so. He stalks the hobbling deKindes, but as he approaches, deKindes hits with a solid forearm shot. “And another solid forearm!” Mak shouts. “DeKindes is surging back!” A quick kick to the right leg halts deKindes' resurgence however. deKindes hangs onto the ropes to keep his feet, but is left open to spinning back elbow to the mid-section from Alexander. “Yep, a real surge there, Francis,” King remarks snidely. As deKindes is bending over from the elbow shot, Alexander again takes a moment to berate deKindes, which again lands him in trouble as deKindes hoists him up quickly for what looks like it would have become a hotshot. “This could be it…” Mak begins. But Alexander rolls over deKindes' shoulder and the top rope, landing on his feet on the apron. DeKindes staggers forward, thrown off balance by both the failed maneuver and his injured leg. As deKindes turns to renew his attack, Alexander leaps up for a springboard calf kick to the face of deKindes, sending him careening backwards and to the mat, where he hits hard. "BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!" “Oh, yes, Francis, this could be deKindes setting himself up for a picture perfect springboard calf kick,” King gloats. “I’m sure he was planning that one, too.” Alexander kips up quickly, as deKindes tries to return to his feet, reaching for the ropes. With a terrible gleam in his eyes, the Mad Scientist grabs deKindes' right leg and quick steps over into a single-leg boston crab, then drops over to one side, pulling deKindes over onto his left side and locks on a reverse head-scissors with his legs, a modified Bow-and-Arrow hold! “I’ve never even seen something like that before!” Mak says, amazed. “Well, they don’t call Alexander ‘The Mad Scientist of the Mat’ for nothing,” King smirks. “DeKindes has the bad luck to be the subject of tonight’s experiments. Did I mention that I like this guy?” “I didn’t notice, King,” Mak replies sarcastically. Alexander wrenches both holds viciously. DeKindes screams in pain, flailing wildly; his hand manages by sheer luck more than anything else to grasp the bottom rope toward which he was previously reaching. “Again, luck intervenes on behalf of deKindes,” King laments. “But there’s only so many rolls of the dice before you come up with snake eyes.” “Very lucky for him that he was that close to the ropes,” Mak agrees. Long begins to count, and Alexander continues to wrench. One! Two! Three! Four! Alexander breaks the hold with a annoyed growl at Long and returns to his feet as deKindes tries to drag himself up by the ropes again. “Alexander stays on the attack this time,” Mak says. “He seems to have learned from his early posturing.” The King snorts. With deKindes on the ropes, Alexander fires a series of forearm shots into his opponent's head. DeKindes desparately fires back with a series of chops, but can't put any force behind them due to his inability to place any weight on his right leg for any length of time. “The writing is on the wall for deKindes,” King laughs. “He can’t even put anything behind it when he does connect.” Alexander shoves deKindes towards the turnbuckle, where deKindes tries to take advantage of the extra support to fire off a stiff leg hand, which catches Alexander squarely. When Alexander drops back a little, deKLindes uses the turnbuckle to hold himself up as he fires a hard kick with his left foot into Alexander's midsection. DeKindes then hits with another stiff left, using the turnbuckle for support. That one spins Alexander around, and deKindes, wincing in pain, moves up behind Alexander and locks in an inverted front facelock, and tries to step over to set up his finisher, the DVX. "YEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHH!" “That writing might be changing, King!” Mak yells. “DeKindes is going for the DVX! This could be…” Alexander, sensing this, hits a sharp elbow to deKindes' midsection, and spins around, out of the predicament, and continues his spin to hit with a thundering shining heel-kick enzuigiri! DeKindes drops like a sack of bricks. "BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!" “Another example of deKindes getting himself right where Alexander wants him?” King asks gleefully. “I’d have to agree.” Alexander rolls back up to his feet as deKindes lies on the mat, holding the back of his head. Smiling wickedly, Alexander leaps up and drops a knee across the back of deKindes' neck and head. DeKindes writhes on the mat, holding the back of his head. “And a nasty knee drop,” Mak says solemnly. “DeKindes might be looking at more than a leg injury here.” “I don’t know,” King muses ruefully. “Those were hits to deKindes’ head…not exactly a vital area for him.” DeKindes rolls toward the ropes, apparently trying to get out of harm's way. Alexander follows him, and deKindes tries to pull himself out of the ring underneath the bottom rope. Alexander leans in, grabbing deKindes' right leg again, pulling him back. As Alexander drags him back, deKindes kicks out with his left leg, connecting solidly with a boot to Alexander's head. "YEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!" “Whatever you think of him, King, you’ve got to give deKindes credit for his dedication.” Mak remarks. “Credit for repeating the same actions and expecting a different result? That’s the definition of insanity, Francis.” Staggered again, the Mad Scientist collapses backwards, and deKindes takes the opportunity to pull himself to his feet. Seeming to get a bit of a second wind, deKindes, still nursing his right leg, makes his way over to Alexander, who is slowly getting back to his feet. DeKindes hits a clubbing forearm to the back of Alexander, sending him back to his knees. “DeKindes continues his comeback assault!” Mak cheers. “You were saying, King?” “One bad card doesn’t kill a poker game, Francis,” King says sagely. “My money’s still on Alexander.” The Canadian then tries to lift Alexander back to his feet. As he does so, Alexander executes a legsweep on deKindes' injured leg, causing him to stagger into the ropes. DeKindes manages to catch himself. “Alexander with a quick sweep,” Mak observes. “But it wasn’t enough to take deKindes down.” “Delusions don’t become you, Francis,” King snaps. “DeKindes just happened to fall into the ropes instead of onto the mat.” Seeing this, Alexander grabs deKindes' right leg, lifting it up and attempting to snap him off the ropes. DeKindes hangs on desparately, but Alexander wrenches backward, executing a leg drag. The pain of his injured leg causes deKindes to lose his grip on the ropes, and he is flung back into the center of the ring, landing face down. "OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!" This time the crowd seems to pop a little for Alexander's move. “Nice leg drag, if a bit unorthodox,” Mak admits. “You certainly can’t fault Alexander’s creativity in the ring.” “He has a gift,” King gloats again. “Did I say I like him?” Mak groans. Alexander rolls up to his feet quickly, keeping hold of deKindes' right leg. He quickly folds deKindes' legs into an inverted Indian Deathlock position, hooks deKindes' right foot behind his calf, and drops backward to the mat. DeKindes howls in pain, flailing towards the ropes. "YEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHH!" Another pop for Alexander's maneuver, if not the man himself. “Oh no!” Mak shouts. “Alexander has that hold cinched in! He calls that hold the Gordian Knot, and it looks like it could live up to its name…” “It was only a matter of time, Francis, like I said.” Unfortunately, deKindes realizes quickly that he is too far away from the ropes, and he can't focus enough to pull both himself and Alexander closer to them. “He’s too far!” Mak laments. “DeKindes is right in the center of the ring!” “There’s no way out for him now. Well, maybe one way…” TAP! TAP! TAP! TAP! “…and deKindes just took it.” King observes smugly. The crowd reaction seems a little mixed, but boos still predominate. Long motions again to ringside and bell rings. Alexander smirks to himself as Referee Eddy Long raises his hand. Funyon gets back on the mike. “Heeeeeere’s your winner…The Mad Scientist of the Mat…Miiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiichaellllllllllll Aaaaaaalllllllllllleeeeexaaaaaaaaaaaanderrrrrrr!” Again, boos and cheers intermingle. “A good showing tonight by Michael Alexander,” Mak remarks. “I just wish he would drop his attitude in the ring.” “Ha!” King laughs. “In the ring, it’s all about attitude and talent. You need both, and Alexander’s got them.” “His pompous posturing got him in trouble at several points, King.” “Trouble? All he did was let deKindes bumble his way into a loss…it was all a simple mindgame, and deKindes lost. The proof was shown when Alexander’s hand was raised. That’s what always counts.” Mak just shakes his head, knowing that he’s talking to a wall. Alexander turns back to deKindes, shakes his head, and leaves the ring. As he makes his way to the back, Alexander seems to be laughing to himself.

MAIN EVENT Chris Raynor vs. Jay Hawke ~ Raynor's return is still fresh off the presses. Can he handle the Dean, or will his ring rust show up? RULES: Standard. WORD LIMIT: 4500. SEND TO: Muzz IN THE HOUSE OF MARVELOUS: Johnny Dangerous! SINGLES MATCH "Hollywood" Spike Jenkins vs. Rikard Fleihr (accompanied by three more Norsemen) ~ Jenkins is back. Does he have chops? RULES: Standard. WORD LIMIT: 4000. SEND TO: chirs3 TAG TEAM MATCH Toxxic and ??? vs. Ced Ordonez and "The Extreme Solution" Jonathan Clarke ~ Oh, damn. What's Toxxic up to now? RULES: Standard. WORD LIMIT: 4000. SEND TO: Ace309 SINGLES MATCH Michael Alexander vs. Tod deKindes ~ It's a rookie! Let's test the rookie! RULES: Standard. WORD LIMIT: 3000. SEND TO: Ace309

FIVE… FOUR… THREE… TWO… ONE… *BOOOM! BANG! BANG! BANG! BUH-BUH-BUH-BOOOM!!* The lights go up, the pyros go off and we are LIVE~ in the new, revamped Wembley Stadium in London, England! Ninety thousand screaming fans are in attendance to send up a roar of noise as SWF Storm gets underway, and that roar only gets louder as every light in the place hits full and the Smarktron whites out. The fans know what’s coming, and due to the geographical location it’s quite frankly the only opening they would accept for the show… “COME AND HAVE A GO IF YOU THINK YER ‘ARD ENOUGH!” “COME AND HAVE A GO IF YOU THINK YER ‘ARD ENOUGH!” …and with the entire crowd chanting along, the rolling bassline of ‘The Gush’ by Raging Speedhorn starts to ooze around the stadium while the Smarktron fades down to black. Jagged white letters flash up a familiar phrase, one word at a time: ‘PREPARE TO BE PROVED WRONG…’ Three chords ring out; on the first we see Nathaniel Kibagami leap up to deliver a springboard enzuigiri to Toxxic seated on the top buckle and knock him outside to the floor; on the second we see Gabriel Drake leap off the top rope with Toxxic over his shoulder and land with the Mark of the Beast; on the third we see Toxxic lifted with one hand by Janus and chokeslammed out of the Clusterfuck. Then, as the bass solo hits the shot changes to show him taking Mike Van Siclen off a balcony and through a table, the shot starting to strobe and intercut with an image of Toxxic’s grinning face, the devastating landing timed to coincide with- *BOOOM!!*[/b] -the moment the song kicks in, and the stagewide eruption of red pyro that signals the arrival of the SWF’s most decorated Englishman! And through the flame and smoke… “TOXXXXXXXXXXXX-IC…” …with ninety thousand people chanting his name… “TOXXXXXXXXXXXX-IC…” …red-and-black trenchcoat trailing behind him as he walks down the ramp, red England away shirt clearly visible underneath it… “TOXXXXXXXXXXXX-IC…” …comes the man everyone here tonight came to see. The man who, despite all reason and recent history, is currently the most popular person within about a hundred miles. The man with spiky black hair, eyeliner, and a wide, wide grin. “TOXXXXXXXXXXXX-IC…” The man called Toxxic. “TOXXXXXXXXXXXX-IC…” “TOXXXXXXXXXXXX-IC…” “King, I can hardly hear myself in here!” Mak Francis shouts over the noise as Toxxic pauses on his way down the entrance ramp to spread his arms wide, prompting an increase in the volume of the cheers from the nearest fans. “What? I can hardly hear you in here!” the Suicide King shouts back. “It’s great!” he adds, as an afterthought. “TOXXXXXXXXXXXX-IC…” “TOXXXXXXXXXXXX-IC…” The Straight-Edge Sensation has carried on towards the ring, where he rolls under the bottom rope into the squared circle and pops up to his feet. Funyon, who seems to have been debating announcing his arrival, concedes defeat and throws the microphone to Toxxic, who casually snatches it out of the air with one hand and wheels around, trenchcoat flapping, to face back the way he’s come as Funyon exits the ring. The Englishman raises the mic to his mouth… “LADIES AND GENTLEMEN, WELCOME TO SWF STOOOORRRRRRRRRRM!!” “YEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!” “IN WEMBLEY BLOODY STADIUM!” “YEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!” “AND TONIGHT, EACH AND EVERY ONE OF YOU BASTARDS IS A MEMBER OF THE SENSATION NATION!” “YEEEEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!” Toxxic grins widely, seemingly almost intoxicated (no pun intended) with the rush as 90,000 people roar out their approval to his every word. He’s never had a feeling like this before; in Manchester their support was split between him and Annie; in London in 2005 the rush from the crowd was tempered by the secret that he was leaving the company later that night, perhaps never to return. Sure, he had great crowd reactions after he came back a little over a year ago and ended up facing down Landon, but that was different. As Michael Stephens he tried to downplay things, to take up less space, to let his actions do the talking and allow others the limelight… until one day after he lost the World Title and with it the limelight, he realised that all that was so much crap and stepped forward again to find only hatred and derision awaiting him. Besides, that was abroad. Now, tonight, for the first time ever, Toxxic stands before his fellow countrymen and women as the Straight-Edge Sensation with them in the palm of his hand; not fighting for their approval, not with cares and worries and an impending Canadian Deathmatch on his mind; simply a showman with a wide smile, a twinkle in his steel-grey eyes and the knowledge that tonight, he can do anything. “Alan Clark!” Toxxic shouts. “BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!” “Clark, you miserable, wretched, infantile purveyor of trash!” the straight-edger roars, “you whore out your soul to some bloody multinational company that churns out sickly, repetitious bollocks in the hope of pulling in money from over-pampered brats and their self-deluding parents, a company founded by a paranoid talentless hack who made his name by drawing anthropomorphic rodents so badly that not even Janus would be interested in them! You sold your very body to these creeps in suits, agreeing that you wouldn’t bleed, you wouldn’t fight if you weren’t in a match, you wouldn’t use weapons and hell, you wouldn’t part your hair on the wrong side!” Toxxic continues, spitting out the words in a torrent of vitriol. “You give up all claim to your own identity, all claim to initiative, all claim to having a mind of your fucking own, you make yourself into nothing but a drone, wrestling in the name of people who’ve never been to a show, never seen it up close, never been interested in what we do except as another way to make money, plug their products and line their pockets…” Toxxic breaks off for a second, drawing in deep breaths as all around Wembley Stadium scattered boos are heard as the crowd join him in his attack on Alan Clark. “…and you have the nerve to call yourself MY WORLD CHAMPION!?” “BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!” “AL-AN SUCKS!” “AL-AN SUCKS!” “Clark, what we seem to be dealing with here is a complete lack of connection to reality,” Toxxic states, then shrugs, “not that that’s anything really new where you’re concerned. On Sunday you stroll down to the ring with your precious bodyguard in tow, and proceed to talk about how Landon Maddix is to ‘blame’ for everything that you’ve done. Landon Maddix? Landon Maddix?” the straight-edger repeats incredulously, “sorry, did I miss something? Since when did Landon become anything except some floppy-haired clown who’s as impressionable as a dollop of warm wax? Landon, responsible for something? The only thing Landon is responsible for is not getting back into the ring in time to prevent The Galacticos from losing the Tag Titles!” “BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!” “Clark, you need to forget about Landon and start wising up to something,” Toxxic shouts, “the person responsible for everything, and I mean everything around here, is me!” “YEEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!” “TOXXXXXXXXXXXX-IC…” “TOXXXXXXXXXXXX-IC…” “Who was it who made Landon the darling of the fans the first time around, Alan?” Toxxic asks, “I’ll give you a clue - it wasn’t Landon, and it wasn’t even Megan, for all her PR skills… well, both of them,” he adds with a grin. “No, it was me! Simple fact was we were in America, and Landon Maddix comes charging down to save Mark Stevens from me after the stupid bastard decided to take a cheap shot when I’d already won the match. Landon? Hell, they’d have cheered Blazenwing if he’d come at me with that chair, because it was me that mattered!” “TOXXXXXXXXXXXX-IC…” “TOXXXXXXXXXXXX-IC…” “Martial Law? You remember Martial Law right, Alan?” Toxxic asks rhetorically, “you know who the focus of Martial Law was? It wasn’t you! It wasn’t Landon! It wasn’t Todd Cortez! It was me! You set that entire thing up for one purpose - to take down Revolution Zero, and take down me! And then last year, Landon gets so obsessed with me he goes to stupid lengths to call me out in some futile attempt to beat me, and when Peters makes us start teaming the fact Landon’s teaming with me finally gets the fans to cheer him again!” Toxxic shrugs with a wry smile on his face. “So if you’re looking at Landon like he means something to you, I suggest you look a bit further sunshine; without me to stand up to or hitch a ride from, Landon would still be grubbing around in the midcard trying to hang onto Megan Skye’s services before she leaves him for someone capable!” “That is the best analysis I’ve ever heard, ever,” Suicide King states. “Ever.” “Now Clark, it looks like your calendar is a little full right now thanks to Tom Flesher-” “BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!” “-because the Superior Arse has declared that whoever becomes the last ever International Champion gets a shot at the World Champion at Ground Zero, and it looks like my old ‘friend’ Spike has laid claim on you before then,” Toxxic continues, “but don’t you worry - if you get past him, and you get past either Johnny, Hawke or Bruner, I’ll be waiting for you and that twenty pounds of gold that you have strapped around your waist. Because quite apart from you polluting that title belt with your presence, you and me are at two wins apiece sunshine and that is something that I cannot allow to let stand!” “TOXXXXXXXXXXXX-IC…” “TOXXXXXXXXXXXX-IC…” “But folks, we shouldn’t get bogged down on Alan Clark,” Toxxic says with a smile, “annoying as he may be - hell, annoying as he most certainly is! - there’s more to life than Disney and their retarded jackmonkey puppet champion. Because TONIGHT, here in Wembley Stadium, you will all witness the debut of a new Revolutionary!” “YEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!” “I said the call had gone out, and it was answered!” Toxxic shouts, “oh yes, it was answered, and tonight you will all see the first part of that answer when my tag partner comes out onto that stage, walks down this ramp, and joins me in the finest display of kick-arsery to have been witnessed in this city since the World Cup Final in ‘66!” “TOXXXXXXXXXXXX-IC…” “TOXXXXXXXXXXXX-IC…” “Leave your preconceptions at the door!” Toxxic shouts darting over to one side of the ring and gesturing at the crowd, who rise and cheer in response. “Forget all you know… or think you know!” he tells another side, who roar their own approval. “This isn’t just any night out at the greatest show on earth, no,” he calls to the third side, before spinning away towards the only corner of the arena he has not yet addressed, “no, tonight, ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls, tonight I stand here before you, the Straight-Edge Sensation, the four-time World Heavyweight Champion, the better-than-sex T-O-double-X, tonight…” The crowd are on their feet; the noise is rattling the retractable roof far above, drawn over to ensure the SWF wrestlers remain unaffected by the fickle British weather, and in the centre of the ring Toxxic whirls like a man possessed as he talks. He trenchcoat flies about him, as if with a life of its own, and as the straight-edger comes to an abrupt halt it continues to sway about him in stark contrast to his sudden immobility. He stands there for one, two, three seconds as the cheers continue to ring around him, then raises one black-nailed hand for quiet. Slowly, reluctantly, the stoked crowd start to simmer down in response to the gesture. Toxxic waits for a couple of moments more, then raises the microphone to his lips again. His face is serious, the steel-grey eyes glittering out through the dark eyeliner. “Tonight, I bid you all…” A familiar lopsided grin creeps over his face. Mischievous, genuine, malicious - take your pick. “…WELCOME TO THE REVOLUTION!!” “YEEEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHH!” Toxxic throws the microphone carelessly over one shoulder, then heads for the ropes and drops to roll under them. He high-fives a few fans as he strides past on his way to the entrance ramp, and walks up with the grin still on his face as the entirety of Wembley Stadium chants his name. “TOXXXXXXXXXXXX-IC…” “TOXXXXXXXXXXXX-IC…” “King, we’ve just had confirmed what we already thought,” Mak Francis calls, finding it a little difficult to hear himself, “Toxxic is bringing a new member of Revolution Zero out tonight to be his tag partner! The only question is, is it a new arrival in the SWF, or an old hand that he’s somehow managed to talk round into joining him?” “Be Pretzler, be Pretzler, be Pretzler,” Suicide King says, eyes raised heavenwards. “I’d say it’s unlikely, but you never know,” Mak Francis concedes as Toxxic disappears from sight. “Coming up next we have the debut of a new SWF talent, Michael Alexander, against Tod DeKindes! Stay tuned!” FADE OUT

HEY MUZZ! SEND ME YOUR MATCH!

LIVE from Wembley Stadium on Friday, June 15, 2007! Send all marked matches, completed promos and Samuel Smith's Nut Brown Ale to Ace309. MAIN EVENT Chris Raynor vs. Jay Hawke ~ Raynor's return is still fresh off the presses. Can he handle the Dean, or will his ring rust show up? RULES: Standard. WORD LIMIT: 4500. SEND TO: Muzz IN THE HOUSE OF MARVELOUS: Johnny Dangerous! SINGLES MATCH "Hollywood" Spike Jenkins vs. Rikard Fleihr (accompanied by three more Norsemen) ~ Jenkins is back. Does he have chops? RULES: Standard. WORD LIMIT: 4000. SEND TO: chirs3 TAG TEAM MATCH Toxxic and ??? vs. Ced Ordonez and "The Extreme Solution" Jonathan Clarke ~ Oh, damn. What's Toxxic up to now? RULES: Standard. WORD LIMIT: 4000. SEND TO: Ace309 SINGLES MATCH Michael Alexander vs. Tod deKindes ~ It's a rookie! Let's test the rookie! RULES: Standard. WORD LIMIT: 3000. SEND TO: Ace309

Those cavemen aren't stupid. They're actually fairly bright, if a little pretentious.

The show's going to go up this evening. I'm sorry - I missed a plane home last night and had to go straight to work, so I didn't get to get any sleep during the day like I'd planned. Plus, I'm still waiting on one match result and finishing up a promo.

http://www.openoffice.org/ I use it. I used it for a 35-page article I had to hand in in MS Word format. Use it.

It has been said that a picture is worth a thousand words. However, it was one image, that of Alan Clark standing tall at the end of 13th Hour 2007 with both the World Heavyweight and International Championships in his grasp, that left more than its fair share of onlookers speechless. But maybe, just maybe, we are getting ahead of ourselves. It was only a few moments before that Landon Maddix thought he had everything in control. He thought that he was only seconds away from a hard fought and bloody victory against one of his many long-time nemeses. No doubt, he thought he was going to be on top of the world forever. He thought wrong. For what little he remembers of the one-hundred-twenty (or so) seconds between the time his head first struck the top turnbuckle and the exact millisecond his eyes regained their focus to see Alan Clark posing, arms outstretched, at the top of the ramp with his championship, many…many things happened. Some of them were psychical, such as his body being limped slammed face-down onto the canvas. Some of them were mental, such as Megan Skye no doubt contemplating diving in the ring to save her champion. One of them, however, was purely symbolic. “Ladies and Gentlemen…allow me to introduce to you at this time…your NEEEEW Smartmarks Wrestling Federation Heavyweight Champion of the World…ALAN CLARK!” Let it be stated that it was Tampa, Florida, in front of a sold-out crowd, where that one symbolic moment which began at 13th Hour was finally completed. Stand, bow, boo, or praise – everyone is letting out their emotions, their own one thousand words to the picture that is before them – to the orchestral harpings of “To Die For”, Alan Clark steps out… …and into the spotlight. “AL-AN SUCKS! AL-AN SUCKS! AL-AN SUCKS!” Well, that’s two words, anyways. A few flashbulbs pop off from around the arena as Alan slowly works his way down toward the ring, making sure everyone watching, no matter where they are, can see the glinting gold around his waist. Behind him walks Walter Reynolds, his usual stoic self, doing very little other than his job as he watches Alan walk up the ring stairs and climb up the turnbuckles, standing and looking out over the crowd, his nose turned slightly up and his eyes turned down at the jeering fans. His right fist slowly rises up, almost controlling the volume of those around him. “AL-AN SUCKS! AL-AN SUCKS! AL-AN SUCKS!” Alan doesn’t care. As his music slowly fades away and the ringside lighting returns to its normal radiance, Alan climbs down from the corner and steps into the ring, a microphone waiting for him on the apron. “Can you blame me?” Not exactly the first thing you would expect the new world champion to say. “Seriously, can you blame me?” he repeats, letting the question sink in. “None of this was my fault. If you want to blame someone for 13th Hour, then look no further than Landon Maddix himself.” “MAD-DIX! MAD-DIX! MAD-DIX!” “My point exactly. Blame him. Think back, really think back. Junior Leagues. It was myself and Todd Royal, fighting for that championship when Landon Maddix got involved. He tried to cripple me.” “YEAAAAAH!” “…that isn’t what I heard then.” Alan speaks the truth, but the fans do not relent, “Eventually he took the Junior League World Championship from me, and I never had my chance to regain it – unless of course you count the Triple Crown. I don’t. But, things happened. I left the business behind.” Alan pauses, letting the moment sink in, “I came back though. I had no real desire to come back, but I did. And who is to blame for that? Landon Maddix. It seems everything in my professional wrestling career as a part of this company has seemingly all revolved around him. Do you know what that is like? You will never know what that is like!!!” Alan screams, the shock almost catches Walter off guard, as he spins to make sure everything is alright inside the ring. “But Landon Maddix did not bring me back this time. No, that was the friendly folks of the Walt Disney Company – and make sure you check out Pirates of the Caribbean: At World’s End in theaters now – but it was one Landon Maddix that is to blame for what I have secured tightly around my waist this evening. Let me take you back, just a little over a month ago.” The SmarkTron lights up to show Landon Maddix standing across the ring from Tom Flesher, his words echoing out… “You think you are really going to sell 13th Hour on Maddix-Clark 8…” the SmarkTron freezes and the image fades, the spotlight returning to Alan in the ring. “It was that phrase that led to the main event of 13th Hour being made exactly what it was. All thanks to Landon Maddix. I guess, if you really think about it, you can blame my entire SWF career on the former World Heavyweight Champion.” Alan laughs to himself, pulling the microphone from his lips and smirking straight into the ringside camera. “But enough of all this talk about the FORMER champion. To say that he caused my career is, honestly, somewhat laughable – but what has burned me so much over the past few years, ever since that final Junior League show, is just how much Landon Maddix has hogged the spotlight when it could have been and, in some cases, rightfully should have been MINE!” “BOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!” “I am through being a stepping stone for anyone’s career! Do you understand that?! You are not looking at the one guy ‘who never made it on top’. It is time that everyone starts paying attention to ME. It has never been about Alan Clark in the SWF, and that changes tonight! I said it before and I will say it many, many times in the coming weeks and months…the fans, not a single one of you, wanted Alan Clark to come back. And with all apologies to Johnny Dangerous, all I wanted at 13th Hour was to defeat Landon Maddix. I was not going to let him or anyone else take that moment away from me. I wanted to give everyone a reason to pay attention to Alan Clark!” Defiantly, Alan pulls the championship away from his waist and raises it high into the air over his head, “When that night was over, it was not about Revolution Zero, or Wild & Dangerous, and definitely not about Landon….’La Cu—Ca—Ra—Cha’…Maddix. Now that I am the one with this championship in my possession and around my waist…you all will have no choice… …but to pay attention… …to ME.” Alan pauses once again, pulling the championship down and holding it very close to his face, giving the ringside camera a lovely shot to no doubt later use in video packages. “…whether you want to or not…” Alan looks to drop the microphone only to be startled, along with the audience inside the St. Pete Times Forum and worldwide watching on television, by the violent guitar riffs and the blaring trumpets of Emmure’s “When Keeping It Real Goes Wrong”, as it explodes from the PA. RAHAHAHAHAHAHA! The horrifying shriek of a laugh from lead singer Frank Palmieri sends a shiver down the spines of everyone in attendance. Walter Reynolds slides into the ring as Alan looks around the arena in confusion, unsure of why this music is playing, or more importantly, whom it is for. I hope this is a passing phase. There is no future where I stand, Here with you! The lights on the stage begin to flicker on and off. The audience begins to stomp their feet as the anticipation builds to who is going to come out to confront the newly crowned SWF World Heavyweight Champion. The cocky smirk that was once on Alan Clark’s face is now gone, replaced by a worried expression. His bodyguard stands directly behind him, emotionless and statuesque. Staring up towards the stage, Alan Clark’s face goes sour as four simple words appear on the Smarktron simultaneously as they are played in the song. This Is… …The End! With that, the crowd goes into frenzy as “Hollywood” Spike Jenkins steps out from behind the curtain. Now sporting short hair and a Five O’clock shadow and wearing a white “Heartless” tee shirt, Jenkins stomps down the ramp towards the ring. Alan Clark’s expression turns to confusion as he looks on at Jenkins climbing up the steel steps and entering into the squared circle. The crowd buzzes with excitement as Spike walks straight up to Alan Clark and gets directly into his face. A very serious and intense Jenkins stares straight into the World Champion’s eyes, not showing any sense of backing down. Clark, on the other hand, does step back. His smirk returns and he puts a hand up in front of Jenkins, motioning for him to cool off. “Spike Jenkins? Is that really you? I must say this comes as quite a surprise.” Alan does his best to try and play off the sudden interruption of his celebration. "Let me guess, you decided that what, seven or eight months or so is enough. So you were watching 13th Hour and saw me defeat both Johnny Dangerous and Landon Maddix and win this..." He motions down at his waistline, "and decided you would just come straight back here and try and challenge me and that I would give you a shot that you might not even deserve? Do I look like Landon Maddix to you? You saw what Zyon tried to---" Before Clark can even finish, the microphone that was held firmly in his hand is knocked loose by a hard smack that sent it crashing to the mat with a loud thud. Startled, Alan Clark stumbles backwards into Walter Reynolds, who quickly steps in front of his client. Clark stares at Jenkins, who hasn’t even budged, even with the Disney-hired bodyguard in his way. Instead, Jenkins continues staring a hole directly into the eyes of the champion. Slowly lifting his arm up, Jenkins point’s one finger at Alan Clark, as the crowd erupts into cheers. “SPIKE! SPIKE! SPIKE! SPIKE!” Alan suddenly pushes Reynolds out of the way, who quickly regains his footing and turns toward the duo ready to break up any possible fight (and then immediately phone his bosses with an explanation), but Clark stays calm. He gets the message loud and clear. Begrudgingly, he steps back towards the ropes and out onto the apron. Unstrapping the World Heavyweight Title from his waist, Clark holds it high over his head. After a seven-month hiatus, Spike Jenkins has returned in better shape, more intense and more focused with one goal in mind. Unfortunately for Alan Clark, that one goal just happens to be in his possession. [FADE OUT] ©2007 Smartmarks Wrestling Federation 'Raising Workrate By Hitting People Harder'

Hardy: "Ben Hardy backstage here, and we are standing with 'The Dean of Professsional Wrestling', Jay Hawke." "BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO" Hardy: "And Jay, you scored a tremendous victory over Zyon at 13th Hour to become the number one contender to the International Championship but with Alan Clark's victory in the main event to become the new World Heavyweight Champion, that championship is currently vacant." Hawke: "Let me teach you a wrestling lesson that should put my feelings on the matter into perspective for you. See, in 1981 when Verne Gagne decided he was better than anybody else in the AWA despite being fifty years past his prime, he vacated a World Championship, and it went to the number one contender. When Brock Lesnar decided he didn't want to work twice a week and his title was no longer undisputed, a new championship was formed and the number one contender was granted the gold. When Manny Fernandez and Rick Rude left Jim Crockett Promotions within a week of each other, they invented a match to justify a title switch to the number one contenders." Hardy: "Is there a point to all this?" Hawke: "The point is this, simpleton. I don't know what Tom Flesher has in mind for that vacant title, but I am demanding he award it to me as number one contender!" Hardy: "You think he's going to agree to it?" Hawke: "Let me put it this way. If he wants a roster in a few weeks, he'd better." Hardy: "That's it for me. We'll be right back."

“Ladies and gentlemen....” When I was back in seminary school... The crowd pops, nearly drowning out Funyon as he shouts, “Please welcome...” There was a person there who put forth the proposition... that you can petition the Lord with prayer. Petition the Lord with prayer! “TOM FLESHER!” YOU CANNOT PETITION THE LORD WITH PRAYER! With that, the explosion that heralds the opening of Led Zeppelin's “Kashmir” blasts through the St. Pete Times Forum, and the traditional blue explosion lights up the Forum as the SWF's commissioner steps through the curtain. As the arena lights up with flashbulbs, the fans can see that Flesher is carrying the International Championship with him. He has the belt folded and carries it in front of him, the look on his face bittersweet as he once again holds a championship belt... but only in the most literal sense. As the fans continue cheering, Flesher steps into the ring and stands in the centre for a moment, his expression serious as he motions for an official. He hands the International Title to the referee, then grabs a microphone. “Good evening, Tampa,” he says. “I won't be out here for long, so don't worry. We'll have another guy to chew your ear off after another commercial. No, I'm only out here for a few minutes... not even long enough to smoke a cigarette, really... to let you know what I'm going to do with these ten pounds of gold.” “As you know,” Flesher continues, “in the SWF, wrestlers are not permitted to hold more than one championship within the same division. Those divisions, for singles championships, are Cruiserweight, Heavyweight and Hardcore; each different set of rules creates a separate division. The only time this clause triggers anymore, therefore, is just the situation Alan Clark created at 13th Hour. Under the current rules, it is impermissible to hold the World and International Championships simultaneously.” “After doing a fair amount of research, I have come to two conclusions. The first is that the rules do not specify the method of filling a vacancy for a championship; we have had battle royals, singles matches, and tournaments. We've even handed the championship to the number-one contender.” “That won't be happening this time.” “No, we have a fairly-crowned number-one contender in Jay Hawke, and in Johnny Dangerous, we have an heir presumptive: the first International Champion, a man who has given the former Champion a hard time in the ring, and a man with talent. That brings me to my second conclusion: Johnny Dangerous is bad for business.” The fans immediately turn on Flesher, booing loudly. He holds his hands up in a profession of innocence, and protests, “Listen, I wouldn't be telling you this if it weren't true. Johnny Dangerous not only brings our insurance bills up through the roof with his silly spy antics, but no one is willing to pay to see him. Even the highest-rated pay-per-view shows he headlined were backed by a strong sub-main event, and frankly, if you leave him alone as the headliner, well...” Flesher points his thumb to the mat and lets loose a bronx cheer. “So, I'll cut to the chase. The International Championship will cease to be after the next pay-per-view show. For the right to be the final International Champion, and to face the World Champion, whomever he may be, at the pay-per-view, we're going to have a good old-fashioned singles match. In one corner is Jay Hawke.” Booooooooo! “In the other is Johnny Dangerous.” YEAAAAHHHHHHH! “Or Tracey Bruner.” BOOOOOOOOO! “Dangerous and Bruner, two weeks from tonight, will fight for the right to face Jay Hawke for the final International Championship and the right to face the World Champion at Ground Zero! And next week, Johnny has an engagement to appear on the House of Marvelous! Goodness,” Flesher says, “that's going to be an interesting encounter.” With that, “Kashmir” lights up again, and to a round of boos, Flesher walks out of the ring.

[Fade in from a black screen] [shot of ‘Justice’ William Hearford III standing in a gym with a ring behind him and talking to the camera] JUDGE: It’s one of the hardest jobs in the world, no doubt about it. The show schedule, the road schedule, the training, working through the injuries… these guys are going to have to give it their all if they want a hope of making it. [Drew Kelk is standing with a whistle and a stopwatch while several young men and women run back and forth doing speed and endurance exercises] C.I.A.: C’mon, you think being a pro wrestler is all about the moves? If you can’t keep going in the ring, how are you going to do those moves? You’ve got to be faster, you’ve got to be fitter! [Tom Flesher is in the ring with a big young man in a T-shirt and what look like MMA shorts who is clearly bracing himself for something] FLESHER: You ready? [The young man nods, and Flesher shoteis him in the jaw. He staggers, but doesn’t fall over] FLESHER: That hurt? TRAINEE (wincing): Uh… yeah. FLESHER: But you’re still on your feet. TRAINEE: Yeah, I- [Flesher dives in with a blast double-leg takedown, then transitions into a spinning toehold before dropping an elbow into the right knee. He then rolls into and takes the leg with him before turning over into a half-crab. The trainee taps furiously and immediately until Flesher lets him go. Flesher addresses the rest of them] FLESHER: This isn’t about who hits hardest, gentlemen and ladies, this is about learning to wrestle. If you’re going to come into my company you’re going to need to listen to your trainers and pay close attention, because if you don’t all get a lot lot better than Matthew here, you won’t last two minutes beyond the opening bell. [The shot returns to Bill Hearford, watching some of the trainees in the ring. He speaks to the camera again] JUDGE: Some of these guys have got potential, sure. Will they make it in the SWF? Some of them might, given time. But only one of them's gonne get it handed to him or her. TEN MEN TEN WOMEN ONE PROMOTION ONE CONTRACT SWF SMARK ENOUGH II

"Welcome back to Storm, and up…" The arena lights drop, cueing a guttural, distorted warbling from the speakers, which brings the fans up to their feet as tension among them builds. "…next…" Then a final growl kicks "Scientific Remote Viewing" by Cephalic Carnage into gear, as flashing strobes begin to pulse, while smoke billows out from the stage and the crowd begins to boo. The curtain parts and MANSON walks out, clad in a large, hooded cloak and metallic mask, under which his true form resides, as darkness piercing spotlights shine down upon him. "MANSON is here, just what I wanted," says a disgusted Francis, while Suicide King stands. "And don't rise for him, man." He strides down the aisle, his eyes never straying from the ring, as the numerous chains on his person rattle ominously with each step. On his approach he slides in under the bottom rope and stands, pulling a mic from under his cloak and raising it up to face level. "And he has a microphone with him. The only thing worse than watching him pearl harbor defenseless individuals is hearing him ramble." "Hey! He shows respect to everyone here, so I'm sure he'd appreciate some in return, Mak." "I was the man of the Hour," he begins, "the one with the power, too sweet to be sour! Yeah!" "Who is he now, Billy Graham?!" "He is whoever he wants to be." "Well he's cribbed from everyone else." "You could feel it in the air, the storm clouds were gathering above… lightning flashing, thunder booming… blood boiling… ready to explode, the night was right, yeah, it was. The owerwhelming, dooming force… it was in full effect, the Stampede was rocking and rolling, in fact… MANSONOSITY WAS RUNNING WILD!" "Can we just lock him up already? How is he still employed here?!" "It was running through my body, in these veins of mine, the pulse of life. In my hands was the truth of the universe and I was on top of the world! I climbed that mountain, from the top of Olympus I looked down, surveying my domain and everything I rule over, then… a jolt straight to the chest! I fell back down to Earth, thousands of feet through the air, faster, faster and faster, then crashing to the ground and shaking the planet, it opened up and swallowed me whole, and left a crater to mark the land." "Tell me what he just said." "It was pretty clear to me, Mak." "You're his friend, aren't you? I'm asking you to please get him some help." "But then, from the dirt I rose, walking miles to the battleground that still lay ahead through the quakes and lava triggered by my crash, but found it was over. The fall I took, the impact of which shook the land and killed the dinosaurs, that's what it took to put me to rest, Jimmy The Doom, but here I am again. Yeah, I stood up from that dent in the Earth, man, through it all I rose again, and walked some more, like Moses I parted the sea, until I reached here tonight to stand in front of all the faithful MANSONITES out here!" "BOOOOOOOO!" "Now there are MANSONITES?!" "Ever since the Cult of MANSONOSITY came into being." "Living Colour, right?" "The pamphlet, Mak." "There was nothing like that in there, I read it months ago." "That's the old one, the new one elaborates on the latest directive, the new manifesto, if you will." "The one about reducing to SWF to ashes, right? I think I'll pass. With all the SWF doom and gloom that's the last thing I need to read." "It's not too late for you, Mak." "You know what I'm talking about, Jimmy The Doom, if that is your real name. You may have tried your best to spare the SWF by slaying the dragon, but I'm unbreakable, there's nothing you or anyone can do to kill me, man, and that's because MANSON CAN NEVER DIE!" "BOOOOOOOOOO!" "Thank you. And by the way, Doom, I looked… and it's real intersting about you, yeah, real interesting. I looked and Doomtopia doesn't even exist, you idiot! You're living in a fantasyland, Jimmy The Doom! You are living a lie! I bet you're not even Straight Bread! You don't live where I do, Jimmy, in the real world, doing real things with my power. Stop lying to these poor, misguided people… look into truth and the reality of MANSONOSITY that stands in front of you before I'm forced to take you downtown to Chinatown and beat some sense into you, yeah. Though it's not my place anymore to save you, so it's more appropiate to say, you should save yourself before then." "This doesn't… he's telling OTHERS to stop living in a fabricated world?!" "He may be a little… eccentric, but he's the one with the most sense around here." "Yeah. There's only one reality, Jimmy, and his name is MANSON! But that's something that Landon doesn't seem to get. I've heard rumblings in the back that you're displeased with me, friend. The fact is you were supposed to keep that belt, Landon, and I was supposed to take it from you, that was the plan before 13th Hour, two in one, yeah, two in one, but you didn't do it!" "You tell him, MANSON!" shouts King. "You tell him!" "The one thing you have that I want of yours is gone, Maddix. Yeah, I already took you out and I'm betting I could do it again, but there's no point to it anymore except to try and break your neck, but there's no reason now. Go play with Zyon or head after Toxxic again. Because you don't matter to me anymore!" "BOOOOOOOOOOOO!" "That's harsh, King." "But oh so true." "At any rate, I can't figure out what his problem with Landon is." "You heard him, it's about what MANSON wants and what everyone's problem with Maddix is, but I'm not the Messiah's spokesman by any means." "You could've fooled me." "But you should be grateful, Maddix, because your life is yours, it's no longer in my possession. So keep one thing in mind, SWF. I'm a train going full speed on the path to hell and you can either jump on board and come with me, or if you're one of those on the track, you can either get out of the way or get killed. See, I mean what I say and say what I mean, friends, and that is you can't stop the God Machine! If I'm going down, I'm taking this place with me, if you know what I'm talking about..." says MANSON, as he drops the mic to the mat and heads out of the ring. "I guarantee you the ratings just went up, like, fifteen points. Great stuff." "He stole a page from someone's rhyme book, some very clever stuff there," says a sarcastic Mak, "but this non-sensical tirade only confirms what we already knew… I've known MANSON for a long, long time, but this only proves what I believe in that he's gone completely off the deep end." Delete Post

“Who have we got coming up now, King?” Mak Francis asks, shuffling through his notes. The Suicide King looks exasperated. “How the hell should I know?” he snaps, “it’s not like we’ve got a list of matches, or, or a… running order or anything…” He takes a swig of his Dr. Pepper. “I mean, maybe no-one will come out for the next fifteen minutes! There’s no structure here Francis, the first warning we get is someone’s music hitti-” The lights white out, every single one in the arena hitting full. The Smartron goes with them, switching to a screen almost painful in its brightness. A faint *skritch-skritch* sound starts to creep from the PA system, the sound of a needle gently scraping over vinyl. “Well, this is a pleasant surprise,” King says, smiling. “WEL-WEL-W-W-WELCOME TO THE REVOLUTION!” The deep voice booms out across the St. Pete Times Forum with the skittering jump of a scratched record, followed instantly by the elliptical guitar of Rage Against The Machine’s ‘Know Your Enemy’. The words ‘REV-0’ flash up onto the Smarktron and start rotating, first one way and then the other, with occasional split-second flashes of the members - a lopsided grin, a bulky figure in a leather jacket, hands holding the Cruiserweight Title belt, a girl with a can of lager in her hand. Smoke starts to rise from the soundstage as the drums come in and slowly the lights start to fade down… “BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!” The fans know what (and indeed who) is coming and make their feelings known, but they’re momentarily drowned out as the main guitar riff hits. A few seconds later and three massive pyro explosions detonate on the soundstage- *BOOOM!* *BOOOM!* *BOOOM!* ‘KNOW YOUR ENEMY!’ -and out come Revolution Zero! Toxxic comes first, leading the way with his trenchcoat flapping behind him and the familiar lopsided grin on his face despite the hellish match he went through against his former friend Gabriel Drake a few days ago; then comes The Fabulous Jakey in a glittery pink jacket with his Cruiserweight Title strapped firmly around his waist; Austin Sly comes next, sneering around at the fans, while bringing up the rear (eventually) comes Toxxic’s sister Amy, swigging lager and generally ignoring her surroundings. “Ladies and gentlemen, please welcome to the ring at this time,” Funyon announces, despite knowing he’s wasting his breath, “REVOLUTION ZEEEEEEERRRRRRRRROOOOOOOOO!!” “BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!” Toxxic rolls into the ring and beckons to the veteran ring announcer, then takes possession of the microphone as Funyon exits the squared circle. The fans continue to boo and jeer as the Straight-Edge Sensation looks around, but Toxxic’s been booed by bigger and nastier crowds than those in Florida, so he shrugs it off. “Y’know,” Toxxic begins conversationally, “there were people who asked why I was reforming Revolution Zero, and there were also people who asked why specifically I had chosen these two,” he jerks one black-nailed thumb over his shoulder at Sly and Jakey, “to reform it with. People seemed to think that it wouldn’t ‘live up’ to the old days, for some reason. Live up to what, exactly?” He starts to tick points off on his fingers. “Sean Davis, I mean he’s a nice guy, but about as reliable as a chocolate kettle.” [“Four Hardcore reigns and two runs with the tag titles,” King notes. “More like a slow jog with the tag titles,” Mak replies, “did either time last more than about two weeks?”] “Then of course there was Spike Jenkins,” Toxxic adds with a grin, “and I think we all know what I think about the so-called ‘New Straight-Edge Sensation’. Not a bad wrestler, but his ego caused him to, shall we say, overreach himself?” [“Record-breaking Cruiserweight Title run,” King puts in, “plus a tag run with Sean Davis.” “Did Spike defend that title against anyone except Kaine and… well, Austin Sly?” Mak asks.] “Sacred…” Toxxic says, grimacing. “Yeah, well, I don’t think he ever was in Revolution Zero anyway.” [“Two-time World Champion,” Suicide King points out happily. “Come on, even Toxxic’s not claiming that he was actually in the group,” Mak snorts.] “Scott Pretzler, who managed to be both obnoxious and self-centered whilst also being one of the most talented mat wrestlers in the company,” Toxxic continues, “so all in all a fitting replacement for Spike… apart from the bit about being one of the most talented mat wrestlers in the company,” he concludes with a grin. [“Another Cruiserweight Champion,” King nods, “and Your Personal Jesus, Mak.” “Mine?” “Well, he should be. Rotator cuffs have a lot to answer for.”] “And finally of course, JJ Johnson,” Toxxic finishes, “whose ability to choke opponents out was only surpassed by his own tendency to choke in big matches.” [“Longest reigning Cruiserweight Champion of all time,” King says, “and one bad mofo.” “Word.”] “Now, look at Austin Sly and The Fabulous Jakey, if you please,” Toxxic continues, directing the audiences attention towards the other two members of Revolution Zero. “See what Jakey’s got around his waist? Hold it up Jakey, let them see…” Grinning widely, The Fabulous Jakey unbuckles his Cruiserweight Title and lifts it over his head, turning on the spot so all four corners of the arena can see it clearly. Needless to say, the response is not a great one. “BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!” “The Fabulous Jakey is your two-time Cruiserweight Champion,” Toxxic announces, “and you know who he beat to win it? Wildchild!” “DUB-CEE!” “DUB-CEE!” “DUB-CEE!” “Yeah yeah, Dub-Cee Dub-Cee rah-rah-rah,” Toxxic cuts in, doing a little shuffling dance as he mocks the fans, “newsflash, morons; chanting his name didn’t work at 13th Hour, did it?” “TOXX-IC SUCKS!” “TOXX-IC SUCKS!” “Ah, stow it,” the straight-edger laughs, flipping a two-fingered salute at the crowd, “don’t take it out on us because your precious high-wire artist was stupid enough to try and beat someone of Jakey’s ability with the same move twice! You see, a Revolution is always developing, always moving on, always gathering pace, whereas Wildchild has one bag of tricks that he can’t leave behind.” “Pulling the tights isn’t very revolutionary,” Mak Francis chips in, “I mean, you did that for years King.” “Jakey never pulled the tights!” Suicide King exclaims in horror, “and even if he did, he was simply upholding a long-standing tradition of beating Wildchild for the Cruiserweight Title. And he didn’t get caught, so it doesn’t count.” “Now, let us move on to Austin Sly,” Toxxic says, clapping the heavier man on the shoulder. “Austin was in the Hardcore Title match at 13th Hour but I’ve got to say Sly, it doesn’t look like you emerged with a title.” Sly looks down at his waist and shakes his head in mock-sadness while Toxxic turns around to look out at the crowd. “But that doesn’t matter,” the Englishman continues, addressing the audience, “and you know why? Because Austin was neither pinned, nor made to submit! Jimmy The Doom made MANSON tap out, not Austin! Which means that MANSON can go back to rabble-rousing, wandering around in a cloak and generally acting like he’s the second coming of Palpatine-” “I want to see MANSON shoot lightning from his fingers,” King cuts in. “Why would he need it when he has laser eyes?” Mak shrugs. “-and Austin here can get another shot at Jimmy The Doom, this time without some messiah-wannabe getting in the way and fouling things up!” Toxxic finishes. “See, Austin’s got an enormous amount of potential, but when you’ve got a music career to fall back on maybe you don’t always push yourself as hard as you can, am I right?” He looks around at Sly, who shrugs amiably. “YOU CAN’T SING!” “YOU CAN’T SING!” “Now, I’ve got my own little announcement to make in the aftermath of 13th Hour,” Toxxic adds, “a little message to go out to one Gabriel Drake.” “BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!” “Well, yes,” Toxxic says, looking pleased as the crowd boo the name of his opponent and enemy, “see Gabe, I don’t know where you are. I don’t know how are, and to be honest I don’t care. You came to this company with one intention - to ruin my life like you felt I ruined yours, years ago. Didn’t happen though, did it? You managed to take the World Title from me, but when we stepped up for another go it looks like I came out on top.” He levels one black-nailed finger at the camera, presumably for Drake’s benefit if he’s watching. “We’re at one-one, Gabe. If you’ve got the balls to come back at me for a decider, I’ll be waiting.” “You know King, much as I enjoyed their match at 13th Hour I don’t think I want to see Gabriel Drake and Toxxic go at it again,” Mak Francis remarks, “because next time I’m not sure if either of them would walk away!” “You know, Peters teamed Toxxic and Landon up,” King muses, “why not team Toxxic and Drake up and send them after Wild & Dangerous?” “Good God, no,” Mak says in horror. “TOXX-IC SUCKS!” “TOXX-IC SUCKS!” “I’d just like to leave you with a little thought,” Toxxic says, turning away to face his compatriots again but still addressing the fans. “I said before that the Revolution is always evolving… and I don’t just mean the people who are already in it.” The lopsided grin creeps over his face again. “Don’t expect things to stay the way they are, people. The call has gone out, and the Revolutionaries are answering. So for everyone who expected Revolution Zero to fade away…” Florida knows what’s coming, but they can’t stop it. “…prepare to be proved wrong.” ‘Know Your Enemy’ kicks in again and the four members of the new Revolution Zero start to leave up the ramp. Jakey is still holding onto his Cruiserweight Title, determined not to let it out of his grasp, Toxxic’s still grinning and Austin Sly and Amy Stephens are exchanging a few words as they bring up the rear. “King, do you think Toxxic’s actually found some new members or is just trying to stir the pot a bit?” Mak asks. “I don’t know, but if he has I hope it goes better than last time when he brought Sacred in and the whole thing started to crack,” Suicide King replies. “Fans, we’ll be back after this short break, don’t go away!” Mak calls. FADE OUT

You'd be joining a proud group of people who should be retirees.

Yup, it's a promo show from the St. Pete Times Forum in St. Petersburg, Florida! Due 6/10 at 10 PM Eastern. Next show will be for Friday, June 15th, and we'll get back on schedule.

Sunday, then Friday, then Wednesday, wiseass.

“This is getting out of control here! Wildchild almost stopped Landon in mid-stride to the ring but thought better of it at the last second and I think Kivell saw it!” the replay plays in the corner of the screen to show Wildchild almost cutting Maddix off near the apron, only to stop at the last possible moment and nearly trip over his own two feet. Kivell throws both men a warning, and makes a point to tell the Caribbean Cruiser that any interference will send him back to the locker room early. Johnny Dangerous gives Landon a few words of his own, causing Kivell to have to separate the two men once again, but Johnny pushes past and gets right in the World Champion’s face as he steps up onto the apron! “There’s going to be a boil over right here! Landon Maddix is not the legal man! Johnny needs to calm down before he costs himself the Championship!” “Don’t look now, Mak, but Clark is back up, I mean barely back up, but he is on his feet and heading straight toward the distracted Johnny Dangerous!” “JOHNNY!!” Wildchild screams from around the corner, spinning his partner around in time to see Alan diving straight at him! “Big Splash! NOOOO!” screams the Franchise as Johnny swerves out of the way, sending Alan into the corner chest-first! Clark stumbles out from the turnbuckle, his body doubled over from the pain, but it is nothing compared to the feeling of Johnny’s right leg draping over the back of his neck and planting him face-first into the canvas! “And a huge Guillotine Face Driver! COVER!” One! Two! “NO! FOOT ON THE ROPES!” The referee’s hand is almost on the mat when he suddenly retracts and points towards the ropes, where Alan’s foot hangs gingerly. Even Landon Maddix looks shocked at his spot on the apron, the first pinfall attempt he has not tried to break up so far in the contest. “He is just prolonging the agony now, Alan Clark has always been one of those guys that hates to give up and give in, but he’s just going to have to eventually. I’m getting sick of this…” the King’s voice trails away as Johnny stands and drags Alan’s body toward the center of the ring, giving another look toward Maddix as he stands Alan back up and sends him towards the ropes… “Another MI Slam coming up!!” “Clark hit the brakes!” “BOOOOOOOOOO!” The crowd lets out a loud jeer as Clark hits the ropes and stops dead, only to leap forward, skipping off two feet and firing off a hard superkick… SMAAACK! …that connects right beneath the chin! “SUPERKICK! COVER!” One! Two! Three!! “BROKEN UP AGAIN!! Do you believe it?! Maddix broke it up! Landon Maddix broke up Alan Clark’s pin attempt!” And as much shock as Mak Francis and the Suicide King are in, Alan Clark is nuclear as he rolls away from the pin attempt and looks up at Landon Maddix, who is being chastised for what seems to be the final time at the hands of Mathew Kivell. “One more time and you are out of here! GOT IT?!” Kivell can be heard screaming at the top of his lungs, that in and of itself shocking Landon as he climbs back through the ropes and shakes his head, giving Megan a cautious look. She only shrugs in return and motions for him to hold back now, shaking her head as Landon inaudibly begins to mouth questions toward her. “Landon is a misstep away from no longer having his world championship! YES!” King is finally happy about something happening in the match, but with both Alan Clark and Johnny Dangerous taking their time in standing back up to their feet; it seems he will have an easy run through whoever happens to still be standing, regardless of any tags that happen between now and then. He makes sure to give the ringside fans a smile and a wave, causing a few flashbulbs to pop as Alan clutches at Johnny and spins him around, going belly-to-back before lifting him off his feet and throwing him over and straight down chest-first into the mat! “Mister Clark’s Wild Ride connects! That superkick might have taken enough out of Johnny Dangerous to knock him out of this match! There’s the cover!” One! Two! Threeeeeeeeee…NO!! “YEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!” “Johnny Dangerous kicked out barely…and I mean BARELY!” exclaims Francis as Johnny’s shoulder leaves the canvas. “JOHN-NY! JOHN-NY! JOHN-NY!” The crowd’s chants do not seem to sit well with the International Champion, who stands and gives Johnny another hard kick to the face before moving down towards the Barracuda’s legs…. “And we’ve seen this before, haven’t we, King? Johnny Dangerous tapped out to Alan Clark at From The Fire, and it seems like Clark is hoping lightning strikes twice!” Francis chats over the scene as Alan pulls Johnny’s body upside down and into position, crossing his legs in short order…only for Johnny to pulls his legs down and then fire them straight up, throwing Clark off his feet and across the ring! “Johnny almost went to EPSOT but got away just in the nick of time!” Johnny stands in time to see Alan somersault backwards and to his feet… “JOHNNY KICK!” “NO!” WHAAAAM! “CUTTING IN LINE! FOR THE SECOND TIME TONIGHT!!” Alan ducks out of the way and grabs the Barracuda by the back of the head, quickly falling and causing Johnny’s body to bounce violently off the mat! Alan exhaustedly throws his right arm over the tag champion’s chest “Alan Clark has the cover and Landon Maddix is freaking out on the apron! One! “Landon wants to break it! He’s losing his mind! Two! “Here he comes! He’s in the ring and running toward Alan and Johnny! Threeeeeeeee!! Ding! Ding! Ding! “He didn’t make it and Mathew Kivell almost got tripped over!” Kivell calls for the bell as Landon falls over him, arms outstretched toward his two opponents. As the referee tries to sort things out in the ring, Funyon’s voice booms over the PA… “Ladies and Gentlemen…as the result of a pinfall…Johnny Dangerous has been ELIMINATED!” “BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!” “Wildchild is not pleased!” calls the Suicide King as Wildchild helps Johnny from the ring, juggling the two title belts and helping his partner toward the back as the camera follows, the scene splitting in two as one follows Wild and Dangerous backstage and the other keeps an eye on the action in the ring, where Kivell has put himself between Landon Maddix and Alan Clark, giving Alan a moment to get himself back on his feet with some help from the ring ropes. “And would you look at what we are seeing backstage!” calls Francis as Wildchild throws the curtain back for his partner, only to see Tom Flesher leaning against a wall in the gorilla position, a cigarette in his right hand, a half-empty pack in his shirt pocket, and a flask in his left hand making periodic trips to his lips. In front of him sits a few empty chairs and the monitor, where he now sees himself. “I was hoping the others would watch too.” Flesher remarks as he takes another drag and flicks the BUTT across the floor where it will no doubt be picked up by a random intern. “You are welcome to a seat.” But Johnny can do nothing but kick the chair closest to him down the hall, the sound echoing as the Barracuda disappears around a corner. Tom motions for Wildchild to follow before moving for another cigarette. “Get back to the ring, Jerry. Now!” and the scene clicks away, going back to ringside where Kivell has finally decided to let the two men go at it. “Well, that sure was unpleasant, but you know Tom has been almost obsessive over giving the World Heavyweight Championship a good home, and I think there may have even been a little part of him that was hoping Johnny Dangerous would somehow pull out a victory here.” “Compared to these other two, Mak, maybe. There is nothing but bitter respect between both Dangerous and Flesher, and that is saying a lot given how many people in this business Tom has any respect for, bitter or otherwise!” but the two men in the ring know a little bit about respect themselves, at least between each other, as Landon gives Alan all the room he wants, that is until Alan yanks the tie from the back of his hair and throws it behind him, his eyes shooting up and straight towards Landon’s. “And what is this now? Clark thinking he is going to strike fear into the heart of Landon Maddix by letting his hair down?” “Alan knows that he has a bit of an edge on Landon given their history. They’ve each taken away titles from the other, but only one of them is on the line here tonight and Alan WANTS IT!” Francis finishes with a flourish as Alan points his right hand out toward Maddix and then moves his hands to his waist, mouthing something that it seems only the World Champ can hear. “Landon might have been trying to wear down Alan and Johnny by keeping them in the ring together for as long as possible, but it seems Alan’s saving of Landon Maddix might have been because he wants to be the one that puts him down!” “Let’s go!” Kivell screams as each man circles the other as the crowd once again begins to cheer and chant, growing louder and louder with each passing moment. “MAD-DIX! MAD-DIX! MAD-DIX!” “AL-AN SUCKS! AL-AN SUCKS!” “That’s not the kind of dueling chant the International Champion would like to hear!” calls the Franchise, but if Alan Clark can hear them (and he most certainly can) he is not giving them the benefit of seeing it on his face. “And we’ve got a tie-up!” “Landon isn’t one to excel in the strength department, unless he’s lifting cases of Pepsi-Max…” remarks the Suicide King, but the nearly twenty minutes of constant action has taken its toll on Clark, and Maddix quickly takes advantage with a hard pull down and an even harder strike up, slamming his knee into Alan’s chest with authority! “If this is something Alan Clark has been fighting for, he’d better keep fighting or he is going to have a very angry Tom Flesher to answer to.” “Well you try wrestling someone fresh after a long battle already under your belt!” “That was every night of my CAREER!” The Suicide King slams his fist down, drawing the camera to the commentators to see Francis try to calm him down before switching quickly back in ring just in time to see Landon fire off a rapid succession of kicks square into Alan’s left temple as he flounders on the canvas! “Well, it was a shot just like that right there, a hard point to the temple, that wound up getting Alan the Cruiserweight Championship a few months ago, and I am sure Landon knows that the right shot in the right spot will knock a man out!” but before unconsciousness can be reached Landon simply lets Alan fall onto his face. Not exactly satisfied, Landon takes a second to pose with his foot pressed down on the nape of Clark’s neck! “MAD-DIX! MAD-DIX! MAD-DIX!” “What a showboat! This is horrible!” continues the King, but Landon does not pose for long, removing his foot from Alan’s neck for only a split second as he leaps up and comes straight back down, slamming both of his feet between Alan’s shoulder blades! A second bony bounce later and Landon falls down back-first, slamming all of his weight down and into Clark, sending all of his limps shooting out in every direction from the force! “Showboat, maybe, but that combo can really put a hurt on a man’s neck, and with that Land Of Nod submission so tried and so true, especially lately in the career of the champ you have to know it’s exactly what he is going for! He’s made Alan Clark tap out before!” “But Alan has done the same, Mak! Sad as it is, don’t you forget it!” “I am not forgetting it, King, Alan Clark is a fairly accomplished technical wrestler. I know you’ll say he’s no Tom Flesher…” “Nobody is!” “…but he holds some amazing submission victories in his past!” continues Mak, doing his best to steamroll through his partner’s BUTT-kissing as Landon keeps on the neck and head of Clark, returning back to a facelock and rolling Clark up and into the Wet Cement! “Now he’s got Alan Clark trapped in the cement! Tom Flesher is damn near ready to break that monitor back there!” “It is proven effective! Alan Clark is flailing!” Kivell begins to try and check for submission, but his attempts to get close cause him to simply be pushed away by Clark as the International Champion groans and moans against the hold, slamming his forearms into Landon’s ribs and rocking his body, trying to do anything he can to escape! “COME ON, LANDON!” Megan can be heard screaming at the top of her lungs, the complete opposite of the stone-faced Walter Reynolds, who gives her nothing more than a quick glance as he tries to keep his own composure intact. “Landon is fighting with all he can to keep the hold locked on, but Alan is pulling his own body sideways to fight away….and he does!” Clark is finally able to put his own body sideways, pinning Landon’s left leg down and giving Alan the opportunity to swing his left knee back and then forward, slamming it into Landon’s tailbone, the painful shiver overcoming Maddix is enough to break the hold, leaving Clark to roll away and Landon to slowly get back to his feet, rubbing his lower back from the shockwave that just shot through it. “Alan escapes the Wet Cement, but how much longer can he stave off the World Champion?!” Francis throws out the question, leaving the Suicide King to grumble in response… “BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!” “This crowd really thought it might have been over right there and they are not happy that Alan broke free!” but a few seconds of jeers are nothing to Alan compared to the pain in his neck, his body slumped over on the mat with only his knees, hands, and side of his face on the canvas as he tries to sit back up… SMAAAACK! ...only to EAT the right knee of Landon Maddix!! “Shining Wizard TO THE FACE!!” screams the Franchise, but the force of the blow sends Alan backwards and rolling toward the outside of the ring, more by sheer momentum than by any thought on his part. His body lands just a few feet from Walter Reynolds, who backs up immediately at the request of Matthew Kivell. “If Landon Maddix had been paying attention he might have just won the match! Now he’s giving Alan some time to catch his breath!” “I don’t think he’s giving him any time, King!” Mak calls as Landon slides to the outside and pulls Alan up, taking note of the glaze in the International Champion’s eyes before he throws him back under the ropes. “He’s smiling! More than he has as of late to be sure! And there’s the cover as he slides back into the ring!” One! Two! Three!! NOOOOOOO!! “BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!” “Alan Clark got his shoulder up! Alan Clark got his shoulder up and Landon Maddix can’t believe it!” “I told you…” replies the Suicide King as Landon immediately rolls Clark to his back and goes right back to work with the facelock, wrenching Alan’s neck as hard as he can as he stands and pulls Alan up as he goes. With all the focus on his opponent, Landon drags Alan toward the corner, pushing his own back into the turnbuckles before jumping out, around, and straight down… WHAM! …driving Alan face-first into the mat with a picture-perfect Tornado DDT and follows with a pin! One! “That’s it! Alan Clark is OUT! This cover is completely academic…” Two!! “Get the champagne ready in Madrid!” Threeeeeeeeee!! “SHOULDER UP! SHOULDER UP! MY GOD!” And as something Landon has no doubt bore witness to before, the sound of the ring bell does not greet him as he looks up but instead it is the left hand of Alan Clark hanging in the air, almost hoping that Maddix will see it there. “And Maddix is (bleep)SSED!” “The censors almost missed that one, King, but you are right! He is pulling Clark back up to his feet like a slab of meat!” exclaims the Franchise as Landon drags Alan up and, with little fanfare, locks in a front chancery - setting his sights back toward the turnbuckle! “Could be the Shiranui! This can transition into the Land of Nod like a salad to a steak…” the analogy flops, but not Landon Maddix as he leaps into the air and hits the ropes… SPPROOOOOING! “Here comes the flip…but Alan is holding him back!” There is a low gasp throughout the crowd as Alan’s hands clutch out at Landon’s tights almost by intuition, keeping the World Champion from completing his flip and instead bringing him down straight onto the top of his head!! THUD! “GOOD LORD!” scream both announcers at near the same instant, “Alan Clark just spiked Landon Maddix!” but as Landon falls onto his side and Megan nearly has a stroke on the outside, Clark himself does very little besides rolling onto his own side, the replay repeating over and over from a few different angles as Kivell begins his count on the two downed superstars… “One!” “That was insane! It might not have been intentional, but it might have just swayed the tide back to Clark’s side. I mean, just look at the way Landon’s body compressed there!” “Two!” “I see it, King, as did everyone watching at home and everyone here tonight. A surprise Backlot Suplex, of sorts, and that is the kind of thing that could cause a concussion if not worse!” “Three!” “Get up, Landon! Get up!” calls Megan, and even Walter has moved closer to the ring, putting both of his hands on the apron as he looks toward the two men still laying mostly motionless in the ring. “Four!” “This can’t end this way! Landon Maddix might be out cold! We can’t have a knocked out World Champion!” “I don’t think he’s completely out. I have seen some movement from both men…” “Five!” calls Kivell and sure enough both men begin to stir, with Alan working to get his knees underneath himself as Landon begins a slumped crawl toward the ropes and the waiting Megan, who tries to remain both out of the way enough to keep out of Kivell’s radar but close enough to try and help out her man as the color starts to come back to his vision. “Six…” “Alan is almost up!” Alan finally gets up to his knees and stands defiantly, but only for a moment before once again collapsing back down to one knee, doing just enough to break Kivell’s count and call that the match shall continue as Landon’s right hand reaches the bottom rope! “This is gut-check time, to steal a cliché, and Alan Clark might have just saved himself!” The Suicide King, along with everyone else, keeps a close eye on the ring as Alan throws both of his hands around his neck and groans loudly, his eyes rapidly moving from wide open to tightly clenched as he tries to get a glimpse of where Maddix ended up, finally noticing the world champion clutching at the ropes as he works to stand up, every advantage he had seemingly blown away in one mind-numbing fall. “Landon Maddix tried for that shiranui because it has led to victories before and you have to know the Land Of Nod was only seconds away if he would have connected!” “But he didn’t and now just look at him!!” adds the King as the ringside camera zooms in on Maddix’s face to show it awash and featuring a slight glaze as he fights back to even keel in time to see Alan moving his way… SMACK! “What a forearm from Landon Maddix! Where did that come from?!” the shot knocks Clark backwards and the champ shakes away the cobwebs and tries to regain the offensive edge by quickly following up, tossing Alan towards the ropes and catching him on the rebound with a harsh, and only somewhat sloppy, Samoan Drop! “He almost couldn’t even get Alan Clark up, but the momentum was definitely a help and there is another cover!” One! Two! Three! “NO! Clark kicks out once again! He knows he can defeat Landon Maddix and he’s done it on the 13th Hour stage before! He’ll go an hour if he has to!” “Okay, no thank you on that one…” “Unlike three years ago, this match has no time limit and is only one fall to the championship! And, if my memory serves me, it was Landon Maddix that took the first fall in that Iron Man contest and he looks like he is very close from doing it once again here tonight – but this time it will be victory.” “Can’t you ever see things my way for once!” laments the King as Landon’s face shows that maybe, just maybe, the champ has had enough and turns himself around to face the downed Clark, who has rolled to his side to defend against any second-chance pin attempts. The ninety-degree twist may have done just that, but it may have given Maddix the opportunity he needs… …to snatch on the Land of Nod!!! “YEEAAAAAAAAAH!!!” “LAND OF NOD! He’s got Alan’s body bent backwards and locked –“ “GAAAH!” “Ooooh!” Francis reacts vocally as Landon reacts physically to Alan’s thumb going straight into his eye, the stab whipping Maddix back violently and setting Clark free, if only to have to listen to Kivell screaming in his ear. “I don’t know how intentional that was given the circumstances. It seems he might have been just trying to get his hands around Landon’s head and missed. I know there’s a chance I could. Let’s go to the replay.” And as Kivell checks on both Alan and Landon the replay shows both of Alan’s hands going back and over his head, the thumb of his right hand catching Landon’s right eye as Landon’s body twists to try and get the best grip possible. “I think I’m going to have to say that was an accident right there.” “Who cares!? Landon might be blind!” and indeed Landon is still holding his right eye as he gets up to his knees, moving his hand enough for Kivell to take a check over it and for the camera to zoom in and show just a small amount of blood trickling across it. “I see blood!” “A blood vessel might have been broken there, and I’m not even sure Alan knows what he did, just that he got away from the Land of Nod!” Alan, indeed, looks none the wiser as he again collapses and rolls to his chest, looking up and across the ring to see Maddix holding his face in pain. The camera that was had been on Landon pans to Clark to show that, even through the harsh breathing for air, Alan looks to be smiling – his hair dangling disheveled over his face. “I think he knows now!” “Whatever advantage Landon Maddix might have had is completely out the window!” And as Kivell is brushed away by Landon, the champ is met with a few knuckles straight below his brow, no doubt sending a harsh flash of white light across his vision as Alan Clark connects with a stiff right hand. “And that was a closed fist to the eye! That kind of thing can end a man’s career!” “I’d say wrestling Alan Clark should be the end of your career, cause there is no lower you can go when it’s over!” but, comments from the Gambling Man aside and even with warnings from the referee, Alan stays on top of Maddix as much as he can, giving up the closed fists for a blindingly (no pun intended) quick DDT! “Even more damage to Landon Maddix’s face now, and win or lose here tonight he might have a lot of problems in his next big commercial. Just look at that face!” the ringside camera zooms in on Maddix’s eyes as he rolls away from Clark after the DDT, showing a bit more blood slipping out from just above his eyebrow! “Alan Clark might have busted him open with those closed fists!” “Not exactly Disney-like, Francis!” but Clark stays on top of Maddix, throwing himself on top for a pinning attempt and making use of his left forearm by digging it straight into Landon’s face! One! Two! Threeee…NO!! “Landon kicked out, but it doesn’t seem to be much of a deterrent to Alan Clark right now!” With Kivell making sure Alan knows it was only a two, the International Champion almost completely brushes it off as he stands and then quickly drops straight back down, driving his right elbow right between the eyes of… “CU-CA-RA-CHA!” *clap clap clapclapclap* “This crowd is doing whatever they can to get Landon back into this match short of diving over the railing!” Mak Francis, maybe over-reacting slightly, tries to put into words the loud chanting of the crowd for Landon Maddix, who tries to fight through the seering pain and partial blindness that has come from the blood trickling down across his face. Alan appears to try and give him room, whether at Kivell’s request or not, positioning himself to Maddix’s back as Landon climbs to his knees and swipes at the air, nearly connecting with the referee who has to verbally assure the World Champion of his identity as he tries to check him over. “Landon!!” Megan calls, her voice catching her man’s attention and turning his head about back and forth, but doing little else to warn him of Alan rushing up behind him, clutching at the back of his head and driving him down into the mat with a harsh bulldog! “Dammit, Landon!” she can once again be heard as Alan pops to his feet and, after giving her a quick smile and a wave, he rushes toward the ropes and springs off the second, somersaulting backwards through the air and making sure to bring all of his weight down across Landon’s head, neck, and back! “A Walk In The Park! That’s exactly what this match is seemingly turning into for Alan Clark!” but landing on Maddix’s hard head seems to have affected Alan, as he pops up from the moonsault and rolls across the ring on his stomach, the hard head of the champ actually doing some good. “Too bad he has all the aim of Ralphie Parker!” “Well, he did almost take Maddix’s eye out…” Mak adds as Alan stands back up, visibly sucking in wind as he moves towards the barely moving Landon Maddix. Clark leans in, pulling at Landon’s shoulder and rolling him onto his knees, and then begins kicking Maddix between the eyes just as he had done to Alan just a few short minutes ago! “Not the most powerful striker in the company, for sure, but you can see the bloodletting that is going on as those kicks connect!” “CLARK! He’s got the ropes!” screams referee Kivell as Landon lunges for the bottom rope, his arm wrapping around it as Alan throws out one last hard kick , sending a dribble of spit and blood down onto the canvas from out of Maddix’s mouth. “See! Now that is the kind of image I like to see from Landon (bleep)ing Maddix!” “He looks like the victim of a car wreck! This is insane!” but Alan does give his opponent a few feet of separation, only to move back in and clutch at Maddix’s legs the first chance he can get, yanking him away from the ropes and into the center of the ring! “Alan’s got him again, and though he couldn’t get Johnny Dangerous to go, he might be able to lock in EPSOT right here and right –NO!!” “YEAAAAAAAAAA---“ One! “Maddix Small package!” Two! “—OOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!” “Clark powers out!!” screams the Franchise as Alan tries to pull Landon into his signature submission, only to have himself dragged down and over and straight onto his shoulders, the International Champion barely powering free from the surprise pinfall attempt. “Landon Maddix almost by instinct could have just won this match and kept his championship intact!” “And I’m not the only one that isn’t happy about it!” Alan has managed to get up to his feet, his mouth agape as he stares at the slowly standing and crimson-masked Landon Maddix…“BIG TIME LARIAT COMING UP!” “DUCKED!” “YEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!” WHAM!! “COMPLETE SHOT! Landon Maddix connects with the Complete Shot and there’s a COVER!” Oneeeee! Twooooooooo!! Threeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!!! “NO! Alan Clark kicks out! This match is not over! No matter what Megan planned, or what Landon Maddix or Alan Clark want, and no matter what Tom Flesher is thinking as these two men fight for their footing in that ring – it can go either way!” Indeed, both men stare each other down, Maddix through the blood in his eyes and Clark from behind his frazzled hair with Mathew Kivell in between them trying to keep on his toes. “Tom Flesher just wants a good fight! This is a big money match and that’s all he cares about!” “Way to spin, King, way to…and there’s a tie-up in the center of the ring!” Francis is interrupted as the two men meet, only for Alan Clark to suddenly fly out of the hold and drop to his knees, a bright flash of red covering his face as his hands move to his eyes! “What the (bleep)! Did he just…did he…?” “Landon Maddix might have just given Alan Clark a taste of bloodmist! We could hardly tell given that tie-up, and Kivell looks even more confused than the International Champion!” Maddix, however, simply wipes off the rest of his face with his hands and moves behind Alan, pushing past Kivell … …and looking for the Land Of Nod! “YEAAAAAAAH!!” “He’s got it, he’s—no! Alan slipped free and finds the ropes!” Alan hits the ropes and hangs across the bottom with his chest, only for Maddix to move in straight behind him, leaning between the top and middle ropes and clutching at the head of Clark before pulling him back through and pretzeling his body in the ring ropes! “LAND OF NOD IN THE ROPES!!! Alan Clark is screaming!” Clark does indeed let out a groan of pain as Kivell screams for a break… “One!” “Two!” “Three!” “Four!” Landon breaks the hold just before the five count, leaving Alan to slump back down and hang limply over the bottom rope. “That was uncalled for! Is that the kind of World Champion you want?!” “Don’t you even try to act like Alan has never spit blood in someone’s face, King!” replies Mak as Kivell backs Maddix away from the ropes, leaving Clark to pull himself back in the ring and throw himself up on the second rope…. OOMPH!!! …only to suddenly have the full weight of Landon Maddix slam down on his lower back! Landon bounces back and into the ring as Alan collapses to the canvas, but there is little rest for the weary. A harsh pull later and Landon finds himself and his prey closer to the center of the ring, and he drops for a lateral press and a cover… One! Twoooooo! Threeeeeeeeeee! “NO! Clark’s keeping alive! He wants that title!” “If he wins are we going to be closed down in a month?” asks King, thinking back to how the SJL closed its doors just a few short years ago. “I ain’t exactly going to the other company for a job.” “MAD-DIX! MAD-DIX! MAD-DIX!” “You act like they’d hire you…” mutters Francis as Landon gives the crowd a knowing nod and pulls Alan back up to his feet, spinning him around and trying to lock his arm around his neck.... “And it could be Crash Landon time! The Land Of Nod has yet to work the way Landon wants it to and—Alan’s fighting back!” Alan struggles at the hold, and succeeds in pushing Landon away, only for Maddix to turn and rush back in at full speed… OOOOOOO… WHAM! “ILLUMINATOR!! My god!” “YES!” The Suicide King is pleased as Landon’s body smashes into the canvas, leaving Alan to pop off the mat, looking exasperated – the toll of the match really showing in his eyes as they pan down toward Maddix and the smile can slowly be seen returning. An animalistic growl escapes his lips as he pulls the World Champion to his feet and drags him toward the center of the ring and into a standing headscissors. “And after that Illuminator, it might be time for the Vacation to be OVER!” Mak calls as Alan pulls Landon’s arms behind his back and looks to lift him into the air… “NO!” “YAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!!” “Landon escaped!!” Maddix goes deadweight, but only long enough to get his hands free before coming up like a shot, driving his forearm square into Clark’s chin, the uppercut sending the International champ stumbling backwards... …only to turn around to Maddix coming straight for him! “SUPERKICK!” “He ducked it, Francis! NO, WAIT!” The Suicide King’s deflates as Landon barely gets his right foot to waist level before Alan ducks out of the way, leaving Maddix to smartly dive on Clark’s back and try to lock in the Land Of Nod once again! “And now here comes the Land Of Nod and I don’t think Alan Clark is going to be able to get away this time!” but Clark fights, bucking and kicking his body like a bronco against Landon’s grasp, spinning them around and around… …and straight into the turnbuckle, sandwiching Landon Maddix in between the corner and Alan Clark’s back! “He still has that facelock hooked in, but Clark is holding both sides of the ropes and Kivell is calling for a break!” Mak Francis sounds like he is about to jump out of his wheelchair as Landon breaks the hold and Alan collapses to his back and works to get himself back toward the center of the ring. The moment Kivell clears, however, Maddix is right back on the attack and tries once again to lock in the submission hold as Alan crawls away. “Clark trying to get away but he’s looking for it again!” “He’s a tenacious little (bleep), I’ll give him that” mutters the Suicide King as Landon pulls Alan up, but once again he finds himself being thrown backwards as Clark launches his own body into Landon’s, slamming him into the corner for the second time in less than a minute! “Landon looks stunned! That kind of shot will take the wind right out of you!” and sure enough, Maddix sucks in some air as Clark pulls himself up, only to turn and once again find Landon rushing in… …but Clark is able to get himself in position for a lift! “OOOOOOOOOOOOOOO---“ THUUUUD! “Call it a Hot Shot! Call it Snake Eyes! Call it whatever you want but that might have just knocked Landon Maddix OUT!” The replay shows the reversal-slash-counter putting Landon into the turnbuckle face-first, leaving him to simply drop down in the corner, the blood he had previously wiped away looks to be coming back. “And that blood is still pouring and if he isn’t out right now, he’d better at least hope that crimson mask is blinding enough that he isn’t going to see this coming…” SMAACK! “BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!” “HOLY (BLEEP)!” both announcers trigger the censors this time as Alan Clark’s right foot drilled Landon head, sideways, into the second turnbuckle. Under the bleep, a keen listener might have made out Megan Skye letting out a curdling scream at the sight of her man’s face being buried into the corner. “AL-AN SUCKS! AL-AN SUCKS!” “That’s it, he’s out…he’s out….” Mak can do very little but repeat the phrase over and over as Alan drags Landon into the middle of the ring and holds him up with his arms behind his back, taking his time to lift him into the air and over his shoulder before SNAPPING him down and to the canvas! “The Vacation’s Over! Insult to injury! There’s the cover…” One! Two! Three!! Ding! Ding! Ding! GOOONG. The bell sounds and the jeering crowd quiets, watching as Alan Clark leans his body off of Landon’s and rolls toward the edge of the ring, leaving under one set of ropes as Megan slides under another and moves to her man, his body not having moved under it’s own power since it got dropped into the turnbuckle. “Landon Maddix had the advantage until Alan dropped him on his head and proceeded to, accidentally or not, bust him open. Then it just became a game of survival as Landon tried to protect his head and Alan fought and fought and continued to escape time and time again from the Land of Nod, and we see what it has left us with…” Mak remains professional as the Suicide King cheers next to him, waiting to hear the official announcement from Funyon… “Ladies and Gentlemen…the winner of this match by pinfall and NEEEEEEEW S-W-F HEAVYWEIGHT CHAMPION OF THE WOOOOORLD….The “Happiest Guy On Earth” ALAAAAN CLAAAAARK!” “Oh I just can’t WAAAAAAAIT to be KIIIING!” “The wait is over! Do you hear that music, Francis! Landon Maddix’s reign is no more!” cries the King as Kivell raises Alan Clark’s hand in the air, handing him both the International and, more importantly, World Heavyweight Championship titles. “I never thought you’d be so happy to see Alan Clark win the world title, King, but nevertheless he has done it. He can barely walk, but that’s still more than what Landon Maddix can do as he still has made little movement in the ring.” Alan takes a moment to raise both championships in the air before giving Landon and Megan a glance. It was one of the hardest half hours of his life, but he did it. “So now you just have to wonder what Tom Flesher is doing backstage.” “I don’t think we’ll have to wait and find out, Mak! Look!” a spotlight hits the entranceway before Walter Reynolds and Alan Clark can make it there, showing Tom Flesher standing there and awaiting his new champion. Walter freezes, but Alan shakes free and stumbles up the ramp and onto the stage, a title on each shoulder. “This could be good! Get that camera closer!” The camera moves in as Tom and Alan meet face-to-face, each staring at the other with no words between them. After a brief moment Tom points at the International Championship and leans down to Alan’s face. “I’ll want that on my desk A-S-A-P.” and reaches to shake Alan’s hand! “The International Championship is apparently being stripped away from Alan Clark, but with that other belt he has just won here tonight I doubt he’ll miss it! There he is, folks, Alan Clark, new World Heavyweight Champion, defeating Landon Maddix and Johnny Dangerous here tonight!” Mak’s voice is the last one heard, outside of the crowd’s last explosion of jeers, the sounds fading out as Tom leaves Alan and Walter on the stage, in the spotlight, and holding both championship titles high in the air. The final image splits, showing Landon’s eyes opening to look up to the ramp at the man who, once again at 13th Hour, defeated him for his championship. Fade. `

EARLIER TODAY.... Tom Flesher steps to the podium in front of dozens of reporters. He wears a natural-colored linen suit and a light blue shirt, collar open, and a pair of sunglasses. As the photographers finish snapping their photos, Flesher takes his microphone and begins. "Ladies and gentlemen," he says, "thank you for coming out to cover what we feel will be the event of the season here in the Dominican Republic. We're pleased to be here, despite the heat." The reporters chuckle politely. "We specifically opted for the spring because we knew we couldn't make the same claim if we came during the Dominican Winter League baseball season." This brings a more genuine laugh from the reporters, and Flesher cracks a smile. He takes a sip from the bottle of water in front of him and continues. "With the SWF's ownership in a state of flux, we're happy to see that we still have the support of fans in the world market. I'd like to thank our reigning World Cruiserweight champion, Dominic LeCroix, better known as the Wildchild, for continuing to push for our visit to South America and the Caribbean. Mr. LeCroix, of course, will be defending his championship against Revolution Zero's Fabulous Jakey tonight. Other superstars appearing tonight include Mr. LeCroix's partner, Johnny Dangerous, who will be, along with International Champion Alan Clark, challenging for Landon Maddix's World Heavyweight Championship. Two former World Champions, Toxxic and Gabriel Drake, will compete in a British Rules match. Of the seven wrestlers competing in the top three matches this evening, three hail from outside the United States; numerous other wrestlers, road agents and support staff in the SWF help underscore the international character of our organization. Without the diversity these athletes and administrators provide, we'd be just another bunch of vanilla midgets." Flesher removes his sunglasses. "Now, without further ado, I'd like to present this evening's lineup, and invite each of you to join us inside the Estadio for tonight's action."

The following announcement is paid for by the office of Thomas Flesher, SWF Commissioner… The SmarkTron comes alight to show the smiling face of Mister Flesher, looking his Sunday best with a bright white smile and standing in front of an understated black background. A simple thumbs-up later and his image fades, only to be quickly replaced by video from just a few short weeks ago as the recently newly crowned SWF World Heavyweight Champion stands in the ring, exhausted from a hard fought match with Olaf Andersen, staring down the Commissioner himself. “I’ve chosen your opponent for 13th Hour! So without further adieu, let me announce that at SWF 13th Hour, it’ll be Landon Maddix taki—“ “WOAH…WOAH…WOAH!” An interruption was not the kind of thing Tom Flesher would expect from his new champion… “Far be it from me to question your authority... after all, we all know what happened to the last guy who did that. But you see, I'm the World Champion now. Which means myself and Megan should have some sort of say in the direction of my career." “You do.” “And some sort of say in my challengers?” “…within reason.” “You really think you are going to sell 13th Hour with Maddix-Clark 8…” The screen flashes a shot of the smirking Happiest Guy On Earth. “…or Maddix-Dangerous 17…” Another flash, this time of the resident Secret Agent… “I need a new challenge…” “RAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!!!” The crowd explodes as The Unique Youth, Zyon, appears from backstage and takes the microphone, much to the chagrin of Tom Flesher. “I think it’s about time I was given a shot at the World Title.” “I’m sorry but I don’t think that’s going to work.” Flesher shoots down the idea, only for his new World Champion to push on and reach out for Zyon’s hand – the verbal contract being signed with a simple handshake. Fade… Video from the next few weeks shows Zyon in a handful of contests, readying himself for the fight of his life – only to taste defeat at the hands of the Fabulous Jakey and nearly be torn apart by the formidable Toxxic. Tom Flesher, to say the least, seemed pleased. ---One week ago--- Zyon stands across the ring from Landon Maddix, a week earlier than expected, with his title shot hanging in the balance. A hard-fought battle later and the World Champion stands victorious, as he no doubt believes he would have been on Pay-Per-View. You can see it in his eyes. The problem, however, lies in the SWF Commissioner. “We have a very special edition of the House of Marvelous!” Tom Flesher appears in the ring, sporting a smile that has not been seen in quite some time – at least when it comes to dealing with Landon Maddix. “I’ve come out here tonight to talk about the main event of 13th Hour. I’m going to put someone in that match that actually deserves it…” The screen shows repeated images of Zyon’s defeats at the hands of Jakey weeks ago and Landon earlier that evening. “I put every ounce of sweat and every drop of blood into the goal of winning that one prize and Zyon thought he could just walk up and take that opportunity without the slightest bit of effort!” the handshake replies, slowly and in black in white. “You didn’t want to have Maddix-Clark 8 or Maddix-Dangerous 17, as you put it? Well don’t worry, I won’t put you in a singles match against someone you’ve faced a dozen times...” “At 13th Hour, Landon Maddix will defend the SWF World Heavyweight Championship against Alan Clark and Johnny Dangerous in a triple threat elimination match!” The crowd explodes at the news, as no doubt the World Champion was also exploding backstage at that very moment. The images on the screen fade from the Commissioner to the various battles over the years between Landon Maddix, Alan Clark, and Johnny Dangerous… …Singles… …Tag Team… …No Gravity… …TLC… …Empty Arena… …Iron Man… …Contendership Matches…. ...Championship Matches… …but nothing like this. GOOOOOOOOOONG. Boom! Boom! BOOOOOM!!! Pyrotechnics explode suddenly as the image moves back to the ringside area, the images of Johnny Dangerous, Alan Clark, and Landon Maddix still frozen on the SmarkTron in the background. “Ladies and Gentlemen…it is time for the MAIN EVENT!!” Funyon’s voice booms over the sold-out crowd. “Here we go, King, have you figured out who you are rooting for in this one?” “If I had a choice…Toxxic.” Mak Francis can be heard grumbling at his partner’s lackadaisical response, but has little time to chide him as Funyon continues on with his duties in the ring. “The following contest is a Triple Threat Elimination Match and is for the S-W-F World Heavyweight Championship!!” The crowd cheers and, once again, almost drowns out the veteran announcer, “two men shall start and two men shall be in the ring at all times, tagging in and out until one man is eliminated by pinfall, submission, countout, knockout, or disqualification. The last man standing, regardless of process of elimination, shall be named the winner and the champion!!” “Keep that in mind, Francis! Maddix can’t just walk away any time he wants, he can’t just use a chair, he has no escape! And you question why I think Tom Flesher is a genius!” “I’ve never questioned—“ “Johnny Dangerous~!” “RAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!!” The sounds of Mission: Impossible strike up, bringing forth from behind the curtain the SWF’s secret agent himself…and his partner! “Introducing first the challengers…making his way to the ring at this time and being accompanied by the Wildchild…” “Look at that, King! Moral support from his tag team partner!” “…weighing in at two hundred and twenty five pounds and representing Las Vegas, Nevada…he is one half of the SWF World Tag Team Champions… he is “The Barracuda”…JOHNNY DANGEROUS!!!” “JOHN-NY! JOHN-NY! JOHN-NY!” Johnny acknowledges the crowd’s cheering with a smile and a few high-fives to the ramp-side fans. Mak Francis can not help but notice that, behind him, Wildchild is carrying both tag team titles on his shoulders and leaving Johnny free and clear on his walk to the ring. “Tonight isn’t about teamwork, it isn’t about the championships the Bahama Bomber has in his grasp. This is about the World Heavyweight Championship…” “Well duh, Francis, but why is he even out here?” “Landon has Megan, and Alan Clark has that giant Walter Reynolds behind him at all times. Wildchild is just leveling the playing field!” “Megan is a GIRL, Mak, and Reynolds can’t do a thing! He’s got the same goofy contract that idiot Clark has!” “Ha…Goofy…” “OH I JUST CAN’T WAAAAAAAIT…” “and speaking of that idiot Clark…” “TO BE KING!!!” “BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!” Johnny Dangerous has not even made it to the ring, when the sounds of Disney’s The Lion King erupt from the PA around the arena, spinning the tag team champions around in time to see a khaki-clad Alan Clark pop out from behind the curtain with Walter Reynolds in tow, the large bodyguard carrying the International Championship on his own shoulder in a similar display to the tag champions. “And being accompanied to the ring by Walter Reynolds, representing Walt Disney World in Orlando, Florida…he weighs in at two hundred twenty five pounds and is the SWF International Champion… the “Happiest Guy On Earth”…ALAAAAN CLARK!” “BOOOOOOOOOOO!” The crowd continues their jeers toward Clark, who ignores them as usual with a simple smile and a wave before bee-lining to the ring, brushing right between the tag team champions and nearly knocking Johnny Dangerous to the floor on his way by! The secret agent, no love lost between himself and either of his opponents on this night and even with his partner turning to try and calm down his friend, follows suit and slides into the ring, jumping to his feet and slamming his fists straight into the spine of the Disney-sponsored superstar! “Alan Clark didn’t take his time getting to the ring, nearly putting Dangerous down! So Johnny didn’t take his time in retaliating himself and now Alan Clark IS down!” Matthew Kivell, senior referee, jumps into the ring and between the two men, handing out a quick warning to Johnny Dangerous as both Wildchild and Walter Reynolds take their places on the outside of the ring, giving each other nothing more than a passing glance before… “REACH OUT AND TOUCH FAITH!!!” The lighting goes completely berserk around the stadium as “Personal Jesus” pipes up, signaling the arrival of the SWF World Champion himself, as he and Megan Skye step out onto the stage and into the sights of the four men at ringside. “YEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!!!” “And now…making his way to the ring and being accompanied by Megan Skye…from Huron, South Dakota by way of Madrid, Spain…he is the CURRENT S-W-F HEAVYWEIGHT CHAMPION OF THE WOOOOORLD… LANDON “LA CU-CA-RA-CHA” MAAAAADDIX!!” Maddix throws his arms out just as a spotlight shines over his body, illuminating the championship belt glistening around his waist. “That is what this is all about! Landon Maddix has a venerable den of lions in front of him and there is absolutely no fear on his face! He has laid waste to almost every challenge in front of him, and while he might hold a few losses to the two men in the ring, he holds just as many wins!” “…cause if anything makes a great world champion it’s a .500 record! Get a grip, Mak!” the Suicide King, of course, feels the need to add his own two cents to the matter as Megan pulls the title from around the waist of her man before he two takes a jog to the ring, not at such a high pace as that of Alan Clark, but the smile on his face seems to know something the other two men don’t as he hops up onto the apron and takes his place in the corner, motioning for his two challengers to get their battle underway. “And now look at him, just thinking he won’t have to start this match. I should go over there and just throw him into the ring myself!” but, given his contract, that is a no-go for the Gambling Man as Megan, almost reluctantly, hands off the championship to Kivell through the ropes and gives the two men she has joined on the outside a once-over with her eyes. “Don’t even think about it!” she can be heard calling over the simmering crowd, leading to both Reynolds and Wildchild to throw their hands up in a show of innocence. “Moral support all around, for now…” comments the Franchise as Kivell holds the championship up high into the air, making completely sure that everyone knows that it is the only thing that matters (as if there was any doubt), the bell sounds and the main event is underway! Ding! Ding! Ding! “Well you know if Landon gets in any trouble that Megan Skye won’t even hesitate to jump in and do what she can to get him out of it. That’s a bet I’d take any day of the week!” “Given his history, I would probably take that bet as well, but she is going to have to stay on her best behavior tonight or her man will not be flying out of here with that gold he so covets…” adds the Francis as Johnny Dangerous and Alan Clark circle each other in the ring, keeping an eye on the cockroach in the corner who watches on with his right hand hanging limply over the top rope and a smile on his face. “I think our World Heavyweight Champion wants to be entertained. He has absolutely no intention of getting in that ring before he has to here tonight, and that might not even be until one of his challengers has been eliminated by the other!” “I’ll bet that was Megan’s idea” quips the Suicide King as the two aforementioned challengers rush into a collar-and-elbow tie-up and each man fights to gain the early advantage. “I doubt it this time, King. Alan Clark rushed the ring and nearly took out the tag team champions. Johnny Dangerous was the one that decided to enter the ring and attack Clark from behind. The International Champion’s excitement is not grounds for violence.” “It is in my world…” and apparently it also is in the world of the Barracuda, who is finally able to secure some leverage over Clark and push his upper-body backwards. The pressure on Alan’s spine keeps his feet from doing much moving underneath him, and so the sold-out crowd gets their first of possibly many glimpses of pain to appear across the face of the Disney-sponsored champion. A wide grimace and a barely audible groan are captured by the ringside camera as Clark’s body bows against itself, until finally Johnny simply lets go… WHAM! …and immediately cracks out a hard clothesline that puts Clark down! “If we had any rafters here tonight, I’m sure that sound would be echoing off them! That was vicious!” but even with a contusion no doubt forming beneath his shirt, Alan slides himself backwards across the mat, begging for mercy with one hand as his other rubs across his spine. One would assume this was not the way he wanted to start the match. “If there is one thing that Johnny Dangerous is good for besides repetitive phrases and annoying me to no end, it is hand-to-hand combat. You know a well-placed palmstrike can send the nose-bone up into the brain and kill a man?!” “Right…..” Mak Francis trails off, rolling his eyes away from his broadcast partner as Johnny Dangerous finally catches up to his retreating foe. Alan tries, in vain, to kick away the hands of the secret agent as the tag champ clutches at his right foot and drags him back into the center of the ring. On the apron, Landon golf-claps in approval as Johnny releases his grip and Alan once again tries to crawl away… SMACK! …and catches a boot square between the armpits and the crotch that sends Clark flailing onto his back and rolling toward the ropes, where Landon gives him a quick kick to keep him in the ring! “And look at that, Landon just got in a cheap shot of his own!” “Kivell isn’t very pleased either, King…” Landon gives Johnny a sarcastic thumbs-up and a call to keep on Clark, turning a deaf ear to the senior official yelling only a foot from him. “But it isn’t anything you wouldn’t have done in the situation.” “That’s not the point. The point is that a disqualification takes his title away and the referee should have been all over that illegal kick right there!” A few more kicks follow in the ring as the announcers bicker back and forth, but this time from Johnny Dangerous as he keeps the pressure on Clark, attacking his spine with down-and-dirty toe kicks, each one causing the body of the International champ to contort and bend against itself as he tries to roll across the canvas. “And what about the illegal attack before the bell from Johnny Dangerous?” “Key words, Francis - before the bell. No bell, no foul!” as always with the Suicide King there is a loophole. “I know if I ever lost to Alan Clark, which is laughable in and of itself, that I would use every chance I got to cripple him……….no offense.” “I’ll try and stay professional until the cameras are off” one can almost hear Francis clenching his fists at the remark, but does his best to brush them aside, “but Johnny did get a defeat against him just a week ago in a match for the tag team titles!” “He had a partner there, and this is different. This is for the biggest prize in the game!” asserts the Gambling Man as, in the ring, the Barracuda continues to assert himself over Alan Clark as he pulls him to his feet and then quickly back down with a devastating DDT. “Cover!” One! Two! “Broken up by Landon Ma—wait? What the…?” Not only are the commentators shocked, but as is both Matthew Kivell and most importantly Johnny Dangerous, whose eyes are about bugged out of his head at the site of Landon backing up into the corner, continuing his audible calling for Johnny to keep on attacking Alan Clark. A look at the International Champion would also more than likely show shock as well, if his head was not throbbing from the DDT he just received. “That DDT might not have kept Alan Clark down for the three, but there seems to be something going on in Maddix’s head, or at least, in Megan’s head.” The Suicide King, along with everyone watching in the arena and at home, tries to piece together Maddix’s actions as Megan applauds him on the outside, drawing odd looks from Reynolds and Wildchild. “Well, she does always seem to have a plan for every situation, and given when and how this match was made means that her man had little time to prepare physically, so she decided to try and prepare mentally.” Francis, just as confused, watches on as Johnny shakes away the shock and throws another look toward both Maddix and Skye before once again pulling Clark off the mat and toward the other side of the ring, as far away as possible from the current World Champion. Alan swipes at the air, fighting against the hands clenched onto his hair and through the pain in his scalp he can barely hear Kivell yelling about the pulling. Dangerous relents, seemingly satisfied with the distance between himself and Maddix, leaving Clark to slump down onto all fours, shaking his body like a wet dog to try and get out the pain coursing through it, but against a man like Johnny Dangerous – there are few rests. “You have to wonder what is going through the minds of the three wrestlers in the ring, the three watching on from the outside and even Tom Flesher – who you know is watching somewhere. What are they all thinking?” “Tom Flesher is probably close to chain-smoking at this point. This has been two months he isn’t about to want to relive again, and until Landon Maddix is taken out of this match and taken away from that championship for good – well, he just is not going to be happy.” WHAM!! “You have that right…and what a hard suplex by Johnny Dangerous there!” The two commentators are interrupted as Alan Clark’s body bounces off the canvas courtesy of a snap suplex, “no cover made, but he still isn’t giving Alan a chance to get a second wind.” Clark once again swats at Johnny’s hands, only to catch a boot between the eyes, stunning him long enough for the Barracuda to pull him back up to his feet. “He can barely stand…” continues Francis as Johnny keeps the International champ doubled over and walks past him, clapping his hands together and throws his body somersault backwards through the air, driving his left knee and ankle into the back of Alan’s head and planting him into the canvas! “Showoff…” mutters the King as Johnny rolls Alan to his back and throws himself on top with another lateral press. One! Two! “Broken up AGAIN!” calls Francis as Maddix once again intervenes to stop the count, this time by nearly blindsiding Dangerous with a kick to the head. “Johnny put Alan Clark down with that signature kick of his, and Landon broke it up once again! What is going on?!” The question resonates through both of the legal men in the ring as Landon slides to the outside and apologizes toward the slowly advancing Wildchild, with Kivell calling for the two men to separate through the ropes as both Johnny and Alan begin to climb back up to their feet, the secret agent reaching a vertical base just a few seconds faster. “Maybe Landon wants to pin both men?” “But why, King? So long as he stays on the outside of the ring he will only have to defeat one man to keep his championship, and he will stay fresh!” “Hey, I think the kid’s a complete idiot. I’m just trying to figure out what brain-dead scheme he’s trying to pull.” Still with no questions answered Landon once again takes his place on the apron and claps for both men, as Johnny keeps a few feet between himself and Clark, albeit screaming for Alan to get to his feet. “He’s sizing him up now. He wants Alan standing…” THUD! “Beautiful swinging neckbreaker by Johnny Dangerous! Alan Clark so far has had the offense of a punching bag.” “Well that is all he is good for.” But with both Clark and Dangerous landing near Maddix’s corner, Johnny strays from the cover attempt and instead drags Alan by the ankles back across the ring. Once more satisfied, Johnny drops the legs and makes a quick leap, throwing his body out and falling to the canvas, slamming the corner of his elbow into Clark’s chest! “And that elbow is good for knocking the wind out of someone!” but not as good as what the Dangerous seems to be planning to do next as he has to drag Alan up to his feet, his body grunting from the near deadweight that Clark’s body has become. A rough lift later and Alan has found himself draped across the Barracuda’s shoulders. “We saw this one week ago, can he hit it again…” WHAAAM!! “SPINAL EXPLOSION! That’s it right there!” One! “Here comes Landon!” Two! “And the champion breaks it up AGAIN!!” Johnny Dangerous took a knee to the back, but shows little pain on his face as he quickly stands and turns toward the retreating Maddix. Kivell tries to get between the two, but Maddix is quick enough to drop down and slide back to the outside. The two men jack jaws back and forth between the floor and the ring, as Megan and Wildchild move in to aid the situation, as the camera catches Alan Clark roll himself slowly to the other side of the ring and out to the floor, almost completely unseen except for both Johnny and Wildchild catching a glimpse of Walter Reynolds moving from their side of the ring toward the announce table where Alan has landed. “Alan Clark thought he could get a breather, but he’s just been caught!” “Johnny!” Wildchild calls, but his partner is already up on the situation, and the moment he sees Clark’s head pop up from behind the apron he springs into action. “Baseball slide coming up!” “He ducked it!” the Suicide King adds as Alan is able to drop down to his knees at the last possible second, leaving Johnny to adjust himself mid-slide to land on his feet, which he does… WHAM! …and eats a surprise lariat from Alan Clark! “Clothesline out of nowhere and Johnny is down…but not for long!” Kivell is not even able to get a one count out of his mouth before Alan slides back in the ring and Johnny follows, only to eat a few boots of his own from the International Champion as Clark starts to work at unbuttoning his own khaki shirt. “And now what is Alan Clark doing in there?” “I don’t think Disney would appreciate that idiot stripping…neither would I, now that I think about it.” “You aren’t the only one, King!” but once the shirt is completely open and ripped from his back, it is easy to see the t-shirt that happens to be underneath it. A quick knee to Johnny’s spine later and Alan turns to face the World Champion on the apron, spreading his arms to give Landon a good look at the two words emblemized across his chest. Martial Law. “Look at that!! Alan Clark has brought an old Martial Law t-shirt out of the mothballs and it seems he is almost taunting Landon Maddix with it!” “Taunting? Do you not remember that Landon Maddix has saved Alan Clark multiple times in this match already and they’ve spent a few months running around the OAOAST together too! If these two men are in cahoots together then Tom Flesher is going to blow a gasket!” “BOOOOOOOOOOO!” “If he hasn’t already! And Landon Maddix looks to approve!” Landon gives Alan a thumbs up, causing the arena crowd to rain down jeers on the ring. “ALAN SUCKS! ALAN SUCKS!” “Alan had best quit being so buddy-buddy and turn around…” calls the Suicide King, “cause Johnny’s up and he’s not happy.” “But look at Maddix!” adds the Franchise as Landon points over Alan’s shoulder, getting his attention in time to turn and duck himself out of the way of a Dangerous clothesline… WHAAAAAM! “BOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!” “CUTTING IN LINE! OH MY GOD!” Johnny’s body strikes the canvas hard and Alan rolls up to his knees and looks to Maddix, who finally has his hand outstretched and ready to tag into the match! “Landon wants in and Alan looks like he is going to oblige to the World Heavyweight Champion!” a quick tag follows, but as Alan steps aside to allow Landon passage into the ring, the champ leaps up and over the top rope and springs straight toward Clark, catching him right between the eyes with the soles of his boots! “RAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!” “Now what?!” Suicide King can be heard slapping his hands to his forehead in confusion as the crowd pulls a U-turn in their demeanor, raining down on the ring a chorus for Landon. “MAD-DIX! MAD-DIX! MAD-DIX!” “Alan Clark thought he had a friend, but now he might have a black eye thanks to his old Martial Law buddy Landon Maddix!” Landon soaks up some of the adulation from the crowd before he reaches down and rips the shirt from Clark’s back, kicking the Disney-sponsored superstar from the ring and throwing the shirt out into the crowd. It is just too bad he forgot about Johnny Dangerous. “LANDON!!” Megan yells just in time to spin her man around, and straight into Johnny’s right foot. SMACK! “Johnny Kick connects! There’s the cover!” One! Two! Threeeeeee---- “BOOOOOOOOOOO!” “WAIT! BROKEN UP BY CLARK NOW!” The crowd reacts before anyone else can as Alan Clark is able to grab Johnny by the ankle and drag him under the ropes and to the outside, saving Landon Maddix from an embarrassing exit in his first few legal seconds in the ring! “This is just getting out of control. I might not be able to take much more of this.” The Suicide King is nearly rambling as both Alan Clark and Johnny Dangerous begin to trade punches on the outside of the ring. “First Landon saves Alan, now Alan saves Landon after Landon nearly took a few of Alan’s teeth out! You have to wonder what is going to happen when Johnny Dangerous finds himself staring at the lights.” “I think at this point Wildchild might have to come in because this is beginning to look like a handicap match!” The King has his answer, but with the two challengers battling on the outside, Matthew Kivell hangs between the ropes and yells for Johnny to enter the ring, he forgets the plucky Maddix behind his back and coming straight for him! “HERE COMES LANDON MADDIX! LEAPFROG!” THUUUUUUD! “SOMERSAULT PLANCHA OVER MATTY’S BACK! UNBELIEVABLE!” and with Kivell in shock at the body that just flew over top him, he can do nothing but lift his jaw from the floor as all three men writhe on the floor, Landon’s body being only somewhat cushioned by his two landing mats with fists. “HOLY (BLEEP)! HOLY (BLEEP)!” the censors jump in as the crowd shows their approval for the champion’s dive, adding more and more cheers to the mix as Landon slowly climbs to his feet and pulls Johnny Dangerous up with him. A quick glance down toward Clark follows before Landon tosses Johnny into the ring and slides in behind him, hearing some words from Kivell as he does so. “This match just took a quick turn from the striking of Johnny Dangerous to that shocking high risk dive we just witnessed but now whether he likes it or not the World Champion is the legal man in this match!” “Well Johnny Dangerous has about ten minutes of wrestling in him already and Maddix is fresh as a daisy! I will tell you it’s going to be a bright day in the (bleep)ing sun when his luck finally runs out in that ring!” the Suicide King tests the censors once again as a few replays of the dive show a large part of Landon’s weight coming down square at the base of Johnny’s neck, a hit that seems to have quickly taken its toll on the secret agent as he fights for his balance in the ring with Maddix holding him on his feet. “It’s not all luck, Landon Maddix has proven himself time and time again” and indeed Maddix looks to be in control as he pushes Johnny back into the corner far from the barely standing Alan Clark on the outside. Landon quickly glances over his shoulder at his other opponent before throwing a hard kick into Johnny’s ribcage. With the Barracuda doubled over, Landon is quick to trap him in a front facelock and drag him away from the ropes and down to the ground, cinching his legs around Dangerous’ waist and holding the headlock in place, arching his body into a painful submission hold! “Landon Maddix has Johnny Dangerous trapped, but he really is going to have to watch himself as even the smallest shift could put his shoulders on the—There’s a count!” but before Kivell can hit his hand to mat twice Landon shifts his weight to the side, the camera catching the grimace on the secret agent’s face before the world champ can complete the roll, putting himself on top before he slightly stands and yanks backwards, forcefully pulling Johnny up to a seated position. A quick body-scissors later, and Landon arches himself backwards once again, placing Johnny in an even worse situation than before! “Blasphemy!!” “Wet Cement applied! Landon might call that Grand Theft Taamo, but he knows as well as anyone how well it works and can really tweak the neck in preparation for the Land Of Nod.” “Get in there, Clark! Come on!” The Suicide King seems to grasping for straws, as Alan has only just gotten himself back up to the apron, and can see the trap applied on the other side of the ring. “If someone doesn’t do something soon, this could be it for Johnny Dangerous!” exclaims the Franchise as Dangerous tries to fight the pain and get himself out of the hold, only for Landon to pull backwards even harder, leaving only his feet touching the canvas. A harsh groan can be heard emanating from inside the facelock as Johnny pushes his hands into Landon’s ribcage, his head finally slipping free and sending the off-balance Maddix falling backwards to the mat! “Yes! Now you know, Francis, had that been Tom Flesher holding Johnny Dangerous he never would have escaped, but Landon will never be Tom Flesher no matter how many titles he wins or how much he steals! Never!” but finally free, Johnny can do little but collapse backwards, pushing Landon’s weight away from him as he puts his hands to his neck to try and massage away the pain. Maddix, on the other hand, unsure of the secret agent’s intentions, quickly grabs at the bottom rope and pulls himself toward the apron. “Regardless, it was Landon Maddix using it and Johnny did escape, now he just needs to get back up to his feet and soon if he wants to stay alive in this match.” “Well Alan Clark seems to want a tag, for some stupid reason…” mutters King as the ringside camera catches Alan’s right arm stretched out over the top rope and toward both competitors. The smile on his face is, to steal a phrase from one Ejiro Fasaki, eerily creepy. Megan, Wildchild, and Walter Reynolds each look up at him from the outside with similar stares of confusion, but their attention is quickly back in the ring as Johnny rolls to his knees and looks up toward Clark, beginning a slow crawl toward him. “And Johnny Dangerous wants to oblige!” but before Johnny can crawl even five feet, Landon has pulled himself up to his feet and rushes the Barracuda, continuing his assault on the tag champ’s neck with a hard kick to stop him in his tracks. Alan continues to keep his hand out for Maddix, and after a glance between the two Maddix reaches out and gives Alan a slap on the hand – then very quickly backs away to avoid any sort of retaliation for the earlier dropkick. “Like I said…total idiot right there.” “At least Landon Maddix was smart enough to put some distance between himself and Clark, but Alan has shown no sign of aggression upon entering the ring right here.” Francis adds as Clark steps into the ring and takes over where Landon left off, dropping to one knee and cinching in a facelock of his own with his left arm while clubbing his right forearm down across Dangerous’ lower back. “I just don’t understand Alan Clark’s mentality in this match so far. He seemed to try and win over Landon with that t-shirt, but we saw that didn’t work, but now he had the chance to rest on the outside and instead he just tagged back in!” “Must I keep saying it…” groans King as Alan pulls Johnny up, keeping the facelock applied and transitioning into a harsh suplex back and around into the center of the ring! A quick pivot of the waist later and Alan is back up and straight into a second suplex, this time holding Johnny in the air to send a rush of blood to the Barracuda’s head. “It might be time for the 3 o’clock Parade!” The crowd chimes in with a few boos as Alan pulls himself and his trapped opponent back up once again. With the facelock still applied Clark turns himself toward the corner and screams toward Maddix to move out of the way, the World Champ obliges, giving Alan enough space to lift Johnny into the air and stutter-step his way toward the turnbuckles… “What is he trying to do now?” but the Suicide King soon gets his answer as Alan simply drops Johnny down over the top turnbuckle, the pad striking the secret agent’s back before Alan hooks his legs over the ringpost and traps him upside down! “Tree of Woe, King, and it looks like Landon Maddix approves!” and sure enough, Maddix claps at Alan’s ingenuity, drawing a smile from Clark as he moves across the ring, audibly calling for Landon to watch what he does next. “Johnny Dangerous is in a bad way here!” but as Alan rushes back toward the corner he suddenly changes direction, leaving his feet and throwing his body threw the ropes and straight into the midsection of Landon Maddix, launching him off the apron… THUUUD! …and back-first into the barricade! “Talk about a swerve, and he almost took out the Wildchild!” Francis exclaims as the spear replays, showing Wildchild barely escaping out of the path of the falling Landon Maddix that he had been, up until that moment, standing just behind. The Bahaman Bomber breathes a sigh of relief and moves around the side of the ring at the request of Matthew Kivell, leaving Landon alone and against the steel as Alan hangs across the second rope, screaming towards Maddix that he deserved it and pointing down towards the shirt that still lays torn up on the floor. “He might be a moron, but Maddix did deserve it. He deserves every bit of punishment he gets!” but with Maddix down, Megan is beside herself and tries to get around the ring to help her man, only for Kivell to continue his warnings. “Oh shut up!” Megan calls back as Alan returns to the still upside-down Johnny Dangerous, delivering a kick very close to (but not right on) the crowned jewels of the Barracuda. A warning of banishment moves Megan back around the ring, a shocked and annoyed look burning from her eyes toward Kivell as the referee finally turns his attention back to the in-ring action as Alan pulls Johnny from his perch and slams him down hard on his chest! “Megan Skye needs to watch herself or she might be watching this match from backstage!” “She should be back there!” “What about Walter Reynolds or Wildchild?” adds Francis as Alan drags Johnny toward the middle of the ring and goes for a cover… One! Two! KICKOUT! “They aren’t going to do anything!” screams the Suicide King, “but she’s bad news! Always has been!” Back inside the ring, Alan seems to be in a bit of shock, but the look on his face quickly returns to his trademark sly smirk as he drags Johnny up to his feet and steps back, leaving Dangerous to teeter back and forth for a moment… “Superkick coming up!” “Sweep de leg, Johnny!” “DUCKED!” Thud! “Did you just see that?! Wildchild saw the superkick coming and called for Johnny to duck and go for the legsweep and now Alan Clark is down!” “What a cheater! All of them are cheaters! We can’t be having the World Champion of this company continue to be a dirty cheater!” “And who would you suggest hold the world championship then?” “Well, Tom Flesher isn’t that busy…” the comment causes a grumble from the Franchise as Alan and Johnny, and in the top corner of the screen Landon Maddix, fight to get back to their feet, with Alan barely beating Johnny up as the secret agent continues to feel the affects the match has had on him so far. “Nevertheless, King, the belt is up for grabs between these three men, and it seems all of them are back up to their feet and here come the right hands!” Alan and Johnny repeat their early bout on the outside of the ring, trading punches back and forth, but as Kivell warns on the use of the closed fist Johnny is able to throw up a block and fire off a hard palmstrike straight to the jaw of Alan Clark! “I think he just broke his jaw!” “Shotei! I’ll say that’ll add some pudding to your diet, right there!” Clark stumbles backwards into the ropes and Kivell makes a quick check, only to simply have Alan swat him away! “Alan is still in a fighting mood, but here comes the Barracuda!” the referee barely slides out of the way in time for Johnny to hit the ropes himself, sending both himself and Alan flipping to the outside courtesy of a hard clothesline! “Johnny Dangerous might have just got his second wind, but with seemingly both Alan Clark and Landon Maddix conspiring against him he is going to have quite the uphill battle…” TWAAANG! “…and he’s starting that climb with a running start by throwing Alan Clark straight into the barricade!” “REF! REF!” Kivell indeed issues a warning for Johnny to back off and watch how far he takes his punishment of Clark and instead deciding to simply slide back into the ring and leave his sponsored foe to recoup. “JOHN-NY! JOHN-NY! JOHN-NY!” the crowd’s chants pipe up as Johnny gives them a few simple poses, only to turn and see Landon Maddix on the floor and moving straight toward Alan Clark! “It seems this little duo is about to have a pow-wow…” but Mak Francis is far from correct, as Maddix does nothing more than grab Alan by the hair and drag him toward the ring, lifting him up and throwing him back under the bottom rope and pushing him straight toward the stunned Barracuda! “Go on!” Maddix can be heard yelling as he jumps back up on the apron, and after a second to let it all sink in, Johnny reaches down and pulls Clark back up and immediately swings him up, over, and down…repaying Clark for earlier in the match with a suplex of his own! “Alan Clark just got sold up the river, and now here comes Johnny Dangerous with a second suplex!” WHAM! “And a third!” WHAAAM! “AND A FOURTH!” but as Alan finds himself hanging upside down for the fourth time, Johnny instead drops Alan chest-first over the top rope, leaving him hanging for a moment before expertly pivoting a full three-hundred-sixty degrees and almost taking Alan’s smirk off his face with a devastating roundhouse kick! SMACK! “By God, King! Alan Clark might be knocked out!” Even so, Alan stays hung over the top rope with his arms dangling, and before Johnny can do anything to follow-up on the kick, Landon Maddix intervenes by leaning over the rope and smacking at Alan’s open palm as it hangs limply near the mat. “And there’s a tag, I think!” Kivell makes the tag legal and Maddix unceremoniously dumps Alan to the floor and leaps over the top rope, meeting a very angry Johnny Dangerous in mid-stride… DUCKED! “WOOAAAAAAAH JOHNNY DANGEROUS TO THE OUTSIDE….NO!!” Johnny lands on the apron after being propelled into the air on the back of Landon Maddix, and before the World Champ can react Johnny rears back on the side of the ring and drives his forearm to the side of Landon’s head, dropping Maddix down and sending him rolling across the ring in an effort to escape! “Alan Clark is down and may be out, Johnny Dangerous is entering the ring and his eyes are burning holes through Landon Maddix as he is trying to stand on the other side of the ring! And now both men are up!” “This is going to be good, Mak!” calls the Suicide King as Johnny connects with two hard chops across Landon’s chest, but the third is dodged! “NO!” Dangerous spins backwards from the force of his own anger and gives Landon the chance to leap up, digging his knees into Johnny’s back and falling toward the canvas, jarring every bone in the Barracuda’s body upon impact! “And the Lungblower connects, but where is Landon Maddix going!?” instead of the cover, Maddix begins to crawl across the ring and reaches out, timing a dive toward the corner to catch Alan Clark’s right hand with his own just as the International Champion begins to climb back up to the apron! “Is that a tag?! Is that another tag?!” …. “IT IS!” “NO!” The Gambling Man lets out a moan of dissatisfaction which is almost nothing compared to the look on Alan Clark’s face as Kivell yells for him to get back in the ring. Landon, on the other hand, takes the chance to slide out of the ring and head for some higher ground, keeping some breathing room between himself and everyone else involved in and around the ring. The only thing that has stayed consistent in the moment is Johnny’s disposition, as he finally is back up and, after trying to exit the ring for Landon, is informed of who the real legal man is. A slap to his own face later and he slides out of the ring to help escort Alan back inside to hopefully finish the International champ off and set his sights on the running-and-gunning Landon Maddix. “Alan Clark can barely stand! He better be glad he’s had Landon’s help for so long, although one might wonder what his deal was just now by tagging in Clark and running out of the ring?” “In a match like this, the less you are in the ring the better, Francis. You know that. Prolonging Alan’s execution is going to wear down Johnny for when the two men finally have to get it on for the World Heavyweight Championship!” “You think Alan Clark is finished in this match?” “Well look at him!” exclaims the Suicide King as Johnny makes a point to stare down Maddix as he grabs Alan Clark in position next to him and prepares to lift him into the air… “EEEEEMMMMMM EEEEYYYYYYEEEEEE....” WHAAAAAAAM! “SLAM! HUGE MI SLAM CONNECTS! THIS IS IT!” One! Two!! Thre…NO! “LANDON MADDIX BROKE IT UP! HE BROKE IT UP!”

The Straight-Edge Sensation brings Drake overhead with a perfect butterfly suplex, but he retains his grip on the landing and then rolls backwards, bringing Gabe up into a sitting position with the double underhook still applied and wrapping his legs around The Beast’s waist… “YEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!” “Repeat To Fade, Mark II!” Suicide King shouts, giving the move its full name as Toxxic wrenches back on his favoured submission hold while the crowd actually starts firing up in support of him, “Mak, I think this particular Atlanta special has found its mark on Gabriel Drake!” “King, I think you’re right,” Mak agrees, “we’ve seen that Drake is perfectly capable of lifting Toxxic up bodily, so instead of going for the regular RTF II Toxxic turned a Britishplex into the seated version where Drake wouldn’t have that option! Now it’s just a case of how long Drake can hold on for, or whether he can break the hold…” “TAP! TAP! TAP! TAP! TAP! TAP! TAP! TAP! TAP!” “This is not an all-or-nothing fall,” Suicide King argues, “Drake can give it up here and still win, so he shouldn’t go risking serious damage to his arms and neck! Remember, this move paralysed Landon’s arms so much that he couldn’t pick himself up in that Last Man Standing match last year; I know Gabe’s stronger and more resilient, but he can’t run that risk if he wants to win this match!” “I hear what you’re saying,” Mak replies tensely, watching the action as Brian Warner leans down to see if Drake wants to give it up, “but Drake’s a stubborn SOB and I’m not sure if the fans’ chanting is just going to make him even more determined not to-” *DING-DING-DING!* “Ladies and gentlemen,” Funyon booms as Brian Warner turns and calls for the bell, “the winner of the first fall, by submission; TOXXXXXXXXXXXX-IC!! There will now be a ten-second rest period.” “TOXXXXXXXXXXXXXX-IC…” “TOXX-IC SUCKS!” “TOXXXXXXXXXXXXXX-IC…” “TOXX-IC SUCKS!” “Well, I stand corrected,” Mak Francis says in mild surprise as Toxxic releases the hold and rolls away with a lopsided grin on his face while Drake collapses sideways and holds his arms and neck, “I was sure Gabriel Drake was going to gut it out until he couldn’t stand it any longer, but from the speed of that submission I can only assume he decided discretion was the better part of… well, hatred I guess.” Drake has got back up to his feet but his arms and neck are clearly still hurting him and he glares murderously across the ring at his former friend, who grins mockingly and invites him to ‘come on’ with a flip of some black-nailed fingers. “Now we’ll have to see the effect that has on Gabriel Drake,” Suicide King comments, “the guy’s talented, strong and vicious, but despite being a former World Champion he’s relatively inexperienced next to Toxxic, and he’s just lost the first fall to the man he hates most in this company. Will he hold it together, or will he lose it?” “King, you can be surprisingly astute sometimes,” Mak remarks. “When I like both people involved in a match, yes.” *DING-DING-DING!* The bell goes for the start of the second fall and Drake rushes forwards with a roar; Toxxic drops to the mat for another soccer tackle, but Gabe was clearly expecting this and pulls up sharply, then begins simply stomping away on his opponent’s ribcage. Brian Warner steps in to try and maintain order but The Beast shakes him off and continues firing away as Toxxic tries to grab his leg but fails. “Drake can’t afford to be disqualified now, that’ll be the end of the match!” Mak Francis points out, and it seems this realisation dawns on Drake just before the referee was going to exercise his authority. The big man stops his assault, but instead bends down and rolls Toxxic roughly onto his front before applying a stepover toehold and reaching forwards to snare the Englishman in a facelock. “STF, and Toxxic’s in a world of trouble already,” The Franchise points out, “Drake has been working the ribs and back, and while the STF is focused more on the head Toxxic will struggle to get to the ropes with the beating his midsection just took.” Sure enough, although Toxxic is reaching out for the cables they’re out of reach, but it seems that perhaps Drake’s rage has led to him not considering ring positioning all that thoroughly; although the ropes are currently out of the Englishman’s grasp he is far from the centre of the ring, and as Drake pulls back on his hold it seems The Beast has realised that his adversary is not that far from salvation. “TAP! TAP! TAP! TAP! TAP! TAP! TAP! TAP! TAP!” The crowd have switched allegiances again, now perhaps eager to see the cocky straight-edger brought down a peg or two, and the calls for Toxxic to tap out are ringing around the arena. However, Toxxic has no intention of relinquishing his advantage yet and the Englishman grits his teeth and starts trying to claw his way towards the ropes. Drake is a heavy man, but Toxxic has both arms and one leg to propel himself across the mat, and Gabe isn’t perhaps getting quite the torque on the facelock that he’d want as his arms are still hurting from the unnatural positioning of the RTF II… “I think Toxxic’s going to make it,” Mak remarks. “It looks like it, but how much will it have taken out of him?” King replies. “And don’t forget, Toxxic got that fall over Drake very much against the run of the match; if he can’t assert himself on this second fall I doubt it will be long before they’re on level terms again!” Drake is holding on for all he’s worth, but Toxxic scrabbles a couple of inches closer to the ropes… …stretches out a hand… …and manages to snag the bottom cable, bringing Brian Warner in to make Drake break the hold! The Beast seems reluctant to comply… ‘ONE!’ ‘TWO!’ ‘THREE!’ ‘FOUR!’ ‘FI-’ …and Drake releases at the last moment, prompting a golf clap from the Suicide King. Toxxic looks to get some distance by trying to roll out to the floor but Drake pounces on him and grabs the Englishman by his ankle to haul him back in, then takes hold of him by the neck and literally hoists him up to his feet before changing his grip and lifting the straight-edger bodily off the canvas before driving him down with a snap spinebuster! *BANG!* Drake drops into the cover and hooks the leg… ONE! TWO!! TH- -but Toxxic kicks out, although not with a great deal of authority! “FUCK HIM UP DRA-AKE, FUCK HIM UP!” “FUCK HIM UP DRA-AKE, FUCK HIM UP!” Gabriel Drake doesn’t seem to care that some of the crowd are now actively calling for him to damage his former friend, although of course he obliges them anyway. The big man shifts into a mount position atop the Englishman and starts raining right hands down, bringing Brian Warner in again! ‘ONE!’ ‘TWO!’ ‘THREE!’ ‘FOUR!’ ‘FI-’ -and Drake ceases his barrage a split second before the referee would have disqualified him, then flips Warner the bird just to make sure that he still knows who’s boss. Warner jabs a finger towards the SWF logo on his shirt pocket in reply and he and Drake have a heated argument for a couple of seconds before The Beast gets to his feet and hauls Toxxic up with him, then places the Straight-Edge Sensation into a front facelock. He hooks Toxxic’s arm over his neck, takes hold of his opponent’s baggy pants in one hand and lifts the straight-edger up for a vertical suplex… but Toxxic knees him in the head and the momentarily-stunned Drake allows him to drop back to his feet! The Englishman’s knees nearly buckle as he lands but he’s determined to make the most of this opportunity and reaches down to try and hook Drake’s left leg with his left arm… “Caffeine Bomb!” Mak shouts, “Drake could be in trouble!” …but Gabriel Drake is alert to the danger and simply thumps a right hand into his opponent’s ribs, the previous damage done meaning that is enough to cut Toxxic off in his tracks. However, the Englishman’s attempt has given Drake an idea of his own and he reaches down to hook not one but both of his opponent’s legs… “Look out! Manslaughter!” King shouts as Drake rears up with Toxxic trapped atop his shoulders! The Beast’s neck doesn’t seem to be too happy taking the weight, but he grits his teeth and bears it before taking a few running steps forwards and dumping his load down backwards with the running musclebuster! *BANG!* “MANSLUGHTER HITS!” Mak Francis bellows, “we could be level here!” Gabriel Drake sits back up, a nasty grin on his face as he appreciates exactly how ironic it is that he’s just hit the move he calls the Manslaughter on the man whose testimony got him sent to jail for the same crime… ‘ONE!’ …and Brian Warner starts counting! Drake jerks out of his reverie and realises he still needs to even this match up, and a pin seems a surer way of doing it that going for broke with the ten-count. He turns around on the mat and throws himself across Toxxic, reaching to hook the leg… ONE! TWO!! THR- -but Toxxic still kicks out! “YEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!” “Drake took a second too long!” Mak shouts as a large part of the crowd give voice to their own appreciation of irony, “he could have tied it at one fall apiece there!” Gabriel Drake is not, at this stage, a happy man. The brief warm glow he got from hitting the Manslaughter has gone, and he drags Toxxic up with a nasty glint in his eye. With the Straight-Edge Sensation looking more or less out on his feet Drake snaps off one palm strike, another palm strike, then nails a spinning backfist and hoists Toxxic up onto his shoulder in a powerslam position before the Englishman can fall over again. With Toxxic thus trapped the big man takes a few steps forward in preparation of driving his opponent backfirst down into the mat, but at the last moment Toxxic kicks his legs and manages to slither out behind The Beast; Drake turns around to try and regain control, but gets taken down to the mat with a drop toehold before finding his legs laced together and Toxxic snaking one arm under his to apply a ¾ nelson facelock! “TOXXXXXXXXXXXXXX-IC…” “TOXX-IC SUCKS!” “TOXXXXXXXXXXXXXX-IC…” “TOXX-IC SUCKS!” “Regal Stretch!” Mak Francis shouts, “Toxxic’s got it locked in, and that’s won him more than one match before now! Hell, that hold has won him the ICTV and World Titles!” “Plus it beat you,” Suicide King snipes, unable to resist an opportunity, “but perhaps more importantly in the mind-game stakes, Toxxic’s just one-upped Drake’s STF!” “Not the mention the ‘Atlanta’ connotations of that move as well,” Mak nods, “these two are trying their best to throw the other one off their game, no doubt about it.” Gabriel Drake is trapped; not in the centre of the ring, but too far away from the ropes for comfort. He reaches out but can’t get near them, and his one free arm doesn’t give him anything like enough traction to claw his way across the mat with Toxxic weighing him down. He struggles to get his legs free, but can’t shift his opponent. “TAP! TAP! TAP! TAP! TAP! TAP! TAP! TAP! TAP!” The crowd have started up their chant again but there’s no way Drake’s going to give Toxxic the pleasure of making him tap twice, especially not in quick succession with no reply. So he grits his teeth and hangs on, hoping against hope that somehow the damage he’s already done to Toxxic’s body will prevent the Straight-Edge Sensation from keeping the move applied for too much longer… …surely, he has to weaken in a moment… …any second… “BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!” “He’s lost it!” Mak shouts as Toxxic suddenly releases his hold and rolls away from Drake, clutching at his ribs, “Toxxic couldn’t hold it any longer, he was probably about to start cramping up - the Regal Stretch is an unnatural position to hold yourself in for any length of time, even if you’re the one applying it!” Gabriel Drake gasps as he’s freed from the punishing submission, but The Beast knows that he needs to keep moving if he is to have any chance of getting back into this match. The big man starts to push himself up, wincing as he does so, but before he can properly gather himself Toxxic grabs him from behind. The Englishman has no intention of letting Drake start to build momentum again and so he manages to secure a reverse facelock, then abruptly drops to one knee and slams the back of Drake’s neck into the other. Toxxic isn’t done there though, and with a grunt of effort he hauls his opponent back up into a standing position, then drops backwards to deliver and inverted DDT. “That was the old Detoxx combination,” Suicide King notes, “haven’t seen that one in a while.” Drake lies on the mat clutching at his neck and head and Toxxic clearly decides that it’s time for something a little special to try and finish this one off. Accordingly the Straight-Edge Sensation turns and heads for the corner, stepping out through the ring ropes and climbing to the top rope with a practised ease that belies the battered state of his own body. Once there he rises to his full height, raises both arms above his head and somersaults off- *BANG!* -to land the Hangover across the throat of Gabriel Drake! A second later and Toxxic has managed to get into position for a pin… ONE! TWO!! TH- -but Drake kicks out! “FUCK HIM UP DRA-AKE, FUCK HIM UP!” “TOX-XIC!” “FUCK HIM UP DRA-AKE, FUCK HIM UP!” “TOX-XIC!” Two chants, seemingly at war with each other, start to rise around the arena as the fans state their desire to see one or other (or both) competitors seriously injured by their opponent. Toxxic seems unhappy that his last move didn’t get the pin he was looking for and remonstrates with Brian Warner briefly as he grabs hold of his larger opponent and starts to drag Drake up to a standing position. Gabe manages to rise, but simply gets hit with a headbutt between the eyes that doesn’t do a great deal for his overall awareness… but it doesn’t do a great deal for his overall mood either, as when Toxxic turns and runs for the ropes Drake waits for him to return, then suddenly lunges into action with a sickening lariat that turns the straight-edger inside out! *WHAM!* “Good God, what a hit!” Mak shouts as Toxxic spins head-over-heels and come down in a heap on the canvas while Drake drops to one knee from the force of the blow, “he could have knocked Toxxic clean out there!” ‘ONE!’ Brian Warner shouts, apparently willing to test that theory. ‘TW-’ -but his count is cut off as Drake gets back to his feet, turns around and then just drops a knee into Toxxic’s face. The referee shrugs and moves back, figuring that Drake doesn’t want to chance waiting for a ten-count, and Drake proves him right and he leans down and grabs Toxxic before dragging the smaller man up. He takes hold of Toxxic’s wrist and Irish whips the Englishman into the ropes, but he ducks his head for a back bodydrop only to see Toxxic flashing by through his legs as the straight-edger launches himself into a baseball slide! Drake turns around to try and draw a bead on his opponent but Toxxic has scrambled up to his feet and ducked his head and it is Drake who gets taken up off the mat - not for a back bodydrop, but ending up with his head facing down towards the mat while Toxxic holds onto his legs… “What the-?” Mak begins in surprise. *BANG!* “VAN SLAMINATOR!” The Franchise shouts in sheer shock as Toxxic sits out with the belly-to-back piledriver, “Toxxic used that move to beat Mike Van Siclen in their title vs. career match in late 2004! He’s really digging into his bag of tricks tonight against Gabriel Drake!” Drake’s head bounces off the canvas and he comes to rest staring up at the lights; Toxxic wheezes out a breath - that wasn’t easy - then twists around and drapes himself over his opponent for the pin… ONE! TWO!! THR- -but Drake kicks out again! “LET’S GO DRA-AKE!” “LET’S GO TOXX-IC!” “LET’S GO DRA-AKE!” “LET’S GO TOXX-IC!” Whatever their opinions of the two men at the start of the match, and whatever their opinions of them might be tomorrow, the fans in attendance seem to have realised that both men are giving their absolute utmost in this match. Toxxic hammers a black-nailed hand into the mat in frustration and glares at Warner through his eyeliner; the referee remains firm and holds up the damning two fingers, so Toxxic replies with a two-fingered salute of his own and starts to haul Drake into a sitting position. The Beast seems nearly out of it but he just about remains where he’s put, only for Toxxic to run to the ropes and rebound off the slam a basement dropkick into his opponent’s face! *SMACK!* “LET’S GO DRA-AKE!” “LET’S GO TOXX-IC!” “LET’S GO DRA-AKE!” “LET’S GO TOXX-IC!” The leader of Revolution Zero seems to be gradually recovering his strength now and he gets back to his feet with a little more purpose than before. Drake is still flat on his back and Toxxic turns to head for the corner of the ring again, stepping through the ring ropes as before and starting to ascend towards the top buckle. “Toxxic nearly got the winning pin with the Hangover a minute or so ago,” Mak calls, “can he come up with something better this time around?” Toxxic certainly intends to; the Straight-Edge Sensation takes a deep breath, swings his arms backwards… then whips them forwards and leaps off the top rope, backflipping through the air as he goes to come down with one leg outstretched… *BANG!* …but Gabriel Drake rolls aside at the last moment, and the Inglorious misses its target! “YEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!” “That gamble didn’t pay off!” King shouts. “Mak, I don’t think The Beast is going to be very forgiving!” Sure enough, as Toxxic struggles to get up and get back in the game Gabriel Drake has surged up, a combination of adrenaline and bloodlust giving him energy. No sooner has Toxxic managed to get back to his feet than Drake grabs him, hoists him up and drapes him over one shoulder… …manoeuvres his enemy’s head until it points straight down to the mat… …and sits out. *WHAM!* “INVERTED CROSS!” Mak shouts. Drake just sprawls back into the pin as Brian Warner dives for the mat… ONE! TWO!! THREE!!! *DING-DING-DING!* “Ladies and gentlemen, the winner of the second fall by pinfall; GAAAAAAAAAAAAAB-RIEL… DRRRRRRRRAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAKE!!” Funyon booms. “There will now be a ten second-” -but the ring announcer cuts off as Gabriel Drake ignores Brian Warner’s instructions and goes for Toxxic again, driving his boot into the straight-edger’s ribs! “What, you didn’t expect Drake to honour that did you?” King snorts in amusement, “it’s only good sense for him to press his advantage!” Gabriel Drake puts the boot in a few more times, then drags Toxxic up to his feet and throws the Englishman bodily into the nearest turnbuckles. The Beast follows him in with a running forearm to the temple, then starts laying waste to the Straight-Edge Sensation with alternating forearms and chops! “YEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!” The crowd starts to roar with what is probably bloodlust as Drake gets into his rhythm, but then the big man break off into a series of one, two, three headbutts! The big man then drags Toxxic out from the corner by his hair and bends him over to slam repeated kicks into his unprotected face- *SMACK!* *SMACK!* *SMACK!* *SMACK!* *SMACK!* *SMACK!* *SMACK!* *SMACK!* *SMACK!* -then snapmares Toxxic over and lays three cowboy kicks into his spine! *CRACK!* *CRACK!* *CRACK!* “FUCK HIM UP DRA-AKE, FUCK HIM UP!” “FUCK HIM UP DRA-AKE, FUCK HIM UP!” Gabriel Drake turns and runs for the ropes, bouncing off them and accelerating back towards his seated and semi-conscious opponent, then leaves his feet to smash a low-angle one-footed Yakuza kick into Toxxic’s face to send the Englishman sprawling over onto his back. “The score of falls says this match is equal right now, but in reality Gabriel Drake is very much in the driving seat,” Mak Francis says, “if Toxxic can’t come up with something soon I think he’s going to be defeated by Gabriel Drake for the second time!” Drake certainly seems to be of that opinion too, as he draws one thumb across his throat in an emphatic gesture. He heaves Toxxic up off the canvas once more, then bends his knees and takes the Englishman up onto his shoulders in a Fireman’s Carry. Drake adjusts his grip, looking to slide Toxxic headfirst down his back again for another Inverted Cross… but suddenly the straight-edger slams a knee into the side of his opponent’s head! Drake staggers and Toxxic throws another… then another! With the big man wobbling and his grip going Toxxic manages to slide off behind his opponent and land on his feet, then reach up to hook Drake around the head and drops down for a neckbreaker! “FUCK HIM UP TOXX-IC, FUCK HIM UP!” “FUCK HIM UP TOXX-IC, FUCK HIM UP!” There doesn’t seem to be much likelihood of that at the moment, as the Straight-Edge Sensation lies on the mat trying to gather his breath. However, his persistent work on his opponent’s head and neck has paid off, as Drake is clutching his neck and doesn’t seem inclined to rise again very quickly. Brian Warner sees this and starts doing his job… ‘ONE!’ ‘TWO!’ ‘THREE!’ “It’s been speed against power all the way through this match,” Mak Francis comments, “but now at the last, will experience tell? Toxxic is younger than Drake, but he’s been a main-event player in the SWF for three years now; he’s going to have to use every shred of any advantage he can muster to ensure a victory tonight!” ’FOUR!’ “But Mak, what if Drake comes out the winner?” Suicide King asks, “I don’t care how unreliable the man might be, if he can defeat Toxxic twice in six months, once under a stipulation that Toxxic himself requested, you tell me how that doesn’t warrant another opportunity at the World Title!” ‘FIVE!’ Slowly, both men are starting to stir. Toxxic’s taken more abuse recently, but the sheer drop of the Van Slaminator has left Gabriel Drake with a white-hot rod where his spine used to be, and it any knock to the head or neck now causes him agonising pain. Toxxic and Drake start to force themselves up to their feet… ‘SIX!’ …and Toxxic gets there first, just! He manages to get a fix on his opponent, and as Drake staggers upright the straight-edger begins to unload! RIGHT! LEFT! RIGHT! LEFT! Toxxic steps back and flips Drake a two-fingered salute, mouthing ‘fuck you’ to go with it… DISCUS CLOTHESLINE! *WHAM!* “LET’S GO TOX-XIC!” “LET’S GO DRA-AKE!” Toxxic’s facial expression is half-grin, half-grimace as he forces himself up, then starts to heave Drake up after him as well. The big man is heavy but dimly aware that he wants to be upright, so he’s not quite dead weight. Toxxic wraps his arms around his former friend’s chest and looks to lift him up for the Side Effect, but his first attempt falters into a wheezing hiss as his battered midsection conspires against him, and Drake manages to slam one, two, three side elbows into his opponent’s temple to loosen his grip! Toxxic staggers away and Drake follows up looking for the Mass Murder combination again; a right-handed palm strike- *SMACK!* -a left-handed palm strike- *SMACK!* -a spinning backfist… that misses, as Toxxic ducks under it! Drake’s momentum carries him around in a full circle, and Toxxic reaches up to grab a ¾ headlock and runs for the turnbuckles, towing The Beast behind him! “SUNNY IN ENGLAND!” Mak yells as Toxxic pushes back off the top buckle, but Drake holds on to the top rope and prevents himself from being dragged down to the canvas. Toxxic loses his grip and crashes face-first onto the mat but the wrench on his neck clearly hurts Drake, and he has to hold himself up on the ropes for a second or two as he involuntarily clutches his neck with his other hand. This gives Toxxic and chance to stagger up to his feet… …Drake explodes off the ropes, swinging one arm for a lariat… …Toxxic drops to the deck, scything his legs around in a soccer tackle… …Drake hurdles him and comes to a halt… *whump-CRACK!* …and Toxxic springs up off the mat to connect with the kip-up enzuigiri! “YEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!” “How the hell did he catch him with that!?” Suicide King gasps as Drake topples forwards to end up draped over the second rope. And indeed, it seems that burst of energetic movement has taken its toll on the straight-edger, who rises back to his feet again clutching his stomach in pain. However Gabriel Drake is in position and Toxxic heads over to the other side of the ring, then wearily raises his hands to his mouth… ‘OH! ONE! ONE! FIVE!’ The dialling code for Nottingham is shouted out into the Dominican evening (ignoring the +44 part, because Toxxic has musical standards) and the Straight-Edge Sensation sets off across the ring at a run. On reaching the ropes he leaps into the air, vaults over and comes down with a guillotine legdrop across the back of Drake’s head that sends The Beast rolling away into the ring clutching at his throat! “LET’S GO TOXX-IC!” “LET’S GO DRA-AKE!” The warring chants are still at work, but it’s Toxxic who’s on top in the ring at the moment. The straight-edger landed in a sitting position on the apron and pulls himself back up to his feet using the ring ropes for support, then twirls both fingers over his head in the universal symbol for ‘high risk’. This garners something of a cheer from the fans and the Englishman heads for the nearest ring post, then slowly starts to climb towards the top. “Toxxic has hit one and missed one from the top rope tonight,” Mak Francis reminds viewers, “and when he missed the Inglorious Gabriel Drake got his pinfall straight afterwards. This could be decisive!” However, Gabriel Drake has no intention of letting Toxxic get away with another top rope move. The straight-edger’s battered body has prevented him from making his way to the top buckle with his usual speed and grace, and the wheezing Drake has lurched to his feet before the Revolution Zero leader has got into position. Drake starts forward towards his enemy, then leaps into the air- *SMACK!* -and nails the Right Hand of Gabe! Toxxic sways, very nearly knocked to the floor by the blow, and Drake starts to climb up after him. He reaches up to try and hook Toxxic around the neck… “Drake could be looking for another suplerplex here, and in the state Toxxic’s in that could be all!” Mak shouts. …Toxxic has other ideas though. He weakly shoves Drake’s arm aside, then focuses on his opponent’s head and simply swings his into it. *CRUNCH!* Their heads have met before, tonight. *CRUNCH!* But in the end, it takes a lot of work to out-headbutt one of the Stephens siblings. *CRUNCH!* “Drake’s out! He’s out on his feet!” King calls as The Beast wobbles, barely managing to hold himself in position. Toxxic takes hold of his opponent’s highlighted hair in both hands, then slams Gabe’s head downwards. *BANG!* Right into the exposed buckle that Drake ripped the padding off at the start of the match. “YEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!” The camera, zooming in, catches a brief glimpse of red as Drake’s headwound is reopened by the unprotected steel, before Toxxic pushes off the top rope. He somersaults ungracefully over Drake and lands on his feet as if about to try and bring the bigger man down with a sunset flip power bomb, but then turns around and grabs Drake’s legs before backing away from the corner. Gabe tries to hold onto the top rope but fails, and Toxxic turns to face the ring with his opponent up in an electric chair position. “Hang on,” Mak says in rising alarm, “that looks like-” Toxxic’s body is battered, and he’s exhausted. He can’t hold Gabriel Drake up there. Suits him fine. So he reaches up, takes hold of his former friend’s neck in two black-nailed hands, and pulls it downwards as he sits out. *BAM!!* “RRRRRRRRAAAAAAAAAAAGGGGGGGGGGGGGGHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!” “DANGERLUST!” Francis bellows as Gabriel Drake’s head is driven into the mat and the crowd noise nearly drowns him out, “IT’S OVER! IT’S OVER!” Brian Warner dives for the mat and starts slamming his hand down. ONE! TWO!! THREE!!! *DING-DING-DING!* “YEEEEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!” “Ladies and gentlemen,” Funyon booms, struggling to make himself heard, “the winner of this match by two falls to one; the ‘Straight-Edge Sensation’… TOXXXXXXXXXX-IIIIIIIIIIIIIIC!!” “He did it, but what a match!” Mak Francis says as Toxxic’s right arm gets raised (from a sitting position) by Brian Warner. “Gabriel Drake was on the verge of taking his second win over the Straight-Edge Sensation, but Toxxic brought out the Dangerlust for the first time in nearly three years and from the looks of it, knocked Drake out cold!” “I hope that’s all it is, Francis,” Suicide King says tensely, “that move’s broken necks before, and you know it!” “You don’t have to tell me about broken necks,” Mak snaps. In the ring, Toxxic is rolling across the mat and finally under the bottom rope to the outside where he wobbles for a moment, then regains his balance. A familiar lopsided grin spreads across his face as he looks around at the crowd, still pumped up. He’s under no illusions that they’re cheering him instead of the possibly homicidal move he‘s just pulled off, but what the hell. For once, he has absolutely no regrets about leaving his opponent motionless on the mat tonight, because he knows with absolute certainty that Drake would have done the same to him, given half a chance. “I think it’s very possible that Toxxic’s just thrown himself back into the World Title picture with this win,” Mak Francis says, “but the World Title itself is up next - let’s look at the history!” The last thing we see before 13th Hour fades into a video package for the World Title match is Toxxic walking up the entrance ramp, pausing to collect his discarded trenchcoat on the way, grinning all the while. FADE OUT

“Some matches are about simple competition, some matches are about pride, some matches are about titles,” Mak Francis says, “some matches are even about hatred… but I don’t think that the match coming up is about anything except spite, King. Toxxic may have reopened the enmity between himself and Gabriel Drake with that practical joke a few weeks ago on Storm, but my reading of that whole thing is simply that the Straight-Edge Sensation just wanted an excuse to have another crack at The Beast.” “Amazingly, I think you might be right,” the Gambling Man replies. “Toxxic’s loss to Drake in December may have started him down the right path again, but the effect it’s had on his career has been notable. Why else hasn’t the former World Champion had a rematch?” “Well, that might be partially down to Tom Flesher,” Mak suggests. “I won’t hear a word said against our Commissioner!” King snaps, “he’s been doing two jobs since the board sacked Peters, and do you hear him complain?” “It’s hard to hear him say anything over the chinking of his double paycheck,” Francis replies sourly, “but that’s besides the point. What we have coming up next is a clash of styles, a clash of attitudes and even a clash of form - Toxxic took a cheap loss to Zyon but has otherwise got back into form, beating Danny Williams at From The Fire and rolling through Jimmy The Doom and then teaming with Austin Sly to take down the team of Insane Luchador and JRR since then. Overall the Straight-Edge Sensation is more reliable and more consistent than his larger opponent, but Drake still came out on top last time they faced each other and has the undeniable psychological edge of being the first man to pin Stephens in eighteen months.” “-and still the only man to pin him in singles competition in two years,” King puts in. “Make no mistake Francis, what we’re going to see tonight is a wrestling classic that will disgrace every other match on the card.” As King trails off the insidious guitar of Rob Zombie’s ‘The Devil’s Rejects’ starts to ring out around the arena and an eerie blue light fills the place, painting everyone present in ghostly shades. The Smarktron starts to show clips from The Beast’s debut promos until on the first jangling chord Drake reaches out and grabs what is apparently the camera with a sneer on his face, then throws it into the wall as the main part of the song kicks in. The crowd know what’s coming… “JAIIIIIIIIIIIL-BIRD…” “JAIIIIIIIIIIIL-BIRD…” …or at least they think they do, but then smoke starts to billow across the soundstage… “JAIIIIIIIIIIIL-BIRD…” …and rising out of the floor… “JAIIIIIIIIIIIL-BIRD…” …face framed by his black hair with white highlights… “JAIIIIIIIIIIIL-BIRD…” …comes the figure of Gabriel Drake. ‘I am the bad one Distant and cruel one I am the dream that keeps you running…’ “Well, that’s a new one,” Mak Francis comments as The Beast stares menacingly around at the crowd before starting to make his way down the entrance ramp towards the ring. “It’s a Pay-Per-View, there’s no point doing things by half measures,” Suicide King points out. “Besides, Drake could be about to become the only person to get two pinfall victories over Toxxic since…” he tails off, thinking. ‘Down with distractions Violent reactions Scars of my actions, watch me running out!’ “Drake might be inconsistent, he might be unreliable, but that also makes him unpredictable,” Mak Francis says as Drake swipes a ‘NEUTER THE BEAST’ sign from a fan in the front row and rips it up, “and an opponent who can’t be predicted is very difficult to plan for. You never know if you’re going to get the Gabriel Drake who lost to the Insane Luchador, or the Gabriel Drake who ended Michael Stephens’ World Title run and took Alan Clark apart in the ring under our noses. And that’s assuming he turns up at all,” the Franchise adds, “but it looks like that option is out for Toxxic here tonight.” ‘HELL DOESN’T WANT THEM! HELL DOESN’T NEED THEM! HELL DOESN’T LOVE THEM!’ Drake jogs up the ring steps to the apron, wipes his feet and then swings his legs through the ropes to enter the squared circle. Referee Brian Warner and Funyon both step to one side to keep out of the big man’s way as he crosses to the far side of the ring to glower down at the crowd. ‘The Devil’s Rejects… The Devil’s Rejects… “Ladies and gentlemen, the following contest is a British Rules match,” Funyon booms. “The match is won by scoring two falls via pinfall or submission, however failing to answer the referee’s ten count at any point in the match will result in an automatic loss! Introducing first, from Athens, Georgia,” the veteran ring announcer continues, “he weighs in tonight at 254lbs; this is ‘The Beast’, GAAAAAAAAAAAAABRIEL… DRRRRRRRRAAAAAAAAAAAAKE!!” “BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!” The booing of the fans drowns out Rob Zombie for a few seconds, but then the music fades out and all eyes (Drake’s included) turn towards the sound stage. Moments later every light in the arena hits full and the Smarktron whites out… “COME AND HAVE A GO IF YOU THINK YER ‘ARD ENOUGH!” “COME AND HAVE A GO IF YOU THINK YER ‘ARD ENOUGH!” …and the rolling bassline of ‘The Gush’ by Raging Speedhorn starts to ooze out of the speakers as the Smarktron starts to quickly fade down to black. Jagged white letters flash up the familiar slogan, one word at a time: ‘PREPARE TO BE PROVED WRONG…’ Three chords ring out. On the first, Michael Stephens gets knocked off the top rope to the floor below by a Nathaniel Kibagami springboard enzuigiri. On the second, he gets taken off the top rope with the Mark Of The Beast by the man waiting for him in the ring. And on the third, he gets chokeslammed out of the 2007 Clusterfuck by Janus. Then, as the bass solo hits the shot changes to show him taking Mike Van Siclen off a balcony and through a table with the Stephens Shock Syndrome, the shot starting to strobe and intercut with an image of his grinning face, the devastating landing timed to coincide with- *BOOOM!!*[/b][/b] -the moment the song kicks in, and the stagewide eruption of red pyro that signals the arrival of the SWF’s most decorated Englishman! And through the flame and smoke… “TOXX-IC SUCKS!” …lopsided grin already plastered over his face as he looks down at the ring… “TOXX-IC SUCKS!” …eyelinered and nail-polished but looking none the less dangerous for all that as he adjusts his black-and-red canvas trenchcoat over his England soccer shirt… “TOXX-IC SUCKS!” …comes the man they call Toxxic. “And his opponent,” Funyon booms, “from Nottingham, England! He weighs in tonight at 218lbs and is the leader of Revolution Zero… he is the ‘Straight-Edge Sensation’… TOXXXXXXXXX-IIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIC!!” “BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!” “You come up with anyone yet, King?” Mak asks, remembering that the Gambling Man had a point a couple of minutes ago. “No,” King admits, “unless one of those clowns Wild & Dangerous pinned Toxxic instead of Sean Davis at the start of 2005 when they stole the tag titles from Revolution Zero, I don’t think anyone’s pinned Toxxic twice!” However, despite his great record the Straight-Edge Sensation doesn’t have time to do his normal showboating tonight, as Gabriel Drake has slid out of the ring and is charging up the entrance ramp towards him! Toxxic quickly slips out of his trenchcoat and ducks under Drake’s swing, then as The Beast turns back towards him he starts peppering the bigger man with right hands! “Drake wants to get going early, but Toxxic was ready for him!” Mak shouts as the Englishman unloads, clearly relishing the prospect of throwing down with his former friend again. “Toxxic started slowly in their last match, but that’s not an issue tonight!” Sure enough, Toxxic has Drake off-balance and follows up by delivering a huge European uppercut that staggers The Beast backwards, then grabs his opponent’s wrist and hauls on it to whip Gabe into the steel guardrail that lines the ramp! *CLANG!* Drake lets out a yell of pain as he connects back first, but there’s no remorse in Toxxic as the straight-edger charges straight at him to clothesline him over into the seating area beyond… only for Gabe to duck his head at the last moment before bridging back up, sending Toxxic flying over the guardrail instead with a back bodydrop! “HO-LY SHIT!” “HO-LY SHIT!” Security swarms the area to keep the fans back as Toxxic lies on the ground clutching his back; Gabriel Drake hops over the guardrail (not without a wince) and advances on Toxxic with a nasty grimace on his face, clearing not appreciating the shots to the head he’s already taken in this match. The big man hauls his smaller opponent up and grabs him in a Muay Thai clinch before driving a knee lift into the Englishman’s face, then grabs Toxxic’s wrist and whips him into some nearby chairs, scattering fans as he does so! *CRASH!* “JAIIIIIIIIIIIIIIL-BIRD…” “JAIIIIIIIIIIIIIIL-BIRD…” Drake ignores the chants that arise around him and follows up on his opponent, eager not to give Toxxic any chance to recover. He grabs the straight-edger and shoves him roughly back into the guardrail, then picks up a steel chair and snaps it shut. The Beast weighs it in his hands for a moment, then turns round and swings for Toxxic’s head… but the Englishman dodges, and Drake only hits the railing! *CLANG!* Before Gabe can set himself for another swing Toxxic has leapt into the air, and the Straight-Edge Sensation whips his foot round to connect with the back of his opponent’s head in an enzuigiri. Drake drops the chair and staggers away, not knocked off his feet but certainly knocked loopy for a few seconds, and as the security team work on keeping the crowd away from the action Toxxic grabs the chair his opponent dropped. He measures Drake, waiting for the bigger man to turn back towards him, then breaks into a run… …vaults off a chair left upright by a fleeing SWF fan… …and dropkicks the chair he was holding straight into Drake’s face! *CRACK!* “HO-LY SHIT!” “HO-LY SHIT!” “In-Flight Meal!” Mak Francis shouts as Toxxic’s version of British Airways touches down, “Toxxic normally ties his opponent up in the ropes for that, but I guess he decided to improvise!” Gabriel Drake was knocked over by the impact and the Beast is now struggling to pull himself upright on the guardrail. Toxxic gets back to his feet and helps his former friend up, but only to pitch him over the rail into the ringside area, then hop over to follow him. In the ring Brian Warner is yelling at the two men to bring it inside, but Toxxic ignores the ref in favour of grabbing Drake by his hair and ramming The Beast’s head into the ringpost! *CLUNK!* Drake staggers away with a faint trickle of blood now starting to snake down his forehead; Toxxic looks to follow up and grabs his opponent’s wrist before Irish whipping the bigger man towards the ring steps, but some instinct of Drake’s kicks in and the Athenian reverses the momentum to send Toxxic into the steps instead! *CRASH!* Toxxic hit backfirst and collapses to the floor - Drake wipes his forehead, looks at the smear of red with a sneer and then hoists Toxxic off the protective mats before rolling him into the ring. The Beast follows him a second later… *DING-DING-DING!* …Warner calls for the bell while he has the chance, and a moment later drops down to make a count as Drake covers Toxxic and hooks the leg! ONE! TW- -but Toxxic kicks out just before Warner’s hand can find the mat for the second time. Gabe snarls in anger and drags Toxxic up into a sitting position, then stands over the Englishman and starts firing forearm shots down into his chest. “What a quickfire start to this match!” Mak Francis exclaims as Drake drives the wind from his opponent’s lungs with each blow, “these two are just going all out from the start here tonight!” Drake finishes his hammering of his opponent and lets Toxxic slump forward to all fours, then heads over to one corner of the ring and begins removing the turnbuckle pad. Brian Warner hurries forward to stop him but Drake shoves him away and rips the pad off, then hurls it out into the crowd so that no-one will be able to recover it. Warner remonstrates with The Beast, who ignores him and stalks back towards the Straight-Edge Sensation. Drake drags Toxxic to his feet and Irish whips his opponent towards the corner which he has just deprived of its top turnbuckle pad, but before he can slam into it Toxxic leaps up to the top rope, balances there for a moment and then twists back through the air to take Drake down with a corkscrew dropkick! The big man hits the mat hard, and after a second Toxxic curls his legs up under his chin and then kips up explosively! “TOXX-IC SUCKS!” “TOXX-IC SUCKS!” “Is it too much to hope that the crowd will start appreciating the virtues of at least one of these fine athletes?” the Suicide King asks, looking around. “Probably,” Mak admits. “Morons.” Toxxic takes a step to the left (but doesn’t follow up with a step to the right, or pelvic thrusts to drive you insa-a-a-a-a-ane), then backflips to come down with a standing moonsault on top of his grounded opponent. Warner dives to count… ONE! TWO!! …but Drake recovers his wits and his breath, and powers Toxxic off the cover to send him flying a couple of feet through the air! The straight-edger gets up immediately but instead of going straight back onto the attack he steps through the ropes out to the apron and takes hold of the top rope, waiting for Drake to rise. “Toxxic isn’t any stranger to powerful opponents,” Mak comments, “after all, he faced Danny Williams at From The Fire.” “And beat him,” Suicide King puts in, “you forgot that part.” Gabriel Drake gets back to his feet and starts looking around for his opponent, wondering where Toxxic has gone, but his question is answered all too soon as Toxxic leaps to the top rope and springboards off to come flying into the ring with a hurricanrana! The momentum of the move sends Drake rolling across the mat and out underneath the bottom rope to the arena floor, while Toxxic picks himself back up and pauses for a moment to stop the room from spinning. However, the Englishman is eager to remain on the offensive and as Brian Warner launches into his ring-out count Toxxic gather that his opponent is on the outside and locks on to The Beast as Drake starts to stand again. The Straight-Edge Sensation jumps up and down a couple of times to loosen up, then turns and charges for the ropes behind him, bounces off and accelerates across the ring before leaping into the air over the top rope… …and crashing into Drake with a somersault senton! “YEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!” “Toxxic putting his body on the line again to take the fight to his opponent,” Mak points out, “say what you like about both these men, and I will, but neither of them lacks commitment or determination.” The crowd were cheering more on general principle of the high-risk move rather than because they particularly like the person doing it, but there are a few scattered cheers of ‘TOXX-IC!’ in the immediate vicinity as the straight-edger starts to haul himself upright. It’s clear that the landing wasn’t particularly kind to him, but being crushed under 218lbs of aerial Englishman was even less kind to Drake and The Beast lacks the breath to muster much resistance as Toxxic brings him up into a front facelock. Toxxic takes a deep breath and tries to judge distances, then leaps up… …takes two steps along the ring apron… …and swings back off to spiral down and drag Drake headfirst into the protective mats with an improvised Tornado DDT! That gets another half-cheer from the crowd, who can recognise decent invention when they see it, although a fair few still jeer the British straight-edger as he gets back to his feet and rolls into the ring. Brian Warner, who’s already reached ‘two’ on his latest ring-out count, glares at Toxxic for interrupting the first one with his trip over the top rope but probably figures that at least the Englishman has come back inside now. ‘THREE!’ Gabriel Drake starts to push himself up off the mats and shakes his head vaguely to try and lose some of the cobwebs. The protective mats helped a little, but that was still concrete underneath… ‘FOUR!’ Drake wobbles up to one knee and reaches out to grab the guardrail with one hand to steady himself, gritting his teeth in annoyance as an over-eager fans pats his arm encouragingly. The Beast wipes a little more blood from his head and tries to rise further but a wave of pain stops him momentarily. ‘FIVE!’ Drake manages to focus himself and staggers up to his feet, then turns to check his surroundings. He notices Toxxic in the ring and grimaces; he’s in no doubt that his enemy will attack him once he re-enters the squared circle, but at least he knows where Toxxic is now… ‘SIX!’ Drake feints forward, and notes that Toxxic starts to move forward, ready to ambush him. Drake reaches out to try and hook his opponent’s legs but Toxxic simply stamps down at his hands, causing Gabe to pull them back. He turns away, looking to enter the ring from another side… ‘SEVEN!’ …and then turns back to quickly roll in under the ropes, hoping to catch Toxxic off-guard. The straight-edger had indeed lost some alertness, thinking Drake was going to head round to another side, but he still manages to pile in and start firing off kicks before The Beast can regain his feet. Despite Brian Warner’s warnings the Englishman continues his assault and brings Drake up to his feet, then fires off two thunderous European uppercuts to his former friend before grabbing Gabe’s wrist and Irish whipping him towards the far ropes. The Beast reverses the momentum and sends Toxxic into the cables instead, but the Englishman explodes back off them and leaps up to ensnare his opponent with a headscissors that sends Drake tumbling away to end up in sitting position in the corner of the ring. “Well King, this is certainly starting differently to their affair at the end of last year,” Mak comments. “Yes,” the Gambling Man agrees, “then Drake was simply overpowering Toxxic; this time the Straight-Edge Sensation is using his speed to keep himself out of harm’s way. For the moment.” Toxxic gets back to his feet and sees Drake slumped in the corner, so he simply charges straight in and jumps into the air the last moment to deliver a basement dropkick to his opponent’s head! Sitting against the turnbuckles as he is Drake’s head has nowhere to go, and with The Beast apparently stunned Toxxic drags him out away from the ropes and makes a cover… ONE! TWO!! …but Drake kicks out, although not with such an ostentatious display of power this time. Toxxic doesn’t want to give his opponent any time to rally his thoughts and manages to haul Drake up towards a vertical base again, but this time as he grabs a front facelock some instinct clicks inside The Beast and Drake wraps his arms around Toxxic’s waist even as the Englishman starts to hold his right arm out for the Unfinished Business, and the straight-edger finds himself hoisted off the mat and driven backwards at speed into the turnbuckles! *WHAM!* “That’s the corner Drake took the pad off earlier,” Mak shouts in realisation, “although to be honest I think he just headed for the nearest one!” Toxxic certainly realises it though, a spasm of pain crossing the straight-edger’s face; it’s not alone either, as Drake gathers his thoughts and then proceeds to slam his shoulder into his opponent’s midsection twice more for good measure, just to tenderise a few ribs and knock some breath out of the Englishman. Brian Warner steps in to try and make The Beast back off, and amazingly Drake complies. However, it seems to only be for a few seconds as he catches his breath and shakes off the last of the dizziness from the bout of headshots he’s received, then the steps back in and hauls Toxxic away from the corner, bends him over and applies a double underhook. A nasty smile crosses the big man’s face for a moment, not at the impact of the upcoming move itself but more what it means… *BANG!* “Overheard butterfly suplex,” Mak Francis calls, “and you can bet Drake learned that one in Atlanta.” Now moving easier again, Gabriel Drake gets back to his feet and cocks an elbow ready to drop it into the centre of Toxxic’s chest; however, he’s too casual and the Englishman manages to roll aside at the last moment. That doesn’t stop Drake though; he rubs at his elbow for a second, but lunges and grabs Toxxic before the straight-edger can get to his feet, then drives a knee up into his opponent’s ribs. Toxxic is lifted off the mat by the force of the blow and Drake steps around to the side of his opponent, then starts setting him up for a Russian leg sweep. Toxxic starts battering at the back of Drake’s head with his left fist however, and the impacts are enough to throw The Beast off his game long enough for Toxxic to break free, then drive his forehead into Drake’s with a sickening crunch that sees the bigger man stagger. Toxxic staggers too but turns it into running for the ropes and rebounding into the attack… only for Drake to scoop him off his feet, manhandle him through the air and drive him down into a tilt-a-whirl backbreaker! “JAIIIIIIIIIIL-BIRD…” “JAIIIIIIIIIIL-BIRD…” Gabe pauses momentarily to flip off the nearby fans whilst mouthing something about ‘here’s a bird for you’, but the big man seems more amused than annoyed by their chants. “BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!” With the crowd up in arms against him again Drake laughs and drops into a cover, bringing Brian Warner down to the mat alongside him… ONE! TWO!! …but Toxxic kicks out! Drake grunts and immediately starts lifting Toxxic back to his feet, then simply shoves the Englishman into the corner with the removed turnbuckle pad again. The impact isn’t that hard, but hard enough to knock a little more breath from Toxxic and keep him there long enough for Drake to move in and start hammering at his chest with chops! *SMACK!* *SMACK!* *SMACK!* *SMACK!* *SMACK!* *SMACK!* *SMACK!* *SMACK!* *SMACK!* Angry red welts start to rise on Toxxic’s pale chest almost the moment Drake’s offence ceases; The Beast then just yells into his adversary’s face, some primal roar of anger and spite, before grabbing Toxxic underneath one arm and hurling him head-over-heels to the mat in what is part hiptoss and part simply manhandling. “This is the side of Gabriel Drake that his opponent’s really fear,” The Franchise informs viewers, “the man is a threat simply through his wrestling ability, but the more damage he does the angrier he seems to get-” “-and the angrier he gets, the more damage he does,” Suicide King finishes. “It’s a beautiful thing to witness, isn’t it?” Toxxic doesn’t want to give his opponent any chance to do more damage while he’s on the mat and starts to try and struggle to his feet, but Drake makes no move towards him. Seeing this first real break in the action, Brian Warner begins his ten-count. ‘ONE!’ It doesn’t look like Toxxic is going to be counted out, because the straight-edger is already rolling over to try and get arms and legs under him, but still Drake makes offensive move. ‘TWO!’ Instead, The Beast drops down into a crouch and measures his opponent. ‘THREE!’ Toxxic starts to struggle up to a vertical base… ‘FO-’ …and Warner’s count is cut off, not just by the fact that the Englishman has regained his feet but also because Drake explodes upwards and across the ring with his shoulder lowered for a spear! Toxxic manages to sidestep at the last moment and shoves Drake away with both hands to try and ensure The Beast doesn’t change direction at the last moment; Drake manages to halt his momentum and turns around to make a grab for his slippery opponent but Toxxic takes hold of his opponent’s head in both hands, places his own skull beneath Gabe’s and sits out with a jawbreaker that sends the Athenian staggering away clutching his face! He ends up in a corner, perhaps figuring that with his back to something solid he won’t get outmanoeuvred, but Toxxic sucks it up and charges at him before Drake can set himself and the Englishman leaps into the air to paste his opponent with a leg lariat! Toxxic manages to control his rebound off the bigger man and lands on his feet on the apron, then starts to climb up towards the top rope as Drake takes an unsteady step forwards. “Toxxic could be looking for the Final Shine here…” Mak speculates as the straight-edger reaches out, and it looks like the Franchise’s words could be proved true as Toxxic latches one arm around Gabriel Drakes throat in a rear facelock. Drake reacts immediately however, lashing upwards with both hands to slam them into the side of his opponent’s head, and as the impact causes Toxxic’s head to swim and his grip to slacken Drake turns around and- *SMACK!* “Right Hand of Gabe!” Suicide King shouts as the leaping palm strike hits home and nearly knocks Toxxic from his perch, “I think they heard that one in Nottingham!” Toxxic’s brief burst of offence has come to an end again as Drake gathers himself and starts to climb the ropes with his enemy still sitting on the top buckle. Gabe reaches the first rope… …the second rope… …he hooks Toxxic up for a suplex and then takes another step up to the top rope, hauling the straight-edger up into a standing position along with him… “This doesn’t look good!” Mak shouts. …and Gabriel Drake lifts Toxxic up and over to go falling backwards and down to the canvas with a top-rope superplex! *BANG!!* “YEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!” The crowd cheers that one, partly because it was impressive and partly because both men were obviously hurt by it. Brian Warner knows his role and starts the count. ‘ONE!’ ‘TWO!’ However, before the referee can get any further Drake manages to recover himself and rolls on top of Toxxic, then hooks the leg… ONE! TWO!! TH- -but Toxxic kicks out! “Gabriel Drake is getting closer to that first fall,” Mak Francis says, “and you’ve got to consider the psychological effects of that on Toxxic, King. Drake was the first person to pin Toxxic in eighteen months, and if he should pick up another pinfall without reply then for all the Straight-Edge Sensation’s cockiness, I think he’ll be in a world of self-doubt.” “Don’t think that Toxxic doesn’t know how dangerous Drake is,” the Suicide King argues, “he’ll be prepared for this match and all the possible outcomes. At the same time,” the Heartbreaker adds, “don’t think that Drake isn’t capable of doing exactly as you suggested. We’re watching two of the SWF’s finest here-” “God help us all,” Mak mutters. “Please Francis, a little professionalism,” King sniffs, leaving Mak to choke and splutter in outraged astonishment. Gabriel Drake was a little disappointed that the superplex didn’t get the three-count and lets Brian Warner know this, but he knows better than to get sidetracked arguing with the referee so he returns his attention to his opponent. He drags Toxxic up, slams a knee into his gut more for the sake of it than for any real need, then latches on another double-underhook. He heaves Toxxic up and over again, but this time holds on and floats over to complete the Britishplex with a pin… ONE! TWO!! TH- -but Toxxic kicks out again! “JAIIIIIIIIIIIIIIL-BIRD…” “JAIIIIIIIIIIIIIIL-BIRD…” “Gabriel Drake almost got that vital first fall with another Atlanta special,” Mak Francis comments, “and while Toxxic’s probably not thinking about it at the moment, if he loses this match and looks back over it, something like that will probably really eat at him. It just goes to show that for all his apparent fury Drake is smart enough to look at the long-term picture, even if only in a spiteful way.” The Beast seems to be getting into his rhythm now, and Toxxic is looking less and less likely to mount a comeback. Once more he drags his opponent off the canvas and this time scoops him up to hold him horizontally across his chest; Toxxic kicks weakly but fails to do any damage to Drake or unbalance him in any way, so the big man walks around the ring at his leisure, pauses to sneer at a few fans, then suddenly arcs backwards and hurls the Straight-Edge Sensation overhead with a fallaway slam! *BANG!* Toxxic rolls across the ring and comes to rest looking decidedly the worse for wear; Drake gets back up to his feet and leans on the ropes, signalling for Brian Warner to start counting. ‘ONE!’ ‘TWO!’ “Another good way to rub in his superiority would be for Gabe to have Toxxic beaten by the count,” Suicide King mentions, “Toxxic won the World Title at 13th Hour last year in a Last Man Standing match, so it would probably amuse Drake to have him lose to essentially the same stipulation.” ‘THREE!’ “Isn’t this the first time Toxxic’s appeared at 13th Hour and not been in a Last Man Standing match?” Mak asks. ‘FOUR!’ “Kibagami… Spike… Landon… yes, you’re right,” King confirms. “He could still go down to the count tonight though.” ‘FIVE!’ Toxxic is stirring, starting to push himself up. Gabriel Drake’s eyes narrow and The Beast pushes himself off the ropes, losing his relaxed air and regaining his focus. The big man shakes out his right arm apparently unconsciously, starting to flex it… ‘SIX!’ Toxxic is on one knee, still looking down at the canvas and apparently focusing more on getting upright than on his surroundings. Brian Warner continues his count as Drake readies himself… ‘SEVEN!’ …Toxxic starts to stand and Gabe starts to move, backing into the ropes for a little added momentum and then starting to hurtle across the ring with his right arm outstretched for the Shotgun lariat. However, Toxxic’s head snaps up and Drake realises too late that the straight-edger was working the count, playing possum a little to give himself more time… …and Toxxic suddenly dives to the mat. *CRACK!* “Soccer tackle!” Mak shouts as Drake’s legs are scythed out from under him and The Beast crashes headlong into the canvas, “Toxxic managed to sucker him in!” The Beast isn’t going to be stopped by that though; his blood is up and he’s in far better shape than his adversary at the moment. Heedless of the stinging pain in his shins the big man rises up to his feet and spins around to look for his enemy, just in time to see a boot flash towards his face- *whap* -and just in time to catch the Stephenskick before it pastes him on the jaw! Toxxic’s face registers surprise for a moment before Drake hurls the foot away and spins the Englishman on the spot, then lunges forward and grabs him around the waist before hoisting him up over his shoulder, head down towards the mat! “Inverted Cross! Drake’s got him up for the Inverted Cross!” Mak shouts. “But he’s not holding him!” King shouts back, and sure enough Toxxic is struggling furiously to escape. Gabe can’t maintain his grip and the straight-edger manages to slither headfirst down his opponent’s back, then roll and bring the surprised Beast over into a sunset flip pin! ONE! TWO!! TH- -but Drake slams both legs into the side of his opponent’s head and fires himself out of the pin at the same time! Toxxic falls backwards, head swimming again, and manages to turn over onto his front to avoid the risk of a retaliatory pin; sensible enough, but Drake has retaliation of a different sort on his mind and the big man gets back to his feet, plants a kick in his opponent’s ribs and then reaches down to force his arms underneath Toxxic to place the prone Englishman in a reverse waistlock. Drake braces his feet and hoists upwards… “Wheelbarrow German!” Mak shouts. …but The Beast put a little too much mustard on it, and Toxxic manages to do what he normally does when someone tries to German suplex him - he flips out and lands on his feet! *whump* Drake may have been wrestling professionally for less than a year but he knows from the sound that something didn’t go according to plan, so he whirls around to find out what; unfortunately Toxxic has charged desperately at him and the smaller man buries a running knee into his former friend’s gut. Drake isn’t knocked over but does double up, and this allows Toxxic to grab a double underhook, plant his feet and hoist… *BANG!*