SWF Storm (July 5/2002)

[Guest BA_Baracus]

“Welcome to S-W-F Storm!” booms ‘Grand Slam’ Mark Stevens as the pyro dies down but the voices of thousands of screaming fans can still be heard. “What a show we have for you tonight-“

 

Stevens is interrupted as System of a Down’s “Toxicity” begins to play through the arena, disturbing guitar rifts slowly building as the lights fade out, before the whole arena is illuminated as more pyro goes off as the drums kick in. The short bursts eventually die down and as the smoke clears, seven men stand across the stage, getting the attention of a now very unhappy crowd.

 

“Well I’m happy now!” declares Riley as the seven men slowly meander their way down the ramp.

 

“Ladies and gentlemen,” begins Stevens, “if you missed the pay-per-view, you missed the coming together of one of the most despicable groups we’ve ever seen. Even through their interference, Edwin MacPhisto managed to retain his title to cap off a great SWF extravaganza.”

 

“Yeah, and then I believe he was beaten to a pulp. Good times, folks. Sucks if you missed it.”

 

Funyon stands at ringside. “Ladies and gentlemen, making their way to the ring, Frost, ‘Deathwish’ Danny Williams, ‘TNT’ Taylor Nicholas Thompson, the Boston Strangler, Tyler McClelland and your SWF Tag team champions, Stryke and Chris Wilson!” Funyon’s announcement is received with a rousing ovation of negativity as each man slowly gets into the ring, Chris Wilson taking a microphone from the ring announcer as he does so.

 

“Toxicity” slowly dies down as the lights go back up, and you’re left with a wide shot of all seven men in the ring, Wilson with mike in hand and the crowd providing the background noise in the form of loud boos.

 

“Thank you, ladies-“ Wilson is cut off as the boos get even louder and the crowd begins a “Ass-holes, Ass-holes, Ass-holes” chant.

 

“Oh, screw you!” shouts the former World Champion and loser on Sunday and the crowd lets him hear it. “I come out here to introduce you to the greatest assembly of talent ever put together, and we get this? We should just leave the ring.” That gets some cheers.

 

“But sadly for you, we aren’t.”

 

And we’re back to boos.

 

“On Sunday, you all saw what happens when seven great, talented individuals come together and unleash hell. Seven men who are great. Spectacular. In a word: Magnificent. So I believe that’s really a proper way to put it. The Magnificent Seven.”

 

Stevens stifles a laugh. “Apparently Wilson’s watched some Westerns through the week. Nice name…”

 

“It’s a good name!” defends Riley. “I wouldn’t be mocking it. How’d you like one of them to come down here and teach you a lesson?”

 

“Oh please, Riley. I’m a 2-time champ who’s kept in great shape.”

 

“Okay, tough guy. How about all seven of them?”

 

“Let’s hear what they have to say.”

 

Wilson slowly begins to walk down the line of men. “We have the perfect mix of sheer technical ability,” he walks past a coldly-smiling Danny Williams, “Brute strength and aggression,” right past a stone-faced Frost, who doesn’t even acknowledge Wilson, “savvy, intelligence and cunning,” Tyler and Wilson share an evil smile as he continues, “rage bottled up into a machine of total destruction and hate,” right past an angry looking Strangler, “an explosive, sadistic masochist,” TNT fakes a yawn, then smiles towards the crowd, “and of course the hardcore, high-flying brashness,” Wilson finishes up as he walks past Stryke and turns away.

 

“I suppose its only right I just lay out our basic plans here. We’re obviously great. I mean, we don’t even have to compete to prove that. You have arguably the greatest European and TV champions of the JL, along with a man that fended off all challengers to hold on to his JL World Championship until he was promoted. I’m a former World Champion, and lost by the skin of my teeth on Sunday, thanks to some interference from a one-lettered bastard.”

 

The crowd pops loudly at the mention of Z, and Wilson just sneers. “You people should all be happy just to be working with respectable villains again. I watched some of the tapes of the crap you had to put up with while I was gone. A HVille Thugg/Fallout main event? Gee, that’ll pop the buyrates. Maybe if the washed-up stars would put up a fight, you’d have some interesting competition. Instead you have to deal with X versus Thugg for about a year, with the only reason to tune in to see if Bo or X is turning or coming back at the main event, while Thugg just kinda wanders around, listless and grunting. Maybe swearing. I wished the censors would actually get put back on. I can curse if you’d like me to. Fuck shit ass bitch cunt, shooby da-doo-ie. Does that make me any better of a wrestler? Um, no. Not quite.”

 

“I could go on about how we want respect and we’re going to cause enough havoc until we earn it, but basically it boils down to this: We’re going to be extremely evil and win a lot of gold.” Wilson shrugs. “I’m sorry if you want more, but that’s about it. And it’s not like anyone can stop us.”

 

“Look at our competition. It is really less than stellar. The Clan? Please, don’t bother me with this occult crap. Win some matches and quit talking about choking on blood. Creative Control? I don’t even think you count as a stable. What kind of competition can you possibly pose? The Midnight Carnival?” The crowd pops loudly at the sound of their favoritest group in the whole wide word. “Please. A bunch of losers and rejects. It’s like the WF version of the Island of Misfit Toys-“

 

“Rollercoaster of Love” kicks in, interrupting Wilson as he whirls around to face the entranceway, trench coat flowing around him. The fans reach their feet, cheering wildly as the SWF Champion walks out onto the ramp, flanked by the Light-heavyweight champion, Chris Raynor and Z. Edwin MacPhisto, ready as always, raises a mike to his mouth.

 

“Hello darkness, my old friend.” The crowd breaks into chants of “MAC-PHIS-TOOOOO! Edwin lets the chants subside before continuing. “Chrissy-boy, you’re forgetting one very important thing, other than the cowboy hats to complete your gimmick, of course.” Edwin points to the shiny belt around his waist. “The fact that I won on Sunday, despite all your interference and mind games and tricks. I’m still champeen of the world and the people living in said world, and you’re still just a big, dopey loser.” The crowd pops loudly as the Carnival slowly saunters down to the bottom of the ramp.

 

Wilson just smiles back down at the Prince. “Please now, Edwin. First off, our black hats haven’t come in yet, though trust me, we have plenty of dynamite. Secondly, you beat me with a freaking springboarding, reverse, rollup. We aren’t cruiserweights, for God’s sakes. What ever happened to finishers? Or a submission? Or anything else? You’re a poor sport.”

 

Edwin leans heavily on Raynor as he talks, staring up into the sky as he addresses the millions of fan and seven not-so-loving people. “Wilson, Wilson, Wilson. If one of your colleagues up there would of bashed me with a steel chair and stapled me to the mat, then you pinned me and won, that would be all good and well. I think someone’s just upset that won. Poor wittle evil genius…”

 

“Shut up!” Wilson leans over the top rope towards Edwin and the rest of the Carnival. “Keep your mouth shut, MacPhisto. This is our time, now. Yours comes later tonight. And you really think Sunday was the last time you’re going to be staring across the ring from me, championship on the line? Oh please, don’t kid yourself. But if you gentlemen don’t want to wait,” Wilson beckons for the four men to come towards him, “We can all just go right now.”

 

“He’s an idiot!” cries Stevens. “Why would the Carnival get into the ring with a 7-on-4 disadvantage? Wilson must think they’re a bunch of morons.”

 

“Have you seen the Carnival lately? They’re not exactly Ivy League grads.”

 

Edwin smiles thinly as Raynor starts to work the kinks out of his neck, Z and ELM stretching as Edwin drops the mike and all four men slide into the ring, the Magnificent Seven backing away and readying for the fight as the four brave and brash Carnival members prepare for a war…

 

The impromptu brawl is interrupted as the lights cut out and “You Were” by DJ Foxxx begins to play. Their excitement over seeing the two groups on opposite ends of their liking spectrums go at it turns to loud negativity as three men walk out onto stage, the one in the middle wielding a mike. That one would be the former ICTV champion himself, Thoth. To his right stands Fallout, stoic as always and to his left a smiling Tom Flesher, US Championship belt over his shoulder.

 

“Calm down now, boys,” hisses the interim Clan leader. “Wilson, I’m sick of your crap. You can talk all you want, but the fact of the matter is the three of us have more talents in our pinky finger then your entire group together. And if you want to talk about numbers, it looks like it’s about seven on seven right now.”

 

“The Carnival and Clan against the Magnificent Seven?!” wonders Stevens. “Now this is something I’d like to see!”

 

“In fact,” continues Thoth, “I don’t even think we should worry about it now. I’ll beat your little bitch tonight, and then I’m coming for you Wilson. You will bleed, friend. You can recruit all the cannon fodder you want, but I’ll mow right through them and get to you. You’re not going to be able to hide forever.”

 

Wilson rubs his jaw, thinking as the Carnival and Seven eye each other up in the ring. “Listen Thoth, don’t start making threats about evening this little battle up. Just because you and Edwin decided that you’re mutual hate for me is a pretty good reason to at least pretend to be friends, lets not fool ourselves. The Clan and Carnival aren’t going to coexist any time soon. I doubt Flesher and Raynor are going to be sending each other Christmas cards in the near future.”

 

“Is that because its July, Chrissy?” Edwin’s found himself another mike and just couldn’t let the golden opportunity pass.

 

Wilson glares at his Carnival counterpart. “This is really just going to turn into a very bloody version of West Side Story. It just turns back into the Magnificent Seven versus the Carnival or the Magnificent Seven versus the Clan.” Wilson motions up to the stage. “You’re exactly packing much of a punch there, hombre.”

 

Thoth just stares down at the ring, looking at Wilson like a lion would a young, crippled and manipulative gazelle. “You haven’t spent enough time with the Clan apparently, Wilson. We’re just full of surprises. And you’re going to be getting yours very soon. They don’t call me the Balancer for nothing.” He looks over at Williams. “See you later tonight, Danny-boy.”

 

With that Thoth drops the mike and the Clan disappears back behind the curtain while Wilson and Edwin exchange worried looks.

 

“I don’t Edwin knows what surprise Thoth has planned,” assumes Riley. “They sure are a cohesive unit.”

 

“I’m not sure what Thoth is talking about,” admits Stevens, “but I’m sure Wilson and Edwin are a little worried.”

 

“You Were” beings to play but Wilson flips out as the Clan disappears into the back. “Cut that! Cut that! Play out music!” Wilson looks a little frazzled as he motions for his group to head out of the ring, a bombing-fearing sound system worker cueing up “Toxicity.” Wilson points at Edwin. “You.” He waves his finger at the entire Carnival. “All of you. Tonight.”

 

The rest of the Seven looks rather confused that Wilson’s bailing on a seven-on-four advantage, but Edwin doesn’t exactly look game either.

 

“I think Thoth’s gotten into Wilson’s head!” declares Stevens. “He looks pretty rattled as the Magnificent Seven head up the ramp.”

 

“And don’t forget Edwin, Mr. Bi-partisan,” reminds Riley. “The Carnival isn’t giving pursuit as they have a little pow wow in the ring. We’re off to an interesting start all ready tonight.”

 

“You’re telling me, and this is just the beginning. We’ve got a full slate of matches, so stay tuned!”

[Guest BA_Baracus]

SINGLES MATCH

Frost vs. Ced Ordonez

- Frost and Ced were on opposing sides in a Snake Eyes tag team match (Frost and his partner Thoth won). This Friday they’ll go one on one.

 

HARDCORE TITLE MATCH

Ash Ketchum © vs. Xero

- On Sunday Ketchum regained the hardcore title from Stryke, but there’s no rest for the wicked as he will defend the belt against Xero on Storm.

Match Description – Regular DQ and count-out rules are not in effect. Submissions, pinfalls and knockouts count anywhere within the arena.

 

SINGLES MATCH

Tod DeKindes vs. Fallout

- DeKindes makes his SWF singles debut on Storm. Will he be able to defeat the impressive veteran, Fallout?

 

TABLE MATCH

The Boston Strangler vs. Longdogger Pete

- A few months back these two were battling over the hardcore title and the feud was never really resolved. Well, they’re both back in action and will go at it in a table match!

Match Description – Regular DQ and count-out rules are not in effect. The first wrestler to cause his opponent to go through a table is the winner.

 

SINGLES MATCH

Danny Williams vs. Thoth

- Thoth is intent on destroying Chris Wilson and this Friday he gets a shot at one of his newest cronies, Danny Williams.

 

6-MAN TAG MATCH

Edwin MacPhisto, Chris Raynor & Z vs. Chris Wilson, Stryke & “TNT” Taylor Nicholas Thompson

- Chris Wilson took Edwin by surprise on Sunday by unveiling 5 new members of his stable during their title match. A number of them surrounded the ring and things were looking grim for the champ but Z came to the rescue, kept the villains busy and allowed Edwin the retain the title. Edwin and his allies vs. Wilson and his allies…it’s got slobberknocker written all over it!

Match Description – DQ and count-out rules are in effect. Only 2 men are allowed in the ring at once, and wrestlers can only tag in people from their team.

[Guest BA_Baracus]

The camera cuts back in on SWF Storm panning the still buzzing crowd from the opening promo. The camera comes to rest in front of the commentator’s table.

 

Stevens: “For those of you tuning in late…”

 

Riley: “Buy a T.V. Guide.”

 

Stevens: (continuing)”…you have missed the official unveiling of Chris Wilson’s new stable, the Magnificent Seven. They have sworn war on the Midnight Carnival and Edwin MacPhisto in particular.”

 

Riley: “They’ll get their shot later tonight as M7 makes their first in-match stable appearance in our main event against the Carnival. Don’t miss it, but it’s not like you have anything better to do.”

 

The camera cuts to Funyon in the ring.

 

Funyon: “Our first contest this evening is set for one fall and will be held under standard SWF rules.”

 

DUN DUN DUN DUNDUNDUNDUN DUN DUN DUN!

 

Funyon: “Now, introducing from Reykjavik, Iceland at a weight of 296 lbs. This…is… FFFFFFFRRRRRRRRRRROOOOOOOOOOSSSSSSSSSSSTTTTTTTTT!”

 

Frost strolls nonchalantly out to the top of the entrance ramp as his blistering theme music echoes through the arena. He raises a solitary fist to the crowd with assured confidence and they boo him down. He scoffs at them with disdain and makes his way down the ramp toward the ring.

 

Stevens: “Speaking of the Magnificent Seven, Frost is one of the charter members of the group.”

 

Riley: “He’s their Charles Bronson. Ugly, surly, mean, but well spoken and smarter than he looks. Wilson, with everything that’s Yul Brenner, chose his posse well.”

 

Stevens: “So, I’m thinking that would make Stryke Steve McQueen, but what about TNT who is also in the main event?”

 

Riley: “Brad Dexter.”

 

Frost leaps to the ring apron and steps over the ropes with a wide swing of his legs. The music shifts, as does the crowd response, to the techno grooves of “B4U ~Glorious Style~.”

 

Funyon: “And his opponent from Sacramento, California at a weight of 210lbs., XF9’s CED…OR…DO…NEZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZ!”

 

Funyon throws his right arm out toward the entrance curtain, but there is no Ced. The music continues to pulse and the fans continue to chant ‘Ced!’ as they wait for his entrance. Frost leans with his forearms on the top ring rope and stares up the ramp waiting for his prey.

 

Riley: “Apparently, Ced had enough of Frost at the pay-per-view on Sunday. He’s probably home eating Ben and Jerry’s and watching tapes of ‘Sex and the City.’”

 

Suddenly, the crowd roar explodes as Ced comes sailing over the guardrail surrounding the ring area with a chair in is hands. He deftly slides under the bottom rope and springs to his feet to slam Frost in the back with the chair. Frost arches in pain and turns to the side in an attempt to get away from the enraged Ordonez. Ced clobbers him again with a meaty ‘smack’ and Frost falls to one knee with one hand clinging to the top rope. Referee Matthew Kivell shakes a finger in Ced’s face to get rid of the chair. Ced brings the chair back again and swings for the fences like Barry Bonds. Frost takes another blow to his lower back and falls to the canvas on his face.

 

Riley: “HE CAN’T DO THAT! KIVELL NEEDS TO DISQUALIFY THAT PUNK RIGHT NOW!”

 

Stevens: “Technically the match hasn’t started yet. You cannot end something that has yet to begun.”

 

Riley: “Shut up, Confucius.”

 

Kivell yells red faced at Ordonez to get rid of the chair as the audience screams their head off with approval. Ced struts to the upper half of the ring and flexes for the crowd. He flips the chair over the ropes and it crashes to the floor next to the ring.

 

Stevens: “Frost pretty much had his way with Ordonez at Snake Eyes, until Ced exacted some small measure of revenge with a chair at the end of the tag encounter.”

 

Riley: “This just proves that he can’t beat Frost without a little steel enforced help. He should go back to wrestling midgets if he can’t stand toe to toe with the big boys.”

 

DING DING DING

 

Kivell finally waves for the bell to start. Frost has crawled on his stomach to the near corner and is gripping the second rope with both mitts. Ced runs over to grab Frost by the ankles and jerks him back. Frost hangs suspended in the air for a moment, but then loses his hold on the corner ropes and is brought out into the ring with a face first slam. Ced drops on top of Frost with both knees in his lower back. He wraps his right arm around Frost’s neck and secures the other around his left leg. Ced rocks forward, then back, forward, then finally has enough momentum to roll onto his back to hold Frost aloft in the air with both knees grinding into his spine. Frost screams bloody murder and Kivell asks him if he wants to give up. Frost shakes his head ‘no.’

 

Stevens: “Ordonez is trying to capitalize on those shots to the back with a bow and arrow.”

 

Riley: “Yeah, but see how he’s struggling to keep Frost up. The man is too heavy for him and he’s not able to apply maximum pressure.”

 

Ced sweats and strains as he pulls back on Frost’s neck. His arm comes loose from Frost’s leg and the two men roll to their sides. Ced breaks the hold and lies on the mat getting his breath. Frost places the back of his hand on his sore back and plops over to his face.

 

Stevens: “Seems you were right, Bobby. Great insight and I guess wonders will never cease.”

 

Riley: “Thanks. I’ve been…HEY! What did you say?”

 

Ced climbs to his feet with Frost still down on the mat. Ordonez takes a wide step over to his fallen opponent and pops into the air to send a knee crashing down into the Icelander’s lower back. Frost cringes and slightly rolls to his side from the force of the blow. Ced pushes Frost the rest of the way over and makes a cover.

 

ONE!

 

TWO!

 

Frost raises a shoulder to break.

 

Stevens: “Frost might be softened up, but he’s not out of this yet.”

 

Riley: “Ced needs to keep Frost off his feet and stay working on the back.”

 

Ced rises up to his knees and rolls Frost over to his stomach to exact some more punishment on his back. Frost goes with the movement and slides to the floor. He takes a step forward on the outside and is stopped by blasting back pain. Ced sprints across the ring and drops down to baseball slide under the ropes. He catches Frost in the side with his feet and he falls awkwardly back with a twist to land spine first into the guardrail. The crowd ‘ooos’ as Frost’s backbone makes a metallic whack against the steel. He goes down to his knees and bellows like a wounded polar bear.

 

Riley: “Not quite what I meant, but I guess it works.”

 

Kivell starts a count out on both men. (One) Frost kneels with his arms grapevined around the top of the guardrail. Ced chops him in the chest and the crowd “Whoos!”

(Two) Ced delivers three more chops in rapid succession, which knock Frost loose from the rail, and he slumps forward grabbing his reddening chest. (Three) Ordonez stomps a boot down into Frost’s back and he slips off his knees to lay flat on the floor. (Four) Ced notes that Frost is lying on top of the chair that he threw out of the ring earlier and slides back into the ring with an ear-to-ear grin on his face. Kivell stops his count and Ordonez holds a thumbs up to the crowd as the fans cheer madly.

 

Riley: “If he’s smart. He’ll leave Frost on the outside for the count out victory.”

 

Before Kivell can restart his count, Ced runs to the far ropes and springs off of them with gathering speed. As he reaches the ropes near Frost on the outside, he grabs them with both hands and catapults himself up and over. Ordonez twists in mid-air to come down sideways on Frost’s back with a body splash, but the Icelander shifts over at the last instance and Ced takes the chair full to the midsection. He bounces up about a foot into the air from the force of impact and the audience audibly cringes. Kivell leans over the ropes to stare at both men with a shake of his head and puts his hands up to count off the time both grapplers have to get back into the ring. (One)

 

Riley: “Ced’s confirmed my suspicions, he’s a moron.”

 

(Two)

 

Stevens: “That crack literally echoed throughout the arena and even if Ced can make it back into the ring he will hardly be in any shape to continue this contest.”

 

(Three) Frost reaches up with his long arms to grab the ring apron to pull himself up while Ced rocks back and forth with his hands wrapped around his bruised stomach and the suffering of the missed pescado etched on his face. (Four) Frost hefts himself up to his feet and staggers backwards. (Five) He sags against the guardrail gaining his breath as Ced turns over to his side, hacking and coughing. (Six) Frost stumbles over to Ced and leans down to pull him up with a hand on either side of his head. (Seven) Frost places a hand on Ced’s rear with the other on the top of his head and throws him under the rope back in the ring to break the ref’s count. Frost takes one more deep breath on the outside and bends rearward to stretch the tortured muscles and bones in his back before sliding into the ring himself.

 

Stevens: “Frost beats the count back in and now is his time to deal out some punishment of his own.”

 

Frost glides up to his feet, still being careful of his sore back. Ced lays on the mat staring up almost comatose at the arena lights. Frost sends two short and stiff stomps into his opponent’s ribs and Ordonez contorts in agony. Frost leans over gingerly, wincing slightly at the pain in his back, and pulls Ced up to him with a hand under his left arm. Ced rests with his head on Frost’s chest as the big man locks his hands around Ced’s waist and hoists him up and over his head in a gutwrench suplex. Ordonez thumps to the mat and Frost sneers at the crowd to hide the time he needs to recover from the strain the move put on his back. He falls on top of Ced with a lateral press.

 

ONE!

 

 

TWO!

 

THRE-

 

Ced raises a weak shoulder to stop the count and the crowd busts loose with a cheer.

 

Stevens: “One thing you can’t fault Ced for is a lack of heart as he makes the tortured kick out.”

 

Riley: “But I can fault him for a lack of brains.”

 

Frost climbs to his feet while pulling Ordonez up with him. He stands front to back with the man and wraps one leg around Ced’s while snaking his arm up under his left armpit and around his neck. Frost growls at the crowd again as he locks on an abdominal claw with his free hand to compliment the hold.

 

Stevens: “Frost applies an abdominal stretch with side claw. Not only does this work Ced’s banged up midsection, but it allows Frost a much needed breather of his own for his sore back.”

 

Riley: “Hey…speaking of a lack of brains, where is Ced’s old buddy Z when he needs him?”

 

Frost ratchets back on the hold while grinding in the claw, his fingers nearly ripping into Ced’s flesh. Kivell drops to one knee in front of Ordonez’s face to see if he wants to give up. The fans chant ‘Ced! Ced! Ced!,’ but Frost shakes his head from side to side to say ‘no, there will be no comeback.’

 

Stevens: “As we saw at Snake Eyes and can judge from the main event with Z teaming with Edwin and Raynor, the status of the Z&C Connection might be up in the air. However, joining the Midnight Carnival does not mean that Z has to break all of his ties with XF9.”

 

Riley: “This is the SWF, not the UN. No dual citizenship. Z makes a good fit for those corny carnies anyway. I always thought the boy was a little light in the loafers and that’s not a mincing gel.”

 

The ref pleads with Ced to submit, but he grits his teeth and stifles the moans of ‘I quit’ down. Frost laughs at the foolish fans and slowly their chant shifts to a sing-a-long of “Frosty the Snowman.” Frost’s face twists to one of shocked disgust. He releases the claw hold and uses his free hand on his ear to partially block the crowd’s taunting tune.

 

Stevens: “I think the audience has found a way to get to the big Icelander and give Ced a window of opportunity to escape this hold.”

 

Riley: “Real original guys. How do you think Frost got so mean and bad in the first place? By beating up jerks in school that used to sing that to him. One dude is still in the second grade from the brain damage Frost gave him.”

 

Frost reaches his free hand back and takes hold of the near top rope. He pulls back and Ced groans with new pain. The audience’s song switches to long and loud boos of contempt.

 

Stevens: “Frost uses the top rope for leverage in a very illegal tactic.”

 

Riley: “Shut the crowd up didn’t it?”

 

Kivell stands up and questions Frost due to the fans renewed jeering. Frost clearly states that he is doing nothing wrong and yanks back again on the stretch. Ced lets out a raw scream and the ref turns back to the fading grappler. Frost grabs the top rope again and uses it to his advantage as the fans hiss even louder.

 

Riley: “Also that seems fair to me. If Ced is going to cheat with a chair, why can’t Frost cheat with the ropes. It evens out the Universe and brings the cosmos back into harmony, so says Confucius.”

 

Stevens: “Ced’s use of the chair was before the bell and I think it was an appropriate device to let Frost know that the much smaller and physically weaker Ordonez was not going to roll over for him.”

 

Frost releases the ropes just as Kivell looks up at him and he waves his hand in plain sight of the ref. Matthew shifts his attention back to Ced and Frost jerks back on the top rope to the fans’ anger.

 

Riley: “Ced’s not Sydney Sky. She rolls over for Frost all the time.”

 

Stevens: “You exhibit class as usual.”

 

Frost cackles at the XF9er’s supporters with sadistic glee. With his concentration diverted, Kivell swings around behind Frost and catches his hand on the top rope. Matthew steadies himself with a hand on the ropes and kicks his right leg up into Frost’s forearm. Frost lets go with a start and twists his head back to glare at Kivell. With is focus completely lax, Ced musters the strength to hip toss Frost over to the canvas and the fans explode with joy.

 

Stevens: “CED BREAKS AND THE ADRENALINE IS PUMPING NOW!”

 

Ordonez sprints into the near ropes as Frost makes his feet. Ced charges toward Frost, but pulls up lame from the throbbing in his gut. Frost reaches down with a hand between Ced’s legs and lifts him up over his head with his other hand on his shoulder. Frost pivots around to face the lower part of the ring with Ordonez up high in the air for a press slam. The malicious twinkle in Frost’s eyes fade as a twinge of pain rockets through his back and he drops his enemy. Although dazed, Ced’s natural agility is enough to allow him to land on his feet and he quickly plunges down to bring a hand up under Frost’s legs to school boy him back and over to the mat.

 

ONE!

 

 

TWO!

 

Stevens: “NO, FROST FLIPS OUT OF THE PIN AND CED IS GAME FOR ANOTHER CHARGE!”

 

Frost wobbles to his feet and droops against the near ropes as Ced runs at him with renewed determination. Frost sidesteps Ced just as he reaches him on a tope and locks his arm around his neck. He allows Ced’s momentum to carry him over the ropes and Frost fires him down to the floor and the waiting steal chair below with a makeshift brainbuster. Kivell starts his count out as Frost falls to his knees exhausted.

 

ONE!

 

TWO!

 

Stevens: “Ced took that chair right to the top of his skull. He’s out cold.”

 

THREE!

 

FOUR!

 

Riley: “Cold like lunchmeat. I wouldn’t think that a knock on the noggin’ would put Odonez out. It’s not like he has anything in there.”

 

FIVE!

 

SIX!

 

The fans chant Ced’s name, but it falls on deaf ears, as he lies motionless on the chair.

 

SEVEN!

 

EIGHT!

 

Stevens: “Ced might have a concussion!”

 

Riley: “We can only hope.”

 

NINE!

 

TEN!

 

DING DING DING

 

Funyon: “Here is your winner by count out. FFFFFFFFFRRRRRRRRRROOOOOOOOOSSSSSSSSSSTTTTTTTTTTTTTT!”

 

Kivell lifts Frost’s hand in victory while he sits on the mat gasping for breath and holding his battered back. Paramedics race down to tend to Ordonez.

 

Stevens: “This contest sorrowfully ends like so many Frost matches, with the medics tending to Frost’s fallen opponent. Although, Ced showed heart in losing and had the big man on the ropes for most of the match.”

 

Riley: “Ordonez is taken out by his own chair. Irony can be so ironic. (to the crowd at large) Frosty the Snowman, my ass.”

 

The camera fades to break as Ced is showing signs of life and his eyes flutter lazily open.

[Guest BA_Baracus]

Wowie-zowie! The TVs or milions of Americans come back from commercial land, only to be interrupted by the blaring music of SWF Storm. As the music fades into the background, fans waving their signs around in the air as they attempt to get on TV. Quick flashes show us a few signs, such as “Suicide King is my HERO!”, “I mark for Carnies!”, “Why, Outcast, Why (Do We Have To See You Again?)!” and the always present “You suck!”. The shot then pans down, down, down to the announcers table, where “Grand Slam” Mark Stevens and Bobby “If You Call Me Bobbi One More Time, I Will Kill You” Riley sit, anticipating the next match. Next to Riley is an X-Box, which he plays during breaks.

 

Stevens: AND WE WELCOME YOU BACK TO OTTAWA FOR SWF STORM! We’ve kicked off the show with a great match, and now things can only get better!

 

Riley: You’re right. That last match sucked. DUD!

 

Stevens: What? You were playing WWF Raw on your damn X-Box the whole time! You don’t even play company games!

 

Riley: You don’t understand anything, do you Ground Rule Double? I happen to be a fan of Kevin Nash. Now speak and be done with your talking, Bat Boy.

 

Stevens: Nash? Nash sucks! (Dead silence as everyone is confused for a sec.) Errr... moving onto other things: At Snake Eyes, a match between Xero and El Luchador Magnifico somehow never took place. Meanwhile, Ash Ketchum defeated Stryke for the second pay-per-view in a row, taking back the Hardcore Championship. Possibly as punishment for missing Snake Eyes, Commissioner Stubby P. McWeed has set this match up. That, and maybe Stubby wants to brusie Ash up some more for a possilbe match against Stryke or a member of either Creative Control or Chris Wilson’s new group.

 

Riley: You lost me at “At Snake Eyes”. Next time, try speaking in a language I can understand.

 

Stevens: Do homos have a language of their own?

 

Riley: ENOUGH WITH THE HOMO JOKES!

 

Suddenly, the lights cut out, a kickin’ piano piece blastin’ over the speakers. The crowd begins to cheer a little, pyro similar to Christian’s entrance flowing from the top of the SmarkTron and spewing from vents in front of the entrance. The crowd rises to its feet, roaring with cheers.

 

Stevens: Look out, here comes trouble!

 

Riley: And he spells it T-R-U-B-E-L because he has the IQ of a toddler!

 

At the same time, a Poke Ball upon the SmarkTron. It begins to spin as the crowd pops, spinning faster and faster and faster until it stops, blocked out by a picture of a certain wrestler’s head, winking at everyone in the arena. A huge pyro blast suddenly kicks up from the front of the stage as Billy Crawford’s “Pokemon Theme” blasts through the speakers. The pyro in front of the entrance then stops, and a spotlight shines down on Ash Ketchum and his sexy girlfriend Misty. Turning around from his Jericho-like pose, Misty on his right side, he spins, smiling. Ash turns to look, waving into the ring at Funyon, who waves back as Ketchum and Misty make their way down to the ring, slapping hands with some of the crazed fans.

 

Funyon: The following match is scheduled for one-fall and it is for the SWF HARDDDDDDCORE CHAMPIONSHIP! Introducing first, being accompanied by Misty, from Pallet Town, weighing in at 258 pounds, he’s the SWF HARDDDDDDDDDCORE CHAMPION... ASH KETCHUMMMMMMMMMMMMM!

 

He climbs up onto the apron, opening the ropes to let Misty in, who tonight is wearing an Ash Ketchum shirt and Daisy Duke shorts, then climbs in himself. Dropping “THE BOX!” off in a corner, Ash climbs the turnbuckle closest to the crowd and with lightning precision, strips off his shirt. Whirling it wildly over his head, he smiles as he releases the shirt, flinging several rows back into the hands of some kid wearing a Midnight Carnival jersey. The young child smiles as Ash dismounts the turnbuckle, turning to face the stage and hunching down as if he were about to tackle or clothesline someone.

 

Riley: That damn fist helmet better not be in the box! Stryke already got a fist to his face at Snake Eyes with that illegal weapon!

 

Stevens: I bet you’d like to be fisted by another man, Riley.

 

Riley: I SAID STOP IT!

 

Suddenly, the lights go pitch black as the intro of "Master of Puppets" by Metallica kicks up. We call all hear it clealry because of the massive amounts of initial silence, followed by boos. In the ring, though we can only barely see it due to the camera flashes, Ash’s arms are extended as he signals to his opponent to bring it on. After a few seconds, the music fades to silence. Suddenly the chorus starts to play and the words "OBEY YOUR MASTER!" flare up over the speakers, drawing more boos and heat from the crowd.

 

Funyon: And from Port Colborne... Ontario, Canada, weighing in at 199 pounds... XEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEROOOOOOOOOOO!

 

At that point, a spotlight shines on stage, as "Master of Puppets" is being played again. Red fireworks explode from each side... but where the hell is Xero?

 

Stevens: Dammit, where is Xero?

 

Riley: He skipped town AGAIN? F*ckin’ coward.

 

Suddenly, from behind, someone jumps Ash, slamming a forearm across the Hardcore Champion’s back. Ash staggers forward as the lights come up, revealing the goatee-wearing, bald-headed Hungarian-Canadian man known as Steve Simon, better known as SWF wrestler Xero!

 

Stevens: Damn sneak attack! Xero came through the crowd! He’s afraid of Ash!

 

Riley: Hey, he snuck in through the crowd! He’s not such a dumbf*ck after all!

 

DING DING DING! The little guy zips around, running back to the ropes as the bigger, slower Ash turns around. Xero bounces off them, sprinting almost back at Ash. Ash has no reaction time as the lightning-quick Xero leaps into the air, flying at Ash. His body slams sideways into Ash’s chest, knocking him backwards with a quick flying cross body!

 

One-Major kick out by Ash! Ash pushes Xero off his body and sends the little man flying up into the air! Xero lands hard on his back, but both men hop up onto their feet. As he gets up, Xero runs back for the ropes as Ash straightens himself out, bounching off them and slingshotting back at Ash.

 

Riley: Look at him go! He’s like Rey Mysterio, Jr!

 

Upon returning back to his start position, Xero jumps in the air, catching Ash's neck between his legs. Sealing the lock by crossing his ankles, Xero falls the the mat, pulling Ash down to the mat with a running head scissors takedown.

 

Stevens: Nice scissors takedown from Xero-

 

Riley: Oh, nice scissors takedown. Next thing you know you’ll be ripping on my X-Box again. Excuse me while I go “cyber-hold down” some more potential wrestlers as Kevin Nash...

 

Stevens: Yeah... I can imagine you and cyber in the same sentence... as in you cybering with a gay man.

 

Riley: Now, what did we say about the gay jokes? Didn’t we say to stop that? Wasn’t that what was on the meeting agenda?

 

Stevens: I’m sorry, I must have not gotten that fax this morning. And I don’t recall it on the agenda either...

 

Ash’s body is whipped around, flipping onto his back and being slammed hard into the mat. Ketchum grabs his back seconds after the impact, but slowly, and looking a teeny bit groggy, he gets up onto his feet. Little Xero simply hops onto his feet, ready for Ash as he moves forward. Quickly, Xero hooks an arm of Ash and falls to the mat, pulling Ash over into an arm drag, landing on his back. Ash cries in pain, but Xero quickly follows up,still holding the arm as he wraps his arms around one of Ash's arms in such a way that his elbow is locked straight out. Xero then applies pressure, locking in a painful armbar on Ash.

 

Riley: OOOOOOH! LOOK AT THE PAIN!

 

Stevens: You’re a sadist, aren’t you?

 

Riley: I’m not one of those things... don’t you clean a toilet with that?

 

As he locks it in, Ash cries out, slowly struggling to get to his feet. Pressing his other arm against the mat, he slowly, slowly pushes himself up off the mat. Xero screams out as Ash attempts to get up, squeezing and cranking at the arm again as the ref begins to count, the crowd’s cheers turning silent as Ash drops back onto his knees, crying in pain.

 

Stevens: Now that I think about it... that wasn’t on the agenda...

 

Riley: Shhhh! I’m playing WWF Raw again!

 

Stevens: Don’t tell me to be quiet!

 

Riley: Or?

 

Stevens: Or I’ll jam that controller up your ass-wait, you might like that... never mind.

 

Riley: ...I think you’re the gay one.

 

But through the pain and anguish, Ash Ketchum, pushes himself up off the mat, hand pressed against the canvas as he defies Xero’s armbar. Xero twists the arm around, transitioning into a standing armbar, but slowly drawing his other arm back, the powerful Ketchum drives a fist into Xero’s side. The Canuck’s body shuffles a few inches away from Ash from the blow, hold still locked in. Another punch in the side and Xero relinquishes the hold, allowing Ash to move away from Xero. He runs for, bounces off, and flies back from the ropes at Xero, who looks a little dazed, but as Ash charges at him, forearm being drawn back for a mighty forearm smash as Xero jumps in the air. As he goes in the air, he spins his body and strikes Ash with the side of his in mid-air, executing a high-leg clothesline!

 

Riley: POW! What a hit!

 

Stevens: I’ll say-

 

Riley: I just big booted my Mark Stevens CAW! And here comes the Jackknife through a flaming table!

 

Ash falls hard to the mat as Xero lands upon his tailbone. No damage done there. Xero quickly rises to his feet as Ash grabs his head, appearing to be in a dazed state. Xero looks to lift Ash to his feet, grabbibng Ash by his hair and pulling him up. Grabbing hold of the waistband of Ash’s pants, Xero runs for the ropes, clutching a bent-over Ash as he throws him through the second and top ropes to the outside! “THUD!” Ash lands hard on the padding after doing a few not-so-acrobatic twists through the air, grabbing his back and screaming in pain. Xero backs up and just waits for a second, for Ash to collect himself , and when Ash slowly gets almost up onto his feet, he runs at Ash, handspringing over the top rope as he flies at Ash, twisting his body into the air. He comes crashing down on Ash, right into a corkscrew twist as he finishes off the Suicidal Plancha!

 

The two men collapse to the ground and are not quick to get back up after the huge move. The crowd begins to cheer, even for the heelish Xero because of the move’s awesomeness, and maybe the cheers help the two men motivate themselves to get up. Ash seems to be grabbing his chest as he slowly rises onto his feet, while Xero seems unscathed. The little guy is up on his feet, slow but faster than the staggering Ash. He draws his arm back, hand flat as he swings it forward. “SLAP!” A chop falls upon the chest of Ash, sending him staggering back up the ramp with a “Wooooo!” from the crowd. Xero draws his arm back again. “SLAP!” “Wooooo!” Antoher chop to Ash, and he staggers further and further up the ramp.

 

Stevens: Looks like, yes, another chop from Xero! Listen to that slap!

 

Crowd: WOOOOO!

 

Riley: Hey! My Grand Slam CAW’s fighting back! Must... supress him!

 

Crowd: WOOOOO!

 

Stevens: And one more chop for good measure from Xero!

 

Crowd: WOOOOO!

 

Riley: SHUT UP ALREADY!!!!

 

By now, the two men have fought up to the back wall of the entrance area, near the curtain. Ash is a bit tired, facing away from the ring as Xero zips around from behind Ash. Facing the ring, Xero knees Ash in the gut, causing him to bend over, and applies a front face lock on Ash, grabbing his tights and quickly falling backwards-”SLAM!”-snapping Ash back into the back of the entrance area with a snap suplex! Ash screams in pain and grabs his back as he falls, the smaller Xero sitting up after move slowly. The Canuck spots Ash down, grabbing his back in pain, and slowly, he flips himself over, and using his arms, crawls on top of Ash, covering him. Could this be it?

 

One...

 

Two...

 

T-No! Ash pulls his shoulder up off the mat. Xero isn’t very happy as he slowly gets up onto his knees, arguing with referee Matthew Kivell. Xero gets to his feet slowly, bending over to pull Ash up slowly onto his feet. moving back through the curtain. Ketchum’s hands slide behind Xero’s head, and quickly, Ash drops down onto the steel floor, dropping Xero down into a sit-out jawbreaker!

 

Stevens: Sit-down jawbreaker from Ash! Great counter!

 

Xero bounces back, landing on the concrete floor behind the curtain. Both he and Ash slowly get up like two old folks who have just fallen, struggling ans shaking as they get to their feet, inches away from each other.

 

Riley: This is a damn shame! Nash is getting beaten up by my Stevens CAW!

 

As Xero gets up, Ash draws a fist back, pounding it into Xero’s face. Xero staggers back, but he quickly swings his arm around, punching Ash in the face. Ash counters with a punch of his own, and the brawling begins.

 

Stevens: And here we go! Looks like they’re starting to fight back into the depths of the locker room... WOW! What a punch by Ash. Xero counters with a punch of his own! They’re fighting backstage!

 

Meanwhile, near the Creative Control locker room, Suicide King and Jay Dawg stand around, talking.

 

JD: So I says to my bitch, “YOU GET YOURSELF A F*CKIN POT AND GET IN DA KITCHEN-”

 

Suddenly, Xero and Ash fight past them, throwing fists of fury. The two watch the two men go by, then King speaks.

 

King: What the hell?

 

JD: The Hardcore Division’s gone to sh*t.

 

King: Oh. OK.

 

As the two fight, the camera loses track of them as they round a corner.

 

Stevens: Where are they going?

 

As the first camera loses the two men, we swithc back to a shot of the announcers table. Bobby is still playing his X-Box.

 

Riley: JACKKNIFE THROUGH ANOTHER FLAMING TABLE! YES!

 

Stevens: You and your obsession with that damn X-Box...

 

Suddenly, over thirty seconds later, another camera picks up the two men... still brawling backstage! This is getting ridiculous! They fight over near a pair of elevators.

 

Stevens: They’re still going at it! Amazing!

 

As Ash and Xero fight, Ash lands a blow that sends Xero into one of the two elevators that connect the upstairs concession area with the backstage are underneath it. As Xero staggers in, the doors begin to shut and the elevator readies to go up. Ash, though, staggers into the elevator just before the door closes. “Ding!” It signals it’s going to get up as Ash listens in on the elevator music playing, listening to the guitar as he realizes which song is playing and sings along.

 

Ash: We all came out to Montreux, on the Lake Geneva shoreline... to make records with a mobile we didn't have much time... Frank Zappa and the Mothers, were at the best place around... but some stupid with a flare gun, burned the place to the ground... smoooooke on the water, fire in the skyy-

 

“Ding!” The doors open wide and Ash stops singing. Thank God. That was one damn long ride.

 

Stevens: Look, it’s the Hard Rock Cafe! They’ve popped up outside the Hard Rock Cafe! Amazing!

 

Riley: Everything amazes you, doesn’t it, dammit?

 

The two step out, Ash grabbing Xero in a side headlock as he drags him back towards the ring, past a table. Sitting at the table are Aerosmith’s Steven Tyler and Joe Perry, who are signing autographs for the fans gathered around them. Cool.

 

Stevens: So that’s where everyone’s been going...

 

Riley: I thought they were leaving because this match sucked.

 

The two men begin to move toward the table, crowd parting out of the way, as Xero slips out of Ash’s headlock. Grabbing him by the back of the head, Xero drops back, sitting down and slamming Ash into the ground with a reverse facebuster! Ash cries out in pain as the move slams him to the ground, but Xero sits there for a second, catching his breath.

 

Riley: Pin him, jackass!

 

Xero sighs, breathes in deeply, and then, leans forward, pinning Ash’s shoulders to the ground as the referee drops to make the count...

 

One...

 

 

Two...

 

THREE-NO! Ketchum kicks out at the last second. Xero looks up at the ref, screaming at him loudly as he slowly, just so slowly begins to get up. Waving his hands about, he flails them wildly, catching the attention of the lead singer of Aerosmith.

 

Steven Tyler: Yo dude... shut up. We’re trying to sign stuff for the fans...

 

In a fit of rage, he flips over the table scattering merchandise everywhere.

 

Fan: Hey! You can’t do that to Aerosmith!

 

Xero: Aerosmith sucks.

 

Turning around, Xero quickly spits on an Aerosmith poster, and then, laughing slightly, he goes back to work, bending over and pulling Ash onto his feet slowly. Ash is very wobbly and tired and can barely, at this point, seem to stand. The last move dazed him. Meanwhile, Joe Perry turns to Steven.

 

Joe Perry: You gonna let him do that to you?

 

Steven Tyler: Ummm... nope.

 

Joe: Then fight back!

 

Steven looks around for an implement, and looking behind him is a replica of his world-famous microphone stand. He grabs it, clutching it in his hands as he steps over the table. Xero is headed back down the tunnel to the stands as Steven chases after him

 

Stevens: Uh-oh....

 

“CLANK!” Xero is nailed in the back with the microphone stand, and he releases Ash, staggering forward and taking a tumble. He lands on his back, but does a front somersault and rolls onto his feet. He looks back, grabbing his back in pain, and quickly, he runs away, panting loudly and grunting as Steven Tyler helps Ash Ketchum up.

 

Steven: You OK, dude?

 

Ash: Yeah... nnnnghh... my back’s killing me... thanks.

 

Steven: No problem, man. Your dude’s getting away.

 

Ash: Not... for long...

 

Ketchum, using some of the energy he has left, takes off after Xero, who is almost to the ring. Xero has climbed over the barrier and is sliding slowly back into the ring as Ash sprints through the crowd.

 

Riley: Damn, look at him go! But Xero’s up in the ring!

 

Stevens: Ash is running, and wait, he’s just hopped over the barrier! He’s gonna enter the ring soon!

 

Xero is a bt woozy as he gets up in the ring, Ash sliding slowly under the bottom rope and re-entering the ring.

 

Riley: This is a really weird match.

 

As Xero staggers about, Ash gets up, ducking down, and Xero falls, landing on Ash’s shoulders. Ash catches him in a Samoan drop, and it looks like Mew Driver time! But wait! Just as Ash releases the legs of Xero, he spins Xero’s body 180 degrees and swings him around, instead droping into a sit-out neckbreaker!

 

Stevens: K-Cutter! Ash hits a huge move on Xero! And it looks like ke’s going to cover him!

 

Riley: Well... here it is...

 

One...

 

 

Two...

 

 

THREE!!!!!!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

NO! XERO BARELY KICKS OUT!

 

Stevens: That was cheap!

 

Riley: But fun!

 

Xero, using his expert speed, runs to the ropes and bounces off, grabbing Ash by the head as he comes back. He spins 180 degrees, shifting his weight to face the turnbuckle before he attempts to fall back into a Tornado DDT that would plant Ash head first into the mat and end this! However, as Xero sets Ash up, Ketchum waistlocks Xero, and letting out a yell, he somehow lifts Xero up into the air, falling back as he pulls Xero over his head and releases him right above the mat! Xero flies through the air as both men slam back first into the mat and remain motionless, the ring violently shaking as the combined weight of the two men crashes into the ring!

 

Stevens: JESUS! What a counter from Ash! Both men are down!

 

Riley: God... this sucks.

 

Both Xero and Ash remain down for more than just a few seconds, but slowly, Xero begins to roll, roll out of the ring. Ash gets up in the ring, grabbing his back and crying out in pain. His feet roll off the apron first, and he ends up on his feet as Ash slowly pushes himself up, struggling and slipping several times before he does get onto his feet.

 

Stevens: Look at the carnage! Both men are wasted! There’s nothing left in them!

 

As Xero gets up outside the ring, Ash charges at him, sliding down and nailing Xero with a baseball slide. Xero is hit and staggers back, slamming into the announcer’s table as Ash slides out of the ring again.

 

Stevens: Quick move by Ash, and now both men are outside the ring!

 

Riley: Damn, and they’re both up, too...

 

Ash needs something to sedate Xero with. Ring bell? Been done. Chair? Too easily avoidable. He looks around... Bobby Riley’s X-Box? Why? Why not? No one’s done it before. And therefore, Ash slwoly reaches over the table and grabs the X-Box, separating the cords from the machine as he turns to face the Canadian grabbing his face from the slide.

 

Stevens: Dear God no! He’s not!

 

Riley: DAMMIT! NO! NOT MY KEVIN NASH CAW!

 

Grabbing the X-Box, Ketchum lifts it over his head as Xero looks up, X-Box swinging downward. “CRUNCH!” The sound of plastic and silicon smashing can be heard around the arena as the X-Box’s bottom smashes into Xero’s head! The Canuck crumbles to the ground like a fake cinder block being smashed as Ash turns to Riley, smiling happily.

 

Ash: X-Box BAD!

 

Riley: DAMN YOU, NINTENDO FANBOY! DAMN YOUUUUUUUUUUUUUU!

 

Ketchum breathes heavily as he stares at Xero. He is a bit shaky and totally exhausted, but he’s got something in the tank for one last run. One last move. Bending over slowly, he grabs Xero’s head with both hands and pulls Xero slowly up, nearly dropping the wobbling Xero. Ash slowly rolls Xero onto the announcers table, facing up as he looks back into the ring.

 

Ash: Let’s... do this...

 

Stevens: What does he mean?

 

Riley: He can’t be serious... he’s going to kill himself doing that!

 

Stevens: What? What do you mean?

 

Riley: Well, looks like he’s-hey, why am I telling you?

 

Stevens: Never mind. I’ll find out... but Ash looks a bit shaky here as he re-enters the ring. Wouldn’t you say he’s tired, Bobby?

 

Riley: He’s a woos. No way around it.

 

Ketchum, meanwhile, has staggered his way back into the ring and is attempting to push himself up onto his feet. His palms pressed against the mat, he slowly, like a grandpa, pushes himself up onto his knees. Once he reaches that, the crowd cheering for more violence and awesomeness, pressing on the soles of his feet, he slowly tries to push himself up. He slips for a second, dropping to his knees, but then, he struggles and rises up over those struggles, getting up as he begins to lean toward the ropes.

 

Stevens: Looks like Ash is going to shoot himself off the ropes.

 

Riley: But that bastard stole my X-Box and destroyed it!

 

Stevens: Nice bounce off the ropes, and here it comes!

 

Reaching the ropes closest to Stevens, the two men stand up in their chairs as Ash leaps to the top rope and leaps off quickly from a springboard position. He begins to flip around in mid-air as the crowd rises to its feet, flashbulbs flashing while Ash flips into a Shooting Star Press!

 

Stevens: LOOK OUT!

 

His main concern is clearing the gap between the ring and table, and as he comes down at a 50 degree angle, knees aimed at Xero, he crashes into Xero with an amazing springboard Shooting Star Knee Drop to the outside!

 

StevensL OH MY GOD!

 

“CRUNCH” “CRACK!” “THUD!” The table breaks apart into pieces and falls to the ground, taking the two men with it. Ash’s body is thrown forward from the blow, landing on top of Xero’s body

 

One...

 

 

Two...

 

 

 

 

 

 

THREE!

 

DING DING DING!

 

Stevens: Look at the carnage left behind by these two men! Our table is... is gone!

 

Riley: Dammit, Ash! Can’t you stop breaking other people’s sh*t?

 

Funyon: Your winner and still SWF HARDDDDDDDCORE CHAMPION... ASH KETCHUMMMMMMMMM!!!

 

As the crowd cheers and Funyon announces, neither man moves significantly. Not even Ash. Could he be unconscious as well?

 

Stevens: I’m more concerned about these two guys. They don’t seem to be moving...

 

Riley: Well, looks like they’re dead. We’ll just get two more from the JL to-

 

Stevens: Stop joking. Don’t you have a soul?

 

Riley: Soul? I have no soul! (Long pause as Riley just realizes what he said.) Wait... yes I do.

 

The EMTs begin their usual jog down the ramp now, stretchers in hand as they rush down toward Ash and Xero.

 

Stevens: God... I’ve never seen... such carnage in just a normal Hardcore title match...

 

Riley: Wayyyyy too melodramatic there, Mr. Soap Opera Actor...

 

Stevens: But still... this is just... horrifying...

 

Finally, EMTs arrive on the scene. They first tend to Ash, since he is closer. Rolling Ketchum over, we can see he is indeed conscious, but is suffering from massive exhaustion and strain. He tries to move his arm up for them to grab onto, but the exhaustion is too much. The EMTs take it from here, lifting Ash onto his feet and helping him to the back as others tend to Xero.

 

Riley: Took you fat wads long enough. Now help up Xero. Ash can stay hurt.

 

Stevens: Dammit, Riley! Shut up!

 

As the EMTs carry Ash away, each supporting an arm and walking slowly to keep pace with the ailing Ash, the crowd chants Ash’s name loudly. Ash would try to thank them, but he is too badly tired and possibly to badly injured to do so.

 

Stevens: As the EMTs tend to these men, we’ll clean up the place, because next, Tod deKindes battles Fallout, coming up on SWF Storm!

 

Fade out to a commercial for SWF Bobble Heads, now only 99¢ at your local Circle X! Go pick one up today!

[Guest BA_Baracus]

Fade in on the backstage area in the Corel Centre in Ottawa, Ontario (dramatic pause) CANADA! Gus waddles down the hall, looking from side to side at the individual locker room doors. Frost, TNT, Danny Williams, Stryke and Chris Wilson on the left, and Ced Ordonez, Tod deKindes, Longdogger Pete and, finally, a door with a big, cartoony nameplate that, when Gus zooms in on it, reads "Midnight Carnival!" The crowd explodes as Gus is heard to mutter, "Damn cheap pops."

 

But wait! At the end of the hall, there's one more door. The real nameplate ("Utility Closet") has been torn off and lays on the floor at the foot of the door. On the door itself, in black Sharpie, is written "The Superior One Tom Flesher," "SWF United States Champion," and underneath that a big star.

 

The door swings open, and standing in the doorway, in all his glory, is The Superior One himself! He stands in a statesman-like pose, head turned slightly to show his profile, arms crossed confidently across his chest. As always, he's clad in his Doc Marten boots, cargo jeans, white Boilermaker t-shirt (the back reads, "It'll Put You On Your Back Faster Than Funneling Tequila" $19.95, SWFSuperstars.com), hair spiked with so much pomade, a messenger bag over his shoulder, and, of course, he wears the US Championship belt around his waist. He looks quite imposing... until a broom falls behind him and crashes into his gear bag. Flesher flinches as he hears it.

 

"FUCK! I had my goddamn camera in there!" Flesher turns around, riffling through his gym bag and finally pulling out a Kodak disposable camera. He looks at the top, grinning and noting that he does, in fact, have a few photos left. He then strides happily down the hall, with Gus in tow, and stops at the Midnight Carnival's dressing room.

 

Flesher stops and knocks at the Carnival's dressing room door, and from inside comes the reply in a fruity British accent: "Step right up!" Flesher swings the door open, revealing Edwin and Chris Raynor each sitting on a plush chair, and Z standing between them holding an armload of boxer shorts. Flesher stammers, "Uh... um... Alex... what are you..."

 

"Oh, we're just hazing the new guy!" declares Edwin. "Every new Carnie has to watch a week's load of boxer shorts to prove he's capable of handling the workload!" Sure enough, the boxers contain a variety of motifs, mainly baseball bats, pandas and the occasional Mexican flag.

 

"Oh, well in that case...." Flesher reaches into his messenger bag and pulls out a pair of Superior One boxers. "Sorry, man. The plane ride was murder. I got stuck next to..."

 

Flesher sees Raynor staring angrily at him, and decides to cut to the chase.

 

"Listen, man, I just wanted to say that... well... I've done some things recently that I'm not proud of."

 

"You mean like icepicking my stablemate?" Z looks incredulous.

 

"Yes... like... icepicking your stablemate..." Flesher sighs.

 

"Before taking his title."

 

"Before... taking his... title." Flesher clears his throat, then shakes his head. "Alex, what I wanted to say, was... I'm so sorry." Z looks unimpressed. "I know we had a very good thing going, and I'm ashamed of some of the things that I did while I was Durandal. I hurt our friendship, maybe forever."

 

Z stammers, "Well... Tom... the thing is...."

 

Flesher interrupts him and wraps his arms around the junior Carnie, closing his eyes and leaning his head on Z's shoulder. "Z, I'm so ashamed of myself. I promise, cross my heart, hope to die, on Andrew Rickmen's grave, I'll get back to bossing you around just as soon as possible."

 

Z, clearly uncomfortable, just looks down at his watch.

 

"Listen, man... I need to get going. I need to go see Stubbs about my locker room... I think there was a mixup or something... and I need to talk him into handing over the Light Heavyweight belt."

 

Edwin raises his eyebrow. "Handing it over?"

 

"Well, sure." Flesher looks at Edwin as if he had just asked permission to stick a panda in his nose. "Why wouldn't he? Xero proved he's not up to the challenge. Who better to represent the SWF's light heavyweight division than the best light heavyweight in the federation?"

 

Z interjects, "Um... Tom... Mags has the belt. You do know that, right?"

 

"That damn burrito roller? Why should I worry about him? He didn't show up for Snake Eyes. Even if he had, what's he going to do to me? He can't outdo me on the mat, since I'm clearly the superior pure wrestler. After I break his ankle, he won't be able to hit any of his lucha moves. Luckily, I'm sure he's well versed in yelling 'NO MAS!'"

 

Z's eyes grow wide. "Are you SURE you want to say that?"

 

"Why wouldn't I?" With that, Flesher turns around, only to see El Luchadore Magnifico standing face-to-face, wearing the Light Heavyweight Championship! Surprisingly enough, a warm smile comes over ELM's face, surprising The Superior One.

 

"Well, what have we here?" Asks Magnifico, searching Tom up and down. Flesher stands his ground, staring the Mexican sensation down as he continues. "I'm not one to turn down a challenge, esse, as long as you can say it to my face."

 

Flesher glares at him. "Don't think for a second that I'm scared of you, Mag. That belt should rightly be around my waist, which it's going to be after I destroy and embarass you in the ring."

 

"Is that so?" questions the luchadore, amused. He places his hand on Flesher's shoulder and moves very close to him, freaking Tom out a bit. "Then I guess it's official. Perdoname..."

 

With that, Mags walks past Flesher, bumping him out of the locker room, and shuts the door. Flesher is left standing outside the Carnival's locker room, steaming.

[Guest BA_Baracus]

***We're still in Canada'a national capital, deep inside the home of the Ottawa Senators, the Corel Center. Having just witnesses some hardcore action, the rabid canadian fans are on the edges of their respective seats. As the outside cameras scan the surroundings of the arena, we segue into the arena where we see the actual crowd, sporting their usual signs in favor of their choice wrestlers. We finally end up on Mark Stevens and Bobby Riley, seated at the announce table.***

 

Mark: What a night thus far, folks, and we've only just begun!

 

Bobby: We've seen the massive Frost and Ced Ordonez go at it! We've seen the Hardcore title being defended! We're gonna see a table match and by God, we're gonna see a six man tag match!!

 

Mark: But coming right up, we got one of the newest additions to the SWF: Tod deKindes, going up against the veteran Fallout.

 

Bobby: (conceals a laugh)…Well, you say that we've only just begun, but after tonight, I say that's it's gonna END for Tod deKindes!

 

Mark: Well, we all know what Fallout's capable of, it'll be up to Tod deKindes to see how he can match up against this lunatic.

 

Bobby: I wouldn't quite say lunatic, Mark. I would prefer to say "cold", "calculated", and "methodical"! Fallout KNOWS what he's doing inside that ring, and I'm afraid that your little nazi boy Tod deKindes will be ANOTHER victim for Fallout here tonight!

 

Mark: That remains to be seen, and with that, let's take you to the ring!

 

…

 

***As referee Matthew Kivell steps into the ring, our announcer Funyon raises his microphone up to his lips.***

 

Funyon: Ladies and gentlemen, the following contest is set for one fall …

 

***Before Funyon continues, we hear Slipknot's "I Am Hated" firing up on the speakers…***

 

Funyon: Introducing first…From Muenchen, Germany, now residing RIGHT HERE in Ontario, Canada … Weighing in at 227 lbs…Tod - deeeeeeeee - Kinnnnnn - deeeesssss!!!

 

***As the Corel Center transforms itself into a massive rave like atmosphere with a blinding array of strobelight, and as the entry way starts filling with smoke; Tod walks out to his usual aggressive but confident pace. He stops in midramp to acknowledge a few signs dedicated to him and then resumes his course to the ring, sliding in under the bottom rope. He paces around the ring, and then climbs up to a random corner, using the second rope. He unleashes a mighty roar to the fans, whom answer back in kind.***

 

Bobby: This guy already has FANS??

 

Mark: Sure, Bobby, it's the Todheads! And they've gathered here in mass to watch their hero.

 

Bobby: And what's this about Tod living in Ontario?!

 

Mark: Well, as you may know, Tod left his adopted homeland of Germany in order to come over to the SJL and eventually the SWF, and he's chosen Toronto, Ontario, Canada as his new residence.

 

Bobby: Well, there's one mistake right here, living in Canada. I mean, my God … His second mistake is thinking that this match with Fallout is gonna be a walk in the park! You can tell by the look in his eyes that he thinks he's gonna have it easy against Fallout! Well, BOY is he in for a surprise!!

 

Mark: First of all, you can chalk that up to confidence! Even though he came up short at Snake Eyes, Tod deKindes is not one to back down from a challenge!

 

***In the ring, Tod has taken off his trench coat and silver framed shades and given them to a ringside tech. He warms up in the ropes, all while pacing around the ring, awaiting his first SWF singles opponent. The Slipknot tune comes to a halt, allowing Funyon to continue with his introduction …***

 

Funyon: And his opponent …

 

***The lights suddenly go out. The sounds of Rob Zombie's "Scum Of The Earth" slowly start fading into the arena. As soon as the heavy portion of the song picks up, an explosion of pyro occurs at the entrance area, and as green lighting fills up the Corel Center. Fallout comes out from behind the curtain, his eyes drilling holes right into his german opponent …***

 

Funyon: Representing The Clan … From Phoenix, Arizona, he weighs in at 185 lbs … Fall - ooooooooouuuuuuuuuuttt!!

 

***Once arrived at the base of the ramp, Fallout quickly removes his black Clan robe and then rolls into the ring. He tries to get in Tod's face, but Matt Kivell interjects himself between the two and orders them to wait for the opening bell. As Funyon exits the ring, Rob Zombie comes to a stop. Both men start circling each other, as Kivell signals for the bell …***

 

Mark: And here we go!

 

***Both men arrive to center ring and connect with a stiff lock up. Though he clearly has the size advantage, Tod gains control of it, forcing Fallout into a corner. Five count is applied by Kivell and they break clean. They circle each other once again, and into another lock up. This time, Fallout gains the advantage and shoves *Tod* into a random corner. Five counts is once again applied, as both men break clean once again. Fallout quickly goes for a cheap shot however with a right hand, but Tod ducks out of the way and scores with an arm drag. Fallout complains of a hair pull but he nonetheless gets to his feet. Lock up #3, this time Tod grabs a quick head lock. He works the head lock into a rear hammer lock … but it's quickly reversed by Fallout into his own hammer lock. Tod reverses THAT with a modified drop toe hold, sending Fallout face first to the mat, as Tod floats over back into a front face lock.***

 

Mark: Good job by Tod thus far, keeping Fallout grounded.

 

***Fallout, fighting to remain on his feet despite being in the hold, manages to reverse out of the face lock, into a rear waist lock and into a back suplex. Tod appears dazed for a second, but Fallout quickly comes back with a solid dropkick to the face that keeps Tod down. He bounces off the ropes and nails a series of sharp snap leg drops. He picks him up by the hair and backs up Tod into a corner. A series of brutal knife edge chops set the german grappler in place, causing the crowd to woo out of habit at each chop. Dragging him by the hair, Fallout grabs Tod and takes him to the ropes. Irish whip by Fallout. Tod ducks a clothesline and then a back elbow, but he falls prey to a nicely executed hurracanrana, holding on into a pin.***

 

*One!*

 

*Two!*

 

***Tod kicks out. Fallout maintains control with a series of right hands to the side of the head. Another Irish whip from Fallout. He puts his head down in hopes of a back body drop attempt but Tod rolls over and above Fallout, landing on his feet behind him. He grabs a rear waist lock and then DRIVES him down with a solid release german suplex, nearly folding up Fallout in half. Amazingly, Fallout gets to his feet, trying to clear the cob webs stemming from the move. Tod does a quick go behind, grabs a second waist lock and drives Fallout down with another german suplex, this time bridged into a pin.***

 

*One!*

 

*Two!*

 

***Kick out by Fallout. Both men up, but Tod keeps control with a kick to the gut. He throws himself in the ropes and nails a huge swinging neck breaker. He bounces off the opposite set of ropes and comes raring back with a solid knee drop right on the forehead. Lateral press for the cover.***

 

*One!*

 

*Two!*

 

***Easy kick out from Fallout.***

 

Mark: Should've hooked the leg, there.

 

***Both men back up, right hand exchange; leading to an Irish whip attempt by Tod, which is reversed by Fallout. Tod ducks a clothesline but he eats a side kick to the gut, doubling him over. Fallout runs the ropes in hopes of his own type of swinging neck breaker, but Tod quickly ducks out of the way and grabs a handful of hair; sending Fallout flying over the top rope. Though he lands on the apron instead, Tod still charges at him, sliding between his legs, landing on the outside. He tries to yank Fallout off from the ring apron, but Fallout buries a solid kick right in Tod's face. Fallout times his steps right, and flies off with a beautiful Asai moonsault, though he fails to make use of the ropes…***

 

Mark: Shades of Rob Van Dam, Fallout takes it to the air!

 

Bobby: Rob Van What Now?!

 

***…however Tod dodges the attack and quickly slides back in the ring. Fallout had anticipated THAT, and lands on his feet. Meanwhile back in the ring, Tod is at the ready position near the ropes and comes flying off with a springboard pescado to the outside, but Fallout catches him and drives him down with a solid powerslam on the floor.***

 

Bobby: GREAT presence of mind by Fallout, right here! Tod got too cocky and thought he could take it to the air as well, but it backfired against him and now he's paying for it!

 

***Fallout rolls in and out of the ring in order to break up Matt Kivell's count of ten. He picks up Tod by the hair and tosses him back inside the ring. He follows him inside and drops a few rapid elbows on the downed german grappler. He drags him up to his feet by the hair and throws him into the ropes. Tod ducks another clothesline & back elbow combo but on the third bounce, he eats a devastating superkick right on the BUTT of the jaw. Fallout falls on top for the cover.***

 

*One!*

 

*Two!*

 

*Th--…

 

***Kick out at two and a half. Tod is trying to make his way back up to his feet, but Fallout is right there to help him up … and deliver a NASTY knife chop to the chest, causing everybody within earshot to cringe with sympathy for the german. Another chop, Tod grabs his now reddened chest in pain. Irish whip exchange, Fallout delivers a nice looking spinning heel kick, knocking down Tod. Seeing his opponent down on the mat, Fallout heads to a corner and starts climbing. Once he's up on top, he looks down with contempt at his opponent, jumps off, and comes crashing down with a picture perfect guillotine leg drop from the top rope. Cover, making sure to hook the leg.***

 

*One!*

 

*Two!*

 

*Thr-- …

 

***Kick out by Tod. Fallout disputes that count with Matt Kivell and pounds on the mat in frustration. Seeing that it's a battle that he's losing quickly, he refocuses his attention back on Tod, laying into him with several stiff kicks to the head and upper back. He brings Tod up to his feet, hooks a front waist lock and sends him high overhead and back down with a Northern Lights suplex, bridging into a pinning hold.***

 

*One!*

 

*Two!*

 

*Th--…

 

***Kick out once again by Tod, who brandishes his fist high in the air, letting everyone know that he's still in this thing. Holding Tod by his stringy long black hair, Fallout takes a seat on a randomly selected top turnbuckle, and grabs a front face lock; no doubt in hopes of a tornado DDT. He hops off from his perch, performs a full 180 rotation, but Tod shoves his opponent straight off, causing Fallout to land face first on the mat. He gingerly gets back up to his feet, holding his jaw, but Tod charges out of the corner and spears his opponent down, and then peppers him with a series of rapid fire right hands to the side of the head. He throws himself into the ropes and drives a single lone fist right on Fallout's head. Fallout staggers to his feet and complains of a close fist, but falls prey to a kick to the gut from Tod. He grabs a front face lock and throws Fallout's arm up over his head; scoring with a lightning quick snap suplex. He holds onto the front face lock and floats over back to his stomach and back up to his feet. He lifts him up for another suplex but this time, he drops him right back down on his stomach. He lifts him up one more time, but this time he abruptly deposits him mid section first on the top rope.***

 

Mark: Sara Sequence, nicely executed by Tod deKindes!

 

Bobby: I fail to see the importance of naming a series of moves after a GIRL!! It's not gonna increase your chances of winning, as far as I know!!

 

Mark: Well, from what I know, this 'Sara' woman was actually pretty important in Tod's life at one point in the past, so I would imagine he'd somehow find a way to remember her.

 

Bobby: Please, this is professional wrestling, not MELROSE FREAKIN' PLACE!!

 

***Tod walks over to the ring apron and crosses the ropes. He calculates his steps precisely and springboards off the top rope, landing with a leg dop right across the back of Fallout's head. He crumbles to the mat in a heap, allowing Tod to hook the leg and make the cover.***

 

*One!*

 

*Two!*

 

*Th--…

 

***Kick out by Fallout. Right hand exchange by both men, Fallout ends up backed into a corner. After rallying the crowd on his side with a loud "COME ONNNN!!!!", Tod climbs up to the second rope, ready to deliver his Ten Count Punch, special Auf Deutsch version, giving the crowd a chance to brush up on their german.***

 

Crowd: Eine! … Zwei! … Drei! … Vier! … Fünf! … Sechs! … Sieben! … Acht! … Neun! … Zehn!

 

***Tod drops back down to the mat, as Fallout staggers to center ring. Tod grabs Fallout by the arm and tries a cross corner Irish whip exchange, but it's reversed by Fallout. Reversals galore leads to Tod being thrown in the corner. Matt Kivell's eyes widen as he sees 227 lbs of german mass nearly crashing into him, but Tod puts on the brakes and halts his course using the ropes. Tod turns around to focus his attention on Fallout, but he walks right into the resounding SMACK of a superkick from his opponent. Fallout falls on top, hooking the leg for the cover.***

 

*One!*

 

*Two!*

 

*Thre--…

 

Mark: No!!

 

Bobby: Come on!!!

 

Mark: So close yet so far!!

 

***With Tod safely grounded for the time being, Fallout gets to his feet and shakes the cob webs loose. Once he's collected himself, he unleashes a barrage of stomps and elbow drops on his german opponent, drawing a few warnings from Matt Kivell. Fallout flips off the man in the stripes and drags up Tod to his feet, using the hair. Irish whip exchange. Fallout tries a fierce right armed clothesline, but Tod ducks, causing both men to go running to the ropes. A second clothesline is ducked. On the third bounce, Fallout throws his entire body in the air, hoping to connect with a flying forearm, but Tod ducks THAT as well. He tries to capitalize with a standing side kick of his own, but Fallout is one step ahead and catches the leg. He sends him down with authority using a dragon screw leg whip, causing the German one to clutch his right leg in pain. Seeing an opening for offensive advantage, Fallout grabs that very same leg and drops a few rapid fire elbows on it. He grapevines Tod's leg into some sort of a knee bar, as Matt Kivell kneels down to ask Tod the usual question; to which he replies a hearty "NO!" each and every time.***

 

Bobby: GREAT strategy by Fallout, here! He's keeping Tod grounded, which is always a plus when you're in the ring with this guy.

 

Mark: Well, normally Fallout is always the one flying around everywhere and dictating the pace. It's a little different strategy for him, but it's effective nonetheless.

 

Bobby: And you know those high flyer types, Mark Stevens. They NEED those legs of their in order to perform all their fancy moves! You take away a knee, and BAM, you've just removed three quarters of their offense!

 

***While Fallout cranks on the leg submission hold, we can see most people in the crowd turn their heads towards the entrance way, as if someone was arriving…***

 

Mark: What's going on here?

 

Bobby: Is somebody coming out here?!

 

Mark: It's Longdogger Pete!

 

***Indeed, as a camera man is dispatched to the top of the ramp, we see the Dogger himself who has crossed the curtains and stopped under the Smarktron, no doubt to keep an eye on this match. But for what reason?…***

 

Bobby: What the hell is he doing here?! He doesn't have ANY business being out here!! I thought we had a VERY STRICT POLICY about having NO interference WHATSOEVER in ANY match!!!

 

Mark: Well, I'm sure he has his reasons.

 

***While nobody in the ring seems to notice Longdogger Pete for now, Tod is trying to fight out of the submission hold. Pulling on Fallout's face or head won't seem to help, so he tries to pull himself towards the ropes. He finally manages to grab the bottom strand, finally forcing the break. Fallout draws out the five count for as long as he can, and then he finally releases the hold. Fallout maintains the advantage with a nasty drop kick right on the side of the head. Tod crumples into a seated positon in the corner, allowing Fallout to shower him with kicks and to choke him with his boot. Upon another count of five from Matt Kivell, Fallout releases his choke hold and walks all the way over to the opposite corner. He charges with all the speed God's given him and comes crashing into Tod's head with a vicious running knee. He holds his chest in pain, and staggers about the ring.***

 

Mark: Why is he doing that move if it hurts his chest like that?

 

***He notices that Tod has NOT moved from the corner…so he charges and hits a second running knee, still holding his chest in pain after the impact. Tod wisely rolls out of the way, holding his face. He ends up on the outside. As Matt Kivell fires up the ten count, Fallout walks around the ring, still trying to shake off that buggering sensation in his chest. He spots Tod at ringside, and immediately heads over towards the ropes. Once Tod is in perfect position, Fallout grabs the rope tightly with both hands and dives off, connecting with a picture perfect springboard sommersault plancha on the unexpected Tod. He gloats at the crowd, proud of his work, as the fans duly respond to him with a shower of boos. He finally notices Longdogger Pete up at the top of the ramp. A brief look is exchanged between the two, but Fallout quickly brushes him off in favor of inflicting more punishment to his german opponent. He yanks him up by the hair and tosses him back into the ring, just in time at the count of seven.***

 

Bobby: That Pete…He's got something in mind, I can SMELL it!!

 

Mark: LDP, enjoying the action…

 

***Fallout follows his opponent inside the ring, and puts on the lateral press for the cover.***

 

*One!*

 

*Two!*

 

*Thre--…

 

***Kick out just in time by Tod, whom once again raises his fist high in the hair to signal his fans that he's not dead yet. Fallout goes back to the right leg with kicks and elbow drops. Leg trip puts Tod down on the mat. For kicks, Fallout does the old Jeff Jarrett Twirly Finger motion to signal that he's going for the figure four. He grabs the right leg, grapevines it with his own, but Tod must have images of Ricky Steamboat dancing in his head, as he takes Fallout by surprise and counters into a quick small package!***

 

*One!*

 

*Two!*

 

*Thr--…

 

***Fallout kicks out at two and a half, and drops an elbow on the back of Tod's head to ensure that he doesn't get up to his feet. He picks him up by the hair once again, and confidently goes to whip him in the ropes one more time … but it's reversed! Fallout takes the running trip to the ropes and gets caught with a HUGE (with added rotation) side slam that leaves both men down. Kivell fires up the ten count.***

 

Mark: And Tod catches Fallout with a BIG sidewalk slam, and now both men are gonna stay down, Bobby!

 

Bobby: Sure, Tod's gonna give this one last shot, but just wait. Fallout is way more experienced than Tod and he'll retake control of this match pretty soon!

 

***Both men start to stagger up at the count of eight. Right hand exchange, where Tod starts gaining the upper hand. Irish whip by Tod. Fallout ducks a clothesline, but he gets caught with a huge press slam … only to be dropped hard stomach first across Tod's good knee. He tries to shake off the feeling in his BAD knee and hammer with more right hands on Fallout. As the crowd starts to pick up, Tod whips Fallout to a corner. He charges and connects with a massive corner spear. As Fallout staggers out, Tod hooks both his arms and sends him flying high overhead with his double underhook belly-to-belly suplex. Cover.***

 

*One!*

 

*Two!*

 

***Kick out. Fallout is up, but Tod catches him in a fireman's carry and then DRIVES him down with a solid DVD. Fallout is NOT moving, which allows Tod to go upstairs and climb the ropes. He dives off a nails a beautiful swanton bomb. Cover.***

 

*One!*

 

*Two!*

 

*Thre--…

 

***Kick out by Fallout. Both men are now back up. Fallout tries a desperation swing of the right hand, but Tod catches it into a full Nelson and then drives him down hard with a brutal release dragon suplex. Tod surveys his damage … and rolls up Fallout for the cover.***

 

*One!*

 

*Two!*

 

*Thre--…

 

Bobby: I DON'T THINK SO!!

 

Mark: But he ALMOST had him!!

 

***Tod brings Fallout up to his feet, culminating in an Irish whip exchange. Fallout puts his head down for a backdrop attempt, but Tod counters it with a standing headscissor. He lifts up Fallout for a huge jumping piledriver attempt, but Fallout wiggles out of it and nails a low blow to the nether regions, unbeknownst to Matt Kivell. He grabs Tod in a front facelock and does a quick throatslash, signaling the end.***

 

Mark: And now he's going for his Meltdown!

 

Bobby: Yes!!! Yes!!!

 

***As LDP still watches on, Fallout grabs a hold of Tod's pants and tries to lift him up; but Tod wiggles his legs and safely plants them back down. He contorts out of the facelock, knees Fallout in the gut, and appropriates him in the pumphandle slam position.***

 

Mark: Wait, Tod's reversed it to the Spirit Breaker!!

 

Bobby: No!! No!!

 

***Tod lifts up Fallout with ease on his shoulder and DRIVES him head first down hard.***

 

Mark: There it is!! The cover!!

 

*One!*

 

*Two!*

 

*Three!!*

 

***Bell rings. While "I Am Hated" fires up, Funyon makes it official.***

 

Funyon: Here is your winner: Tod deeeeeeeeeeKinnndessssss!!

 

Mark: A big win for Tod deKindes here tonight, and some might consider it an upset!!

 

Bobby: What the hell was THAT?!

 

***While Tod does his celebratory poses in the corner, he finally locks eyes with LDP. Though he's not registering any emotion, he appears pleased with what he's just seen. Just as he had arrived, he walks back through the curtains. Tod eventually follows suit, slapping some hands along the way back.***

 

Mark: More action after this!!!

[Guest BA_Baracus]

“So take it from me, Roger Clemens. If you want to gain weight, and keep it on, buy my video collection, entitled ‘Sit on Your Ass and Gain 30 Pounds!’ If you call now, you’ll receive a voucher from the Frito-Lay corporation good for $20 worth of chips, getting you down the road to the perfect gut! Call 1-800-FAT-PUNK, and have your credit cards ready!”

 

As the commercial fades out, a shot of the Corel Centre in Ottawa fills the screen. The SmarkTron™ proudly displays the SWF logo as the fans hold their signs into the air, desperate for their 15 seconds of fame on TV. A sign reading “Wilson Blew Up My Dog!”, as well as one reading “I’m On Outcast’s Lawn!” are focused on before the shot switches to Mark Stevens and Bobby Riley behind the announce table.

 

“Welcome back to SWF Storm! As always, I’m Mark Stevens with Bobby Riley, and we still have some incredible action to come, including a spectacular main event!”

 

“Stevens, you actually got something right for a change. Tonight, Chris Wilson takes two members of his army, Stryke and TNT, into a six-man tag match against Edwin MacPhisto, Chris Raynor, and Z in what is sure to be a complete destruction of the Midnight Carnival!”

 

“Just like Snake Eyes, right Riley?”

 

“Screw you, Stevens. All that matters was that MacPhisto ended the night sprawled out on the canvas, thanks to Wilson and the rest of his impressive gang!”

 

“I won’t argue with that, Riley. In fact, we’re going to see one of the members of the Magnificent Seven in action right now, as the newly returned Boston Strangler takes on the also newly-returned Longdogger Pete!”

 

“Strangler’s gonna destroy Pete, just like he wiped out the Carnival at Snake Eyes!”

 

“Now Riley, Strangler and Pete have a long and checkered past! Strangler and Pete had altercations over the JL World Title, and the WF Hardcore title, and both men have their share of victories!”

 

“Well, it’s time for Strangler to add another W to his column tonight!”

 

As Riley trails off, “Burn to Burn” by Static-X begins to blare over the speakers, drawing a surprisingly loud round of boos from the Ottawa crowd. As the crowd’s initial hostility begins to die down, the Boston Strangler appears on the ramp, drawing another set of jeers from the crowd. Strangler, clad in a black trench coat and dark sunglasses, ignores the crowd as he stalks down the ramp, with a hint of a smirk on his face.

 

“This match is a TABLES MATCH!” crows Funyon, drawing a pop from the crowd, who are eager to get the festivities underway. “Introducing first, from Boston, Massachusetts, weighing in at 303, representing the Magnificent Seven, the BOSTON….STRRRRRANGLER!”

 

Strangler reaches the bottom of the ramp and slides into the ring. He stands up, tears off his trench coat, and condescendingly hands it to the referee before striding over to the corner, staring off into space. The slight grin is gone now, replaced with nothing but a grim, determined look. As Strangler continues to stare off into space, “Burn to Burn” drops off, and is soon replaced by Bush blaring over the speakers.

 

"You will get yours...

you will get yours...

you will get yours...

you will get yours...

 

YOU WILL GET YOURS!"

 

After the fifth repetition of the opening line, an explosion of white pyro goes off on the stage, and then the entrance fills with smoke. Pete steps out to a huge pop from the crowd, glad to see the Longdogger back in action. “LDP competed in a brutal match at Snake Eyes, where he narrowly missed capturing the ICTV Title, which was won by former XF9 stablemate Erek Taylor!” informs Stevens as Pete continues on toward the ring.

 

"You have no right to calm me down

You were never that around

And I have missed

 

Cold contagious

All the mighty mighty men

What you save is what you lose out in the end

Cold contagious

Cold contagious...!"

 

“And his opponent, from Miami, Florida, weighing in at 272, he is the Miami Menace, LONGDOGGER…PEEEEEEEEETE!”

 

Pete steps by the two tables, folded and propped against the crowd barrier, and slides into the ring before immediately hopping to his feet. Pete jogs to the corner, and ascends to the second turnbuckle, throwing both hands into the air. The crowd’s cheer immediately turns to a resounding boo as the Boston Strangler plows into the unsuspecting LDP from behind with a forearm to the small of Pete’s back. Pete falls forward against the turnbuckle as Strangler reaches upwards, grabbing Pete by his short blond hair. LDP tries to struggle away from Strangler’s grasp, but Strangler’s strength overcomes Pete as the Miami native is thrown to the mat as the referee calls for the opening bell.

 

DING DING DING!

 

Strangler immediately begins to stomp away at the grounded LDP, who twists, attempting to avoid Strangler’s onrushing feet. Strangler lands a few glancing blows on LDP before reaching down for the rising LDP, only to be met with a quick jab to Strangler’s midsection, momentarily stunning him. Pete strikes quickly, following up with a jab to Strangler’s jaw, sending the big man flying up and staggering backwards. Strangler quickly recovers, and flies toward Pete, who crouches, avoiding the lariat. Strangler whirls around, only to be met with a hard right to Strangler’s head. Strangler recoils, then lunges forward before being met with another hard right shot to the skull. LDP rears back, and sends another head-crushing blow into the skull of Strangler, followed by another. The reeling Strangler staggers backwards, only to be toppled by a clothesline from LDP, sending Strangler straight to the mat with a loud THUD.

 

“Riley, Strangler looked like he had the early advantage, but LDP answered right back with some of the same! Pete and Strangler are both power wrestlers, who like to wear their opponents down with punches before turning to their arsenal of power moves to finish ‘em off.”

 

“But LDP is at a massive disadvantage, especially in a tables match like this! Strangler is MUCH stronger than Pete, so LDP is gonna have one hell of a time trying to get Strangler through a table!”

 

“Be that as it may, Pete has the advantage now, and he’s not letting up!”

 

Strangler lies on his back, momentarily stunned, before being jarred out of his dream world by LDP’s elbow smashing into his sternum. Strangler rolls onto his side before feeling Pete’s hand snake around his forearm and jerk him into a standing position. Strangler tries to wriggle free of Pete’s vise-like grip on his arm, but fails as LDP keeps a firm grasp on the arm of Strangler. Pete slides his hand down Strangler’s arm, grasping the lower part of Strangler’s arm, before twisting Strangler’s arm into a pretzel. Strangler’s face contorts into a mask of pain as Pete twists Strangler’s arm a full 360 degrees before stopping and putting pressure on the arm of the Bostonian, who tries to escape the hold. Strangler soon escapes from the hold, shaking Pete loose as he frees his arm. Strangler takes a moment to recover, then lunges at Pete, who senses Strangler’s approach, and reaches out to meet Strangler’s grapple.

 

“And the two men meet eye to eye, trying to set the tone for the match with a raw test of power.”

 

“Something that Strangler has in bunches! Pete’s a moron!”

 

“Riley, more than brute strength needs to be considered here, like leverage, position…”

 

“Stop making excuses for your boy Pete! Strangler’s the stronger man, and he’ll prove it right here!”

 

The two men lock eyes, exchanging a glare before returning to the task at hand. Strangler, with the veins in his neck bulging, presses forward with all his might, as Pete presses right back. Slowly, then more and more quickly, Strangler begins to gain an edge, forcing Pete further and further toward the mat. Pete’s eyes showcase a slight hint of panic, but the panic in his eyes is quickly replaced by a slight grin on his face, despite Strangler forcing him even closer to the mat. As Strangler’s arrogant smirk begins to return to his face, Pete suddenly slide-steps Strangler, and releases his grip on Strangler’s hands. Strangler goes stumbling, and falls straight on his face as Pete, not wasting any time, drops to the mat and locks on a side chinlock.

 

“Leverage, position…”

 

“Shut your mouth before I shut it for you, Stevens.”

 

Strangler strains against Pete, who keeps the crossface chinlock on Strangler, who is pinned to the mat by the 272-pound frame of LDP pressed against his back. Strangler ignores the ref’s repeated questions of whether he’s ready to pack it in, and instead reaches forward for the ropes, just inches away. Strangler slides forward on the canvas, then extends, grasping the bottom rope in his right hand. Pete immediately releases the hold, and hops to his feet, enjoying the cheers of the crowd as Strangler gasps for air on the mat.

 

“Pete has gotten off to a spectacular start, possibly proving that his loss in the ICTV matchup at Snake Eyes was a fluke. A very impressive start for the Longdogger!”

 

Pete reaches down for Strangler, and grabs ahold of his greasy, shoulder-length black hair to pull him to his feet. Strangler, still dazed by the early onslaught from Pete, barely resists as Pete sends Strangler sailing against the ropes. Strangler comes flying back toward Pete, who dips his shoulder as Strangler draws nearer. Strangler is scooped off the ground and onto LDP’s shoulders, hanging in midair for one precarious moment before falling backwards and being smashed into the mat by Pete.

 

“A big Samoan Drop from Pete, and the Longdogger is simply on fire! Strangler doesn’t know what hit him!”

 

“Strangler’s still rusty! Give the guy a little bit to get his ring legs back! Once the tables come into play, it’s a completely different ballgame.”

 

Pete stays down on the mat, and rolls over to the ropes before ducking underneath to climb to the outside. Fans reach over the guardrail, clapping their hero on the back as LDP heads toward the entrance ramp, and the two tables resting against the crowd barriers. Pete reaches the first table, and grabs it, testing the weight and size of the object. Pete turns to head back toward the ring, table in tow, but Pete runs straight into the Boston Strangler, who has picked himself off the mat in record speed, and is standing between Pete and the ring, his arms crossed over his chest. Pete scowls, drops the table, and charges toward Strangler. Strangler quickly sidesteps Pete, and hooks his arm, sending him tumbling to the ground. Pete lies on his back, groaning and holding his head, as Strangler walks over to Pete. Strangler sends a sharp kick with the toe of his boot into LDP’s shoulder, eliciting a howl of pain from Pete before placing his right boot across the throat of LDP, sending Pete into a frenzy as he tries to get oxygen.

 

“Strangler living up to his name and choking the living daylights out of Pete! This is the Strangler that we’ve all been waiting to see!”

 

“Yep, he’s the same old Strangler. Choking and cheating with the best of ‘em!”

 

“I’m sure his ears are burning, Mark.”

 

The referee has reached the two men by now, and begins to admonish Strangler for the chokehold. Strangler stares at the referee with a defiant look on his face, and places even MORE weight on Pete’s throat, evoking a new octave of noises from Pete’s throat. The referee continues to yell at Strangler, who refuses to budge as Pete tries to pry Strangler’s foot away from his throat, with little success. Finally, the referee, fed up with Strangler, places both hands on Strangler’s chest and pushes, shoving an off-balance Strangler off of Pete. Strangler quickly regroups, and a look of fury spreads across his face as he turns to face the referee. The referee quickly sprints back to the ring, leaving Strangler alone with Pete once again.

 

“Strangler is back where he started, and BR, it looks like Strangler has tables on the mind!”

 

Sure enough, Strangler has reached for the table Pete dropped earlier. Strangler grabs the table, and slides it along the ground until it comes to a stop at the edge of the ring. Strangler does the same with the second table, sending it directly next to the first table. Strangler then reaches down and grabs LDP, who is still sucking in deep breaths of precious oxygen, and heads for the ring. Strangler reaches the edge of the ring, and rolls Pete in under the bottom rope. Strangler then grabs one of the two tables, hoists it up, and tosses it over the top rope into the ring. The table comes crashing down on top of the unsuspecting LDP, who shakes off the table and moans.

 

“Mark, I think that might be the first time that anyone tried to put a TABLE through a PERSON!”

 

“Geez Bobby, do you spend ALL your free time thinking these up?”

 

“Well, I had some time during my peticure, and….hey!”

 

“Heh heh heh…”

 

As Grand Slam chuckles to himself, Strangler climbs into the ring, and grabs the downed table. Strangler grabs the table by its sides, and moves it toward the corner. Strangler lies the table against the turnbuckle, where it slants at an angle toward the ground. Strangler stares at the table for a moment, then reaches down and grabs the recovering Pete. Strangler pulls Pete to his feet, and leads the Longdogger over to the corner where the table is propped up against the turnbuckle. Strangler grips the back of Pete’s head, and sends his head smashing into the hard wooden surface of the table. Pete springs back from the impact, only to be sent forward with another jerk from Strangler’s massive arm. As Strangler sends Pete’s head barreling toward the table for a third time, Pete freezes, and sends an elbow into Strangler’s unprotected gut. Strangler weakens his grip on Pete’s head, surprised by the elbow, and then slumps as another shot digs even further into his stomach. Pete worms his way free of Strangler’s grasp, sends another shot into Strangler’s ribs, and then grabs the back of Strangler’s head. As Strangler tries to recover from the assault on his stomach, Pete sends Strangler’s head slamming into the table, which comes flying off the table with a loud THUNK!

 

“Pete is dishing out Strangler’s own medicine! What goes around comes around!”

 

Strangler puts up a feeble resistance as Pete sends his head smashing into the table, drawing a cry of “TWO!” from the crowd. Pete begins to pick up the pace, sending Strangler’s head into the table with greater and greater force. The crowd chants along, keeping pace with Pete as he inflicts more and more damage to Strangler’s cranium. After a resounding cheer of “TEN!!!!!!”, followed by a big pop from the crowd, Pete releases the grip on Strangler’s head, allowing the stupefied Bostonian to slump to the canvas silently. Pete looks down at Strangler, then walks to the ropes and climbs out under them. Pete hops off the ring apron onto the ground below, and heads straight for the second table.

 

“And Pete seems to think that one just isn’t enough! He’s looking to add more wood to the party!”

 

“Hasn’t Pete done enough? Strangler probably has a concussion after all those blows to the brain! I swear, if we were in America, LDP would be behind bars where he belongs!”

 

“SURE he would, BR.”

 

Pete slides the second table into the ring, and then hops back into the ring. Strangler has one hand on the middle rope, and is slowly pulling himself to his feet as Pete re-enters the ring. Pete grabs the second table, and places it on its edge, balancing against LDP’s body, as he slowly extends the legs of the table. As Pete goes to place the table upright, he notices a flash of movement out of the corner of his eye, and looks up to see the forearm of the Boston Strangler headed straight for his face. Strangler’s forearm crushes Pete, dropping him to the canvas as Strangler decelerates and places his hands on his knees, hastily catching his breath.

 

“See, Strangler’s a hard one to put away! He just keeps on ticking!”

 

“Still, one has to wonder if those shots to Strangler’s head will play a role in the finish of this match? A series of blows to the head can put someone right out of the match!”

 

“Maybe if you’re a wuss like LDP, but this is a hardcore legend!”

 

“Legend, schmegend.”

 

Strangler reaches down and picks up LDP, who jostles the table, which is still on its side, legs extended. Strangler catches Pete with a quick jab to the side of the head, then grasps LDP’s forearm and whips him toward the ropes. Pete bounces off the ropes, and returns toward Strangler, only to be met by Strangler’s arms wrapping around Pete’s body. Pete puts up a feeble resistance, but can do nothing as Strangler plants his feet, and sends the large Miami native soaring over his head. Pete crashes to the mat, and slams into the downed table, sending both man and furniture against the ropes.

 

“Strangler just leveled Pete with that overhead belly-to-back suplex! What a power move from Strangler!”

 

“Stevens, now you see what Strangler is capable of! It’s only a matter of time before he finishes off Pete!”

 

“BR, you just can’t predict a table match! These things are full of twists and turns!”

 

Strangler reaches down, and grabs Pete by the hair, dragging him up to his feet. Strangler swings Pete’s arm behind his head, and hoists Pete into the air. Strangler stops as Pete lines up at a perfect 90 angle, and pauses for a few moments, letting Pete hang in midair, before falling backwards and allowing Pete to crash to the mat with a resounding THUD!. Strangler looks at Pete, who is sprawled out on the mat, and stands up, ignoring LDP. Strangler drags the table, still on its side, into an upright position, and places it in the dead center of the ring. Strangler examines it, then turns away and grabs LDP, who is still down on the canvas. Strangler drags the limp, tired body of LDP to his feet, and wraps a standing sleeper hold onto Pete. Pete barely resists as Strangler twists away on Pete’s neck, which moves like putty in Strangler’s hands. Strangler prepares to finish off the sleeper drop, but before he can, Pete sends his right foot flying back into Strangler’s groin. The low blow catches Strangler completely off guard, causing him to lose his grip on LDP. Pete immediately slumps to the ground, and is joined soon after by Strangler, who sinks to his knees with a look of complete shock on his face before flopping onto his side.

 

“BR, Pete came out of nowhere with a desperation…”

 

“…dirty…”

 

“…move that bought him some time! Both men are down, and the result of this match is VERY much in doubt at this point!”

 

Pete is the first to start to get to his feet, using the ropes for leverage as Strangler continues to rock on his side, in a tremendous amount of pain. Strangler finally begins to force himself up as Pete crawls up to a standing position. The obviously drained Pete lurches over toward Strangler, and locks on a sleeper hold of his own. Strangler answers with a back elbow, but Pete brushes off the attack and keeps the sleeper locked on. Strangler fights his way to the ropes, dragging Pete behind him, fighting for every inch. Pete drags his feet, trying to keep Strangler planted in the middle of the ring, as Strangler continues to fight for every inch. Finally, Strangler’s hands wrap around the ropes, drawing a disappointed groan from the Ottawa crowd. Pete releases the hold, and sends a punch into the small of Strangler’s back, drawing a groan from the tired wrestler.

 

“That sleeper took a LOT out of Strangler, and Strangler has already done a good deal of damage to LDP! Which one of these men has the energy to finish the other off? BR, this match is as tight as can be right about now!”

 

“Strangler has LDP right where he wants him, Mark. Right where he wants him…”

 

Despite BR’s wishful thinking, Strangler turns wearily to face another onslaught of hard right punches from LDP. Strangler absorbs one blow, then another, and another. The blows rain down upon Strangler, with LDP slamming his fist into any unprotected area of Strangler’s body. As LDP winds up for a big right to the jaw, Strangler slides across the ropes, dodging the haymaker, and plants both hands in Pete’s chest, pushing LDP backwards. Pete stumbles backwards, and bumps into the table. Pete wavers for a moment, almost losing his balance, and then regains his footing, and steps forward, only to be floored by a charging Strangler, who spears LDP to the mat directly in front of the table. LDP crumples into a ball on the mat, while Strangler sprawls out, expended from the spear.

 

“Strangler has just laid out LDP with a spear out of NOWHERE, and now both men are down! These warriors are exhausted, and still no one has gone through a table!”

 

“Don’t worry, Mark! This madness won’t last too much longer. Strangler is getting himself pumped up to finish this one!”

 

True to BR’s word, Strangler, with a look of intensity in his eyes that hasn’t been seen since the beginning of the match, has crawled to his feet, while Pete is still struggling up to his feet. Pete places one hand on the table still propped up in the middle of the ring, using it as balance to help support his tired frame. Pete looks off into space, not seeing the 6’9”, 300 pound man waiting directly in front of him. Pete turns, looking for Strangler, and is instead met with a hand that wraps itself around Pete’s throat. Pete struggles, surprised, as the crowd begins to boo, afraid of what is coming next.

 

“Strangler’s got it! Plunge time, baby!” crows BR, looking exuberant.

 

Strangler plants himself, and with a mighty groan, lifts Pete into the air. As Pete begins to leave the ground, he looks around desperately, and sees Strangler’s unprotected face. Pete quickly extends his right hand, and shoves his extended fingers deep into Strangler’s windpipe. Strangler lets loose a deep gasp, and drops Pete as he brings both hands to his throat.

 

“It’s plunge time! It’s plunge time!” mimics Grand Slam as BR scowls angrily at him. “You sure have a knack for calling ‘em, BR.”

 

Pete seizes the opportunity, and grabs Strangler’s head, pulling it down to his side. He secures Strangler’s head, and looks to the crowd, who are going crazy, hoping to see the Longdogger Clogger. Strangler struggles, but Pete pulls Strangler into the air, and sends Strangler spiraling toward the table. Suddenly, the table disappears, and Strangler goes smashing into the canvas, where a table had stood just moments ago.

 

“LDP hits the Longdogger Clogger, but the cavalry saves the day for Strangler! God, Wilson is a GENIUS!”

 

“BR, that’s not one of the Magnificent Seven! That’s Erek Taylor, the ICTV Champ! What the hell is he doing out here? Why did he just cost LDP the match?”

 

“Stevens, I think LDP is wondering the same thing!”

 

Just as BR said, LDP is staring at Taylor, who is standing beside him in the ring. LDP stares at Taylor, then starts to scream at him, trying to figure out what happened. Before LDP can finish his sentence, a pissed-off Erek Taylor kicks LDP in the gut, and hooks LDP’s head before sending the Longdogger crashing to the mat with a mix of cheers and boos from the crowd.

 

“Fame and Fury! Erek Taylor just hit the Fame and Fury on Longdogger Pete! What the hell is going on here?”

 

“For once, even I’m stumped, Mark.”

 

“I have NO clue why Erek Taylor would lay out LDP! The two men were good friends, they were members of X Force 9! What just happened here?”

 

“I don’t know, but I think I know what’s just about to happen. LDP better look behind him!”

 

Pete has staggered to his feet, and is standing, looking out at Erek Taylor, who has retreated to the base of the entrance ramp. Pete, a livid look on his face, starts to dash for the ropes, eager to give Taylor a taste of his own medicine, but is stopped by a giant hand grabbing his head from behind. Before LDP can react, the Boston Strangler has grabbed Pete’s head, and has it tucked down by his side. Strangler turns a few steps to one side, and quickly raises Pete into the air. The crowd goes quiet as Strangler drops backwards, sending Longdogger Pete crashing through the table and spiking into the ground where he lies, unmoving, as the referee calls for the bell.

 

DING DING DING!

 

“Here is your winner, the BOSTON….STRRRRRRRRRANGLER!”

 

“And the better man, as usual, triumphs! A spectacular victory for the Boston Strangler in his first match back in the SWF, wouldn’t you say, Mark?”

 

“Strangler only won that because our ICTV Champion, Erek Taylor, decided to make his presence felt! Strangler got REALLY lucky tonight!”

 

“Luck, schmuck. Strangler won, and that’s the bottom line! Just because LDP can’t keep his personal life in order doesn’t mean you should disparage a great champion!”

 

“Strangler manages to eek out a victory, thanks to the help of Erek Taylor, who gave Longdogger Pete the Fame and Fury! What does this mean? Has Erek Taylor joined up with Chris Wilson? Do Erek Taylor and Longdogger Pete have some hidden history between the two?”

 

“Why are you asking me?”

 

“They’re rhetorical questi…why do I even bother? Anyways, coming up next, we have another member of the Magnificent Seven, Danny Williams, taking on the newly returned Thoth. And still to come is our main event, which isn’t to be missed! Stay tuned, folks!”

 

As the screen fades to another commercial for Roger Clemens’ weight gain tapes, Longdogger Pete is seen lying in the rubble of the table, unmoving and bleeding before fading to black…

[Guest BA_Baracus]

“What a whirlwind week in the Smarks Wrestling Federation!” exclaims Mark Stevens, who actually is a bit short of breath, following the sheer whirlwind of events that have transpired since Snake Eyes 2 started broadcasting live. “The stakes have gotten higher and higher for both sides of the equation. Just as Chris Wilson thought he could dominate the SWF, the Clan interrupted and threw a variable into his plans!”

 

(Footage rolls of earlier tonight, the Clan pledging their efforts to rid the world of Chris Wilson and any of his influences.)

 

“Nevertheless,” interjects Bobby Riley, wearing a red bow tie with black polka dots, “Chris Wilson has assembled a stable of some of the best young stars we’ve ever had in this business.” And no matter what anyone before me has written, Riley is wearing that bow tie. The others are goddamn filthy liars.

 

“One of those stars, former Junior League champion “Deathwish” Danny Williams, now under the wing and tutelage of Chris Wilson, goes one on one with Thoth, a man who has upped the stakes time and time again.”

 

“Don’t forget, Stevens, that Williams is being managed by Tyler McClelland, one of the great veterans of the Smarks Wrestling Federation. Danny will probably learn quite a bit.”

 

“Probably all the wrong things, especially from Outcast. How is he still alive? He looks so emaciated and bony.”

 

“I know what you mean... he is quite unappetizing... but looks aren’t everything, Stevens.”

 

“...rrrrright. You realize you are one fucked-up little cracker?” The camera cuts away from the bickering announcers to the entryway, as Dillinger Escape Plan’s “Calculating Infinity” starts to play. The Smarktron spells out “D-E-A-T-H-W-I-S-H” as Danny walks out onto the stage, Outcast looking approvingly at his protégé.

 

“The following contest,” begins Funyon, dressed in baby blue (again, if anyone has said otherwise, they are filthy liars), “is scheduled for one fall! Introducing first, accompanied to the ring by Tyler “Outcast” McClelland, from Louisville, Kentucky, weighing in at 238 pounds... Deathwish... Danny... WILLLLLIAMS!”

 

Williams walks down to the ring slowly, Outcast following, arms crossed over his chest. He climbs the steel etched steps and goes through the ropes, feeling out the ring, trying to relax his muscles through breathing techniques, as Outcast waits on the outside, both for Danny’s opponent, and for the match to begin. The lights fade to a deep, soothing dark blue as “Quarantined” by At The Drive-in plays slowly, reaching a moment where the bass in the song stops just for a moment...

 

And then the soft blue bath turns an ominous red, as the lyrics start.

 

“Autonomous machete for hands

Warden and judge hide behind masks

Wet raindrop lull

Small rationing

Entombed the rhetoric of break the weak

In single file

Sanction this outbreak

A virus conspires

Push becomes shove

Days become months

And I’ve seemed to have forgotten the warmth of this sun”

 

“And his opponent,” says Funyon, “Weighing in at 236 pounds... THOOOTH!”

 

Thoth, having just now appeared at the top of the ramp, removes his leather jacket and dress shirt before he gets to ringside, and heads down the ring as imposingly as he can muster. Outcast’s torso heaves up and down slightly as he snickers, and Danny WIlliams paces back and forth, waiting for Thoth to get within striking distance. The Balancer walks down the ramp, glancing at Tyler McClelland a man with whom the Clan has had issues in the past...

 

And doesn’t notice Danny slide under the bottom rope, kicking him in the face. The bell rings hurriedly,

 

*DING DING DING DING DING*

 

The music fades quickly, almost guiltily, and the lights return hastily to natural colorless light. Outcast nods in appreciation as Williams whips Thoth into the steel guardrail, which makes a loud rattling, and moves the guardrail back a half an inch.

 

“Outcast definitely taught Danny Williams a thing or two, and Williams is the better wrestler for it!” beams Riley.

 

“Are you kidding? Outcast taught him how to fight underhanded and dirty, without honor!” Stevens’s words fall on deaf ears, though, as Williams whips Thoth to the apron, making a loud smacking noise with his back. Thoth slumps down, overtaken more by the surprise of the attack than any of the pain. Danny approaches, hooking Thoth for a simple hiptoss and dropping him onto the concrete with a quick thwack. Danny approaches, but hears the count of the referee behind him, and with a frown and a shrug, rolls back into the ring. Outcast nods and applauds approvingly as the crowd voices their disapproval. The shock can still be felt from the amazing events of Snake Eyes. The referee’s count continues as Thoth picks himself up from the floor, rubs his arms, and hops up onto the apron, stepping between the ropes with a... well, one would expect a disgruntled glare or a look of sheer evil, but Thoth’s countenance is expressionless. Danny charges again, but Thoth steps out of the way, leaving Deathwish to slam into the turnbuckles carelessly. Thoth grabs him by his black trunks, and throws him under the bottom rope into the steel pole, where Danny rolls over until his right side makes painful contact with the cold steel. Thoth bids Danny to get up, shouting, “Tsutomenasai! Boku ni undameshisuru yo! (Get up! Try your luck against me!)”

 

“Or in English,” comments Riley, “Two burgers to go, please?”

 

“Christ, Bobby, are you trying to insult our foreign viewers?” Riley nods an affirmative.

 

Though Williams doesn’t know the meaning of the words, he understands their intent; their subtext is clear. He gets up, pursing his lips together tightly and throwing a wild haymaker. Thoth leans out of the way, but it’s a just a setup for a tie-up, as Danny gets a standing side headlock that he cinches in tight. Thoth flails his arms, then gets ahold of Danny’s torso and pushes him to the ropes. Danny charges back, throwing a clothesline which Thoth ducks and sways from. Danny continues to the far side, and bounces back, charging into the Balancer, who takes him head over heels with a back body drop, using his shoulders as a pivot of movement. Williams slams hard onto his back, but quickly gets to a sitting position, with Thoth helping him to his feet by yanking and twisting on his hair. Thoth mutters “Kisama ga...” under his breath, throwing an uppercut that catches Danny unawares under the chin, knocking him back a step. A left cross, and then a right cross pepper Danny’s face as Outcast shouts encouragement, shouting to fight back. Thoth with an Irish Whip... no, reversal by Deathwish. Thoth for the ride, and on the rebound, gets taken down by a shoulderblock. Danny runs into the other set of ropes swiftly, and Thoth rolls onto his stomach, expecting Danny to hop over. Deathwish hops over indeed, but he rolls through into a somersault, getting to his feet quickly. Thoth, confused, pushes up quickly, looking at Deathwish... and takes a vicious side kick to the face!

 

“Wow! Danny comes out of nowhere, interrupting the normal flow of the matches to hit a vicious shot on the veteran, Thoth!”

 

“Tyler McClelland’s training covers every inch of wrestling, both in and out of the ring,” adds Bobby Riley, with haughty overtones. “Deathwish Danny Williams, and all those like him, are the future of the Smarks Wrestling Federation!”

 

“Of course they are, Riley! There’s no way around that logic... but what kind of wrestlers will Danny Williams and the rest of them become?”

 

Thoth collapses to the mat, and Danny Williams makes an arrogant cover, leaning towards Thoth’s shoulders, but not hooking the leg...

 

ONE!

 

TWO!

 

And a kickout from the Balancer. The referee holds up two fingers in Williams’s face. Deathwish shrugs, shaking his head nonchalantly, pulling Thoth to his feet. Headlock takedown. Williams takes this time to look down at Thoth, leaning over, sneering. A boot to the gut, and then another. Another. Williams makes a mockery of Thoth’s Japanese before pulling him to his feet again, getting a wide range of boos from the crowd. A pair of jabs, and then a waistlock takedown, bringing Thoth onto his stomach and putting pressure between him and the canvas, restricting his movement. In one movement, Danny wraps his legs around Thoth’s waist, and starts trying to choke him out, wrapping his arms around Thoth’s neck. The crowd’s volume raises exponentially, the buzzing growing. The question: Will Thoth tap? The Balancer bends back, trying to grab Deathwish and shake him off, but Danny holds on for dear life, though his vice grip around Thoth’s neck is weakening. Thoth starts rolling from side to side, but he starts slowing down as the oxygen to his brain is cut off.

 

“Thoth is beginning to lose some steam... Danny Williams no-nonsense style is sapping his strength!” notes Stevens. The Balancer’s eyes close halfway, and his jaw slackens, but with the reserves of his strength, he rolls over onto his back, forcing a pin... The referee counts one, two, and Williams is forced to release the rear naked choke. Thoth rolls over onto his stomach, coughing up phlegm lodged in tight in his throat, then pushes up to all fours... Deathwish knocks him back down with a double axhandle, and rolls him over for another pinfall attempt...

 

ONE!

 

TWO!

 

THR- Shoulder up from the Balancer. “That was a close one, and a very good attempt from Deathwish Danny Williams, but Thoth is too resilient to be pinned this early in the contest,” reflects Stevens, as Williams brings Thoth to his feet, and lifts him in front. He lunges forward, extending his knee, dropping Thoth’s spine across it. The Balancer rolls off, holding his back and wincing in pain. Williams drops an elbow, and then another one across the back of Thoth where his back was struck.

 

“Danny Williams is softening Thoth up for the Deathbomb, which, if he connects with it would seal a victory here tonight on Storm,” notes Stevens.

 

“Look at the eyes, the smile of Williams. He’s overjoyed to be in there with a ring veteran in Thoth, and even better to be dominating the matchup thus far. And look at Outcast, Tyler McClelland. Could he be prouder?”

 

“Bobby Riley, those are smiles of pure, unadulterated evil.”

 

Williams pulls Thoth to his feet and whips him to the turnbuckle, the impact of which against is sore back causes him to cry out in pain. The young rookie saunters up to Thoth, flexing the fingers of his right hand. Standing in front of one-year veteran, he rears back, and slaps him in the face, drawing a loud, extended “Oh!” from the crowd, and a “Ha HA!” from Tyler McClelland. Another Irish whip, and Thoth slams hard again. Danny Williams charges in, brandishing a vicious clothesline... but Thoth gets the boot out, dazing Deathwish and spinning him round. Danny turns back to see a face-full of clothesline, and a moment later, he’s flat back on the canvas, staring up at the lights. Thoth sneers down at him, no cockiness or glee in his face, just disdain and hate. He drops an elbow to the chest, and makes a cover, hooking the leg...

 

ONE!

 

TWO!

 

THR- It’s not even close to enough, as Williams gets the shoulder up with ease. Thoth gets up to his feet, pulling Deathwish up while licking his lips... he shudders suddenly, feeling the pain in his back, but it passes, and he regains his composure, standing erect. He thrusts his outstretched hand under Danny’s chin, reaching for the sensitive parts behind the jaw. Danny yelps in pain, but Thoth has no mercy, whipping Danny to the ropes hard, and giving him a drop toe hold into the second rope, causing the rough rope to bite into his neck and chin, already throbbing from Thoth’s efforts. The Balancer yanks back on Danny’s head, slamming it back into the canvas with great force, enough to warrant the referee warning him about excessive and unnecessary force. Nevertheless, Thoth brings Danny up again, hooking him for a suplex and timely snapping him over, the momentum carrying him into a float-over...

 

ONE!

 

TWO!

 

TH- No, kickout by Williams. Thoth sneers, pushing himself up to his feet, laying a few boots to a prone Danny Williams, yelling for him to get up. Deathwish starts stumbling around on the mat, pulling on Thoth’s super-mega-cool pants to help himself to a standing position. Thoth looks down at Danny like some kind of dog, pointing at him and getting the crowd to laugh at him.

 

“Thoth putting Danny Williams where he damn well belongs,” shouts Stevens, “In the doghouse!” Riley growls and shakes his fist, but he can’t think of a comeback... but Deathwish Danny Williams can! He grabs Thoth around the waist and throws all his weight forward, below Thoth’s center of gravity, tackling the Balancer down. Williams mounts, and goes to work laying in punches to the face of Thoth, who covers up while trying to push Williams off him with his legs. Even so, he cannot wrap his legs around Williams to push him off, so Danny lands blow after blow after blow on his barely protected face. After what feels like so much time has passed that being punched in the face is a normal, rational part of life, Danny steps off and raises his arms in premature victory, eliciting jeers and catcalls from the partisan crowd. Outcast yells out advice, to ignore the crowd, and focus on the task at hand. Danny turns around and heads back towards Thoth, who is getting up slowly, rubbing his cheeks to try and lessen the stinging feeling pulsing in his veins. Danny, slowly, methodically, almost like he were connecting the dots, grabs Thoth’s arm and lifts it up high before cracking it over his own shoulder. Thoth screeches out slightly, then falls back against the ropes, which support his full body weight. Danny rolls under the bottom rope and onto the apron, where he takes hold of the arm he just tried to break. He leaps off the apron onto the black protective mats below, damn near yanking the arm out of its socket! Thoth falls away from the point of impact, clutching at his shoulder.

 

“Danny Williams is fighting very methodically, attacking one body part at a time. First the back, now the arms,“ says Stevens. “If you notice,” adds Riley, “He’s focusing on weakening the upper body of Thoth, lessening his chances of reversing the Deathbomb when he does decide to throw it out. Whatever kind of Kool-Aid Tyler McClelland is fixing for Deathwish Danny, I want some.” After a short, meaningful pause, he adds, “I hope it’s cherry. I like cherry.”

 

Deathwish reaches into the ring and grabs Thoth’s leg, yanking him out of the ring. The ref starts a ten-count, as Danny shoves Thoth into the guardrail, landing some chest-caving chops that turn Thoth’s pale-white chest red. And yes, the crowd “Woo!”s along with each deadly chop. Thoth slumps down, leaning forward while his arms are hooked behind the rail. Danny lands kick after kick on Thoth’s unshielded torso. Thoth flinches with each kick, but he manages to lift his head and look into his aggressor's eyes. Danny stops suddenly, transfixed by Thoth’s gaze. From nearby, Tyler McClelland calls for his protégé to “Snap out of it!” Danny throws another kick...

 

But Thoth dodges out of the way and gets behind Deathwish, dropkicking him over the steel guardrail! The crowd cheers as the Balancer rolls back into the ring to break the count... and then rolls back out onto the apron, as Deathwish tries to pick himself out of the crowd. Thoth stands on his perch, watching with muted awe and happiness as Williams gets over the steel guardrail into the skirmish area. He is dazed, not sure exactly of where he is... but Thoth does. He leaps off the apron, hooking the strap that runs between the knees of his pants around the neck of Deathwish and sends him flying headlong with a Hurricanrana!

 

“Thoth with an uncharacteristic high risk maneuver! He’s really pulling out many stops and trying new approaches to get a win over the upstart here.”

 

“So Marky Mark... he’s pulling out many stops... but not all of them?”

 

“No, Riley, not all of them. He hasn’t shown us all of his tricks yet.”

 

Thoth pulls his strap off of Deathwish and rolls back into the ring. The referee escalates his count as Outcast rushes to the aid of his student, helping him back up to his feet.

 

“Hey, Stevens, any truth to the rumor that Outcast has hired a prostitute for Danny Williams to help him take the edge off?”

 

“I dunno, Riley. I will say that it’s always beneficial to have a female touch, and I will also say that a lot of my success in the ring was due to the love and support of my family; My wife Lynn, and my son Chris. I’m not sure I agree with the direction that Danny is taking, but success is priority one, as it should be.”

 

The ref reaches seven before Danny clambers up onto the apron. Thoth is right there to greet him with a knee to the gut and a front facelock. He tries to lift for a vertical suplex, but Danny blocks, moving his leg in between Thoth’s, adjusting his center of gravity. Thoth lifts again, but this time it’s Danny’s turn to throw a knee to the gut. Thoth doubles over, and Danny grabs his outstretched head, while jumping off the top rope, guillotining him. Thoth falls away onto his back, clutching his neck, while Danny slides in under the bottom rope, making a cover.

 

ONE!

 

TWO!

 

THR- No, shoulder up from the Balancer. “Close near-fall,” comments Mark Stevens, “But not quite enough. Nevertheless, Danny Williams is fighting very smart, using the ring environment as a weapon in itself.” Danny lifts Thoth up by his thin red hair, and then scoops him up, body slamming him near a turnbuckle and moving quickly to climb the ropes. Thoth sits up suddenly, shaking his head and getting to his feet. He turns around to see Deathwish flying through the air, contorting his body into a sleek missile, and dropkicking Thoth in the upper chest and neck. The Balancer goes down, and Danny Williams makes the hot cover, hooking the leg...

 

ONE!

 

TWO!

 

THREE- No! No! Thoth thrusts a triumphant arm up, breaking the count! “Thought he had ‘em,” remarks Riley, as Danny shakes his head, pulling Thoth up again and hooking him in another front facelock... DDT- with authority! Thoth is turned straight upside down like a railroad spike for a moment in time before flopping over onto his back. Another cover from Deathwish...

 

ONE!

 

TWO!

 

...

 

THREE- No! Another close call, but shoulder up from the Balancer. Danny looks down at Thoth, yelling “Stay down!” drawing a round of jeers. Another cover... One! Two! Thr- Another kickout. Danny pulls Thoth up violently by the roots, perhaps even tearing a hair or two out. Deathwish has had enough, shoving Thoth’s head between his legs and bending down for a powerbomb... but not just any powerbomb, this is the Deathbomb! The crowd buzzes, especially the JL fans that know how this very move led him to the world championship of the Junior League. He wraps his arms around Thoth’s waist and lifts... he’s got him up! He releases...

 

But Thoth with the handy cloth strap again, connecting with a Hurricanrana! Danny slides across the mat, skidding to a halt. He gets up, charging at Thoth with a clothesline, but the Balancer leaps up, sticking out a leg for Danny to run into like a clothesline. Deathwish drops, but he’s right back up, charging at Thoth with as much fervor as before. Thoth stops in his tracks, squaring his feet... he grabs the outstretched arm, hooks another around his head, and uses his own momentum against him to drive him face-first into a Downward Spiral! Deathwish bounces away onto his back, while Thoth fights to his feet, any pain in his neck, back or arms washed away by a tidal wave of adrenaline and a primal need for victory. Thoth goes out to the apron and climbs the ropes one by one. He stands atop them first holding his arms out at his sides for balance, then for extra guidance as he takes to the sky, bending his knees, releasing their kinetic energy to turn into motion, and then bends them again, aiming the points of his knees at the chest of Danny...

 

And connects! He rolls through, then pushes his feet out from under him, trying desperately to make a cover... he gets his body on top of Williams’s torso! Hooking the leg amidst a sea of the crowd’s cheers, he hears the ref count:

 

ONE!

 

TWO!

 

THRE- No! No! No! Danny Williams with the shoulder up. The crowd deflates as Thoth loses his sudden burst of energy. Even getting up is seemingly a chore. He surveys his environment, and throws a sneer in the direction of Tyler McClelland. He turns back towards Danny Williams, and pulls him up... out of nowhere, small package! Small package!

 

ONE!

 

TWO!

 

THREE- No, Thoth kicks up and out of it. He gets to his feet, and ducks a running high kick from Deathwish, and shoves him in the direction he’s running, throwing him out of the ring. He hunches over, grabbing his legs, and breathing deep. Outcast goes over to help stabilize Danny, and then jumps up onto the apron, causing the referee to come over and get in McClelland’s face. They both start to argue, Outcast coming up with some BS excuse to the ref. Thoth lightly but meaningfully shoves the ref out of the way, and grabs Outcast by the throat.

 

“Wait, Thoth, look out! From behind-” The Heavy Hitter stops his sentence short as Deathwish goes low, hitting Thoth in the Kaesame family jewels, and rolls him up... he holds him there while the referee watches Outcast hop of the apron, his distraction successful. He turns his head to see the pinfall attempt and slides into position, his arm already raised...

 

ONE!

 

TWO!

 

...

 

...

 

THREE... No! No! Thoth flops backward, escaping successfully! He gets up, but Deathwish lunges forward, finally successful with the clothesline, taking Thoth up and over onto his stomach. He looks down at Thoth, then at his mentor, his eyes wide... then back down. He leans over, stepping over Thoth’s face while locking in a tight, tight chinlock... he uses his position to increase his leverage, and then sits down, cinching in... the Deathlock!

 

“The Deathlock! The Deathlock, Stevens! Thoth’s got to tap!” Instinctively, Thoth starts scurrying towards the ropes, but Danny squeezes tighter, scrambling Thoth’s brain and forcing him to focus on the pain. Danny grits his teeth, and his screams of aggression mesh and harmonize with Thoth’s screams of pain as his chin and jaw is painfully compressed. He fights, removing his arms from Danny’s arm to try and reach for the ropes, but Danny cinches tighter. And as the ref leans in to ask Thoth if he gives up... Thoth raises his arm, inches it forward... and...

 

...

 

...

 

Gets to the rope! The crowd comes alive as the ref orders Deathwish to break the hold, and then starts counting to 5. Danny breaks at 4, very reluctantly, and lays in a boot into Thoth before turning to the crowd and raising his arms. They jeer, they boo him, they tell him he sucks, and Danny Williams absolutely loves it. Thoth pulls on the rope, his jaw slack, his body limp, trying to fight his way back up, using the ring ropes as an aid. Outcast gets in his face, and laughs, spraying spittle... Thoth would fight back, if he had the strength, but not even. The Deathlock has sapped precious oxygen to his brain. His eyes are only half-open, and his vision is blurry.

 

“Thoth is on the corner of Dream Street and Sleepy Avenue!” says Riley, but Stevens is to riveted on the match to chide Bobby for being stupid. Danny Williams charges at Thoth, hoping to crush him with his might and fury... but Thoth doesn’t even have the strength to stand anymore, and collapses... out of the way of Danny, who throws a wild haymaker that misses it’s intended target...

 

And strikes Tyler McClelland! The crowd goes nuts, and Thoth can feel the sound vibrations through the ring... Danny looks over the ring ropes at his mistake, and suddenly feels an elbow driven into the top of his spine, stunning him suddenly... Thoth uses the last of his energy to scoop up Williams... cradling the leg...

 

AND GIVES HIM THE RIOT OF THE BLOOD!

 

“RIOT OF THE BLOOD!” shouts Stevens. “RIOT OF THE BLOOD!” Thoth collapses next to the body of Deathwish Danny Williams, and after seconds which seem... like... minutes, Thoth drapes an arm over...

 

ONE!

 

...

 

TWO!

 

...

 

...

 

THREE!

 

*DING DING DING*

 

“Quarantined” plays as the referee raises Thoth’s arm as a sign of victory. The arm then drops lifelessly as the Balancer rolls out of the ring, managing to land on his feet.

 

“Here is your winner... THOTH!”

 

The camera gets a close-up of Thoth’s sweat-drenched and reddened face. “One down... they’ll all fall, Wilson. They’ll all fall,” he says, panting heavy, the words mingling with his heavy breath. “And then you’ll be wide open...” Thoth stumbles up the ring, his consciousness stunned.

 

“Thoth pulls out a win, and gets closer to the road to Chris Wilson!” says Stevens. “One man,” replies Riley. “He got through one man, and he’s already half-dead. What will the rest do to him?”

 

Bobby Riley’s question rings through the arena air as the camera fades to black for the next commercial.

[Guest BA_Baracus]

Downtown in the Correl Center of Ottawa (that's in Canada), the fans continue to cheer as SWF Storm continues to rage on. The action is tremendous, and the surprise is that it's only beginning. Riley and Stevens are at your disposal, giving you the commentary you would expect from two men with such illustrious careers.

 

"(Mark) And we're just moments away from the hellacious main event, where the Carnival will take on the Chris Wilson crew! I'm so excited!!"

 

"(Riley) Hey, you're not the only one. But at least I don't sound dumb saying it."

 

"(Mark) Without further adi-"

 

Just then, "Grand Slam" Mark Stevens is interrupted by the sudden dimming of the lights. The speakers play out static for a bit before finally....

 

*CHING*

 

The first drum beats signals the beginning to "Downfall"! The rough yet beautiful beat enchants the crowds, who rise to their feets in deafening cheers!

 

"Can I break away? Push me away,

make me fall, just to see,

another side of me...

Push me away, you can't see,

what I see,

on the other side of me..."

 

"No one can see anything on the other side of me!"

"I walk! I crawl! Losing everything, ready for a downfall!!!"

 

The chorus ends, igniting a giant explosion at the top of the ramp that rocks the foundation of the entire arena! The fans are in an absolute frenzy, cheering and screaming at the top of their lungs for the man himself!

 

"(Mark) Well, Erek Taylor's out here! I don't know why...."

 

"(Riley) Hey, he doesn't need to tell anyone why he's out here. Respect him!"

 

"(Mark) Respect him? Just a week ago, you were making countless threats and insults!"

 

"(Riley) People change, Mark. Do you change?"

 

Erek Taylor mindlessly spins around, the ICTV title belt draped on his shoulder as he walks down the ramp, lips curved into a smile. The ICTV Champion points to the upper decks of the arena, getting another ovation before walking down slowly to the ring, and letting the song play through.

 

"(Riley) I change my mind. You suck, Erek! Sacred's gonna come back and eat you for dinner!"

 

"(Mark) Um... what?"

 

The ICTV Champion grabs hold of the ropes, but before he can even rise up to the apron, a flash and a blur....

 

LDP jumps out of the stands, wielding a steel chair in his hand! LDP swings the chair across, landing it across Erek's back! The ICTV Champion falls to the ground, drawing a mixed reaction from the crowds!

 

"(Mark) LDP! Back for revenge! Erek interfered in LDP's match earlier tonight and LDP is here to repay him the favor!"

 

"(Riley) Man, this is like.... been done."

 

LDP starts bringing the chair down and down again. With each shot, a sickening "SMACK!" rises, and Erek, unfortunately, feels the maximum effect of the attack. Referees begin to pour down from the ramp, trying to restrain LDP, but the Longdogger swings the chair at them, forcing the officials to back away. LDP grabs hold of Erek's head and brings the young flyer to his feet before rolling him into the ring.

 

"(Mark) LDP's absolutely lost it!"

 

"(Riley) Yeah! GO LDP!!!"

 

The Longdogger continues his attack, delivering kick after kick after kick to the body of the young ICTV Champion. LDP tosses the chair aside and snatches the microphone away from Funyon, his mood obviously of an angered one. LDP brings the mic up to his lips before beginning to speak, and on his count, all of the arena falls into silence.

 

"(LDP) Okay Erek....this ends now! You shower me with countless insults, ambush me with sneak attacks, and you even destroy my pride. So I'm here... to destroy you.

 

"Erek Taylor, the biggest hypocrite in all the federation. You say that you fight for what's right, but what you're doing is against your every word. I despise people like you, who walk the green earth and hold down the more worthy challengers. You won the ICTV title by luck, Erek, and I intend to take that away from you. Your luck, your pride, your dignity, your health, everything."

 

"You will know why I am a Champion in this bid'ness..... you will know why I am known as the One Man Wrecking Crew... because you, Taylor... you... will... get... WRECKED!"

 

LDP hammers the microphone into Erek's head, causing a long screech of static throughout the arena. LDP grabs Erek by the hair and drags the ICTV Champion up to his feet. With one swing, LDP sends Erek stumbling to the ropes before the flexibility of the ropes push Erek back to the center of the ring. LDP is there to greet him with a kick to the gut. Erek doubles over, and LDP steps forward and hooks Erek's arms before hoisting the Champion into the air and planting him into the canvas with the double armed DDT!!!

 

"(Mark) OooOOH!!! LDP WITH THE CLOGGER!!!"

 

"(Riley) Yipee....."

 

The referees on standby wait as LDP rolls out of the ring before they spring into action, all sliding into the ring to check on the downed Erek Taylor. LDP moves up the ramp, his lips twisted into a sadistic smile but nevertheless, the damage has been done.

[Guest BA_Baracus]

“I am the king of this city, top down, windows down, puffing like diddy…”

 

We return to Ontario’s Corel Centre as the arena lights drop out, and “Summer in the City” bumps through the arena! The eastern Canadians give a beastly round of boos for the oncoming Southern rap and the men it represents.

 

“Welcome back to our Pay-Per-View fallout edition of SWF Storm!” shouts Mark Stevens, “and a sure-to-be explosive six man tag! At Snake Eyes, Chris Wilson pulled out every trick in the book to try to steal away Edwin MacPhisto’s world title, drafting an entire army of rising talent and putting them into action, but thanks to some well-timed rallying from Z, the Crown Prince held onto his belt!”

 

“And then got his ass promptly handed to him by the Magnificent Seven!” chatters Riley. “God, I love that name. Obviously Wilson is Steve McQueen, but which one’s Yul Brenner?”

 

“Maybe Strangler’s Yul? He’d look funny bald…”

 

“Eh, doesn’t really matter. All that matters is that it’s going to be Snake Eyes déjà vu for the Carnival – it’s an official match now, and TNT, Stryke, and Chris Wilson have full license to beat them down as they please!”

 

“Tonight though, the Seven lacks the element of surprise--”

 

“—but they’ve got the element of being seven of the finest, most cohesive talents the WF has ever seen, Stevens. And that, plus a coil or two of piano wire, makes up the difference quite easily…”

 

Thin waves of fog roll down the entrance ramp as the lights start to fade back up, and the terrible threesome from the Magnificent Seven is illuminated at the top of the ramp to a deafening jeer!

 

“The following contest is scheduled for one fall, and it is a six-man tag match!” bellows Funyon. “Entering first, at a total combined weight of 759 pounds, they are the SWF Tag Team Champions, Chris Wilson and Stryke, and Taylor Nicholas Thompson, “TNT”: the Magnificent Seeeeeeeeeeveeeen!”

 

The three men at the top of the ramp raise their arms high as Wilson and Stryke confidently stride towards the ring, tag championships clasped around their waists, while TNT cuts a menacing profile of his own, bounding down the ramp, jaw-jacking with the fans on either side, and going so far as to slap a few errant cups of beer out of fan’s hands.

 

“That’s quality beer! Icehouse brewed! And he’s ruining it!” panics Riley. “But…he’s significantly evil, and he ground Z into paste at Snake Eyes. I suppose I can forgive him.”

 

“Beer or not, TNT’s quite the force,” asserts Stevens. “Out of Wilson’s new crew, he’s made the most immediate impact, winning his debut match and earning a US title shot right off the bat! Getting to main event in your second in-ring appearance…I’d say that’s a pretty fast rise, though watching TNT make his way down here, I’m kind of wishing it could have been anyone but him…”

 

The tag champs and TNT slide into the ring and each take to a turnbuckle, outstretching their arms to the torrent of boos, TNT yelling his trademark “KABOOM!” As “Summer in the City” fades, the Magnificent Three unload their personal belongings and title belts while the referee pats them down for foreign objects. TNT snaps at him like a piranha while being checked, and the referee darts away, a little more scared than he’d like to be. Wilson, Stryke, and TNT begin to circle the ring, discussing strategy as they wait…

 

“Midnight Carnival…”

 

And the Corel Centre goes haywire as the opening squeals of “Love Rollercoaster” punch through the sound system! The lights drop out, and the Smarktron illuminates in blazing white flashes, bumping in time with the music to reveal the words “Step Right Up!” “Listen to that crowd, Riley! God, it’s this sort of thing that makes me wanna come back to the ring! I miss this entrance!” The guitar part drops in, and three blue laser lights emanating from a single point on the stage trace across the arena, highlighting wild Carnie fans as they cheer on! The words “Rollercoaster of love” echo through the arena for the first time, and the laser lights flare out into a blue haze, revealing the swank profiles of three SWF superstars: Chris Raynor, Edwin MacPhisto, and a slightly jittery silhouette, the newest Carnie, Z! The refrain hits for the first time, and the entrance ramp explodes in a vast display of purple strobe lights as the blue spirals spin wildly!

 

“And their opponents,” booms Funyon, straining even with his microphone, “at a total combined weight of 718 pounds, they are Chris Raynor, Z, and your world champion, Edwin MacPhistooooo—they are the Midniiiight Caaaarnivaaaaal!” The crowd gives another massive pop, and the Carnies strut their stuff down the entrance ramp, Z especially giddy for his first Carnie entrance, pushed over the edge of delight when he sees a sign with a crudely drawn picture of himself reading “Z: It’s gotta be the jacket!”

 

“Isn’t that cute?” mumbles Riley. “Six-year olds across the world love Z, sheesh…of course, the discriminating and crucial 18-24 year old demographic of our fanbase are Wilson fans all the way!”

 

The Carnies dive into the ring together, and with a roar of “SMAAAAASH!”, Raynor whips his jersey into the crowd! Z bounces off the ropes, starting to rev himself up and shake out the jitters, while Edwin passes his coat and title off to the referee. The Carnies engage in strategy, but the Mac Daddy finds his thoughts disrupted by the icy gaze of Chris Wilson, master manipulator and arch-nemesis. Before Edwin can think twice, he hears Z and Raynor exchange a high-five and step out through the ropes. Wilson motions for Stryke and TNT to back off, and they too step out through the ropes, leaving Edwin and Wilson inside. “The world champion and Chris Wilson are looking to start this off!” shouts Stevens. The referee calls for the bell…

 

DING DING DING!

 

And this match is on! Edwin and Wilson are locked in a stand-still, staring each other down, and the crowd starts to sizzle with tension. Edwin takes a step forward, and Wilson takes a step back…and then a step forward. “Edwin must be dying to get his hands on Wilson!” shouts Stevens. “After Snake Eyes, the Mac Daddy is battered, bruised, and looking for justice!” In the Carnival corner, Raynor looks to break the standstill, hopping up on the bottom rope and starting up a clap, gradually picking up the pace as the crowd follows suit. Edwin and Wilson each take a step forward, and the tension between the two is incendiary. They step forward again, now only a foot away, staring straight into each others’ eyes, Edwin closing a fist and bringing it up to his side. “This situation is about to explode!” cries Stevens.

 

Edwin pulls back his arm…

 

…and Wilson turns his back on him and casually strides to his corner! He gives an eager TNT a slap on the palm, then ducks through the ropes, smirking smugly as the crowd lays in with heavy boos! “That damn coward Wilson doesn’t want to face Edwin!”

 

“On the contrary, Mark, Wilson’s doing the right thing! Look at TNT’s face, look at that cute little sadistic throat-slitting grin! You know he wants in! Wilson’s giving the new guy a chance, not holding him back like Edwin does!”

 

“Will you come off that already? It’s a bunch of crap, really…”

 

“Says the man who’s been retired…” As the announcers simmer, TNT jogs in place a bit, cracking his neck. Edwin looks right past him, straight towards Wilson’s grin, but he snaps back to attention as the explosive Taylor Nicholas Thompson comes charging right for him! The world champion dives to the side just in time to miss a clothesline, but as he turns back, TNT reaches out his thickly muscled arms and clenches them around Edwin’s neck with a fierce grapple! TNT pushes down hard, and his power and pure mass are too much for Edwin: TNT forces him down and into the ropes in just seconds!

 

“TNT, just plain overpowering Edwin MacPhisto here. Our world champion’s known for his wit, charisma, and agility,” notes Stevens, “not his strength.”

 

“Damn right, Mark! In a stand-up fight, TNT’ll probably pop his head clean off!” TNT rears back and pounds a heavy overhand slap right down on Edwin’s chest, shaking the ropes as the loud impact gives most of the audience members a little bit of a twinge. Thompson launches another, and Edwin shudders under the potent impact. Thompson grins, only half-believing that he’s really getting a chance to rip apart his old Commissioner, and he pauses briefly before rearing back for a third…and eating an elbow strike to the jaw instead! TNT staggers back, clutching at his jaw, and Edwin charges forward, arm outstretched in a clothesline that catches TNT right across the throat and drops him to the mat! The crowd cheers a bit, but TNT is right back to his feet in a second, looking a little more wrathful. Edwin comes back with a second clothesline, but this time TNT catches him in a thick two-handed choke—and the trapped Edwin fires a snap kick into TNT’s right knee! TNT buckles…and Edwin fires another! The explosive youngster loses his grip and Edwin runs back towards the ropes, bouncing off, leaping at TNT…and getting caught! “Whoa! TNT catches Edwin mid-splash! This doesn’t look good for the champ!” The powerful TNT lifts a squirming Edwin high, holds him there for a good five seconds, and then falls to the side to crush the Crown Prince with a ring-rocking sideslam! TNT rolls his shoulder back on impact and hooks the leg! “First cover of the night—here’s the count!”

 

ONE!

 

T—and Edwin gets a shoulder up, winded but certainly not out of it. In the Magnificent Seven corner, Wilson gives an impressed nod towards TNT, then turns to Stryke. “Well, Wilson and Stryke sure made a good choice with TNT!” chimes Riley. “He’s tossing our champ like a rag doll, stopping Edwin’s offensive bursts before they start.” TNT pulls Edwin up off the mat by his loose hair, and the Mac Daddy tries to start another of those offensive bursts, only to get clobbered over the neck with a sledge fist before he can even fully stand. TNT clubs him with another sledge fist, and the staggered Mac Daddy is easy prey for a standing headscissors and a double-underhook. TNT lets out a roar as he wrenches Edwin up by the waist, lifts him vertical, and then falls back to crush the Mac Daddy once more with a tremendous double-underhook suplex! Again TNT rolls over, this time pressing Edwin to the mat with both hands. “Another big impact from TNT, and another cover!” shouts Riley. The referee drops down!

 

ONE!

 

TWO!—and Edwin gets the shoulder up just after two! “TNT’s assault of power moves are starting to wear Edwin down,” comments Stevens. “Fortunately for the Mac Daddy, he’s got two fresh Carnies just waiting for a tag!” In the Carnival corner, Z and Raynor are both up on the ropes, playfully shoving each other back and forth and squealing “Me! Me!” as they jockey for position, drawing a big laugh from the crowd. Edwin pushes off the mat and starts to crawl for his corner, but TNT grabs his hair and yanks him up from behind. The explosive upstart gives Edwin a firm punch to the gut, and then steps forward to whip him as far away as possible from his home corner: right into the waiting arms of Chris Wilson! Edwin hits the post and Wilson quickly catches him in a rear choke. The referee shouts for Wilson to let go, but before it matters, TNT barrels into the corner and crushes Edwin with an avalanche! Wilson promptly lets go, pointing to Edwin and making an innocent face towards the referee.

 

“Now that’s teamwork!”

 

“I‘d call it cheating!”

 

“What are you whining about, Mark? Wilson let Edwin go, just like the ref said…”

 

“After TNT slammed his whole weight into him!”

 

“Meh. Niggling details, I say!” TNT drags Edwin out of the corner into a short arm knee-lift, and the Mac Daddy sputters under the impact. With Edwin staggered, TNT whips him towards the opposite ring ropes and pursues. Edwin bounces off and rockets back towards TNT, who lies in wait. TNT grabs as Edwin approaches, fluidly receiving and hoisting him up into a Canadian back-breaker rack over his left shoulder. “Dominator! TNT’s going to break MacPhisto in half!” But before TNT can slam Edwin down with the inverted powerslam, the Carnie kicks his feet and slides forward, landing behind Thompson! Caught off-guard, TNT spins with a big fist…and Edwin goes low, diving to the mat and catching TNT’s right leg with a dragon screw legwhip! The crowd roars as the rookie monster crashes into the mat!

 

“Edwin counters, and he’s up! Time to make a tag!” Edwin dashes for the corner, but TNT turns around and quickly reaches up for Edwin, catching his leg and tripping him to the mat! Both men clamber to their feet, and TNT lunges for Edwin’s throat, only to have Edwin counter with a nasty bitchslap to the right cheek! The crowd roars again, and Edwin follows up with a slap to the left cheek! “Cocktail o’ Shame!” shouts Stevens. “Drink up, TNT!” Edwin rears back…and TNT charges forward, unfazed by the slaps! Edwin’s eyes widen for a moment, but acting purely on instinct, he leaps and throws out his leg…

 

WHAM! “Gamengiri!” The jumping roundhouse kick catches TNT in the face and knocks him away and down, and as Wilson and Stryke have a fit in their corner, a worn-down Mac Daddy turns, grins…

 

…and tags in Z! The crowd pops solidly for the newest Carnie, and Z wears his elation on his sleeve…or his face, for that matter, in a mile-wide grin. “Edwin makes the tag to Z! How will the new guy fare against one of his old JL compatriots?” Stevens wonders aloud, and TNT starts to get back to his feet as Z climbs into the ring. A huge roar fills the arena, and Z barrels forward, arm outstretched just as TNT turns! Thompson doesn’t have enough time to get his defenses up, and Z plows into him with a huge Arm Grenade! The crowd goes nuts, and as TNT falls to the mat like a large, dreadlock-wearing sack full of doorknobs, Z basks in the crowd’s adulation and looks at his arm, as if to say “Did THIS just make THEM do THAT?”

 

“And I think I’m ready to answer my own question, folks!” shouts Stevens. “Z is in the house, and he’s here to stay!”

 

Barely able to hide his grin, Z sets his sights back on TNT, peppering him with a few good stomps. Z quickly nabs TNT’s arm, trying for an whip… which is reversed! Z barrels to the ropes instead, and TNT tosses out a huge clothesline, then looks confused when he finds nothing but air! Before Thompson can even react, Z yanks him down by his dreads from behind, snapping on a headlock, and getting a half-turn as he drops TNT down, plunging an elbow into his sternum for the Turn n’ Burn!

 

“Z taking a page out of the book of former world champion Divefire, washing TNT out with the Turn n’ Burn!” Notes Stevens.

 

“Little punk!” Snarls Riley, “Where the hell does he get off, using moves like that!?”

 

“Riley, I don’t think that-”

 

“No respect, Mark! No respect!”

 

As Bobby rants and raves over nothing at the announcers’ table, TNT feebly tries to roll to his corner, before Z snaps him back into a lying position and lateral press! The ref drops, as the crowd counts!

 

ONE!

 

TW--NO! TNT shoves his shoulder off the ground! Z looks a little disappointed, but not really surprised. TNT again tries to roll to the corner—but is again snapped to the ground as Z presses him down again, this time hooking the leg!

 

ONE!

 

TWO!

 

TH—NO! TNT again bucks out, sending Z flopping behind him! “Z with multiple covers, forcing TNT to expel a great deal of energy to kick out each time,” calls Stevens. As TNT tries to get up, Z marches to the closest neutral corner, turns around and pushes himself up to the second rope. After taking a moment to gab with Stryke from afar, Z takes a flying leap, crashing down elbow first onto the crawling TNT, forcing him back down to the canvas! “Now, here’s something! Z’s got a rare bit of control over a match, and Bobby, this crowd loves him for it!”

 

“Pah,” Grumbles Riley, “The guy’s a flake, Mark! This can’t—No, WON’T last!”

 

Pause.

 

“…At least, I hope not.”

 

Knowing full well that this isn’t enough to put TNT down for the three-count, Z hauls the groggy explosive one to his feet, pummeling him with several rough overhand punches. Backed into the ropes with nowhere to go, Z takes hold of TNT’s arm, tossing him to the ropes! Z bounces off himself, charging at TNT… and hastily ducking under a running forearm! TNT blitzes past, unable to stop, as Z runs to the opposite ropes, ricocheting for another charge! Z gets a half-decent jump, performing a slow flip, kicking his feet out for a dropkick… and splattering on the canvas when he connects with nothing! Leaning from his corner, Wilson lets go of Thompson’s hand, both men exchanging a nod. The crowd’s reaction sours at the sight of Wilson’s frustrating—but completely legal—interference.

 

“And just like I thought they would,” cackles Riley, “the Magnificent Seven use a little teamwork to stop Z’s rush cold! And aw, what’s wrong, Marky Mark?” eggs Riley, grinning ear to ear. “No quip? No forty-minute soliloquy on how Wilson is cheating to get ahead?”

 

“It was perfectly legal, yet still unwarranted, inter—excuse me, ‘teamwork,’ yes…” grumbles Mark.

 

“Ah-ha! See, if you’d just take off those big Carnie-Vision bias glasses, you can be reasonable!”

 

In the ring, TNT clutches Z’s arm, dragging him over to the Magnificent Seven’s corner, all the while sneering at the concerned Carnies. With a solid *smack!* Thompson turns to one side, tagging in an eager Stryke! “The M7 tag in a fresh man…of course, it’s not like TNT is going to vacate the ring right away…”

 

“Woo! This is a great time for more teamwork!” True to Riley’s words, TNT and Stryke haul up Z’s limp figure, Thompson pulling back Z’s arm so that Stryke can have a clear shot at his abdomen! The referee feebly begins the five-count as Stryke fires off several hard punches! At the count of three, Stryke doubles-over Z with one good kick, and TNT releases him, reluctantly exiting the ring at the zebra’s prodding. The ring floods with jeers as TNT mouths off, Wilson nodding with approval. “Gya' Hahahahaha! This is great!" Cries Riley. "At the hand of the Magnificent Ones, the Carnies are cracking like a French soldier at a Nazi interrogation!"

 

"Or Riley in the Seventh-Inning Stretch," mutters Mark, trying his best to ignore the Blazing Aura of Repugnant™ coming at him from all sides. "Well, nonetheless, Stryke and Z did once face in the JL. Let's see if these to youngsters have learned anything since!"

 

Z sputters and coughs painfully, the toes of Stryke’s shoes still stinging in his stomach. This is rapidly replaced by a stinging in his face, as Stryke cracks him upside the head with a stiff Southpaw! A second, and Z’s already raggedy ponytail begins to unfurl! A third, and Z shambles into the ropes, grabbing on to keep his footing! Stryke wastes no time gathering up Z and shooting him off, trying for an Irish Whip… that Z leans into! Z stumbles, yet still manages to reverse the Showstoppers momentum! “And on the rebound, Z’s looking for a hiptoss… that Stryke counters with a poke to the eyes! Now, c’mon!”

 

“Nyuck, nyuck, nyuck…” chortles Riley, only half-enthusiastically. “It appears Z’s luck can’t make the ref more aware, eh? Good on him!”

 

As Riley makes with being obnoxious, Z doubles over, clutching his eyes. Arm still in hand, Stryke sets his leg over Z’s neck, looking for a Fameasser… but with a sudden roar of effort, Z shoots bolt upright, sending Stryke into spin cycle! Time seemingly slows down for Stryke, who, without panicking or looking the least bit fazed, twists his body straight in mid-air, lands right on Z’s shoulder, and rocks him down to the canvas in an impromptu Hurricanrana! “Shezam! Stryke just went for his usual top-rope rana, using less elevation for the move AND contorting himself out of mid-air!” shills Riley. “Where do you get off badmouthing him, Mark? After showing athleticism like that!?”

 

“But I didn’t--”

 

“See!? There you go, spindling a web of LIES to cover your bias! Sheesh… you need to learn to keep your opinions tucked away, and become a consummate pro like yours truly.”

 

“Bobby, I give—Cover!”

 

ONE!

 

TWO!

 

THRE—NO! Z pumps his legs out at the last possible second! The crowd roars as the two other Carnies clap in approval! “Z kicked out!” Yells Stevens. “Z’s luck pulled him through again!”

 

“Well,” murmurs Riley, “Take a look at him. With those genes, he was bound to get lucky eventually. Law of averages.”

 

As Stryke picks himself up, he yells assorted profanities and angrily kicks the ropes. Grabbing a handful of Z‘s hair, Stryke BRAINS him with a hard overhand! Z squeals girlishly as Stryke pounds another fist into his head, backing him into the ropes! Moving quickly, Stryke wraps both of Z’s arms behind the ropes, immobilizing him, before cracking an earth shattering open hand slap onto Z’s chest! The entire crowd, Midnight Carnival, and even the other two members of the M7 wince as Z whimpers and slumps! “Jezus!” exclaims Stevens! “Stryke is just killing Z here! He’s wrestling with pure anger!”

 

As Stevens sighs and massages his temples, Stryke again rights the wasted Z, shooting him off the ropes… and cutting him down on the rebound with a scissors sweep! With a ‘BANG!’ Z’s face spluts off the canvas, and he springs back up, clutching his nose in agony! As Z stumbles through pain, Stryke leans down, sizes Z up… “Stryke’s crouched down… and you know what that means!” and rockets his foot into Z’s already sore face, cracking his head straight back as a dramatic spray of perspiration fly off Z’s now undone hair! “HEATSEEKER!” finishes a giddy Riley, enjoying the crowd’s maelstrom of ire, as a soft ‘thump’ heralds Z’s fall to the canvas!

 

“This could be it for the Carnival!” notes Stevens, his obvious allegiances shining though his usually professional demeanor.

 

“Could be? IS!” squeals Riley, his obvious allegiances shining through his usually mucky and generally slimy demeanor.

 

Stryke basks in jeers and insults from the crowd, frustrated yells from the Carnies, and the applause of the only cheerleading section in the building, standing in his very own corner. Satisfied, Stryke drops to his knees and covers Z with the lateral press! The ref counts…

 

ONE!

 

“Kya’Hahahaha! Well, they put up a good fight!” laughs Riley.

 

TWO!

 

“But not good enough! Better luck next time, boyos!”

 

T

 

H

 

R

 

E

 

E—NO!!! “What the hell!? Stryke PULLED UP Z!?”

 

“W… w-what!?! Are you kidding me!?” Riley’s jaw slams into the desk, as he falls to pieces in shock! “He… he had him BEAT! What happened!?!”

 

“Stryke’s brash cockiness shined through, that’s what happened! He wants to beat on Z some more!”

 

The move itself is a mixed blessing, as the crowd, holding their breath, let go in a huge burst of cheer!! Edwin and Raynor exchange stunned looks, before both immediately begin a rhythmic clap to urge Z on, knowing Stryke’s move hasn’t put them out of this yet! However, at the Magnificent Seven corner, Wilson and TNT share an even MORE stunned look! TNT shakes his head, while Wilson glares sourly into the ring! Stryke himself, though, wears a cool expression, obviously now very sure of himself. Once again, he hauls Z’s carcass up and hurls him to the ropes. Stryke turns, grinning, obviously sizing Z up for the Overdrive, then bends down, telegraphing the Fireman’s Carry… and realizes something is very wrong as the cheers begins to swell and a shadow passes over him. Almost in slow-motion, Stryke turns… and is met head on by the head trauma express! Z’s boot connects solidly with Stryke’s face, sending him flying straight to the canvas! Z’s knees buckle, and he slumps to the ground, as the crowd explodes in cheers!

 

“Unbelievable! Z, despite being half-dead, managed to leapfrog over Stryke, and rock him with a jaw-jacking Blizzard of Oz superkick!” exclaims Stevens!

 

The reaction in the Magnificent Seven camp is less than rapturous, as Wilson and TNT curse Stryke’s ineptitude! In Camp Carnival, both Edwin and Raynor hop on the bottom rope, extending their arms as far as they can for the tag! Both Stryke and Z begin the seemingly endless crawl to their corners, as the “CAR-NI-VAL! CAR-NI-VAL!” chant picks up in decibels! “The race is ON!” Stevens shouts over the roar of the crowd! Bobby Riley is the only silent person in the arena, as he stares dumbfounded at the ensuing chaos…

 

“… why?”

 

Wilson leans as far over the top rope as he can, seething with fury at his protégé. Stryke grits his teeth and drags himself towards the Magnificent Three. On the other side, Z reaches up with one hand, pulling himself closer with the other… as he reaches Camp Carnival’s corner, he swipes his hand out, not really caring who he tags as the cheers rush…

 

It’s Chris Raynor. Hellllllllllls yeah.

 

“CAR-NI-VAL!” immediately changes to “SMASH! SMASH! SMASH!”, and Raynor dives into the ring! Just then Stryke slaps his leader’s hand, and raging Wilson makes his entrance! His feet hit the mat and he sprints…

 

… exactly one step forward before “Oh my GOD, what a clothesline!” knocks him down! Wilson jumps back up to his feet just in time to be violently shoved into a neutral corner! Raynor quickly closes and begins rapid-firing right hands, and Wilson sags to the bottom ropes!

 

“The Carnival is back in this ballgame!” cries a gleeful Stevens.

 

“Please,” Bobby groans, “don’t start with the baseball-isms…”

 

Raynor heads across the ring, turns, marks his target…and charges! Wilson is getting back up to his feet when he sees the Caveman gunning straight for him, so he quickly kicks up and catches Raynor in the jaw, forcing the Carnie to fall away. Raynor turns back to face him, and Wilson pops out from the corner to launch his foot out again…

 

-but Raynor catches it! He shakes his head, grinning at Wilson, then spins him around and locks arms around his waist! Raynor lifts, up, over…and Wilson goes crashing down in a German Suplex!

 

“Bridged to a pin! This could be all!”

 

“Wilson can take more than this!” Bobby retorts.

 

ONE!

 

TWO!

 

T- and Wilson kicks out!

 

“See?” Riley says, smarmy as ever.

 

Raynor quickly brings Wilson up to his feet and whips him back into the neutral corner, following and jumping onto the second rope, looming above him! Raynor pulls his hand back aaaaand…

 

“ONE!”

 

“TWO!”

 

“THREE!”

 

“FOUR!”

 

“FIVE!”

 

“SIX!”

 

“SEVE-OOOOOOOOH!”

 

“Low blow!” The fans are none too happy that it went undetected! Wilson quickly shoves a staggered Raynor off the ropes, and the Carnie staggers to the center of the ring before falling to his knees.

 

“Are there depths to which he won’t stoop?” Mark asks, his voice dripping with disdain.

 

“Oh come on, Stevens!” shoots Riley. “What has he got to lose here? You think a DQ loss would mean anything to him?”

 

Wilson, his composure regained, stands and waits in the corner, as Raynor slowly gets back to his feet…he rises, the crowd cheers, and Wilson sprints out of the starting gate and dives, cutting the cheers short with a ring-shaking SPEAR~!

 

“Into the cover…One! Two! T- Raynor gets the shoulder up after two!”

 

Wilson picks Raynor up and slaps on a headlock, but Raynor falls with him into the ropes and breaks out. Wilson runs and hits the opposite side of the ring, then comes back to find Raynor telegraphing a back-body drop! “Uh oh…” is all Stevens can say, and with an “Oh this is too easy” look, Wilson steps forward and hooks both of Raynor’s arms, then falls back in a Double-armed DDT! Wilson moves to cover, but thinks better of it and rolls to his feet instead. He quickly heads for the nearest neutral corner and hops onto the second rope, then jumps off and drops his leg right across Raynor’s throat, then makes the cover!

 

“Goodniiiight, Elisabeth, goodnight!” Somewhere, Adam Duritz cries.

 

ONE!

 

 

 

TWO!

 

 

 

T

H

R- Raynor rolls his shoulder up in the nick of time!

 

“Raynor escapes again!” shouts Stevens! “He’s resilient, but he’s in there against a former world champion. If Wilson keeps him away from his corner, this is as good as over…”

 

“There you go again,” groans Riley, adding finger quotes as he says “with that analysis again…”

 

Wilson stands up and pauses, thinking… and crushing Raynor’s head with his foot in the meantime. The fans are not enjoying this at all. The empty soda cup that reaches the ring speaks for them all, unceremoniously bonking off Wilson’s head. He ignores it, then turns back to his corner to address his protégés, as if saying “This is how it’s done.”

 

“Hey, wait just a darn minute,” Bobby snaps, his voice now suspicious. “What’s going on over there?”

 

In the Carnival’s corner, Edwin is pointing to the opposite corner and whispering something to Z! The crowd begins to stir, knowing something is up…

 

”What the hell is Z doing?”

 

The brand-new Carnie hops off the apron, shaking with trepidation, and begins to stroll around ringside! He passes in front of the announce table, past a snappy Riley, and over to Funyon. After a little whispering, Funyon shrugs and grabs his microphone.

 

“Uh… Z has just asked me… to wish a very happy birthday…”

 

“LOOK!” Mark shouts, pointing and waving to the ring, where Edwin has stepped in through the ropes and is dragging Raynor back towards the Carnival’s corner! The crowd is heating up!

 

“… to… Matt!”

 

…

 

…

 

…

 

“Who the hell is Matt?!” snaps Bobby, not realizing what’s going on. Wilson, Stryke, TNT, and the referee all stare dumbfounded at Z as he jogs back to the Carnival’s corner… their heads follow him, until they all come to see Raynor’s hand a mere inch from Edwin’s!

 

“That CHEAT!”

 

“Ah ah ah, Bobby - Teamwork!”

 

Edwin makes a show of sloooooowly leaning down, while Wilson’s jaw drops, aaaaand…

 

Tag.

 

The crowd ex-PLODES as Edwin leaps over the top rope and charges! Wilson grits his teeth and runs at him head on, but at the last possible second Edwin ducks the clothesline attempt, and as Wilson whirls around he’s met with a springing sidekick! The eVil one clambers up, and he’s an easy target for Edwin to-

 

“SHOTEI!” shouts Stevens!

 

“Chrissy, CHRISSY! Snap out of it, foo’!” pleads Bobby, flinching as the blow sends Wilson back into the corner! He stumbles out slowly, and Edwin quickly runs off the opposite ropes, returns, leaps…and pumps both feet rather uncomfortably into the side of Wilson’s head!

 

“Running dropkick from Edwin,” calls Mark, “and… uh oh, it looks like TNT and Stryke aren’t waiting any longer!”

 

Edwin pops up, and the crowd is calling for the Encore Cross - but TNT and Stryke blitz Edwin from behind! The referee tries to pull them off but they pound the champ into the corner!

 

“Teamwork!” Riley cackles. “It’s all legal!”

 

“No, it’s not.”

 

The referee threatens disqualification, but Stryke angrily shoves him into the ropes and out of the way, just as Raynor and Z charge in!

 

*DING DING DING*

 

Raynor and Z dash into the ring and tackle TNT and Stryke respectively! The referee jumps to safety, and the brawl begins as Funyon bellows:

 

“The winners of this bout, as a result of a disqualification… THE MIDNIIIIIIGHT CAAAARNIVVAAAAL!”

 

“Love Rollercoaster” kicks up and the crowd is ecstatic-

 

-for about two seconds, before the now-relieved Edwin is suddenly attacked by Chris Wilson! All six men are fighting on one side of the ring now, with TNT and Raynor brawling in the corner, Stryke and Z going at it center-stage, and Edwin is being pummeled in the opposite corner!

 

“I told you!” Bobby gloats. “Wilson couldn’t care less about a loss right now - he’s out to put a hurtin’ on the Carnival!”

 

Just then, Stryke drops to his knees and hoists Z up over him in a Fireman’s Carry, swings him around - “OVERDRIVE ON Z!” calls Mark, but it’s only just beginning! Z crumples to the mat, and Stryke jumps to his feet and heads to the outside!

 

Meanwhile, Raynor is beginning to battle back against TNT! The two are trading fists, and Raynor manages to block one and begin a chain of his own! The tide is turning-

 

LOW BLOW! The second hit to Raynor’s jumblies tonight, and by far the worst, made even more devastating as Stryke appears from behind and CRACKS A STEEL CHAIR OVER RAYNOR’S HEAD! Raynor collapses beside Z, and the two M7 mates begin laying into them with kicks and jabs with the chair! In the last corner, Wilson still pounds away at Edwin…but then, in an all too common occurrence tonight-

 

LOW BLOW! Edwin kicks straight up between Wilson’s legs, and the eVil one is caught completely off guard! The crowd roars as he falls away! Edwin spots his moment of opportunity and dashes forward, then turns his back to Wilson and snags a facelock! Moving fast, Edwin runs at and up the corner, spins around-

 

“Edwin’s going for the Spinal Tap-

 

*WHOOSH*

 

As they descend, Wilson shoves Edwin up and out…right towards Stryke…

 

…

 

…

 

…

 

*CA-RACK*

 

“OH MY GOD! WILSON JUST THREW EDWIN OFF INTO THE SICKEST MID-AIR CHAIRSHOT I’VE EVER SEEN!”

 

Edwin falls to the mat, and his limp form matches well with his lifeless comrades. The one soda cup from earlier is now joined by dozens of brethren, all directed at the master of eVil himself! Three of the Magnificent Seven stand triumphant over the Midnight Carnival, as the St. Lunatics start to blast…

 

“This is sick!” Mark shouts, barely restraining himself. “This is absolutely SICK!”

 

The blood begins to trickle from just above Edwin’s left eye, and Wilson smiles at his work of art. The Fantastic Three then raise their hands in unison, along with the chair in question, drawing an unbelievable amount of heat from the crowd!

 

“Who really won here, Mark?” Bobby is absolutely loving this sight, and he continues to prod. “Come on, Mark! Say it!”

 

“Wilson and his goddamned army!”

 

“That’s RIGHT, Mark! They won at Snake Eyes, and they’ll win next week! There’s JUST - NO - STOPPING THEM!”

 

All three of the Carnies are out cold in the ring, and with a look of satisfaction on their faces, the Magnificent Three exit the ring…but not before taking the slimiest, most cocksure bow possible.

 

“Wilson again leaves the Carnival laying flat! When is this game going to end? We’re out of time, tune in next week for Smarkdown… For Bobby Riley, I‘m Mark Stevens… I… I just… DAMMIT!” Mark throws down his headset in disgust, and we see one final shot of Edwin’s face, turned underneath the chair and twisted in pain, before the show fades to black.

[Guest BA_Baracus]

SINGLES MATCH

Frost vs. Ced Ordonez

- Fffffrost...

 

HARDCORE TITLE MATCH

Ash Ketchum © vs. Xero

- The Pokemon guy retains!

 

SINGLES MATCH

Tod DeKindes vs. Fallout

- DeKindes with the upset!

 

TABLE MATCH

The Boston Strangler vs. Longdogger Pete

- Strangler table-efies Pete.

 

SINGLES MATCH

Danny Williams vs. Thoth

- Thoth beats Williams and his fabulous male valet, Outcast.

 

6-MAN TAG MATCH

Edwin MacPhisto, Chris Raynor & Z vs. Chris Wilson, Stryke & “TNT” Taylor Nicholas Thompson

- The Carnies beat the Magnificent 7, but get pummeled afterwards...