Vasarian_Brandy

Mention that shit again, and I swear to ByGawd, I will trace your IP, come through this cable modem, and strangulate you.

Vegas has even odds that Kibs forgets he's on-air, and gets high during the show.

(A day or so before Smarkdown) ----- Walking down the hall of the Xcel Energy Center’s lower level, I tried to keep my head clear, and my spirits high. I was plenty early for my meeting with Joseph Peters, SWF high commander. My last meeting was... Less than impressive. And frankly, I’m surprised I hadn’t gotten my pink slip already. Thankfully, he’d either been too busy, or just nice enough, to give me time to consider this whole contract deal. I finally came to my decision, and through voice messages and such, finally made an appointment to do the deed. Frankly, I hadn’t been thinking about it much. With the Sarah thing, LDP’s impending to active for... However long... The apparent return of Janus (though I hadn’t seen him in my workouts at the arena)... All that and more had been enough to think about. The signing of this contract was a necessity for me to stay into the business that I loved. That was it, in its simplicity. I rounded the corner, finding Peters’ impromptu office easily, and opened the door... I had to work really hard to keep the carpet from seemingly being pulled out from under me. My eyes settled on a giant of a man, broad as a tree, in a white suit. The man turned towards the door, hearing it open. When he saw me, a sneer crossed his lips... But there was a look that flickered in his eyes that made me tense despite myself. “Fury.” The low rumbling voice was unmistakable, and it was also unmistakable that the man called the Hell Machine found the fact that I came through that door much to his disliking. I hastily attempted to pull myself together, eyeing the giant. “Hello, Janus,” I offered in as much of a sincere voice as I possibly could. “Congratulations on your new assignment with the company...” “Spare us your pleasantries and false praise,” Janus replied with a sense of malice in those bass tones., “And tell us why you’re here.” The plurality of the Hell Machine’s speech always struck me as odd. However, it also reminded me that this man was not to be trifled with. “I have an appointment with Joseph Peters.” “-Mister- Peters,” Janus growled softly as he turned a glance to the secretary. Her eyes were slightly wary and nervous as she glanced over her books... Finally, she leveled a nod at Janus. He turned his bulk back in my direction. “Mister Peters will appreciate your timeliness,” he stated in much-less sincere words than mine were to him. “You may enter.” I offered a curt nod, my nerves singing danger as I walked by him. I pushed open the door to Peters’ office, trying not to seem too nervous as I quickly closed it behind me. I allowed myself an inward sigh of relief as Peters looked up at me from his reading. “Ahh, Christian... Glad you could come in.” He nodded towards the chair in front of his desk. “Please, have a seat.” I allowed myself a moment to compose myself, then took the proffered seat. Peters seemed to notice my shot nerves, and grinned. “Janus didn’t give you a rough time, did he?” Instantly my nervousness melted into annoyance at the grinning man. “No, actually. It looks like you made another fine decision, Peters... You should be applauded.” Peter’s grin intensified momentarily, but then faltered quite a bit as my sarcasm was finally comprehended. He gave himself a cover moment as he rifled through a file folder. “Well, we’re not here to discuss my business decisions,” he snapped off as he pulled a familiar-looking slip of paper, and put it on his desk. “We’re here to discuss -your- decisions... And -your- continued business relationship with the SWF.” I smirked as he tapped the paper with his finger. Peters was, in my mind, one of those folk that knew -just- enough to be ‘dangerous’... But not much more than that. I sighed softly, looking Peters dead in the eye. “I want you to know that I’m signing this under protest, -and- under one condition.” I shook my head when Peters started to protest. “I’m not a pitch man. I’m a wrestler. But if you want me to shill some of the worthless shit that I’ve seen being shoved down our fans’ throats, you’re completely mistaken.” I pursed my lips, waiting for the protest, but it didn’t come within a second. So on I went. “I want creative control over what commercial spots I do, what products I endorse. I’m not going to lower myself.” “I agree,” Peters interjected before I could cut him off. “Your popularity is on the rise.” He nodded. “I can agree to those concessions.” He made a note on a scratchpad, then signed his name on the proper spot on the contract, turning it to me with the pen on top. “I’ll draft up an addendum to the contract, but for now, I need you to sign this one so we can get you reactivated on the roster...” He grinned slyly. “You -do- realize that’s why your team has the show off, right?” I barely kept my growling contained as I picked up the pen and signed the contract, thereby damning myself to this man... I looked at him with a cold, steely gaze. “Is that all?” “Oh, that’ll do quite nicely,” he said with a grin. “We’ll have you two on the next show. Now, if you’ll excuse me...” He waved his hand dismissively. I stood up, treading to the door, and made it through without slamming it... Just barely though. But I noticed something when I turned into the waiting room. No sign of Janus. “He left not long after you went in.” Peters’ secretary looked at me a moment. “He seemed pretty determined about something after you got here, and just... Left.” I nodded to her, then took my own leave of the office area. Something was going on. Something shady, and sinister. And I didn’t like it. One bit.

(Post-Storm promo that finally got finished...) ----- Following the minor debacle that was Storm... And following a quick trip to the infirmary to get checked out, I set out, trying to locate the man I was looking forward to meeting. Oddly enough, he wasn’t around the dressing room when I went there to collect my gear. As a matter of fact... I noticed that no one but superstars and SWF workers were anywhere in sight in the backstage area. A little odd, considering the seemingly open-door policy that the SWF was about. I got myself together, and proceeded out towards the parking lot. I noticed that things around the workers’ area was very quiet... Again odd. But I got to my car, and slid behind the wheel, settling back with a soft sigh. My mind was racing... Having seen LDP’s challenge to Coyote, the continuing craziness of this pairing for the Lethal Lottery... It seemed like my past was really out to get me. And now, not being able to find my friend... The happy lilt of a Irish jig emanating from my cell phone on the seat next to me drew me back, and made one worry slowly evaporated. I grabbed the Razr, and flipped it open. “James, where the Hell are you?” “Sorry, Chris... Some big bruiser o’ a Security chief would’na let me back t’ th’ locker area.” I frowned a moment... This was getting more and more odd. “As it is, I’m up at th’ Hibachi. Got us a table out o’ th way, so ya won’t get mobbed.” I smiled a little bit, despite things. “You’re a saint, James. I’m on my way.” And with that, I got that little silver S2000 on its way. *** I finally settled in at the table James reserved at Benihana (or the Hibachi, as James liked to call it). The ride was nice to catch my wind, and clear my mind slightly. However, the ‘fight’ from the front door to the private back area was arduous: People definitely came here after the show... Adoring fans, photo ops, and autographs abounded... Including one pretty young thing that wanted an autograph on her shirt... The one on her that hugged a rather generous chest. I politely declined that one, autographing her program instead. I managed to get back to the privacy of the back, and smiled in relief when James got out of his seat to shake my hand... I wrapped him up in a friendly hug, chuckling. “Don’t you do that to me again, old man.” He pulled back with a grin. “Ya worry too much. I can handle myself.” We sat down as the hibachi master started his prep work. “Well, when you tell me that you can’t get back to meet me because some utter hoss is running Security, I worry.” “Now I ne’er said he was a ‘hoss’...” James said with a grin. “I said he was a big bruiser. And had it not been for th’ public spectacle it would’ve caused, I’d have been back t’ see ya.” We shared a momentary laugh. “So... It looks like ya an’ your partner are starting to get along.” I smirked at that, drawing my attention from the hibachi master back to James. “I’m trying to keep it business in the ring,” I replied, probably unconvincingly as James raised an eyebrow. “Just trying to get through this Lethal Lottery.” I shook my head. “I want to get back to wrestling singles again, where I can do something. I could care less if we win or not.” “An’ if ya do?” I smirked again. “I’ll do what’s good for the business aspect, and the fans.” James nodded. “An’ out o’ th’ ring?” I found myself growling just slightly. “James, what happens out of the ring is my own business.... I’ll keep the in-ring business as the in-ring business.” James sighed. “Aye... I’ll leave it be then.” We both went silent for a few, watching the hibachi master do his show. After a bit, and throughout the dinner, we had some idle chatter, James and I. We talked about his family... His wife Anna, his children... He had plenty of pictures of Tamara, Steve, and Allison. I smiled at it all, listening to his fatherly stories... All the while my mind reflected back to Lara and I, and the plans we had. Dinner passed, and we went outside and were about to part company, when something came into my head. “Oh James...” He turned back to me from getting into his car, eyebrow raised. “Lemme see if I can’t get you some backstage credentials so you don’t get stopped anymore. I have an appointment with Peters later in the week anyway... Did you happen to catch the name of the guy that stopped you?” James cocked his head in thought. “Let’s see... He was a big, broad man... Ponytail, nice suit... He had a very distinct voice, too. Very low, gravelly... Like th’ earth itself had a voice...” My eyebrows furrowed slightly... Something didn’t sound quite right... Familiar, but not right... “I dinna think I remember anything else.” I nodded. “Thanks, James. I’ll talk to Peters about it.” James smiled. “Alright... G’night, Chris.” He climbed into his car, and I unlocked my door, trying to think of who this new security enforcer could be. A few moments later, the sound of a car horn caught my attention. I turned back to find James behind me, window rolled down. “Lad, I just remembered... Someone had addressed th’ big oaf... I think she said ‘Mister Bailey’... An’ when he spoke, he had a wee bit o’ an accent... Aussie, I’d put it. Barely noticeable. Anyway, I have t’ go... Anna’s already callin’.” With a quick wave, he was off. I got in my car, letting myself sink into the seat... Big guy, Australian accent, last name of Bailey... Suddenly, it felt like the world dropped out from around me... If I thought my past was coming back to haunt me before... It felt like my life was possessed right now. “Janus...”

Simple... ONE! TWO!! THREE!!! Just like a non-might-be robot.

Smarks Board Name: Vasarian_Brandy Wrestlers Name: Christian Fury Nicknames: The Fury Height: 6'3" Weight: 222 lbs Hometown: Cleveland, Ohio Age: 31 Face/Heel: Face side of tweener Stable: None Ring Escort: None Weapon(s): The ever-present kendo stick, but only in hardcore / no-DQ matches, or moments of desperation. Quote: "Life is a lesson of pain, loss, and anguish... Today, -I- am your teacher!", "Chalk one up for the grizzled veteran!" Looks: Physically, Christian Fury is in good shape for his age. Decently tall, lean... He's not bulging muscles, but the ones he shows are well-toned. Long, red hair... Not quite fire-engine red... A bit darker. Tanned complexion. Small goatee. When not scheduled to wrestle (or backstage before a show), Chris Fury usually wears his long, red hair in a ponytail to keep it out of his face. His black leather jacket is usually either being worn, or close to Fury's side. The "Fury" on the back of the jacket is written in a silvery-red stylized script. He wears black denim jeans with silver-colored stitching, a pair of "Marauders", and a form-fit, short-sleeved muscle shirt... The shirt is a simple black. Accessory-wise, he wears a pair of silver-framed, reflective sunglasses, and a simple gold ring on a silver chain, which hangs around his neck. In the ring, not much changes... The "Marauders" gain a nice steel toe. Ring Entrance: The locale goes somewhat darkened, and "Remember The Name" by Fort Minor spins up. Fury comes out to a minor pop, but mostly a non-commital reaction. But he doesn't mind. He walks straight from the back to the ring, kendo stick in hand, the only thing happening is some white sparklers on the entranceway. His SmarkTron display is also pretty simple: Old matches, training footage, an occasional red stylized-script "Fury"... Mostly in time with the music. He ditches the kendo stick at ringside as he slides in, eyeing his opponent / eyeing the entranceway, depending on when he comes out. Stats: ¯¯¯¯¯ Strength: 4 (He's toned down from his past... While working on his quickness and finesse, he's lost a bit of pure bulk) Speed: 7 (A new conditioning program has helped him pick up some speed to help focus on a slightly 'flightier' move set) Vitality: 7 (Conditioning has also helped his endurance and pure toughness. He's a tougher nut to crack nowadays) Charisma: 2 (His old fans have pretty much moved on, and he's not too concerned about making new ones. He's in this to prove himself to the business, and also to himself) Style: Cruiser-style speedster, but with access to a big move or two. He'll give bigger guys fits with speed, then hit them hard when he can, using his higher-than-average vitality to hang in before turning on the jets again... Smaller, speedier folk he can easily go toe-to-toe with and hit them with a few 'heavy' moves to rattle them. Signature moves: Note: While a bunch of these are finisher-style moves, Fury simply doesn't have the pure Strength / experience with the moves to give them the finisher impact you'd expect. What they -do- accomplish is a continuation of working the head / neck / "wheels" of his opponent. - Twist Of Fate - "Trip To The Dawg Pound": Stratusfaction - Flatliner - Dragon Sleeper - Grapevine Ankle Lock - Springboard Huracanrana - Damascus Head-Leglock Common moves: Note: Similar to the Sig Moves, most of these are used to work the head / neck / "wheels" of Fury's opponent. There are a few "impact" moves designed to generally wear the opponent down. - Spinning heel kicks to the head - Irish whip into a backdrop (using opponent's momentum to put them over) - Short-arm and irish whip clotheslines (see above) - Nerve strikes, focused on the neck - Top turnbuckle legdrop - Sleepers - Shoulder charges to a cornered opponent - Sleeper slam - Forward and regular Russian legsweeps - Crossface chickenwing - Victory roll (this will only rarely get a match-ending pin) - Sickle hold / Muta lock - Lifting leg stomp - Scissors kick (either off the ropes or off the top turnbuckle) - Spinning toe hold - Tiger suplex - Rolling cross-arm German suplexes (mostly on the lightweights, and usually in groups of 3... He might try 4, but it's no guarantee) Rare moves: Note: Some of these are older moves (or modifications thereof) he used to know. They probably aren't as potent as they used to be. - Spear / Gore (the most 'common' of the rares) - Sidewalk slam - Double spinning back fist (fingers laced together) - Cuyahoga-sault (Think of Taker's "Old School", but instead of a chop, it ends in a diving moonsault... Or it ends with Fury just driving the opponent back-first to the mat. If the moonsault hits, it's a major move, inciting a gargantuan pop... You can picture it, I know you can. But there's a reason this one's a rare move... He has yet to really pull it off) Finishers: - "Dead Man's Curve": Nearly identical to the "619", but Fury threads through the bottom 2 ropes, letting him deliver a more "uppercutted" kick under his opponent's jaw. He might have somewhat lowered Strength, but combined with higher-than-average Speed, this finisher is a heavy shot more geared to the big guys. - "Lightning And Thunder": The ol' Double Stunner comes back for another play. The first is just a quick kneel-down Stunner (not a full drop). Fury then stands, taking a couple of quick steps to the side before dropping the opponent into a more "normal" Stunner... The second half resembles the "RKO", and is done this way because of Fury's lost weight and Strength. He'll bust this finisher out with lighter opposition, or if he got a good pop coming in... See Notes for more details. Notes: - Proud, but not pompous. Tactically minded, but not the most stunning technique. He's still knocking off ring rust. - He generally works the lower body with the basics (takedowns, dragon screws, sweeps... Submission-style moves focused on the lower part of an opponent). He also tries to focus towards the head and neck of bigger wrestlers (running under the mantra "Kill the head, and the body will die"), and the midsection of lighterweights (to try to take away general Stamina, slow them up more)... But these are by no means set in stone. - He'll have issues with the HOSS~! style of wrestler with big power movesets (Stamina can only go so far), and will be slowly frustrated over the course of a match with ultra-speedsters like Wildchild (unless he works the legs into oblivion, they still have speed to spare over his). - His moves... He tries to show a little passion and flair to draw the fans behind him, but sometimes there's hesitance and "unsureness" in them, due to being out of the regularity of the sport for so long. - LDP and Fury have a bit of history feuding (with titles involved and without) in the past, back when Fury's life was quite a bit darker, so LDP is not going to be heavily complimenting Fury anytime soon. - Though his overall Charisma is 2, he will get (non-cheap) hometown pops in Cleveland and surrounding communities. Shows in Indiana, Ohio, and Pennsylvania will have him well-received, due to his past with the independent circuits. He will also get light pop (but more than normal) in Washington State, due to having lived there for a while up to this point. Bio: More to come...

Big guy, I couldn't agree with you more.

Raffy Palmero. Without the steroids and such.

Wow... The comparison wasn't nearly as bad as I thought it would be!

Stanton has been playing on the historically-inconsistent Atlanta Hanoi Janes since 2028, but his ERC is usually a little higher than his ERA, meaning that the team is able to keep his ERA lower than it actually should be based on how he pitches. Oh, and if anyone else wants to have their player compared to an MLB player, just let me know and I'll give it a shot. Hmm... I'd be interested in a comparison between Fury and someone on the likes of Jim Thome. I know Fury didn't have too long of a career, so the numbers might be skewed... But, it might be interesting.

Hmm... I have a mic. (Shrugs) Depends on what all you want your guests to do / help out with.

Wow... All I can really say. Muy muy impressed.

(This promo was to be done before Storm. However, due to circumstances beyond my control, it never got done until now.) ----- Once I slammed the door to the workout room, my emotions took off in 20 different directions. Walking down the halls of the Cow Palace, Sarah’s words were on repeat in my head. “Chris, the anger you keep inside won’t help Lara’s legacy.” “Give it another chance, Chris. For Lara’s sake.” I grumbled to myself as I found the way by rote to the locker room. What the Hell did she know about Lara? How -dare- she -presume- she knew of Lara... Or my anger... Or the lingering memories that haunted my nights, that were fresh because of this return to the ring... I growled in frustration, and suddenly the world was red as I took aim on a nearby locker. As opposed to trying to find something to pour my rage into, I took what was in hand, and heaved it at the locker... Much to my disappointment, however, the locker survived the towel’s assault intact, and the towel laid crumpled... Not broken... On the floor. My rattled and addled mind tried to register for a moment how the locker door wasn’t completely caved in from the attack of the towel... But then I snapped back to reality. I found myself shaking my head, laughing faintly at my own impetuousness. The sheer level of ridiculousness of it all. The ringing of a phone nearby caught my attention. My phone. The bubbles of annoyance came back as I rifled through my workout bag, and grabbed the phone... But the annoyance evaporated as I saw the Caller ID info. I took a breath, and flipped open the Razr. “Hey James.” “That wasna a bad match, Chris... Nay bad at all. It’s a damn shame th’ opposition had t’ use your own gear against ya.” I chuckled a little bit. “Yeah... I knew that stick would get its ‘kick-ass’ back... Just didn’t think it’d be my own ass it’d kick.” “Aye, laddie. But ya an’ your partner seemed t’ take a shine t’ each other.” I winced hard, thinking about the exchange in the weight room. “It could’ve been better.” “I know, laddie, I know.” I could tell by the tone of his voice that he sincerely -knew- what I was feeling... I hated that about him sometimes. But I also liked it as well. It made James McPatrick a very good friend of mine. “But we’ll talk about it in Seattle... I’ll be at th’ show.” I managed a faint, but sincere smile. “You better watch it, old man... Those young bucks in the crowd could be vicious.” This pulled a laugh from the other end of the line. “Bah! Let them youngins’ try anythin’... I’ll show them where ya got th’ slick moves ya have! Show them I know ya better than ya know yourself!” I laughed for a moment, but the meaning of his words rang clear. “Alright... I’ll catch you after Storm.” “Stay safe, Chris.” “Yeah, you too.” I flipped the phone closed, and took a breath. I know that Sarah wasn’t trying to take Lara’s place... But she -was-. I vowed never to do a tag match after Lara died, but was forced into it with the briefly-lived “Team ANGER~!”... But this... This was different. The only woman I ever wanted to tag with was Lara. The only woman I ever wanted in my life in -any- aspect. Now, I find myself in this situation. I realize that, yes, business is business, but... This is personal. I sighed to myself, and grabbed up my bags. I needed to get ready for the travel up to Seattle. This could wait for now.

Hmm... Sarah and I have a show off. (Looks at her) Looks like we have time to expand the story line, mayhaps?

No, can't let you take nearly all the blame for this. After about 36 hours of work in a 72 hour period, I couldn't write bupkus... And unfortunately, I left Sarah very much in the lurch... :| Totally my fault.

You are fucking bizarre.

AIM - FuryManSWF YaHell - chairforcescrewchief Yeap. There's the actual AIM name.

Now there's a blast from the past!

And I suppose Naughty-ham is much better than Long Island?

The morning after the SWF pulled into San Francisco, I wake in my hotel room, feeling in relative good shape compared to past “the morning after” moments. Sure, the loss on Lockdown still stings, but my body isn’t using pain to overly protest some of the more basic things of life this time around. Like breathing. I roll out of bed, rubbing the lingering sleep from my eyes, and shuffle across the room. Today I figure on going over to Alcatraz, maybe seeing about making a day trip to Tahoe, or hitting up the Monterey Aquarium... But something catches the corner of my vision, sending electrical impulses throughout my nerves, which then connect with certain centers in my brain, creating an emotional response. Several, in fact. Annoyance. Curiosity. Hunger... Oh wait, that’s the ‘stomach-brain’ talking. But underneath it all... A low, pulsing sense of dread. A dread that pulses with the beat of the “Message Waiting” light on the room’s single phone. There’s no individual that I can fathom that would know the number to my room. Only the whole of the SWF could find out easily. I walk over, picking up the phone, and dialing the unnecessarily long sequence of codes I was given to check messages. My hope is that someone dialed the wrong room. I can hope. But, upon listening to the message, that hope lies dashed on some rocks in the Bay like a hapless group of water molecules. “Mister Peters needs to speak with you. As soon as possible.” Guess the fish at the aquarium will have to wait. ********** Striding through the under-corridors of the Cow Palace, I seek my destination with a mild sense of anxiety and a healthy dose of trepidation. I hadn’t really talked to the boss since my return, but... From what I’ve seen so far, especially from yesterday’s show, he’s a risk-taker, looking to charge up the business and the fans... But he’s not a man to cross, as “Judge” Hearford found out post-show. Turning the corner, I see the place I need to go. A simple door, with a simple plaque: /---------------------\ |+--The Offices of:--+| ||SWF General Manager|| |+-Mr. Joseph Peters-+| \---------------------/ A take a slow, steadying breath... Then open the door. A simple ‘pre-office’ greets me as I pass the threshold. I look around, and the boss’ secretary catches my attention while she talks on her hands-free set, writing some information on a notepad. She motions towards another, slightly more ornate door, flashing a smile. I get the message, nodding, then walking to it... KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK... A pause... “This had better be important!” Hoo’boy. I open the door, and step in. “Good morning, Mister Peters... I believe you wanted to see me?” The aforementioned Peters looks up from a folder on his desk, and the slight annoyance that was evident on his face melts away. “Ahh, Fury... Chris, right?” I give a brief nod. “Good, good... Please, Chris. Have a seat.” He motions to a chair nearby, which I settle into. “Thanks for seeing me, Chris... I didn’t mess up any plans for your morning, did I?” I shake my head. “No, Mister Peters... I got your secretary’s message after I woke up, and came straight over.” He chuckles, shaking his head. “Please, Chris... Call me Joseph.” That didn’t sit well with me, but... “Alright... Joseph.” The boss grins. “How’s the return going?” Now I know damn well he’s been watching the shows. But... Well, ice breakers are ice breakers. “It could’ve been better, Joseph. But, I have confidence.” He nods slowly. “That’s good. We have confidence in you as well... That’s why you were one of the names we wanted in the Cruiserweight Championship talk.” “Thanks for that.” I try to sound sincere. “Of course!” Peters smiles, seeming to be very sure of himself. “Plus, considering you’re a veteran of some fame... That’s why I wanted you to be a vital part of the Lethal Lottery.” “Yes, Joseph,” I chime in. “I wanted to talk to you about that...” He raises a hand, chuckling. “Yes, your ‘mystery partner’.” He leans back in his chair. “I know you, as a veteran, can handle anything we throw your way... And we had someone want to come back into the league, so... We figured it’d be an interesting way to bring them in. And don’t worry,” he grins as he sees my attempt to speak up. “This person’s a former veteran of the league themselves... A little rusty, yes. But I figure putting you both together can spur two returns at once.” I have to admit, his idea had merit. “But...” Uh-oh. “Before we go along with that, I need to get to why I called you in to talk.” He pulls a slip of paper out of the folder he was looking at, along with a pen. “You remember hearing about the new sponsorship, right?” “I do. Seen the commercials.” I chuckle. “Seems like everyone’s getting into them.” Peters’ expression fading into a look of confusion, for some reason, doesn’t sit well with me. “Uhm... Well, there’s a reason for that.” I cock an eyebrow as he continues on. “In order to secure the new sponsorship deals and save the shows, I needed to rework the worker contracts.” “Ah... I’m sure there’s a lot of guys that were already under sponsorships.” “There were more reworks than just those, though.” I look at Peters for a moment. Something is definitely not sitting right. “Oh?” “Yeah... In order to secure the sponsorship deals, I... Well... Needed to rework everyone’s contracts, to allow the sponsors full entitlement to our talent pool to use for their advertisements.” I let that sink in for a few moment, then let loose a chuckle. “You can’t be serious, right?” His expression shifts to something significantly cooler than room temperature. That tells me my answer right there. “I’m very serious, Mister Fury.” Grrrrreat... “All of the old contracts were null and void as soon as I signed the sponsorship agreement.” His eyes are cold, and he steeples his fingers on the desk. “I know you came on very shortly after this happened, so I figured I would give you time to get settled. But now, the fans are starting to pull to you. The sponsors are thrilled, and want you to do work for them... But your new contract hasn’t been signed.” He taps the top part of the pen to the paper on the desk. “I -strongly suggest- that we rectify this... As soon as possible.” I shake my head. “Look,” I say with a slight hint of confusion, tempered with vague frustration. “I appreciate your trying to keep the shows afloat. I appreciate that your new sponsors are interested in having me endorse their product lines. That’s all well and good, but...” I look him dead in the eye. “I didn’t come back to be a pawn in marketing ploys. I’m not going to be bullied into something that obviously is more for monetary purposes than it is for the business of the sport.” “You don’t get a choice in the matter if you want to stick around, buster,” Peters says with a sneer. “You might be a veteran of some renown around here, but I hold your continued career in my hands.” He picks up the paper, which I see is a contract with my name on it. “If you need any more proof of that, you should ask William Hearford III, if you can find him.” Alright... I changed my mind. This guy’s a heartless bastard. “But... Since I’m feeling kind... And since the sponsors would like a -winner- in their midst,” he says with vaguely-hidden sniping, “I will give you 7 days to... Think about it. If you sign the new contract, then all will be well. But if not...” He slips the contract into a bin on his desk marked ‘Shred’. “Well... The choice is yours.” His voice lowers. “I think we could survive you turning your back on us again.” It takes all of my will to not knock this guy’s teeth down his throat and out his ass. I stand slowly. “I will not be threatened into anything, Mister Peters.” My voice hardly sounds like my own. “And I believe this meeting is over.” I turn, stalking towards the door. “7 days, Fury!” Peters says, then chuckles. “Oh... Don’t you want to know who your partner is?” I turn back around to find Peters holding up a small, sealed envelope. I come back, taking the envelope, then breaking the seal. Pulling out the paper, I take a look... And I feel myself go completely cold. “Is this your idea of a sick joke?” Peters’ expression morphs again, resolving into one of... Sincere confusion. “I’m sorry?” “First you want me to sign some lame-ass contract that lets sponsors do with us what they will, bleed us dry, and now you want me to accept this partner???” My mind is a blank slate of red, like an old wound torn open to bleed. “Are you -trying- to fuck me, Peters???” He eyes me in utter shock and surprise. “I have no idea what you’re-“ Suddenly, I find I’ve covered the length of the floor between the door and the desk in seemingly one step. “Of course not, you heartless son of a-“ “I suggest you leave now, Fury... Before your exit from the SWF is even more unceremonious than your comeback thus far.” Peters’ command presence comes back with a voice like steel, and it’s the only thing that prevents me from... Doing something I could regret. I spin on my heel, and stalk through the door, slamming it behind me. Peters’ secretary looks up with a start. I look at the card again. This is completely ridiculous and unbelievable. But... Peters was right about one thing. I don’t have much of a choice in the matter. After this... Lethal Lottery... Is over, I can ditch this tandem and go back on my own. The way it should be. “Is there something the matter, Mister Fury?” A lot more than you realize. I sigh aloud. “No... Nothing’s the matter...” I start to walk towards the door back to the arena, but stop short. Damn. I turn back around, looking at the card in my hand one more time. The things I do for the business I love. “Actually... I need to see if you can get me a phone number...”

(Looks at Evo) Ohhh, you bastard... (Shakes head) I know you want to get people out, but... This is ridiculous!

(Grin) PM your guess... I'll let you know if you're close.

Welp... It felt good, at least... I didn't drill on the LDP / Coyote angle at all, because I knew it'd be already all over the show in other folks matches (and in Coyote's opener, I was sure)... Frankly didn't have much commentator interaction due to the throw-in of some first-person. But, you decide. ---------- SWF Lockdown fades back onto televisions worldwide to the huge throng of screaming masses packed into the Rose Garden. The camera pivots around to peruse the ecclectic mix of people, seeming to hail from anywhere and every... Wow! Did you see the bozooms on that one?!? Check that... Zoom in on... Oh... Yeah, right! Sea of humanity, lots and lots of signs, blah blah blah, gals with huge... ...Heaps of love for the now-in-view Ben Hardy and Suicide King! Yeah, that’s it... “Here we are, folks!” Ben Hardy starts, then... Stops. King looks over at his fill-in announce partner for a moment... “Back again in Portland, for SWF Lockdown!” King finishes, then pokes Hardy in the shoulder. “Dude, I think you’ve been doing interview segments too long.” “No, I was just trying to introduce some dramatic effect.” “In a commercial return?” King whaps Ben upside the head. “Idiot.” He turns towards the camera. “Anyway, folks... If you’re just joining us, you’re a bunch of fucktards!” “Hey! Is that anyway to treat our loyal listeners?” Hardy interrupts. “If they were loyal, they’d have been here since the beginning of the show.” “Oh... Yeah, good point.” Hardy looks into the camera with... Something resembling a look with as much menace as a baby chick. “Fucktards.” King sighs. “Anyway.” King picks back up, “Our illustrious grand poobah, Joe Peters, mentioned something about a big announcement, but nothing has materialized yet...” “But so far, we -have- had some decent matches,” Hardy interjects. “Right,” King states with a chuckle, “Decent like the grand career of someone like Cutthroat... Or Xero.” “Or Ash Ketchum,” Hardy offers cheerfully, but then shakes his head. “No no... These were good matches.” King holds up a hand. “We had Arch Griffon and Michael Cross...” “Returning veteran of some esteem and promising upstart rookie.” King smirks. “What about Jimmy the Doom and The Crimson Skull?” “Hailed war hero, fighting evil here and back home... And... Well, I just like Heff.” King rolls his eyes. “And what about Amy Stephens and Insane Luchadore... Anything redeeming about those two, Ben?” “Well, Amy is Toxxic’s younger sister, so she’s got lineage.. And... Andy Rickmen freaking beat death! How can you diss that???” King blinks, then sighs. “Fine,” King mutters sarcastically. “I guess you have an answer for all my nay-saying.” “Damn right I do.” Any continuing banter is eschewed out the door as... “I’m born...” “I’m alive...” “I BREATHE!” The crowds explodes into a rabid frenzy as The Unique Youth parts the curtains, the Cruiserweight Belt around his waist, and a sincere, but serious smile on his lips. He pauses top-side of the ramp, looking out over the audience for a moment before bolting down towards the ring, the crowd’s cheers pushing him on. “Ladies and gentlemen,” intones the ever-present “Bloomin’” Funyon, “This match is a triple threat, Cruiserweight rules match, with the Cruiserweight Championship on the line!” The crowd ratchets (or is that more of a clank?) the noise up as Zyon lands a graceful leap into the ring, head-banging as his wont. “For those at home who don’t know,” Hardy offers off-camera, “Cruiserweight rules dictate a 20 count outside of the ring, and no tosses over the top rope.” “Thanks for the info, Mister Encyclopedia,” King retorts as Funyon continues. “Introducing first, hailing from Elkhart, Indiana... He stands 5'11, 200 pounds... He is the SWF Cruiserweight champeen... He is “The Unique Youth”... He... Is... ZYYYYY-ONNNNN!!!” The plucky lad hands his belt off to the ref for eventual (and hopeful) return, and raises an arm, bringing the crowd and the roof up with another headbang. “Zyon showing quite a lot as a champion, especially at his age,” Hardy observes. “It’s called lack of competition, Ben,” King fires back, “He’ll have plenty to handle tonight in the form of...” “Never again will I be dishonored, And never again will I be reminded...” The fans start jumping the incoming superstar’s shit before he even breaks the curtain... Gotta love that. And after a few moments of nothing but cascading boos and jeers... He -still- hasn’t come out. “What’s going on here?” Hardy murmurs over a slowly-building, amused yet annoyed rumble from the crowd. “Probably introducing some dramatic effect,” King mutters. “...Riiiiight.” The crowd, meanwhile, has started up a happy little chant that they seem very enthused about: “COY-OTE-SUUUUUCKS!” *Clap clap CLAPCLAPCLAP* “COY-OTE-SUUUUUCKS!” *Clap clap CLAPCLAPCLAP* “COY-OTE-SUUUUUCKS!” *Clap clap CLAPCLAPCLAP* “How disrespectful, I swear!” King gasps. “The nerve of these people!” “Well y’know, King...” “How about you take a swig of Shut The Hell Up, Ben! This is just rude!” And the crowd only gets ruder as Kevin Coyote finally parts the drapes, met with an absolute cacophony of hate and malice... But he doesn’t give a shit, because he’s talking to the phone that’s surgically attached to his ear! Oh, wait... No, it’s not. He proves it by bringing it down long enough to flick off the front row. Nice guy. The crowd responds in kind, 20 times louder. Ahh, the love... “Introducing next,” Funyon belts out over the crowd (barely), “From Brunswick, Georgia... He is 5'11, 225 pounds... He is... Kevin... COYYYYY-OOOOO-TE!!!” The crowd proves that there is indeed a setting of “11" on their anti-enthusiasm for Coyote. As he steps by one of the ring-side microphones, we hear: “Yeah, babydoll... After the match, yeah. Oh, you know it, baby...” And then he’s out of range. He hangs up the phone, sets it on the timekeeper table, and climbs into the ring, greeting The Unique Youth with a stare and a sneer. Zyon, to his credit, just meets the stare, very calmly. There’s a nervous energy in the crowd, as if something might happen before the third participant shows. “The tension’s so thick, King, you could cut it with a knife!” “Will the knife gouge out your voice box too?” “...What’d I say?” With that, the lights dim. The 2 combatants turn towards the entrance, and the crowd dies down to a very dull roar. The speakers get the pleasure of having Fergie and her boys from the Black Eyed Peas piped through them as “Anxiety” rocks the arena. Well,” rocks” is probably too strong of a word, considering that would imply something more than the lukewarm crowd response currently being experienced. As it is, the music plays on, not caring about the crowd, and out from the back pops one Christian Fury. The crowd... Well, there’s a good amount of cheering, but not overly much... Nowhere near Zyon’s response. Fury doesn’t seem to mind overly much as he stalks down the ramp with the kendo stick over his shoulder. Zyon backs off slightly noting the weapon inbound... Coyote just seems to crack a smile. “And introducing finally,” Funyon starts, then stops, realizing he’s screaming over a relatively dormant crowd... He drops his volume a bit as he continues. “Hailing from Cleveland, Ohio... Standing 6'3, weighing 222 pounds... He is... Christian... FUUUUU-RYYYYY!!!”Again, the faint response from the crowd as Fury drops the kendo stick ringside, and slides into the squared circle, eyeing his opponents. “By the way, Ben,” King states, “I saw your interview.” “Oh yeah?” “Yeah. I don’t understand what he found wrong with your questioning.” “Well, those were questions I needed to ask.” “Oh no, I agree... I mean, after all, he was much better when...” ********** Ding ding DING! As the bell rings, I hear the crowd ignite behind me. The two men that I’d been observing in the ring with me seem to have momentarily gotten together in a common goal. Unfortunately, that common goal seems to be outing me from immediate competition. The one known as Zyon, I can already tell, is lightning quick, and on me before I have a chance to breathe. Meanwhile, Kevin Coyote seems to be stalking the outer periphery, like his namesake... Looking for an opening. Advancing in, Zyon throws a swift right forearm... I catch it, twisting his arm around using his momentum, and... SLAP! ...briefly put him to the mat, much to the dismay of the fans in attendance. To my semi-surprise, he kips up, reversing the twist, and managing to add one of his own. I slap my arm as I feel a bit of a searing in it, trying to reverse it myself... But... Suddenly Coyote lets his presence be known as he levels the concentrating Youth with a clothesline. The crowd shows their displeasure as Zyon stumbles to the mat, yanking me off-balance with him... And Coyote takes advantage by introducing my head to his knee as I’m trying to regain my balance. My arm released, I find myself stumbling back a slight bit as Coyote presses his offense... Grabbing me by the arm, slinging me into the ropes. He catches me on the rebound, trying to toss me... But I manage to get my weight down to a solid base, and reverse the favor... SMACK!!! ...putting him on his back. A minor response from the crowd ensues. Gee, thanks. Before I can take advantage, though, a set of arms wraps around my waist... Zyon. The little bugger’s damn quick. I feel him trying to power me up, but my base is still solid... His arms are cinched in... I lean back to try to use my arms to try to break him off of me... But apparently that’s what he was waiting as he manages to get me out of my solid base, and hauls... Me... Up... SLAM!!! The crowd response is fiery as he keeps his hold cinched in on my waist... The scurry of the ref... ONE! The ref’s hand hits the canvas with a slap... But the second never comes... As I’m rolling my shoulders to break away, the bridge suddenly collapses. I roll slightly to see Coyote trying to put a boot down where the rolling Zyon’s rib cage was. That explains the break in the hold as Zyon comes to his feet, rubbing his side. I make it to my feet as well as Coyote and Zyon lock up in a test of strength... It looks damn even for a second or two until Coyote manages to free an arm, getting Zyon off-balance again, and throwing a loaded elbow smash to the Youth’s temple. My turn now, bitches. I charge in to impose my will on the unaware Coyote... Only to find that he’s not-so-unaware. But I’m already committed, so I lower the shoulder, plant for a little more speed, and hope for the best... WHAM!!! ...and I get it as I manage to mostly catch Coyote and put him to the mat. I stop my momentum and recover myself only to hear the crowd pick up in its exuberance... The slap of a hand on the canvas... I look back to find Zyon trying to take advantage of -my- work as he’s got Coyote’s leg hooked. I move in, but Coyote kicks out quickly enough, leaving Zyon rolling away. This will not do at all. I rumble over to where Zyon is regaining his feet, help him to his feet... Only to plant him back down to the mat with a heavy short-line clothesline. And boy the fans don’t like that. Oh well. I lift him back up and sling him towards the ropes... I give a little spin, and throw a kick towards the oncoming Youth’s head... The fans raise a hellacious cheer... As Zyon slides right underneath my outstretched leg! I let the momentum keep me spinning to try to catch him on the other side, but... Coyote stops my motion with a quick grab of the arm, then reverses it, spinning me back around... My mind’s swimming a little, but I can feel him grabbing my head... The fog clears as I feel myself dropping... WHAM!!! ...to the mat, a shock of pain shooting through my neck. Not at all pleasant, and the crowd voices my feelings on the whole matter. Coyote comes to hook the leg... ONE! But barely that as Zyon makes Coyote suffer a bout of Pinnus Interruptus with a dropped fist to the back of the head. I roll away as Coyote stands, holding the back of his head... And the crowd rises up once more as Zyon lands a smooth-looking front dropkick to the unbalanced Coyote’s chest... WHAM!!! ...felling him to the mat. And The Unique Youth follows that quick and dirty move with yet another kip-up! Okay, that’s just disgusting, you know? Finally to my own feet, Zyon approaches me with a forearm to the chest, driving me back towards the corner. I try to recover, but my wheels are still a little tingly from that Coyote neckbreaker. Zyon throws another forearm into me... And another... And yet another! And the crowd is eating this up like it was Pixie Sticks. Or Frost-Brand Whale Tacos. As it is, the Youth has managed to plant me in the corner with continued forearms, and frankly... My chest is starting to hurt. It’s a little hard to get a full breath with as quick as he’s hitting these shots. Suddenly, he stops. I watch as he grabs the top ropes on either side of me, lifting himself up... This could be all sorts of bad. I force myself up and out of the corner, and he releases off the ropes, seeing his move will be countered... But I’m already on him, lacing a quick kick to his mid-section while he’s off balance. He falls flat back to the mat, and I advance in. I realize that I have to get back to my usual game plan, or this guy’s speed will be my undoing. As he rolls to find his feet, I reach down, grabbing Zyon’s foot in a quick ankle lock. Then scissoring his leg, I drop to the mat hard. I’m rewarded with a loud grunt of pain and a whole arena of people giving me no end of anti-love. I’m very concentrated on this task of slowing this speedster down as I wrench the ankle a little more... Suddenly I’m told how totally concentrated I am at a meeting of Coyote’s thigh with the side of my head at a speed that could only be created from a second rope drop. My world goes quite whirly and bubbly as my body releases the hold on Zyon’s leg, having received some sort of scrambled instruction from an addled brain to do so... And suddenly, I remember why I hated wrestling triple threats so much... ********** The crowd exhales in relief as Fury’s hold on The Unique Youth’s ankle is released... They never thought they’d be thanking Kevin Coyote for anything, but here they are. The aforementioned Coyote hauls the aforementioned Fury up by the hair. He slings Fury into the corner, and follows suit as Zyon clamors to his feet. “Looks like Fury might have had the right idea there,” muses Hardy as Zyon tries to walk off a small limp... Could be a stinger, could be damage... We can’t tell right now. “All Fury did is forget about the major player in this match,” King responds. And indeed, Coyote is unloading cornered elbow shots. The crowd could care less about all that it seems as their murmured concerns are for the current Cruiserweight Champion. The minor limp he has is still there as he approaches Coyote, backing off from Fury in the corner. The crowd’s sudden cheering looks to put Coyote on edge as he turns, meeting a smiling Zyon... And with a swiftness that seems to belie description, Zyon takes the fellow cruiserweight up in a scoop slam... Then doing a graceful spin, sets Coyote up for a sit-out piledriver... WHAM!!!! The crowd goes B-A-N-A-N-A-S! (Because, after all, this shit -is- bananas...) “Holy Hell-In-A-Handbasket!” Hardy burbles. “Zyon with the Aero Driver!” “It’s not enough, too soon, Ben!” “We’ll see about that, King!” As Zyon hooks Coyote’s legs... ONE! TWO!! But indeed, Coyote powers the shoulder out after the second count. Zyon doesn’t seem to mind as the crowd continues to pump him up. He hauls Coyote up, and launches him into the corner... SLAM-AP!!! The same corner that just happened to contain the formerly-recovering Fury! The crowd applauds Zyon’s ingenuity and resourcefulness as he advances into the corner... But still with that light limp. “Zyon just killed two bir...” “Don’t... Even say it, Ben... You’re just as bad as Pete if you do...” Zyon rushes into the corner, again grabbing the top ropes, much faster this time, trying to pull off his elevated basement dropkick, this time successfully... However, the result is actually worse this time as Coyote launches out of the corner, catching the helpless Youth in ‘mid-air’! Both tumble in a heap... WHU-WHAM!!! ...to the mat as we find... “Fury broke up the attack blindly!” Hardy shouts as Fury slowly comes out of the corner... But suddenly... ONE! TW... And we find that in their tangled mess, Coyote managed to get Zyon’s shoulders to the mat... But no more as Zyon pushes Coyote to the side. “And Fury almost gave Coyote the means to win,” King retorts. “First thing he’s done almost right all match.” Coyote is to his feet, the Youth shortly behind, but Fury advances on the closer of the two... Suddenly the somewhat unawares Zyon is the victim of a quick and hard Russian legsweep! The crowd is all over Fury as he presses onward, leaving the Youth momentarily to take care of the advancing Coyote... SLAP!!! ...who levels a shot against Fury’s chest, stopping him short... But he doesn’t stop his mind set as... SLAP!!! ...Fury gives one right back! SLAP!!! Coyote takes exception... SLAP!!! ...but Fury says, “You’ll take it, and like it!”... Just not in words... SLAP!!! ...and Coyote says, “Fuck off, yo!”... SLAP!!! WHAM!!! ...and Coyote then ends the conversation with a tilde-bang in the form of a follow-up clothesline off of Fury’s chop. The crowd isn’t liking this at all... “King, wake up!” “Oh... Uh... Wha? Are they done slapping at each other, the pansies?” Coyote drops down, leveling stiff gut punches to the prone Fury, allowing him no quarter at all... But suddenly... The crowd erupts as The Unique, Yet Nearly Forgotten, Youth pulls Coyote off Fury with a spin... Slaps on the facelock... Lifts... And... WHAM!!! The crowds has baby monkeys as Zyon completes the... “Snap Brain-BUSTAAA...” Hardy tries to call... “IIIII can’t believe you’d do that, Ben!” King follows right on his heels, as Zyon comes around to a good spot and hooks the leg. “Do what?” ONE! “Pull that Long-DOGGAAAAAH shit.” TWO!! “You mean... Like you just did?” The ref shows Zyon a two-count as Coyote runs the shoulder up. “...Ah, crap.” King’s realization comes on the heels of the Youth’s slow climb to the top turnbuckle. The crowd urges him on as he looks over the ring... He sees the more-or-less prone form of Coyote... But he sees a more distinct threat. That of the risen and approaching Chris Fury. Zyon makes a split-second decision, once again throwing caution to the wind... After all, why save up for tomorrow what you can today... Especially when you don’t know how many tomorrows you have left. But just as he jumps, he sees something that makes him think that his day might get real good, real quick... WHA-BAM!!! The crowd is off the charts as Zyon’s missile dropkick manages to knockdown both Fury -and- the poor soul known as Coyote, who had stood up and tried to engage on the offensive against Fury, unawares that a Cruise-R-Weight missile was incoming on his 6 o’clock! All three men wind up in a pile in the middle of the ring, tangled heap, all that... “Again Zyon manages to bring both of his opponents down!” Hardy gushes. “Yippie,” is the best response King can muster up as Zyon rises slowly to his feet to the joy of the crowd... His legs look a little wobbly, probably due to the fact he was dealt the impact of -two- human bodies under his feet. Coyote took the brunt of the punishment from initial impact, as he’s lying on the ground, holding his head in his hands and not much else... But then we see Fury slowly rising from ground level, seeing Coyote and probably realizing how lucky he really was... ********** Wow... I was -extremely- lucky. I saw Zyon climbing, and I knew that I was in big trouble... But Kevin Coyote, bless his heart, tried to beat my ass right in the nick of time! I am a little rattled, don’t get me wrong... But I’m nowhere near in the head-ringing shape that Coyote is. But I have to take advantage... Or not, as Zyon decides to back me off (and collapse my chest at the same time) with another of his front dropkicks, complete with the kip-up... But as I’m falling back to the mat, I notice he’s still limping... Ginger on that ankle I had before... WHAM!!! Suddenly it dawns on me what I really needed to do to take this guy out. Something I remembered seeing in tapes. But I have to do it decisively and quick, or Coyote would be in the way once again. Of course, being flat on my back and having Zyon hovering over me was all part of the plan. Really. He hauls me to my feet, then slings me into the ropes... I rebound, and he tries to grab me... I recognize what he’s trying to do... Tilt-a-whirl into... Something... Don’t really care... I let him work me into the start of the ‘whirl, then throw my weight away from him with a little twist. His grip is bothered, and he can’t complete the move as I fall out of his grasp... ...Managing to land on my feet, albeit unsteadily. Zyon looks quite surprised at this turn of events, and that’s just what I want. I grab him by the arm, and pull him hard into my free arm, laying him out... WHAM!!! ...with a short-arm clothesline. Ignoring the boos and jeers of the crowd, I’m back on him, flipping him over hurriedly... Bending his legs at the knees, crossing them, my foot in the middle... Facing away, standing... I can hear the crowd... They know what’s coming. I wonder if Zyon does. I flip back suddenly, locking my arms around his chin, and pull. Hard. By the pained groans from Zyon and the fans, I’ve done my homework right. I arch myself a little further, working the Youth’s upper body back more, putting that pressure on the neck... But more importantly, the back that I knew was injured... This move is perfect for this purpose, and I cinch it in a little harder... But once again... WHUMP-WHAM!!! ...Kevin Coyote comes falling out of the sky to ruin my best-laid plans. This time, though, I have no defense in my positioning as he slams into me with a freaking Hurricanrana! The pain that shoots though me is intense, the air rushing out. But I’m sure Zyon, being under both of us, faired a lot worse. Coyote is slow to get up, but he finally does, and I’m still sucking wind as I roll off Zyon... I’m wondering where the next attack is coming from when... ONE! The slap of the ref’s hand brings me back to some semblance of reality as I roll back... TWO!! I see Coyote trying to grab the win, so I reach out and grab him, pulling with all my might... And it does break the count. Coyote isn’t happy. The fans are though. I try and get to all fours, working towards getting my feet about me, but Coyote has other ideas as he gives me a swift kick to my side. Well, that ended the getting-up idea. ********** Apparently satisfied with the beatdown he’s given Fury, Coyote reaches down and drags the hurting Zyon to his feet, and launches him into the corner. The Unique Youth impacts... WHAM!!! ...the turnbuckles with massive force, and just sags there. The crowd novas, raining radioactive heat down on Coyote. “Kevin Coyote taking control!” King croons. “He’s taken Fury out of the picture, and now he’s looking to finish the Spoiled Youth for the title!” “Unique Youth, King.” “Shove it, Hardy.” Kevin Coyote, quite pleased with himself, kicks Fury again as he gets up, seemingly waiting for something... He kicks Fury, then eyes the corner where Zyon is... Kicks Fury, looks in the corner... Kicks Fury, then... Zyon is moving... The fans explode with delight. Coyote grins. Apparently the opportunity he was waiting for is at hand as Zyon stumbles slowly from the corner... Coyote stalks him, keeping clear of the Youth’s view... Then... Coyote taps him on the shoulder. The crowd is none-too-thrilled. “Here it comes!” King cries. Zyon stops, and starts to turn... But Coyote helps him the rest of the way, following up with a completely explosive clothesline! WHAM!!!!! Zyon hits the mat like a load of dead parrots as Kevin Coyote styles for the booing, hissing fans. “Coyote Takedown!” King gushes. “This one is over! OVAH! Ugh...” “Not quite, King!” The reasoning behind this statement isn’t clear... But the crowd senses... Sees something. Something that brings their reactions around... Coyote seems to read the crowd, and starts to turn to see what is going on... WHA-SLAM!!!!! “HOLY WHAT THE...???” Even the crowd gasps in awed amazement... Out of nowhere comes a Mack Truck, blowing right into Coyote! But it’s name is not Mack... It’s Chris Fury, and he just went Hell-bent and full-bore into Coyote with a desperation Spear! Coyote flails back... SLAM!!! ...hitting the mat extremely hard before tumbling between the bottom and middle ropes to... WHUMPHWHAM!!! ...unceremoniously impact the floor below... He finally comes to rest against the steel crowd barricade. “UNBELIEVABLE!” screams Hardy. “Fury from out of NOWHERE with that Spear, but Fury took one Hell of a shock it seems!” “Nooooo!” laments King. Kevin Coyote lies motionless on the outside of the ring, completely out of commission from his meeting with the floor. Meanwhile, back in the ring, Fury still hasn’t gotten up from a completely massive impact... The Spear seems to have done as much damage to him as it did to Coyote. Suddenly, the crowd goes all Mount Saint Helens. “All he needed was time, King!” “NOOOOO!” King’s reason for panic is clear: Zyon is finally standing! He looks absolutely groggy from the Coyote Takedown he suffered moments earlier, but he’s standing! “He should’ve been done... Or dead... Or both!” King cries in anguish. But the Unique Yoth is none of those... That’s why he’s Unique. And he’s on the offensive... He hauls Fury up by the hair, getting him standing... Then pauses as the fans chant and cheer his name... “What’s he doing?” Hardy muses. “Continuing to be a fool!” Sensing the finish at hand, and maybe without full mental facilities in place, Zyon puts a plan in motion... He quickly springboards onto the ropes, facing the crowd, and twists through the air like... Something... Really graceful... “I CAN’T BELIEVE IT!” Hardy calls to the home crowd... Zyon, determined to keep his title reign alive, and to give the fans the best he’s got, is trying to hit the Blitzkrieg Spike... But there’s just one very small, yet very potent problem... And the fans deflate before it even happens, because they see it... Fury, somehow with some sort of wits about him, throws a hard, stiff forearm into the flyer’s mid-section. It’s not too terribly effective against a falling human being, but it’s just enough to screw the Unique Youth’s momentum and trajectory. Zyon plows uncontrolled into Fury, sending both men... WHUH-WHAM!!! ...hard to the mat. “MY GOD!” Hardy belts out. “A simple but devastating defense from Fury spoils the Youth’s flight into victory!” “Ha HAH!” King gloats, somewhat. “Risk takers never win!” Both men are stunned and not doing much besides rolling faintly in their spots... Meanwhile, the crowd sees something that drops their enthusiasm by several notches. “And all that was needed was time!” King mercilessly mimics Hardy as... Kevin Coyote is finally rising to his feet outside. He looks completely out of sorts, but somehow slowly works his way under the ropes. “This could be horridly bad for Zyon and Fury,” Hardy says in a hushed tone. “No no no,” King says with an audible grin. “This is PERFECT. The road is clear for Kevin!” Coyote slowly stand against the ring ropes, and sees both men down. He could so easily pin one of them. So easily. But he wants more than that... He wants to deal with the reason he’s so groggily wandering around, when he should be standing tall and proud. And that reason is now at his feet. Fury. He hauls Fury to his feet, wrenching his arm around, getting him to his right side... He’s looking for the big finish here... “Go, Coyote, go!” King calls out as Kevin’s only fan in the place as he lets go of Fury’s arm, and lances back with his arms to lock around Fury’s head to start the flashy and powerful RKO... But Fury’s not there... At least his head’s not. Instead, Coyote find his arm grabs, and his world spinning... Only half-spun though as Fury stops him with a kick to the solar plexus. Coyote finds himself doubled over and at the mercy of Fury as he’s wrapped in a fancy-looking headlock, Coyote’s chin precariously over Fury’s shoulder... Fury drops to a knee, rocking Coyote’s head as his jaw impacts hard, unforgiving shoulder... But the fun’s not over as the headlock’s still cinched... Fury stands, then takes two quick steps to the side before sitting out... WHAM!!!! ...and completely knocking reality loose from Coyote as his head re-impacts Fury’s shoulder, and he drops back limply to the mat. “HOLY SHIT!” Hardy blurts. “The Lightning And Thunder has returned, in a new and devastating form!” “Damnit no!” King shouts right after. The crowd... The crowd is going wild... To see Coyote go down like a house of bricks pleases them to no end... But there’s something else... Zyon... He’s starting to come back to earth... Fury sees this, the adrenaline finally flowing... He hauls the Unique Youth up... And doubles him over with a lick to the mid-section! The fans go completely 180. “Fury’s going to get this!” Hardy rails over the crowd, his emotions tossed... Fury plants Zyon with the mini-Stunner, then the two quick steps, and the sit-out Stunner... WHAM!!!! ...and Zyon’s momentum is evaporated... The crowd is livid and screaming for their boy to make a comeback as Fury hooks the leg... ONE! The fans raise in volume, trying to will their boy on... TWO!! The fans come out of their seats, pleading to the wrestling deities to bring them a miracle! The ref’s hand swings down one more time... ... ... ... ... Three. Ladies and gentlemen, your Gods have abandoned you. Ding ding DING! Funyon gets on his mic as the ref retrieves the belt... Handing it to Fury. “Ladies and gentlemen... The winner of the match... And... NEWWWWW... Cruiserweight Champion... He is... Christian... FUUUUU-RYYYYY!!!” The crowd rains Hell down upon the new strap-holder after abusing their man, but Fury pays it no mind... He holds the belt up high, a smile on his weary lips. “No!” King shouts. “He stole it from Coyote! He’s nowhere in the same league as Kevin!” “No, King,” Hardy says with the barest hint of respect. “Fury did what he needed to. And he proved something in the process. We’ll be back, folks.” The show fades to commercial with the camera square on Fury’s victorious smile...

Evo, Would we be able to get a Player HTML report from the game to see our numbers once we retire?

Come watch me idle if you're bored. Slightly off-topic, though... Do we have an AIM thread buried around here, or no? Does anyone even use AIM anymore?