SJL Crimson, July 7th

[Guest crusen86]

SJL Crimson Card

Venue: We ride the inverto train and go to, yes, you guessed it, Mexico City, Mexico, and the Mexico Dome!

 

SINGLES MATCH

Thor vs. "The Rising Sun" Y2K

-They lost. They fight. Woo. Impress us and you'll be sitting pretty post tourney.

 

WORLD TITLE TOURNAMENT QUARTERFINALS

-All matches are regular singles matches with DQs and count-outs in effect, and word limits of 5000!

 

Bracket 1-2

Jacob Helmsley vs. Fugue

-JL mainstay Jake returned with a vengeance, and Fugue managed to make the Amazin' Mike Van Siclen tap out. Will Fugue pull off the upset and anchor himself a position in the semi-finals, or will Jake, Jesse, and the mighty pipe ride off into the bloody sunset yet again?

 

Bracket 3-4

CIA vs. Flexxx

-Flexxx makes his return to the ring, and the Commissioner has decided to let Flexxx into the World Title tournament, taking over the bracket that was vacated by Kojack and Sydney Sky! Why would Edwin do a thing like that? Oh yeah. So CIA can kick his sWo ass.

 

Bracket 5-6

Silent vs. Hollywood Spike Jenkins

-Silent defeated perennial jobber Cutthroat and Spike is moving along quite well for such a new guy. Now these two square off in the quarterfinals - will Spike get the same brutal treatment that Cutthroat did, or will he be able to unseat the Clan menace?

 

Bracket 7-8

T-Bone vs. Renegade

-Two very, very old-school vets have made it to the quarterfinals, and now the two recent returns are poised to advance to the next round. Astoundingly enough, only one will make it...

 

MAIN EVENT

NON-TITLE SINGLES MATCH

"The Franchise" Mak Francis © © vs. Poisyn

-That's right! sWo vs. sWo, folks! Poisyn and Mak tried to screw with Renegade and the title tournament on Wrath, and the Commish is none too happy about it. Now, the double-champion and his sWo ally have to face off, and they'd damn well better do it. If the sWo tries to finagle their way out of this match, it's going to be jobber hell versus the eternal likes of Cutthroat. We're gonna see a wrestling match whether they like it or not. If the sWo chooses to screw around, they draw Cutthroat, G0R0, and Petro the Clown on Metal. (And no, you cannot screw around just to face them. So there! Yeah! Write matches! Competitive matches for this are really encouraged, guys. I know you're teammates, but what's a little healthy competition among friends, eh? Eh?)

[Guest crusen86]

Axis: In our first match, we have “The Rising Sun” Y2K facing the God of Thunder Thor. Thor is coming off a hard and surprising loss to the steak sauce covered bastard T-Bone. The fans are very cranky tonight because here in wonderful, sunny, friendly Mexico City, Mexico... there is no AC.

 

King keeps wiping off his profusely sweating forehead: You know the least these people could do is get a fan here at the desk. Uuugghh...

 

Edwin: Oh cheer up old chap! We have some terrific matches tonight continuing the tournament for the title including Jacob Helmsley vs. Fugue, CIA vs. Flexxx, Silent vs. “Hollywood” Spike Jenkins, T-Bone vs. Renegade, and our main event, the DOUBLE CHAMP Mak Francis facing fellow sWo member Poisyn!

 

King: How are you so freaking chipper?

 

Edwin: I have a brick of ice... in my pants!

 

Axis: I would ask for some ice but I know where its been.

 

The heat-exhausted crowd suddenly emits a new type of heat upon hearing Reel Big Fish’s “A Little Doubt Goes A Long Way” The crowd boos as “The Rising Sun” Y2K walks to ringside, accompanied by Joe Barchini. Y2K steps down to the ring, his face concealed by a silver mask and his true figure distorted by a long, almost ceremonial, black and blue surcoat. Barchini climbs the ring steps and holds the second ring rope down for Y2K to step through. The crowd hisses and scattered scoffs of “BLOWJOB!!” are heard from several fans in the front row. Y2K and Barchini pace in the ring and “The Rising Sun” demands a mic from Funyon.

 

Y2K removes his mask and hands it to Barchini. He speaks “This is really pathetic. You “Powers That Be” keep putting me in matches against completely unworthy opponents. Let’s see, so far I’ve fought a wimp, a mad musician... and a STONER!!” Some scattered cheers are heard at the mention of the word stoner. “You people will cheer for anything that jumps from a ladder, spits steak sauce, or doesn’t sell. So tonight you’ve got me facing a god. Well laa dee da! I’m a former UWA UK Champion and I should be the SWF World Champion right now, not that British freak at ringside!”

 

Edwin: Hey, he can’t say that!

 

King: Yeah, only I can say that! You should go hold him down right now Edwin.

 

Edwin almost stands up but catches himself: Hey yeah... wait... I don’t hold people down. Shut up King!

 

Y2K starts to speak again but is caught off guard by a lightning bolt crashing to the stage with a crack. The opening chords of KISS- “God of Thunder” begin to play as the crowd erupts into a frenzy of cheers. When the music hits the lyrics blue and white pyros shoot off, crossing each other and Thor steps through the smoke emitted by the lightning strike. Thor has a mic in his hand and raises it to his lips to speak as his booming music decrescendos into oblivion “Mortal, methinks thou speakst too much, too oft. T’would suit me better if thou wouldst speak less of thine achievements and exert more effort into thine wrestling.” The fans cheer even louder as Thor finishes his statement. “I do hope however that thine weak frame can withstand the awesome beating that shall soon be bestowed upon thee, by the hands of the God of Thunder!”

 

With that bold statement Thor strides to the ring, quickly picking up his pace and releasing his cape and hammer to the ramp. Now at a run he steps up to the ring apron and gets a left to the face from Y2K. It doesn’t phase Thor as he rears back and, much to Y2K’s surprise, sends him falling onto his back. Y2K rolls backwards and back to his feet and throws his surcoat outside to Barchini as Thor steps over the top rope to start the match.

 

DING DING DING!!

 

Axis: The match is underway. Strong words from both of these men as we head into this contest.

 

King: Y2K tells it like it is. He’s great and he lets us all know it!

 

Edwin: Hopefully Y2K can put up a decent fight against a man eight inches taller and almost twice his weight. I didn’t pay to see a shut out!

 

Axis: You didn’t pay at all.

 

Y2K, eager to prove himself, walks to Thor and punches him in the stomach, with no effect to Thor. Y2K draws his hand back and in disbelief, stares at his hand and then at Thor. Y2K then runs back to the ropes, jumps in the air and hooks his legs around Thor’s neck, attempting a leg scissors takedown, but Thor just catches him and lifts him up in Gorilla Press style. The shocked look on Y2K’s face, midair, tells the whole story. Thor presses the upstart once... twice... three times, and then brings him down with a sit-down press slam. The fans cheer, rallying behind the God of Thunder. Thor stands and bounces to the ring ropes parallel to Y2K he comes back and executes a picture perfect legdrop... on the mat. Y2K rolls out of the way just in time and begins to capitalize. Y2K helps Thor to his feet and brings him quickly back down again with a side Russian leg sweep. Y2K sees his opening and leaps to the top rope, he stands facing the crowd and leaps off twisting in mid air and landing with his back onto Thor’s midsection. He goes for the cover.

 

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Thor kicks out at two. Y2K looks at Thor’s body and doesn’t know what to do.

 

Axis: Nice sky twister press executed by Y2K, but still not enough to put down Thor.

 

Edwin: Y2K comes out and talks about inferior opponents, I think he may have found the one to make him eat his words in Thor.

 

King: That’s a nice suit Barchini has on. I wonder where he bought that...

 

Y2K stands up and goes against the ropes, he comes back at an almost standing Thor with a running neckbreaker but Thor counters by flipping Y2K’s body up and over his head with almost a releasing German suplex. Thor gets to his feet and pulls Y2K up by his short, spiked red hair. He whips Y2K into the corner and comes charging at him with a big splash in the corner. The crowd starts to buzz as Thor puts Y2K’s arms resting on the ring ropes. Thor pulls back his massive arm and brings it back across his opponent’s chest with a loud crack. The crowd responds with their customary “WHOOO!!” Thor reaches back again and brings it down even harder than the first time. “WHOOO!!” goes the crowd. Y2K’s face is dreadful as Thor brings his hand across Y2K’s chest again with more authority than the last time. The crowd responds with a “WHOOO!!” Y2K’s chest is now beet red as he holds it in pain and falls to the mat. Thor turns to the crowd with a single arm raised and the crowd pops like crazy.

 

Edwin: The crowd showing respect to the God of Thunder.

 

Axis: Y2K is in a whole world of pain now. Big shots to the chest of “The Rising Sun”.

 

King: Y2K is fine. I’ve seen him in worse situations than this. He can definitely capitalize to score a win here.

 

Thor walks to the other corner and crouches down waiting for the sun to rise and when he

does, Thor charges at Y2K and takes him down with a huge clothesline, almost beheading

the former UWA UK Champion. Y2K cuts a flip upon impact and lands, neatly deposited

by a turnbuckle. Thor sees his opening and walks to the opposite corner. The crowd

cheers as he ascends the padded corner covers one by one. When he reaches the top he

stands and turns around, but Y2K has gotten up and walked over to the turnbuckle, he

grabs Thor and executes a horribly sloppy looking slam, taking Thor to the mat. Thor starts to stand but Y2K catches Thor in the back of the head with an axe kick. Y2K stands in the middle of the ring with his arms out and receives not praise for his wrestling, but boos for his obnoxiousness. He gets a discouraged look on his face as he helps Thor get fully to his feet. As soon as Thor is standing, Y2K runs to the ropes and comes back with a horizontal press, but Thor catches him. Thor maneuvers his catch to the upright position and then wraps his substantial arms around the middle of Y2K. Thor holds him for a second, then lifts him in the air and squeezes him and Y2K’s face wrenches in pain.

 

Axis: Massive bearhug from Thor applied to Y2K.

Edwin reminiscing: I remember in my youth at the London Zoo, there was a whole exhibit on gorillas. You could watch them walk around and eat berries and leaves. Fascinating watching them go about their daily lives.

 

King: What the hell are you babbling about?

 

Edwin back in announcer mode: A vicious bearhug draining the energy from Y2K!

 

The announcers nonsensically rave as the God of Thunder continues to squeeze the life out of Y2K. His face purple, the life taken right out of him. The referee approaches and lifts up Y2K’s hand and it falls back down... lifeless. The ref shouts “ONE!!”. Again the ref lifts up Y2K’s hand and again it drops, “TWO!!” goes the ref. He lifts the arm again, but this time it doesn’t fall. Instead it punches Thor’s face, again and again, until it gives a thumb to the eye, forcing Thor to drop Y2K and stagger backwards into the ropes, holding his eye, trying to regain his vision. Y2K grabs Thor around his head in a headlock and then delivers a quick punch, making Thor stumble backwards. The referee scolds Y2K but he just shrugs his shoulders as if he did no wrong. Y2K turns around to further capitalize on his opponent but is caught instead by Thor’s huge boot to his face. Y2K falls back slowly and lands flat on his back near the ropes. Thor gets a smile, peeking out from his full red beard and runs to the opposite ropes. He bounces back, rolls on the ground, jumps in the air, spins once and lands in a legdrop. The crowd releases a deafening pop as Thor stands up and walks around the ring once, showboating for the crowd.

 

Axis: THE ROLLING THUNDER!! The Rolling Thunder crushing the chest of “The Rising Sun” Y2K.

 

Edwin: Where do you suppose Thor learned to move like that eh?

 

King: Thor should just stay on the ground where he belongs. No seven foot, three hundred and fifty pound wrestler should be soaring through the air like an eagle.

 

Y2K struggles to his feet, looking like he was just hit by a freight train, and feeling much the same way. Thor charges at him, but Y2K catches him with a leg drag. Thor falls face first to the mat but rolls over on his back, and Y2K takes the initiative. He goes to the top rope and leaps off, cutting a flip and landing on Thor with a Fire Bird Splash. Y2K makes the cover.

 

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Thor kicks out with authority, sending Y2K flying off of him. Thor gets up quickly and catches Y2K with a stiff right to the jaw, causing Y2K to stumble backwards. He walks forward and gets clocked with another right to the face. He stumbles back, but a little wiser this time. He walks forward and ducks where should have been a punch. Y2K turns around and points to his head displaying his obvious intelligence. He then turns around back to Thor and gets struck with a super kick that knocks Y2K down. Thor bounces off the ropes again and he leaps and lands with a leg drop. The crowd cheers wildly as Thor gets back up, now he is psyched. He is staring at Y2K who is trying to get to his feet. Thor is now slapping his hands on the mat, ready to fight. When Y2K stands Thor runs to the ropes and bounces back, leaping in the air and catching Y2K with a high cross body block. The crowd feels Thor’s enthusiasm and they express it very vocally.

 

Axis: The crowd is feeling what Thor is doing tonight. The arena might be hot but the fans are certainly not showing any signs of fatigue.

 

As Axis says this, several heat-exhausted audience members are helped out of the arena by EMTs.

 

Y2K very slowly gets to his feet, and when he does, Thor is ready and charges at Y2K, only he sees it coming. He ducks under and when Thor turns around, Y2K delivers a dropkick almost knocking Thor over, but he catches himself and hangs on the top rope. Y2K rushes forward and does a handspring on the mat, he flips and hooks his legs around Thor’s neck and swings his body so that he does a modified hurrincanrana, flipping Thor’s body over the top rope to the floor. The crowd cheers, not for Y2K, but for the incredible maneuver he just accomplished. Both men lie on the floor, the move took a lot out of both men. Barchini walks over to Y2K and gives him some moral support. He then goes over to Thor and gives Y2K some physical support by laying the boots to the Thunder God. Thor gets his wits back and realizes he’s getting beat down. He stands up quickly and stares down at Barchini who looks up in fear. Thor then delivers a big headbutt to the former male model and it takes him down. The referee has just started his count and somehow or another missed the attack by Barchini. Y2K has gotten to his feet and has stepped up onto the apron breaking the count. He faces the ring, and then leaps onto the middle rope, using it as a springboard, does a backflip and executes a La Quebrada This takes Thor down while the ref continues his count.

 

Axis: Wow, what elevation by “The Rising Sun” Y2K. He must have been at least ten feet in the air there.

 

Edwin: Y2K was trained in Japanese style wrestling and Mexican style, as well as the American brand of entertainment, so he can come at you from any angle any time.

 

King: I agree with Y2K, he should be the SWF Champion, not Edwin.

 

Edwin: Yeah, well he’ll have to get through Thor first.

 

Getting through Thor might be a difficult task to accomplish as he is already standing after taking the La Quebrada. Thor picks up Y2K, who seems to have taken more damage from the fall than his immortal opponent, and rolls him into the ring. Y2K laboriously reaches his feet and Thor goes for the Irish whip into the ropes, but incredibly Y2K reverses the momentum and sends Thor to the ropes. When he comes back, Y2K bends down for the backdrop, but he cant lift Thor over. Thor grins and grabs Y2K around his waist and lifts him up high in the air, and brings him back down hard to the mat with a powerbomb. The crowd roars as Thor points to the top turnbuckle and he once again goes up top. He scales the turnbuckles and gets to the top. Again Y2K is there to meet him, but this time Y2K scales the same turnbuckles Y2K punches Thor in the face with everything he has and Thor sits on the turnbuckles, dazed. Y2K turns Thor around so that he is still sitting, but facing the outside. He coaxes Thor to stand and hooks his arms, he attempts to throw him backward, but his weight is too much. Y2K unhooks one arm and punches Thor in the side of the head several times, then rehooks the arm. This time Thor is so dazed that he loses his balance and falls backwards, with Y2K underneath him. Thor falls to the mat and crushes Y2K under his bulk.

 

Axis: Death Lake Driver... umm... countered... I guess.

 

Edwin: Does it really count as a counter if you aren’t aware of what’s going on?

 

King: Certainly does! How do you think I became so successful?

 

Thor stands up and receives a tremendous ovation from the fans, their cheers and applause shakes the cobwebs out of Thor’s head as he instantly realizes where he is and what he is doing. He helps up the now kneeling Y2K and clasps his huge mitt of a hand around his neck. Y2K’s face is desperate as he is elevated high in the air by one hand of the behemoth Thor. Y2K kicks Thor in the gut while elevated... it has no effect. Y2K then kicks Thor directly in the Balls of Thunder and Thor drops Y2K and holds himself in torment. The crowd is now booing heavily and Y2K turns to them and tells them they can kiss his ass. The boos increase and several drink containers are thrown. When he turns around he finds not a cowering, blubbering, heap of a man, but a fired up God of Thunder.

 

Fire is burning in Thor’s eyes as he grabs Y2K by the neck with both hands, lifts him up, and slams him back down with a sit-out choke bomb. Now even more intense, he walks up to the turnbuckle farthest away from his fallen opponent and climbs to the top. He draws his thumb and forefinger across his throat and leaps off, landing in the Crack of Thunder. Thor’s elbow crushes the sternum of Y2K as the ring shakes upon impact. Thor remains in his landing position for the cover.

 

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The referee is distracted by Joe Barchini who at this time is on the apron yelling about having a hand full of tights or something else completely useless. Thor stands up and walks to Barchini but miraculously Y2K is already up and charges at Thor knocking him forward and crushing the referee between himself and the turnbuckle. Thor steps back and the ref is out cold. Y2K and Barchini both get the idea to capitalize and Barchini enters the ring. Y2K and his manager both start laying heavy boots to Thor, but somehow Thor still manages to stand and battle back. A left here, a right there, throwing punches at anything that moves. Y2K and Barchini run to the ropes and hook arms on the way back. The seven footer ducks the clothesline and bounces off the ropes with a double clothesline of his own, knocking both manager and disciple to the mat.

Thor picks up Barchini and elevates him over his head. He turns to one side of the ring, he turns to another side of the ring, he goes to the side to the left of the ring and quite literally throws Barchini from the ring, into the third row. The fans are frightened but none are harmed as they just pick his pockets, take his suit coat and tear it to shreds, and start to chant “GOD OF THUNDER!!” “GOD OF THUNDER!!”

 

Axis: I believe it is safe to say that Joe Barchini will no longer be a factor in this match up.

 

Edwin: That’s what you get when you try and double team the God of Thunder.

 

King: That was a beautiful suit he was wearing. WHY??

 

Edwin: Yeah that was a nice suit, I’ll ask him where he shot the sofa at.

 

By this time Y2K has bailed out of the ring and has reached under the apron for something. After disposing of Barchini and soaking up some cheers, he turns around just in time to see Y2K with his legendary razor claw! Y2K circles Thor, his silver claw glistening in the intense lights of the Mexico Dome. Finally the grinning Y2K dashes at Thor, razor claw outstretched and Thor ducks it and trips Y2K so he falls on his throat on the top rope. He slowly falls, resting on the second rope while coughing. Thor seizes the moment and sprints to the other ropes, when he comes back he jumps and lands on Y2K’s back. Thor holds onto the top rope and bounces a bit and finally he has shaken the razor claw loose from Y2K’s hand. He pulls Y2K back inside the ring and whips him against the ropes, Y2K bounces off the ropes and Thor catches him and tucks his head between his legs, Thor lifts him up, but he resists and kicks his legs to free himself. Thor lifts him again, and again he kicks struggling to make Thor release the hold. Again Thor lifts him, but this time he has a different idea. He brings him all the way up and brings him down hard to the canvas with a powerbomb. Thor holds up his arm and the crowd goes bananas.

 

Edwin: Thor is calling for the end here now, lets see Y2K kick out after Thor hits the Ragnarok!

 

King: No, come on Y2K you can beat this guy, he sucks!

 

Axis: Well it looks like Thor is indeed going to hit the Ragnarok.

 

The announcers are correct in their assumption (all except for King) Thor picks up a wobbly legged Y2K and puts his head between his legs. Thor lifts him up and the crowd cheers even louder than before. Thor then jumps a little and lands squarely, driving Y2K's head into the canvas with the Ragnarok. Thor hooks the leg for the cover... but the ref is still out. Thor gets up and walks over to the referee and tries to get him to full conciousness. Meanwhile, Y2K has gotten to his senses somewhat and kicks a surprised Thunder God in the gut and delivers a double arm DDT. The crowd hisses and boos with a hatred generally reserved for the likes of Kojack. Y2K runs to the ropes and delivers a lionsault, but all that Y2K catches is Thor's knee to his genetalia. Y2K bounces back up, holding himself while the crowd cheers immensly. Thor then whips Y2K into the ropes and comes back with a big clothesline, knocking Y2K firmly to the mat. Thor then points to the top turnbuckle one more time and the crowd once again redoubles in their applause and cheers.

 

Axis: No way! Thor is going for another Crack of Thunder!

 

Edwin: Its incredible, I've never seen a person take one and keep going, is this kid going to take two?

 

King: Yes! Yes he is, I've known it all the time, me and Barchini go way back you know.

 

Thor begins to climb the turnbuckle, and as he does, the ref becomes aware of his situation. As the cheers grow louder, the ref gets more with it. By the time Thor is at the top, the ref is wide awake and standing. Thor leaps off the top and lands firmly on top of Y2K. The ring shook upon Thor's impact and now Thor hooks the leg with authority.

 

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DING DING DING!!

 

Thor with the win over Y2K. Thor stands up and the referee hold up his massive tree trunk of an arm. Funyon steps into the ring and speaks into his microphone "Your winner of the match... THOOOOORRR!!!" Thor's entrance music begins to play as he walks around the ring with his arm raised. He steps up on one turnbuckle and the cheers grow astonishingly louder. He steps through the ropes and walks up the ramp to the back.

 

Axis: Thor picks up the victory here tonight. Y2K made an impressive showing tonight with his high flying, fast paced style but in the end the power of Thor was too much for him to overcome.

 

Edwin: And we're just getting started folks, there is plenty more SJL action left to come.

 

King: Damn you Y2K, you crash my computer and now you lose to a big dumb bastard like Thor. What next? Get me a damn drink!

 

Axis: Don't go away, quarterfinals for the SJL World Championship plus our killer main event! We'll be right back.

[Guest crusen86]

"Hello everyone and welcome once again to SJL Crimson!" Axis proclaims. "Get ready for some excitement because we're ready for the first QUARTERFINAL match of our SJL WORLD TITLE TOURNAMENT!" Ecstatic cheers greet the announcement as Axis beams into the camera.

 

"But you better hang onto your seats, 'cause this match is gonna be intense!" the Suicide King adds. "None other than Jacob Helmsley, the extremely Psycho Mantis, takes on the smiling, sadistic, symphonic Fugue!"

 

"Get the women and children to bed," Edwin asserts, nodding.

 

The arena suddenly falls into darkness. The searing chords of Bach's "Toccata and Fugue in D minor" wake up the Mexican crowd. Strobes and heavy-metal guitar herald the arrival of Fugue, slinking down the ramp as he grins at the crowd. The amassed lucha fans cheer him, though a heavy undercurrently of boos is audible.

 

"Ladies and gentlemen, this contest is scheduled for ONE fall," Funyon booms, "and it is a WORLD TITLE...tournament quarterfinal match." A helpful tournament bracket graphic appears on the screen for a few moments. "First! Weighing in at ONE hundred and eighty-one pounds, from Philadelphia, PENNsylvaniaaa...(USA)...FUUUUUUGUE!" Fugue crossing his arms in the middle of the ring and nods at the reception he's getting, grinning from ear to ear. His T-shirt bears the legend 'This is a Dark Ride'.

 

"Fugue definitely looks like he came to play," Axis notes.

 

"Well, duh. Did you hear that promo he gave earlier?" Edwin shudders.

 

The Toccata and Fugue is replaced by Disturbed's "Meaning of Life" pumping from the speakers. A wave of boos can be heard from the audience as Jacob Helmsley steps out onto the ramp, he and Fred Hallbrook standing illuminated by bright green pyrotechnic flares. As Jacob walks slowly down the ramp, staring holes in the smiling Fugue, Funyon clears his throat and begins to speak again.

 

"Now coming to the ring...standing six feet, six inches tall, and weighing in at two hundred and twenty-seven poooounds..." Funyon begins to edge away, glancing nervously between the two competitors. "From Calgary, Alberta, Canada, he is the Psycho Mantis...JACOOOOB HELMSLEEEEEY!"

 

Edwin growls as he stares at the ring. The Suicide King looks at him and raises his eyebrows. "Something wrong, Edwin? Oh--you had that little spat with Fred Hallbrook during Jacob's last match, didn't you?" The King grins.

 

Jacob reaches the ring apron as Funyon scurries off. Fred Hallbrook grasps Jacob?s trenchcoat and pulls it away, revealing Jacob's muscular physique as the Psycho Mantis enters the ring. The two competitors immediately come face to face, Jacob burning holes in Fugue's face with his eyes, and Fugue smiling as if at a joke only he knows. Eddy Long runs up and starts jabbering at Helmsley, gesturing to the pipe. Jacob finally tears his gaze away from Fugue to glare at the referee, but allows his pipe to be taken away. Eddy Long takes it to the side of the ring but Fred Hallbrook quickly jumps up and snatches it from him, glaring so hard at the official that Long simply scurries off and signals for the bell.

 

DINGINGING!

 

Jacob looms over Fugue, staring down from his seven-inch height advantage. He bulls forward, forcing Fugue to stumble back, but Fugue sets himself and pushes right back, the competitors staring nose to mask.

 

"You can already sense the intense emotion in this ring," Axis says over the rising crowd noise. "I bet things are going to heat up fast!"

 

Jacob suddenly rears back and hits Fugue with his shoulder, almost bowling the smaller man over. Fugue quickly recovers and launches himself at the Psycho Mantis, but Jacob traps his neck and spins them both around, jumping forward and pulling Fugue down to the mat.

 

Fugue stumbles away, shaking his head, staring at his opponent. Jacob gets to his feet and stalks after the smaller man. Fugue moves forward, then ducks and lashes out with a kick to Jacob's left leg. Helmsley, caught off guard, stumbles to his hands and knees. In a flash Fugue grabs Jacob's leg, wrapping his own legs around it and torquing it in a way it was never supposed to bend. Jacob thrashes for a moment, then kicks at Fugue, pushing him away. Fugue releases the hold and rolls backward, and the competitors regard each other again.

 

"Fugue goes after Jacob's leg," Axis comments. "Interesting, as this warrior is known for attacking his opponent's arms."

 

The two warriors launch at each other again. Jacob catches Fugue by the head and wraps his arm around Fugue's neck from the front, forcing him to lean backward. Fugue flails at his opponent, then hooks his arms around Jacob's neck in return. A wave of approval builds from the audience as Fugue launches his whole body upward, forcing himself vertical--then Jacob nonchalantly slams him down on his shoulders. Helmsley pushes down into a cover, One, Two and Fugue kicks out.

 

"Ouch!" Axis winces. "Fugue tried to counter the Dragon Sleeper, but Helmsley was just too strong."

 

Fugue backs away, shaking his head as he studies his opponent. Jacob flexes his muscular arms and approaches the musician. Fugue sways gently as he watches Jacob's motions--he suddenly feints and then jabs Jacob in the stomach. The Psycho Mantis staggers and Fugue falls to the ground, grabbing Jacob's left leg and pulling him over onto his stomach. Again Fugue locks a leg scissors onto Jacob's leg--dodging Helmsley's kicks. Jacob writhes, trying to shake off the smaller wrestler, then grabs for the ropes. Eddy Long quickly rushes over to harangue Fugue, but the musician keeps the hold locked in for several moments before releasing it and moving away.

 

The two approach each other again. Jacob lunges and grabs Fugue in a side-to-side position, lacing his leg around Fugue's--but Fugue slithers away from the hold and jumps into the air, wrapping his body around Jacob's arm and pulling Helmsley to the ground with his dead weight. As Jacob shakes his arm, a grimace of pain visible above his mask, Fugue rolls him over and hops over to stand between Jacob's legs facing away from him. Lacing the Mantis' legs together, Fugue suddenly falls backward, pulling at Jacob's entangled knees. Jacob howls and elbows at Fugue's head, turning over and powering out of the hold.

 

"I don't believe it!" Axis says. "Fugue uses that inverted Indian Deathlock to go after Helmsley's legs--the same move that Jacob uses as his finisher, 'Fear Factor'!"

 

"Oh, that's not gonna help Fugue's chances," the King says. "It's just gonna piss the Psycho Mantis off."

 

Jacob gets to his feet, eyes wild as he stares at his opponent. He lunges forward and knees Fugue in the stomach, then wraps his arms in a full nelson and falls backward, driving Fugue's head to the mat. Quickly getting to his feet, Jacob hauls Fugue up again and kicks him in the stomach, falling backward in one motion to drive Fugue to the mat again. Jacob turns Fugue over and covers, One, Two and Fugue spasmodically kicks out. Jacob glares down at his opponent and hauls him upright again, but Fugue suddenly ducks and lashes out with a kick at Jacob's leg once again. As Jacob falls Fugue leaps into the air, coming down knee-first on Jacob's knee. Jacob clutches at his knee, his long hair wild as he shakes his head in pain, then he suddenly punches Fugue in the gut. The two men stand and grapple at each other, Jacob slipping behind the smaller Fugue and wrapping his arm around Fugue's neck. He reaches over to grab Fugue's arm but Fugue wriggles out and grabs Jacob's head, jumping up and falling to the mat to jar Jacob's head against his shoulder. Both men fall to the mat, breathing heavily.

 

"Jacob gets two DDTs in succession!" Axis cries. "But Fugue counters the Buzzkill into--"

 

"Into a Stone Cold Stunner!" Edwin cheers, and the crowd cheers with him.

 

The King rolls his eyes. "You...you MARK."

 

Fugue staggers to his feet first and takes hold of Jacob's feet. He looks side to side, grinning at the cheering fans, before violently yanking Jacob's legs apart. Jacob howls in pain and springs to his feet, elbowing Fugue in the jaw. He shakes his head to clear it, then turns his back and wraps his arms around Fugue's head and shoulders, falling downward and duplicating the move just used on him. Fugue flops on his back, dazed, and Jacob stands to wrap Fugue's legs around his own--but the musician squirms away, aiming a kick at Jacob's left knee as he does so.

 

"Jacob went for that Deathlock, but Fugue just wouldn't let him get it!" Axis points out.

 

The competitors roll away from each other and get to their feet. Fugue bounces off the ropes and runs forward, catching Jacob off guard as he springs into a shoulder tackle. Jacob staggers, but doesn't go down--he grabs Fugue around the waist from behind, and suddenly hoists him upward and backward, slamming Fugue onto his shoulders behind him. Jacob's body arches in a bridge, and Eddy Long gets into position--One, Two and Fugue squirms out.

 

"Look at that!" Axis marks. "A specialty of the Psycho Mantis--a Northern Lights suplex into a pin!"

 

Fugue aims a kick at Jacob's midsection as the Mantis gets to his feet. Then he grabs Jacob around the waist--the crowd comes alive as Fugue hauls the larger man upward in the same motion, slamming him back and bridging as well. Eddy Long counts again, One, Two and Helmsley kicks out.

 

"A move which is also one of FUGUE'S specialties!" Edwin adds.

 

The wrestlers stagger to their feet again...Jacob lunges with a knee, and spins Fugue around. The acclimation from the crowd builds to another level as Jacob locks his hands and throws Fugue backward once again--scrabbling at the mat for a moment with his feet before he can arch back into that bridge. The referee, surprised, manages to count once again--One, Two and Fugue kicks out.

 

"Whoa!" the King whoas. "This is pretty impressive! Neither one of these guys wants to quit!"

 

Both men stagger up again, approach each other--Fugue smacks Jacob around the chest and spins him around. Jacob almost looks resigned--but Fugue hooks Jacob's left leg with his feet and lunges forward, yanking Jacob down to the mat. And then Fugue springs to his feet and wraps Jacob's legs around his--he falls backward, and the Psycho Mantis thrashes in pain. Fugue arches his back and manages to wrap his arms around Jacob's neck, pulling his head upward.

 

"Incredible!" Axis yells as the crowd comes alive. "Fugue fakes Jacob out with a drop toe-hold, quickly hooking his inverted Indian Deathlock-STF variation!"

 

"Say that five times fast," the King snorts.

 

Edwin blinks. "Inverted Indian Deathlock STF variation. Inerted Indian Deathlock STD fair...uh...crap." The Suicide King shakes his head sadly.

 

Eddy Long jabbers at the Psycho Mantis, asking about submission. Jacob strains mightily against the hold, finally breaking Fugue's grip and elbowing him away. Fugue rolls away, breathing heavily...but smiling back his opponent. Jacob gets to his feet a bit slower, wincing as he puts his weight on his left leg.

 

Fugue leans back against the ropes, dazed. Jacob runs toward him and Fugue tries to dodge, but Jacob catches him with a kneelift. The Mantis bashes Fugue in the head with his elbow, then pauses to yell at Eddy Long, who seems to dislike these tactics. Jacob tries to grab Fugue from the side, but the musician lands an elbow on his face. Another grab, and Fugue squirms away. Finally Jacob screams in rage and grabs Fugue's head, smashing his own forehead against it. Fugue reels and Jacob spins with a kick to Fugue's face--wrapping his leg around Fugue's neck and driving him to the mat.

 

"Blackout!" Axis yells. "Helmsley hits that so very choke hold-like move!" Edwin seethes in his chair.

 

Fugue flails and pounds at Jacob's leg. He arches his body and manages to smack his knee against Helmsley's back. Jacob grimaces and releases the hold, limping away. Fugue shakily gets to his feet and pursues with a punch to Jacob's back. Jacob staggers, but spins with an elbow, smacking Fugue across the face. Jacob spins Fugue around and grabs him by the shoulders, pulling him down onto his outstretched knee. Fugue's body jerks but Helmsley clutches his knee in pain--Fugue turns and manages to lash out at the knee, sending the Mantis to the mat. He hits another kneedrop and wraps Jacob's legs in the by-now familiar Indian Deathlock hold.

 

"This is incredible!" Axis cries. "Both these men have absorbed so much punishment--but Fugue's focus on Jacob's legs looks to finally be paying off!"

 

Jacob powers out again, forcing Fugue to release the hold. Fugue staggers back into the corner, breathing heavily. Jacob stamps his leg, growling and shaking his head, then peers over at his opponent. He sets himself and suddenly charges at the corner--but Fugue slips away at the last second, and Jacob launches himself shoulder-first at the turnbuckle. Fugue grabs Jacob's leg and hauls him back into the center of the ring, then leaps backward--landing stomach-down on Jacob's legs. He grabs for Jacob's legs but the Mantis crawls away, pulling himself up by the ropes.

 

Jacob leans back on the ropes, sees Fugue approaching--strikes forward with a punch. Fugue reels and Jacob catches his head, holding it between his legs--then hoists Fugue up onto his shoulder. The Mantis pulls at Fugue's arms but the musician writhes, his motions unbalancing Helmsley. Finally Jacob falls to one knee, then releases his opponent. Fugue staggers away, leaning on the ropes...then lunges forward, smacking his foot against Jacob's head. Helmsley falls, dazed, and Fugue jumps forward to land on Jacob's legs again. He pulls Jacob to the center of the ring by his legs--then leaps upward in a front flip, landing on Jacob's knee again. Finally, as the Psycho Mantis writhes in pain, Fugue wraps his legs in the Indian Deathlock and falls backward, arching into a bridge and pulling at Helmsley's head. The Mantis writhes in pain, flailing toward the ropes but staying right where he is. Several intense moments pass, both competitors straining against each other--and Jacob slaps the mat.

 

DINGINGING!

 

Fugue hears the bell and collapses, releasing his opponent and trying to extricate himself. Eddy Long hauls him upward by the arm, raising his hand. "Your winner," Funyon booms once again, "by submission...FUUUUUUUGUE!" Intense Mexican cheers greet this announcement as Fugue grins dazedly, then falls on his face.

 

"What a matchup!" Axis exhorts. "You know they're all going to be this good--or better! So DON'T you change that channel, and we'll be right back!"

[Guest crusen86]

… remember, mi amigos, that’s why I, SWF superstar El Luhadore Magnifico, only wear mucho grande brand Sombreros. You can’t find a more grande sombrero!

 

With those wise words, another commercial is brought to a close, and TVs all across the world light up with the brilliant sounds and colors of another exciting episode of SJL Crimson. We begin, as always, with an obligatory crowd sweep, showing the many excited fans, the Mexico dome faithful absolutely bursting with energy. Many of them are brimming with creativity as well, waving brightly colored placards and signs. Unfortunately, most aren’t in English, so we won’t go into details on them here. What we will tell you about is our tricky triad of announcers. Axis remains as unchanged as Funyon’s fashion sense, while Suicide King looks despondent, and Edwin look silly, bedecked in a poncho, munching away at a rather impressive burrito.

 

Axis is the first to speak, as always, not about to allow Edwin or King the chance to say those magical words. Not after what happened last time. “Welcome back, fans,t o another fantastic edition of SJL Crimson! As always, I’m your helpful play by play man, Axis, joined as always by the breaker of rules and hearts alike, the Suicide King, and the Crown prince of flash and panache, Edwin MacPhisto. We’ve had some tremendous action so far, having just seen a match between two of the most sadistic men in the SJL today, Fugue and Jacob Helmsley, and we’ve got an amazing main event…

 

King smacks his hand down on the table, and Axis jumps in shock, now silenced. King looks right into the camera, deadly serious. “Our main event is a travesty, booked only to insure that two of the finest athletes in this company are held down, defeating each other, and taking the responsibility for their own demises even off the hands of that twit sitting across this very table from me.

 

The cameras switch to Edwin, and he smiles nervously, having just bitten into his burrito. Apparently it’s a hot mouthful, as he speaks delicately, around the mouthful of beans and beef. “Petty sart, uh?” Swallowing his food, Edwin smirks, saluting the fans at home. “That’s right, ladies and gents, the Mac Daddy is a devious one tonight. Not only have I booked Francis versus Poisyn to ensure a bad night for the sWo, and by King’s insane logic, held both men down by giving them the main event…..” Here Edwin looks over in King’s direction meaningfully. “I’ve also booked our next match, with the returning Flexxx facing off against sWo enemy number one, that crazy Canadian himself, CIA.”

 

King sighs again, shaking his head. “Well, at least you’re still wrong about one thing. That foul foreigner cheated, and even then his win over Poisyn was a fluke. Flexxx is a master in that ring, and this will be his match, to remind the fans just how much damage he can do.”

 

Axis leans his head to the side, seeming to begrudgingly admit that King has a point. “The Flunkmasta is a dangerous man indeed, but CIA has proven himself more unpredictable than ever in the last few weeks. And to top it all off, he has yet to taste a defeat in singles combat. Let’s let the action speak for itself. Let’s go to Funyon and get this thing underway.”

 

The cameras turn towards the ring, and Funyon is there, displaying his usual fashion flair, wearing a tuxedo that looks like it’s gone without tending since 1975, the last time it would have been in style. Nevertheless, he receives a bit of a pop from the Mexican audience as he raises the microphone to his lips, calling out the first man int his contest in that mellifluous tone that only Funyon possesses. Otherwise, he surely would have been replaced long ago. “Ladies and gentlemen, Introducing first, a representative of the sWo…” The fans boo, and the Flunkmasta’s video begins to play on the SmarkTron, the arena lights dipping to almost nothing, pulsing red strobes lighting up the stage as ‘Born as Ghosts’ begins to echo through the arena. Out from behind the curtain steps Flexxx, ring gear in impeccable shape, looking like his time off was spent doing nothing but preparing to look good for his return. Flexxx reaches overhead, placing his hands together in a diamond symbol, dropping them down and apart as a burst of yellow pyro explodes on stage, loud bang resounding. The X-rated badass begins his smug stride to the ring as Funyon continues.

 

“Standing six feet, three inches tall, and weighing in at two hundred and thirty nine pounds, he is the Flunkmasta FLEXXX!” Funyon finishes his proclamation just in time to have the Mic snatched away by the imposing Flexxx, who makes a threatening motion, scaring back the announce man as the fans explode with boos. Flexx ignores them, posing in the center of the ring, although even he flinches when the entire arena begins a ‘Go back HO-OME!’ chant. Glaring around the arena, Flexxx breathes in deep, waiting for the chant to dissipate, and lifts the microphone in his hands. "You bunch of stupid fuckin' tools are PATHETIC! Just shut the fuck up already!" This of course raises the fans ire, drawing a great number of Mexican curse words and plastic cups straight to Flexxx. Merely smiling at the ruckus, the Flunkmasta continues, seemingly oblivious to the boos.

 

“Guess who’s back! The Flukmasta Flex-ex-ex! Looks l ike your precious commissioner couldn’t keep good talent down forever, and I’m back. Even though I can see already that the sWo’s dominance means absolutely nothing, as I’m reduced to fighting some goofy maple leaf flying Commissioner’s pet for a title shot that I’ve deserved for a lot longer than half the talent in this place! Not only that, but my stablemates are reduced to fighting each other, cause Eddie Mac KNOWS that’s the only way to do damage to the sWo! And another thing…..”

 

The fans are quite ready to groan in disappointment, so it takes a moment for them to begin cheering at the image that comes blaring to life on the SmarkTron. A bright red mask, a smiling set of lips curled up in a devious smirk, and a picture of the sWo on the front of this month’s SJL Metal magazine, with Poisyn’s face stamped out by a bright red sticker, shaped like a North American Country that should be very familiar to anyone who has been watching their SJL action. “Bitch bitch bitch! I swear, for Shatner’s sake, do you have to write a ‘why I deserve your pity’ essay to get into the sWo or something? I just could NOT listen to this any longer.” The fans explode once more, and Flexx starts swearing up towards the screen, pointing a CIA, and looking quite enraged.

 

“Come now, Flex-lax, calm yourself. I just came out here to ask a question. See, yesterday I was talking in the backstage area with my favorite Commish of all time. That’s right, Michael Francis Fol…. No, no, wait, that’s not right. Oh, yeah, it was the Mac Daddy himself, Mr. MacPhisto!” The fans explode, and CIA smiles, raising three little red stickers into the shot in front of his face. “Now, I just wanted to ask your opinion, Flex-tex-mex. I’m saving the Maple Leaf Sticker for that big man, himself, Mak Francis…” The fans boo, and CIA smiles. “Yeah, he IS an ass. But anyway, Edwin and me couldn’t decide. I’ve got my nice little sWo scorecard here. After I kick your ass all over mexico, Flexxx, which sticker do you want over your face? The little beer bottle, or the beaver? Heh. That one’s Pierre’s favorite.” Ah, well, it doesn’t matter. Tonight, Flexx, you’re one small step for Canada, one giant leap for me to be your next SJL WORLD CHAMP!”

 

The picture cuts out, and Flexxx tosses aside his microphone, facing the entryway and urging CIA to make his way down to ringside. Oddly, CIA’s music doesn’t seem to be firing up, though there is an interesting commotion happening just off at Ringside as a fan is apparently trying to jump the guardrail. The security personnel shove the man back, and his oversized novelty sombrero falls off, revealing the familiar masked visage of CIA. Security lets the grappler pass, and he slides into the ring, standing up right behind Flexxx, whos is still waiting for the entrance music to kick off. Referee Anthony Michael hall signals for the bell, and it looks like the match is ready to kick off.

 

*DING DING DING*

 

Edwin: Well, looks like CIA out-talked, out-smarted, and all around outclassed Mr Callaway.

 

King: You’re just happy that you got a cheap pop from the crowd. And like I said before, CIA is a coward. He can’t approach Flexxx like a man?

 

Axis: Well, it may be a moot point anyway, King. CIA has yet to lose a one on one matchup here in the SJL, and we may see his streak continue.

 

King: Ah, but he’s never won any match with more than one opponent. The sWo will be too much for him. Not that Flexxx won’t pound him within an inch of his life right here.

 

Edwin: I dunno, Flexxx looks worried right about now, mi amigo.

 

Indeed, Flexxx does look worried, as he can hear the fans cheering, and the bell ringing usually means BOTH men are in the ring. Looking side to side nervously, Flexxx waits, not daring turn right away. He starts to spin about slowly, but only for a moment, before hopping backwards and bending his body, foot lashing out with a quick superkick, that catches CIA right across the chin….

 

Or would have, had the Canadian not ducked back an inch or two. The Flunkmaster is almost thrown off balance, and he quickly regains his feet, only to be caught hard from behind, CIA rushing forward with a running forearm, catching Flexxx across the back of his head and sending him stumbing into the ropes. The Canadian takes a moment to play to the crowd, but quickly turns to face his opponent as he turns about, looking very angry. Neither man moves rashly, instead taking a moment to size each other up. Rushing in at each other, both men hook into a collar and elbow lockup, and quickly out of it when it becomes clear neither man can gain an advantage on the other just yet. Circling warily, both men move in again, locking up. Rather quickly, Flexxx slips around behind CIA, trying to lock his hands around the Canadian’s waist. CIA ducks back and to the side, taking hold of the sWo member’s arm, beginning to twist it overhead. Flexxx kicks out to the side, and CIA quickly releases the arm, blocking the kick and stumbling back slightly, both men stopping and sizing each other up once more.

 

Axis: We’ve got something of an extended feeling out period here, as neither man seems to want to play all his cards out on the table just yet. I know neither one is going to give this anything less than their full effort once things get rolling, though.

 

Edwin: Right you are, mi amigo Australiano. Flexxx hasn’t been in a ring in some time, but CIA hasn’t had much opportunity to study the Flunkmaster, so each one has to work out what their strategies are going to be as we watch. These next few seconds may be vital in determining who will eventually take this contest.

 

King: Translation: Both men are wussing out. Wake me when someone does something exciting. Or maybe when one of them realizes they’re in the middle of a fight.

 

The Canadian Patriot and the X-rated badass circle each other slowly, occasionally lashing out with a kick or a punch, ducking in to try to hook a part of the body. Finally, Flexxx steps back and raises both hands as if to beg off for a moment. Looking across the ring at his opponent, Flexxx points to himself, then at CIA. Raising one hand, he raises his fingers, one, two, three, and then slaps his fist in his palm. The Canadian smiles, broadly, and nods his head looking over Flexxx from head to toe. Staring intently at each other, both men nod their heads, slowly. Once, twice, a third time, and suddenly they rush at each other across the mat. Meeting in the center of the ring, both men start trading punches back and forth, lefts, rights, neither one immediately gaining the upper hand.

 

Axis: Looks like Flexxx wants to quit the games and just make this a fight, and CIA seems to be keeping speed with him, full throttle.

 

Edwin: Everyone wants to be world Champ, and these two men have an opportunity. They’ll beat on each other till their knuckles bleed, and they’ll love every minute.

 

King: That sounds like a straight up brawl. And as much as the Suicide King is an advocate for technique over emotion, there’s nothing like a real good FIGHT, folks.

 

Continuing to trade punches, neither man seems to be giving ground, until suddenly Flexxx lurches forward, tossing his whole body behind a punch, and staggering his Canadian opponent back. CIA’s face turns towards Flexxx, and the cameras catch both men, oddly smiling. Flexxx raises his hands and urges CIA to cattack again, drawing a shout of approval from the crowd. The man from the frozen north steps forward, swinging his arm out hard and sending his forearm crashing across the chest of Flexxx with a resounding dull smack. The crowd ‘Ooohs’, and it is the Flunkmaster’s turn to stumble back, but he does not fall either. This time, CIA raises his hands to urge Flexxx back to the fight, and the fans cheer even louder. The X-Rated badass steps back to center ring, and both men stare each other down. After what seems a very long time, but is most likely only a few seconds, Flexxx throws the first shot, turning as his body thrusts forward, driving his elbow into the chest of CIA and stumbling him slightly, but not sending him down.

 

The Canadian rises, almost immediately, tossing himself forward and sending his arm crashing across the chest of the man with the golden gun in a hard clothesline. Flexxx’s body twists, and he goes back a step, almost dropping down to one knee to brace himself, but not quite.

 

Axis: Amazing. These two men are trading shot for shot, and each one is daring the other man to bring even more with each moment. The tension is practically electric, folks, and the real question is who will be the first to fall, the first to show weakness?

 

Edwin: It’s a real puzzle. Kind of like the puzzle of what was in that burrito. Ooooh, it’s not sitting so well.

 

King: As always, I am glad I sit on the other side of the table from you, you British loon. Flexxx is insane, he could break into a rage at any moment. What CIA is doing now is like taking a tiger by its tail, and it will have comparable effects, mark my words.

 

Coming up to his full height, Flexxx glares at the smiling Canadian before him, and gets an odd smirk on his features. Looking about, Flexxx gazes over the crowd, first one side, then the next, all engrossed in the battle of wills in the ring. Taking in a deep breath, the Flunkmaster slowly raises his hand high overhead, wiggling his fingers and bracing his feet in that universal wrestling language for a test of strength. The fans erupt, and CIA looks about, seeing the audience on their feet. It doesn’t take long for him to make up his mind the Canadian stepping forward and raising his own hands up into the sky, preparing to lace his fingers with Flexxx’s. The aura is exciting, the entire arena seems to be waiting with baited breath, and Flexxx Ruins it all, booting CIA in the stomach and doubling him over. Before the fans even have a chance to react, Flexx hops slightly off his feet, locking CIA in a front facelock and swinging back, driving his foe into the mat with a pendulum DDT. CIA’s body flips completely over, and Flexxx floats over, the fans erupting in a cacophony of boos. Anthony Michael Hall slides down into place, beginning to make the count.

 

 

ONE!

 

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.

 

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TWO!

 

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KICKOUT!

 

The crowd, and two thirds of the announce team seem to release a collective sigh of relief as CIA kicks out hard, most of the way on the journey from the two to the three. Flexxx does not argue with the ref, or waste any time at all, instead rising to his feet only long enough to shoot CIA the finger, and drop back down with a falling elbow across the Canadian’s face.

 

Axis: That bastard! That Scoundrel! That dirty, no good, son of a….

 

King: Hey last time I checked, a DDT was legal in a wrestling match.

 

Edwin: *muttering* hateitwhenhesright….

 

King: Ha! See, Axis, even Edwin just said….

 

Axis: It was a dirty thing to do, King. As for how legal the move is, well…. I don’t give a darn!

 

King AND Edwin: THIRD BASE!

 

In the ring, Flexxx begins jacking his jaw at CIA, slapping the patriotic grappler across the face. As the fans continue to rain down boos, Flexxx slides into position over top or CIA, tugging his head up and delivering hard punches, driving his skull back against the mat, barely lessened by the fact that CIA tries to keep his hands up and block the blows. Anthony Michael hall admonishes Flexxx, and the X-rated badass rises to his feet, raising his hands in a false protestation of innocence. Leaning down to pick CIA back up to his feet, the sWo member moves his foot onto the Canadian’s chest. Wrapping his hand around the back of CIA’s skull, Flexxx tugs up, jerking hard on the neck of his opponent. Hall notices, warning the sadistic heel about his tactics. Flexxx merely laughs, finally bringing CIA fully up to his feet. Whipping the Canadian off to the ropes, Flexxx does a short spin in center ring before diving in like a vulture, catching CIA under the chin with the same sweet chin music he had attempted to start off the match. The Canadian’s head snaps back, and he falls back against the ropes, clearly in a great deal of pain.

 

King: Brutality! Sadism! A guy who doesn’t care about the rules! May I just say WELCOME BACK, Flexxx.

 

Edwin: May I just say this is a sorry display from an individual desperately seeking approval.

 

King: Approval? Flexxx seeks a criminal record, the way he’s going at that punk Canadian.

 

Axis: It is a brutal assault by the returnee right now, zeroing in on the head and neck of CIA and dealing out some brutal shots. It’s a shame, since both men were showing so much gustiness to stat this match.

 

King: Gutsiness wins fans. BRAINS win titles, and Flexxx knows that.

 

Walking over to the ropes, Flexxx takes hold of CIA’s wrist, tugging him hard and whipping him off to the opposite ropes again. The Canadian bounds towards the ropes, Flexxx turning to take position in the center of the ring. CIA rebounds, headed straight for what will no doubt be a brutal maneuver. Flexxx spins about, attempting to drive his elbow into CIA’s face. The Canadian ducks, rushing across to the ropes on the opposite side of the ring, rebounding again. This time, just as CIA turns about, Flexxx does catch him, coming in with a high dropkick that sweeps the patriotic wrestler from his feet.

 

Dropping down to the mat once more, Flexxx hooks the leg, slapping the mat as he feels the ref is out of position. Hall slides into place so he can see the CIA’s shoulders, beginning to make the count again.

 

 

ONE!

 

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TWO!

 

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.

 

And Hall stops, eyes spotting CIA rolling his shoulder just up off the mat. Flexxx seems a bit angrier this time, coming to his feet and dragging CIA with him, hooking a front facelock. Tugging the Canadian towards the center of the ring, the Flunkmaster tosses his opponent’s arm over his shoulders and hooks the waistband of his ring pants.

 

Axis: Flexxx look a bit exasperated at being unable to keep CIA down, setting the Canadian up now for a suplex, or perhaps a set of roling suplexes, as we’ve seen Flexxx do on more than one occasion.

 

King: Unable to keep him down? Let me tell you something, Axis, Flexxx LET him get that shoulder up so he could inflict more pain and show the world he is not to be ignored.

 

Edwin: Sure, King. Just like you LET me talk cause you feel sorry for me, having no talent and all.

 

King: Exactly, Lackphisto. You got one right, for once.

 

Edwin: Remind me who the SWF champ is again? Oh, right, it’s ME!

 

King: Yeah, but…. You won it from…. Ummm.. you’ve only defended it agai…… uh, I think I’ve proved my point.

 

In the ring, Flexxx tosses his body back, flipping his opponent head over heels through the air, holding on all the way till CIA goes crashing into the mat. Rolling over, Flexx first comes to his knees, then up to his feet, dragging the masked wrestler up again with some difficulty. Once more, he hefts CIA overhead, though the suplex is a bit slower and more deliberate this time. Hold still latched, Flexxx rolls over and drags the patriotic grappler into position for a third high vertical suplex. Taking a moment, breathing in deep, Flexxx tries to lift CIA, only to be stopped as the Canadian’s foot reaches around the back of his heel. Shaking the foot off, Flexxx tries again, but once more CIA loop his foot around, keeping himself grounded. Lurching back a third and final time, Flexxx gets ready to send his opponent harshly through the air above the mat, only to find himself rising, feet lifted from the mat. Slowly, CIA lifts his opponent up overhead, raising him into a stalling suplex. Holding for just a moment, CIA seems to collapse to the mat, inadvertently dropping Flexxx right on his head.

 

Axis: My goodness! CIA reverses those rolling suplexes, and turns a stalling suplex into a falling brainbuster. That may have cut off Flexxx’s momentum, and given CIA a chance to recover.

 

Edwin: A beautiful reversal, and a beautiful sight, that ingrate Flexxx being dropped on his head. And it’s even more wonderful when I’m veering my panda-vision glasses. Oooh, Pandas!

 

King: Grrr. Flexxx will recover and finish this Canadian and his sWo hating ways off once and for all. He’s on a holy crusade to destroy the insidious agents of MacPhisto and the church of ‘Hold down the talent’.

 

Edwin: I’d tell you to shut up, but there are too many pandas for me to be mad right now.

 

In the ring, both men lay unmoving. Anthony Michael Hall should undoubtedly be counting the ten count, but instead he merely checks on both men, sure neither I seriously injured, and awaits the first man to rise.

 

King: What is this? That man works for you Edwin, and you must know what’s going on.

 

Edwin: Of course, Queenie-beanie. I wouldn’t want Flexxx to bemoan his loss due to bad officiating, nor would I want to have to leave our lucky winner from the tournament match we saw just before this from the next card. So I told Hall, unless both men get knocked clean out, you make sure this match continues. Besides, both men are getting up, and with Hall’s limited math skills, he’d never have passed three by now.

 

Indeed, both men are coming to their feet in the ring, rising almost simultaneously, both holding their rattled skulls. Stumbling backwards, Flexxx inadvertently bumps into CIA. Spinning around from instinct, the X-Rated badass finds his face meeting a reverse elbow from the Canadian, also reacting without thought. Taking hold of his skull once more, Flexxx opens his eyes just in time to see CIA barreling towards him. The crowd cheers as the Canadian brings both arms smashing down over his opponent’s head in a hard double axehandle. Following up with hard punches, CIA takes hold of Flexxx’s wrist and whips him off to the ropes. Flexxx hits the elastic strands hard, being snatched off his feet as soon as he hits with a quick powerslam, Canadian foe taking him up and overhead before bringing him back down to the mat. Staying on top, CIA throws his arm over Flexxx’s shoulders, and reaches down to tug at the leg of the Flunkmaster’s jeans, lifting the leg slightly. Hall slides down to count the pinfall.

 

 

ONE!

 

.

 

.

 

.

 

.

 

.

 

TWO!

 

.

 

.

 

.

 

.

 

KICKOUT!

 

The fans boo as Flexx makes it up, shoulder rolling off the mat just before three.

 

Edwin: Darn.

 

Axis: Double darn.

 

King: What do you know? A double darn from a couple double dips. It’s not over, gents.

 

Dragging Flexxx up to his feet, CIA places his hand at the back of Flexxx’s neck, tugging his opponent in close and driving his knee into the Flunkmaster’s gut, twice. Moving quickly, CIA takes hold of Flexxx’s wrist and whips him off to the corner, hard. Flexxx slams into the turnbuckles, top one driving into his chest, and he begins to stumble back. CIA rushes in, looking to hook a half-nelson suplex. Unfortunately for him, Flexxx is too quick, moving out of the way and shoving the rushing Canadian hard, causing him to impact the turnbuckle as well. Turning from the impact, CIA finds himself facing Flexxx, as well as on the receiving end of a hard kick to the gut. The Flunkmaster hooks his Canadian foe in a front facelock once again, immediately lifting the masked wrestler up as if for another suplex. Once CIA is most of the way up, Flexxx steps forward and drops CIA down again, setting him on the top rope none too gently.

 

King: Oooh, that has to hurt. And I think Flexxx has it here. After all, he’s setting this Canadian Loonie up for the Last Bullet, one of his devastating finishing maneuvers.

 

Axis: He is indeed, after dropping CIA on that top turnbuckle, and we may be seeing an sWo member in the title hunt if he hits that brutal move.

 

Edwin: Ugh. I’ll have to guzzle a carton mouthwash to get the bad taste out of my mouth if that happens.

 

Climbing up the turnbuckles, Flexxx raises his hands in the air, signaling that he is preparing for the bang of the Last Bullet to take down his opponent. Standing on the middle turnbuckle, he reaches out to CIA, readying him for the devastating finisher. The crowd hushes, slightly, and Flexxx leaps, body flipping. Unfortunately, he makes the leap alone, as CIA is holding tight to the ropes, and managed to slip free of the hold. Flexxx crashes to the mat, and the fans come to their feet as CIA comes up onto the top turnbuckle, spinning to face the crowd. Almost immediately, the Canadian is in flight, gracefully flipping head over heels through the air. The crowd explodes as the Canadian hits hard, full impact of the astounding ‘Air Canada’ coming crashing down on Flexxx’s chest. Reaching over, CIA hooks the leg, body draped over Flexxx’s in the same position he landed in, the masked grappler barely having the energy to move. Referee Hall slides into place, looking to the Flunkmaster’s downed shoulders.

 

 

ONE!

 

.

 

.

 

.

 

.

 

.

 

TWO!

 

.

 

.

 

.

 

.

 

.

 

THREE!

 

*DING DING DING*

 

The crowd explodes as the bell signals the end of the match, CIA once more managing to snatch a victory away from the sWo, and maintaining his winning ways in singles matches. The ref raises CIA’s hand in victory, and Funyon begins the victory announcement, cameras cutting to the announce desk.

 

King: NO! Not again. Flexxx is beating him like an egg, and that fun-loving, Beaver having, beer drinking buffoon takes another victory? It’s a conspiracy and a cheat, I tell you!

 

Edwin: So, Axis? Which sticker do you think Flexxx will get on the sWo scorecard?

 

King: AGGGHHH!!!

 

Axis: Fans, be sure to stay tuned to SJL Crimson for more amazing action like the match you’ve just seen. Up next, another tournament match, where the man whose been tokin’ goes up against the one who likes making other’s bones broken. Silent versus ‘Hollywood’ Spike Jenkins. They’re up next, and it’s time for a commercial. Don’t dare change the channel. Or step on the lawn. We’ll be right back!

[Guest crusen86]

The camera cuts around the arena as we return to SJL Crimson, capturing some of the more memorable signs, as well as some of the more irritating, pointless ones. Somewhere amidst the sea of “sWo 4 Life!” and “New Sound!” posters and foam fingers lurk the familiar green and black XF9 t-shirts, the green XF9 logos flashing madly as the lights rapidly oscillate colors. We cut to the announcer’s table…

 

“Welcome back, ladies and gentlemen. My name is Axis, and you’re watching SJL Crimson! Tonight, we’re continuing with the quarterfinals of the World title tournament, culminating in our main event! Mak Francis and Poisyn, both members of the sWo, seem to have gotten on our esteemed commissioner’s bad side lately, and as a result they will be facing each other one-on-one in a non-title match here tonight, in Mexico City, Mexico!”

 

“That’s correct, my large Australian companion,” chirps the crown prince of flash and panache. “Although to be perfectly honest, I’m just as irritated by their choice of stable names as I am by their bad attitudes. What the in the blue bloody hell is a smark? Should I be intimidated? Is it like snark hunting? I want an explanation.”

 

“Anyway, back to the SHOW…”

 

”Shut up, King. You never want us to have any fun down here.”

 

”Likewise, Edwin. Likewise.”

 

“Excuse them, ladies and gentlemen, they have their little spats from time to time, like most couples.” Axis, the consummate professional announcer that he is, ignores the looks from both his coworkers. “Next up on Crimson is a quarterfinals match between “Hollywood” Spike Jenkins, who has impressed a great many people in the SJL already, and the newly-returned Silent, who almost crippled Cutthroat on Wrath when he unveiled what I’m told he calls the Demonstar Driver. Certainly looks like one hell of a matchup on paper, don’t you think, Edwin?”

 

“Indeed it does, Axis, indeed it does. Jenkins is on a roll at the moment, having gone 2 and 0 in his first few SJL matches, and in most cases, I would say he has a very good shot at advancing to the semis. However, his opponent, as we all know, is not one to make that an easy task. The only thing Silent likes more than inflicting pain and humiliation is to be the best, and the prospect of advancing to the semi-finals is going to make this a very tough match for the green “Hollywood” Jenkins.”

 

The Suicide King opens his mouth to add his opinion to the mix, but just as he does so…the lights go out.

 

“Well, speak of the devil!” exclaims the King, as “The Sound of Silence” begins to play.

 

“Not quite, King,” whispers Edwin MacPhisto.

 

“Not quite…but pretty damn close.”

 

The Silent One makes his entrance through a cloud of fog at the top of the entrance ramp, his coat trailing eerily behind him as the music swells and crashes against the speakers. Silent’s eyes focus on the ring, a devilish grin on his face, as the camera slowly follows him down the ramp. The fans at ringside hurl insult and invective at the Clansman, but he seems not to notice as he slides fluidly into the ring.

 

“Ladies and gentlemen, introducing first…weighing in at two hundred and forty-eight pounds, hailing from Phoenix, Arizona, and representing the Clan…SIIIIIIIIIIIILENT!”

 

He removes his trenchcoat and hands it to referee Sexton Hardcastle, along with his cane. The camera captures a shot of his “No Salvation” tattoo as he stretches himself with the aid of the ring ropes twice before reclining in the corner, waiting on the arrival of “Hollywood” Spike Jenkins.

 

“Silent certainly doesn’t appear overly concerned with his opponent here, Axis. Do you think Silent’s attitude is going to have an impact on his performance tonight?”

 

”It’s difficult to say, King. We’ve seen Silent underestimate his opponents before- look at his last match, against Cutthroat. But if there’s one thing I’ve learned about Silent from watching him in action, it’s that he likes to play mind games with people, and he’s very, very good at it. Just because he looks arrogant and nonchalant…well, he might not be, King. He might not be.”

 

”That’s a very astute observation,” notes Edwin as “Peace Not Greed” hits the PA, and the spotlights near the entrance begin to flash a variety of psychedelic colors. “And I think it’s an accurate one, as well. We’ll see how ‘Hollywood’ approaches the match, I suppose, before making any more judgments…”

 

“Introducing second…weighing in at two hundred and twenty pounds even, hailing from Hollywood, California…’HOLLYWOOD’ SPIIIIIIIIIIIIIKE JENKINS!”

 

The lights focus at once on the entrance as “Hollywood” Spike Jenkins comes tearing through the curtains to the applause of the sold-out Mexico Dome. The high-flying rookie raises both arms briefly to acknowledge their support before sprinting down to the ring and sliding in, top speed, underneath the bottom rope. Silent looks on, intensely disinterested, as Jenkins climbs to the second turnbuckle and raises his arms once more…as he does so, the camera focuses abruptly on a sign that can be seen between his arms, out in the crowd…

 

”Nothing Is As Bad As It Seems, Spike…SO SAYS THE CLAN.”

 

Jenkins, apparently seeing the sign, gazes out into the crowd for a few moments before hopping off the turnbuckle and turning to face his opponent, a look of doubt evident on the rookie’s face. Silent, seeing the Jenkins is finally ready to begin, lazily stands out of the corner and walks to the center of the ring, staring expectantly at his opponent, a slight smirk touching his lips as Sexton Hardcastle signals for the bell.

 

**DING DING**

 

The two athletes immediately lock up at the sound of the bell, and Silent quickly uses his strength to back Spike into the corner. Hardcastle tries to wedge himself between the Silent and ‘Hollywood’ to force a clean break…and Silent slowly, very slowly complies.

 

“Well, folks, that’s not the way Spike is going to win THIS match. He’s got to be a lot smarter than that to beat Silent.”

 

”What do you mean, smarter, King? He’s just trying to get a feel for Silent’s style.”

 

”We saw Poisyn try that two weeks ago, Axis, and look how well THAT worked. I think he should be moving much faster than he is if he’s going to win.”

 

As the referee backs away from the corner, Silent delivers a quick shin kick to Spike Jenkins as he follows the referee’s lead. The resounding slap of the kick reverberates through the arena, and its impact is clear as Jenkins hops gingerly out of the corner, rubbing his shin as he goes to meet the Clansman in the center of the ring once more.

 

The camera cuts back to the announce table, where Edwin MacPhisto is watching the match intently. “You see that, King? Silent has scouted Spike Jenkins well, and he knows his style already. I’ll bet you five bucks Silent is going to go after Jenkins’ legs to keep him from flitting about the ring.”

 

”That’s one bet not even I would take, MacPhisto, though I think Spike would be offended by the idea of ‘flitting’ about the ring…”

 

Spike Jenkins and Silent lock up again, and this time Spike takes control out of the lock-up, sending Silent to the mat with an arm drag takedown. The high-flying rookie quickly leaps over Silent, sprinting over to the ropes. As Jenkins comes off the ropes once more, Silent gets to his feet, sees Spike coming, and leapfrogs over his surprised opponent! A few “Oohs” and “Ahhs” can be heard from the crowd as Spike comes flying back once again…only to be caught in a standing crossface!

 

“Oh my God, Demonstar Driver, Demonstar…no! No, not quite!” breathes Axis as Spike lurches madly towards the ropes. A rather annoyed Silent is forced to break the hold, and the crowd applauds the efforts of the rookie Spike Jenkins as the two men circle each other once more.

 

“It looks like Hollywood is a little shaken up by that early attempt at the Demonstar Driver, Edwin. Silent’s already trying to get into his head and shake him up a bit, and we’ve only just begun this match.”

 

Silent lurches towards Jenkins, looking to press his psychological advantage with another lockup, but Hollywood dances just out of his grasp at the last possible second. The high-flying rookie backs up a little more as Silent stumbles forward, letting him lose his balance before snapping off a superkick aimed right at the Clansman’s jaw!

 

Somehow, the Silent One sees it coming and ducks underneath Jenkins’ oncoming boot. Spike, confused, stumbles a bit himself and turns to face his opponent…and is instead face to face with an onrushing lariat! Thinking quickly, Spike catches hold of Silent’s outstretched arm and swings himself up onto Silent’s back. Hooking his legs around Silent’s other arm, he falls backwards, pulling the surprised Silent back into a crucifix pin!

 

”Bloody brilliant counter by Hollywood!” yells Edwin as Hardcastle counts the pin.

 

ONE!

 

Remaining calm, Silent uses Spike’s own momentum against him, rolling over top of Spike and getting to his feet with his opponent still hooked onto his arms. Silent shifts his weight slightly to position his opponent for a Death Valley Driver, but Jenkins senses the danger and slides off the larger man’s shoulders.

 

“Quite an even matchup so far between these two competitors, neither one having an early advantage over the other…”

 

But perhaps Axis speaks too soon. As Jenkins lands on his feet behind Silent and turns to face the Clan’s representative, Silent lets out a tremendous yell and spins halfway around, smashing his elbow into the side of ‘Hollywood’ Jenkins’ head with two hundred and fifty pounds of force behind it. Spike, stunned by the blow, reels back into the ropes, coming off of them dazedly as he tries to steady himself. Not wanting to waste his advantage, Silent grabs Spike’s left leg, locks his hands around Spike’s back, and hurls him into the air with a picturesque capture suplex.

 

“And just like that, Silent is in control of this match! That Roaring Elbow was one of the single most devastating strikes I’ve seen during the entire existence of the SJL. Can we get a replay of that one, please?”

 

Edwin looks at the Suicide King in disgust as the slow-motion replay appears on the Smarkstron. “King, you’re a sick, sick man. Nobody should ever abuse hyperbole as thoroughly and completely as you just did. That was disgusting.”

 

“Thank you kindly, MacPhisto.”

 

As his opponent lies on the canvas, clutching at his back, Silent rises to his feet and makes his way towards Jenkins. Grabbing hold of Spike’s left leg, he pulls the rookie to his feet and folds his left leg up at the knee. The Silent One lifts Spike high into the air before slamming his folded left knee down onto Silent’s outstretched kneecap. Spike screams in pain and tries to escape the hold, but Silent refuses to let go, instead repeat the process again…again…again…and again, before finally letting Spike Jenkins fall to the ground at the referee’s behest.

 

“Five locomotion kneebreakers by Silent to open up the offensive portion of this match, and it looks to me like Spike’s left leg is in a bad state already. That can’t be good for a high-flyer like Jenkins, and doubly not good against a sadistic vulture like the Silent One…”

 

Not content with his handiwork just yet, Silent once more pulls the rookie to his good leg, holding the left leg tightly in his grasp, before whipping the knee of Spike Jenkins in what is an entirely unpleasant direction with a Dragon Screw. Keeping hold of the leg still, the Silent One stands and wraps his right leg around Jenkins’ extended left leg and pulls back on Jenkins’ leg with his free hand, cinching in a standing leg lock and drawing massive heat from the crowd.

 

“Listen to Spike Jenkins scream in there! I suspect most of the damage was done by those kneebreakers, and Silent is just accentuating that for the fans right now…”

 

”Well, that and he likes to hurt people, Axis.”

 

“Oh. That too, then.”

 

The estimable Sexton Hardcastle, apparently believing the hold has gone on long enough, begins counting, forcing the psychopathic Clansman to release Jenkins’ leg at the four-count. The young rookie rolls away from his tormentor, grasping his knee in agony, as Hardcastle admonishes a bored-looking Silent. Ignoring the referee’s berating, Silent advances on the fallen Jenkins, grabs his injured left leg, and drags him back to the center of the ring, this time applying an Indian death lock to Spike’s left leg to further the damage that he’s already done.

 

Each time the Silent One drops to his back, wrenching on the shin and hamstring of Spike Jenkins, the high-flying high roller cries out a little louder than before, but he still refuses to submit. “There’s just no quit in this kid!” exclaims Edwin MacPhisto.

 

“And there seems to be little to no common sense in him, either.”

 

”King, must you always be so mind-numbingly pessimistic?”

 

”But of course, Edwin. Somebody has to balance out all your nonsensical ramblings.”

 

”Really? Why?”

 

“…”

 

“How about you two just help me call the match, huh?”

 

”Right. Sorry, Axis.”

 

Silent releases his hold on Jenkins’ leg and stands up to a thunderous chorus of disapproval from the Mexico Dome. He raises his arms briefly in the familiar crucifix pose, intensifying the crowd’s dislike for him, if he can. Turning to his writhing adversary, Silent delivers one more swift kick to Spike’s injured leg. The slap of Silent’s boot against Hollywood’s unprotected leg is almost as long as Spike’s scream of pain at the contact.

 

“Good Lord, Edwin, did you hear that? Look at the way he stepped into that kick; it was like he was kicking a soccer ball!”

 

MacPhisto sighs as the Clansman hauls Spike Jenkins to his unsteady feet. “Silent knows how to hurt people, Axis, and he’s rather good at it, I’m sad to say. He doesn’t do anything halfway when it comes to injuring another human being.”

 

Silent brusquely places the limping Spike Jenkins in an inverted facelock, looks out at the crowd…and laughs. The Mexico Dome makes its displeasure known, but the Silent One is indifferent as he signals for the Fader…

 

…But as he begins to rotate his body around to land the neckbreaker properly, Spike springs into action, swinging along with Silent and adding to the momentum. Unprepared for this little boost of energy, the Silent One swings too far into the neckbreaker, allowing the swifter Spike Jenkins to reposition himself and counter with a neckbreaker of his own!

 

“The crowd popped loud for that one, Edwin!” yells Axis over the resounding applause. “Spike Jenkins just countered the Fader with a Roll the Joint, and if he can capitalize on Silent’s mistake, he might very well be able to take control of this match!”

 

Spike Jenkins rises to one knee, a look of determination burning in his eyes, as a groggy Silent tries in vain to stand. Measuring his opponent carefully and steeling himself for the effort, Jenkins leaps to his feet, sprints across the ring, and places his left foot on Silent’s shoulder. Bringing his right leg up and around, he places all his weight on his left leg for a brief moment and, letting out a tremendous roar, drives his right foot into the back of Silent’s head, sending both competitors crashing to the mat!

 

“Dangerous Wizard~!” yells Edwin, and the crowd is on their feet, cheering for the high-flying Jenkins to get back to his feet. “Spike’s left leg may have just given out on him, but bloody hell, he hit the Dangerous Wizard~! just the same!”

 

“What’d you say, Edwin?”

 

”I said, ‘Dangerous Wizard~!’”

 

“I see. How in the hell are you supposed to pronounce the ‘~’?”

 

“King, why don’t you…hey…wait just a minute…how about I get back to you on that one, huh?”

 

“Fair enough…but you owe me ten bucks if you can’t figure it out by the end of the night. Deal?”

 

“Deal.”

 

Silent lies on the canvas, safely underneath the ropes, an enraged expression on his face as he holds his ringing ears. Spike doggedly pulls himself to his feet using the ropes and limps over to his downed opponent, dragging him out into the center of the ring despite the protests of Sexton Hardcastle. ‘Hollywood’ pulls the Silent One to his feet and whips him towards the ropes, dropping himself to one knee with the sheer effort of the action. He readies himself for a move as his opponent comes bounding off the ropes…but Silent sees the lariat coming and counters it with a dropkick to Spike’s injured left leg!

 

”Just like Silent,” mutters Edwin as Jenkins crashes back to the mat, clutching at his battered joint, no pun intended, while Silent tries to shake off the effects of the Dangerous Wizard~! “Once he’s aware of a weakness, he’s not going to forget about it. Spike’s going to have his hands full just trying to compensate for his leg and stay in the match, much less beating the sadistic Clannite he’s in the ring with.”

 

Quickly pressing his advantage, Silent yanks Spike dead center into the ring and applies a reverse figure-four leg lock, making sure the pressure is mainly on the injured left leg before he leans back into the hold. Spike Jenkins screams as the Silent One wrenches back on his injured leg, but the rookie furiously shakes his head as Sexton Hardcastle checks for a submission.

 

“Silent knows what he’s doing in there, Axis. A reverse figure-four is a very difficult move to counter, especially in Spike’s weakened condition, and it’s going to be one hell of a long crawl to the ropes from the center of that ring.”

 

”I agree with you wholeheartedly, King. You don’t realize just how big that ring can be until somebody hooks a submission onto an injured body part- an unpleasant realization that I think is dawning on the unfortunate Spike Jenkins right now…”

 

Inch by painstaking inch, Spike Jenkins fights and claws his way towards the ropes, the Mexico Dome cheering him on with every inch he crawls. The Silent One does his best to prevent Jenkins from breaking the hold- groping for traction with his free hand, wrenching on Jenkins’ injured leg with both arms, even pulling the rookie back to the center of the ring at one point- but somehow, ‘Hollywood’ Spike Jenkins finds the fortitude to make it to the ropes, nearly blowing the roof off of the arena as he does so. Even though the referee insists he break the hold, Silent still holds on until the four-count, a look of utter rage on his face as he releases Spike Jenkins, leaving the rookie free to roll out to the floor and nurse his battered leg.

 

The referee tries his best to keep Silent in the ring while he administers a ten-count to the suffering Spike Jenkins, but the psychopath’s patience is quickly exhausted. Shoving Hardcastle aside, Silent crosses purposefully to the apron where Jenkins is just beginning to get to his feet. The Silent One grabs the ropes and vaults over top of them, looking to catch the rookie with a plancha…

 

…But Spike somehow possesses the presence of mind to move toward the apron and out of the way, leaving Silent to crash face-first into the steel guardrail on the outside of the ring! The fans applaud Spike’s quick thinking, and he rewards them with a brief pose before yanking Silent to his feet and rolling him back into the ring.

 

Jenkins climbs gingerly on to the apron, grabs the ropes, and lands a slingshot elbow drop dead-center in the chest of the Clansman, ensuring that he won’t move too much for a moment. Spurred on by the applause of the Mexico Dome fans, Spike Jenkins begins a long, long climb to the top rope as Silent lies dazed on the canvas.

 

“What is Jenkins thinking? His left leg is a mess; he can’t seriously be considering a move like…”

 

“Oh yes he can, King my boy!” exclaims MacPhisto, a note of showmanship-like pride creeping into his voice, as Spike Jenkins somersaults forward off the top turnbuckle and drives his good leg right into the Silent One’s throat with the 420 Leg Drop!

 

ONE!

 

TWO!

 

”And Silent kicks out! Spike has got to figure out how to put this match away while he’s got the advantage, Edwin…I don’t know how long Silent’s going to stay down, but I don’t think it’s going to be a very long time at all!”

 

Sure enough, Silent makes it to his feet at roughly the same time as the limping Spike Jenkins. Desperate to finish the match before further injury to his leg can occur, Spike swings a wild clothesline at Silent’s neck. The Silent One sees it coming from a mile away, however, and smoothly catches Jenkins’ arm and pinions it behind his back. He hooks the other arm and laughs as the crowd senses the end…

 

But it’s not over yet.

 

As Silent heaves Jenkins backwards for the Sound of Silence, Spike swings his legs up over his head, his left leg stopping the impact of the suplex before it occurs. The rookie grits his teeth and bridges, gradually lifting a shocked Clansman up onto his back. Keeping his arms at his sides, holding the Silent One in place, ‘Hollywood’ Spike Jenkins lets out a grunt of effort and slams his opponent down onto his neck, bridging backwards for the pin!

 

ONE!

 

”MEXICAN STRETCH BOMB!” screams the entire announce table.

 

TWO!

 

”This is it! Spike Jenkins has the match in the bag!”

 

THREE!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

”NO! Spike’s leg gave out at JUST the wrong time, and he had to let go of the bridge!” laments Edwin, and the crowd groans in sympathy as Spike, disgusted with himself, drags himself to his feet.

 

Ignoring the pain, ignoring the burning sensation up and down his battered leg, the high-flying rookie limps gamely towards the turnbuckle. The crowd, sensing his intentions, begins to clap in rhythm with his footsteps, urging the young wrestler on towards whatever insanity he has in mind.

 

“Hollywood is climbing to the top rope! Ladies and gentlemen, the heart…the tenacity, the stubborn courage of this young man are second to none! Spike Jenkins is limping terribly, every step is agony right now, but somehow he’s found the strength for one more high-flying maneuver!”

 

The fans are on the edges of their seats, cheering their hearts out as the young rookie drags himself to the top of the turnbuckle, gritting his teeth with the sheer effort of pulling himself up a few more feet…

 

“Wait a minute!” yells King into his headset, nearly deafening the other two announcers in the process. “Silent is up! Silent is up, and he’s heading directly for Spike Jenkins!”

 

Sure enough, Silent is moving, purposefully if a little unsteadily, towards his opponent. The Clansman climbs onto the second turnbuckle, trying for a super backdrop to counter whatever his nimble adversary has in mind. Spike senses the danger and swings his elbow back, trying to catch Silent in the temple, but the psychopath is prepared, and he deftly catches Hollywood’s arm, pinioning it behind his back. Silent quickly grabs hold of Spike’s other arm as Jenkins’ face drops to the floor with the realization of his predicament…

 

“Oh, no. No, no, no, he’s not really about to do what I think he’s about to do…is he?”

 

Edwin MacPhisto sadly shakes his head. “Yes, Axis. He’s going to do it. And he’s going to laugh about it later, I’d imagine.”

 

Spike Jenkins is aware for a fleeting moment of how much hurt is about to be inflicted upon him before he finds himself falling, falling, back to the canvas with a disturbingly loud thud. As Silent dislodges himself from the turnbuckle, Jenkins folds end over end once, then twice, landing in the center of the ring. An audible hush falls over the crowd in the Mexico Dome as Silent approaches the motionless Jenkins.

 

“People, that was amazing. I have never seen a released Tiger suplex from the second rope before. Could we possibly get a slow-motion replay of that move?”

 

“King, shut up and call the paramedics or something, would you please?” Axis mutters in disgust as a replay of the devastating move appears on the Smarkstron. In the ring, ignoring the thunderous boos of the fans, Silent rolls the collapsed Jenkins onto his back, and in a display of supreme arrogance, places one black boot squarely on his chest to the resounding disapproval of the fans.

 

One.

 

Two.

 

Three.

 

**DING DING**

 

”Your winner by pinfall…SIIIIIIIIIIILENT!”

 

”Well, ladies and gentlemen, as you can see in the replay, Spike Jenkins was fortunate enough to take that fall directly on his shoulders, and the medics THINK he’ll be just fine,” says Axis. “I shudder to think about what might’ve happened if he had landed on his head, instead…”

 

Sexton Hardcastle tries to revive Jenkins as “The Sound of Silence” begins to play over the speakers. The Clansman casts a dismissive glance down at his fallen adversary briefly before exiting the ring and retrieving his coat and cane. The Silent One makes his way back up the ramp, ducking slightly to avoid the occasional beer bottle, as the Suicide King turns to Edwin MacPhisto.

 

”Silent with the impressive victory over “Hollywood” Spike Jenkins tonight, getting the pin with “The Sound Of Silence” from the second rope. Jesus, Edwin, that’s two wrestlers in just over a week this Silent character has nearly crippled. Now, I’m not one for sympathetic whining, but this is just bad for business! Is there something you should be telling us about this lovely individual, MacPhisto?”

 

The crown prince of flash and panache slowly turns towards his former friend, with a look in his eyes almost akin to…to resignation?

 

“King, trust me. The only thing I can tell you about Silent with any real certainty is…before things get any better, I have the distinct feeling that they’re going to get much, much worse.”

 

The King, for all his wit and style, is for once without a retort.

 

Axis breaks the uncomfortable silence. “Next up, ladies and gentlemen, the final match of the quarterfinals for the World title tournament will take place. T-Bone and Renegade are two of the SJL’s greatest veterans, but only one will advance when they collide in pursuit of the SJL World Heavyweight championship! Which one will it be? Stayed tuned to SJL Crimson to find out, next!”

 

The camera captures one final shot of the Suicide King’s uncertain face, and the solemn look etched across the features of Edwin MacPhisto.

 

“The Sounds of Silence” gradually fade from the speakers.

 

And we break for a commercial.

[Guest crusen86]

The Pied Piper of Wrestling has managed to lure every fan within a ten-mile radius to the Mexico Dome as we return to SJL Crimson.

 

“Welcome back to SJL Crimson! And we are still here live from the Mexico Dome from…well Mexico!” Axis Boom.

 

“How come we keep visiting Domes?” Edwin queries.

 

“Because picking Domes lessens the thinking time of coming up with somewhere else to visit.” King reasons.

 

“But what if we visit somewhere that doesn’t have a Dome?” Edwin questions again.

 

“We pick the closest arena and call it a Dome…oh crap my mic is on!”

 

“Anyway folks, with the exception of this forthcoming match all the semi-finalists to in the World title tournament have been decided.” Axis says, trying to steer the conversation back on topic.

 

“T-Bone and Renegade square it up tonight, two veterans of the JL will fight for the last place in the semi-finals.” Edwin says.

 

“PICK UP THE PACE!”

 

The opening words to “(SIC)” by Slipknot are preached out to the spectators that have infested the Mexico Dome, as the rest of the brutal, ear shattering song begins to pound away at each crowd members ear drum. Renegade steps foot onto the ramp, receiving a bitterly cold reception compared to his last match. Renegade’s head is slanted down, tilted at a blind angle as he walks towards the ring.

 

“Ladies and Gentlemen, the following match is scheduled for one fall! Introducing first, from New York City, weighing in at two hundred and sixty pounds…RRRRENNNNEGAAAAADE!”

 

Renegade reaches the very end of the ramp, and looks upward. Renegade’s hair flops over his head as Renegade pitches both of his arms into the air at the time he suddenly jerks his head upwards, then quickly pulling them down in a self high-five. The cue is called as a single pyro takes flight exploding into clusters of red rain. The sound that is produced is so loud the crowd has to talk in sign language in order to communicate in the ring. Renegade intrudes the ring and hops onto the nearest middle turnbuckle, delivering another self high-five. Renegade begins to prowl around the ring like a caged psycho murderer smelling fresh human meat, as he looks outwards towards the ramp way, waiting for his adversary to make an entrance.

 

“Renegade getting through to this round by beating The Franchise Mak Francis!” Axis says.

 

“WOW! You are just so good at stating the painfully obvious aren’t you Axis!” King replies bitterly.

 

“Seems like the crowd’s opinion of Renegade has changed drastically compared to his last match.” Edwin says.

 

The Arena lights blur into a murky shade of bland white as “Hell’s Bells” plays through. The SWFTron begins to exhibit the next man in a cocktail of spots from previous matches. BOOM! The arena is encapsulated in an intense white light, any more intense and it could damage your retina. As the audience rub and squint their eyes to wear off the effects caused by the flash, they can see that T-Bone has already appeared at the ramp.

 

“And his opponent, from Sonoma CA, weighing in at two hundred and seventy five pounds…TEEEEBOOOONE!”

 

T-Bone begins to prance his way down the ramp, his head occasionally swiveling from side to side to see his adoring fans. T-Bone jumps onto the apron, looking again at the crowd with a penetrating stare as he burrows his hand into the inner jacket of his pocket. With deafening approval he withdraws his trademark A-1 sauce. T-Bone drizzles the sauce into his mouth and with a mighty roar expectorates the liquid.

 

“The Steak Sauce covered bastard is looking to be the fan favorite in this match.”

 

“I don’t see what’s so appealing, I mean come on the man uses steak sauce on himself!” King says.

 

T-Bone looks on and extracts his jacket from his in ring attire and tosses it to the outside. Both men bar eyes on each other as T-Bone drags his right forearm over his lips, moping the excess steak sauce off his body. The ref sees both men are ready to start, so he calls for the bell:

 

DING! DING! DING!

 

Renegade and T-Bone initiate movement as they begin to orbit each other’s steps, staring other down. Renegade puts his arm out, offering to lock up with T-Bone. T-Bone also brings his hand forward, seeming to have the same intention. T-Bone reaches to grip on the hand but BAM! Renegade swipes his left hand away and swings his right arm as fast as he can, nailing T-Bone square in the temple with an almighty right hand. T-Bone, on the pretext of a lockup, doesn’t see the punch coming, as he absorbs all the impact and stumbles back. Renegade ferrets towards the dumbstruck T-Bone and clamps both of his hands around Renegade’s ears, and grips the hair around it to twist it. Renegade rotates in a right angle as he falls down, landing a spinning neckbreaker on T-Bone. T-Bone winces as his neck is pushed at a precarious position. Renegade covers:

 

ONE!

 

TW- T-Bone kicks out.

 

“Renegade tricking T-Bone to gain the upper hand!” Axis says.

 

“Damn that devious dastardly Renegade!” Edwin says.

 

“Wonderful tactic that is!” King says happily.

 

Renegade immediately seats himself over T-Bone’s chest. Renegade starts to hammer down on T-Bone’s face with a flood of punches in a frenzy of flailing fists. Renegade stops the frenzy as T-Bone, numb with pain to his facial features gets up to his knees. Renegade clutches T-Bone by his hair and lugs it towards the nearest turnbuckle pad. T-Bone’s face slams into the pad as his face as he can feel the steel ring that lies beneath the thin layer of padding. Renegade brings his arm back, ready to unleash another devastating punch, but T-Bone rotates around Renegade and shoves him into the corner. Both men have reversed places as T-Bone uncurls his fingers into a straight plane and flings it across Renegade bare chest. The most satisfying noise erupts from the produced chop as T-Bone slashes his hand across Renegade’s chest again in a vicious knife-edge. T-Bone latches onto Renegade’s arm and pitches him towards the ropes in an Irish whip, but Renegade reverses into a whip of his own. T-Bone ricochets off the ropes and comes bouncing back with new gained momentum. Renegade fluctuates his right arm in a clothesline attempt, but T-Bone arcs his spine to duck under. Renegade abruptly turns back and WHAM! T-Bone makes one complete circle of fluid motion as he ducks, swinging his forearm forwards and clouting Renegade dead in the forehead in a spinning forearm. Renegade drops to the mat as T-Bone covers him in a pin:

 

ONE!

 

TWO!

 

Shoulder up!

 

“T-Bone getting back on track with the “Roaring elbow”.” Axis says, giving his usual play by play.

 

T-Bone pulls Renegade up by the hair and pitches him across the mat in an Irish whip. Renegade comes bouncing back as T-Bone inclines his body, hoping to use Renegade’s built momentum to carry him over in a body back drop. Renegade paces down to the ropes and comes back with an upraised elbow, and lodges it into T-Bone’s lowered and exposed neck, dead on the spinal cord. T-Bone’s nervous system starts to mess up as T-Bone’s entire body twitches, falling down on the mat with Renegade making another cover:

 

ONE!

 

TWO!

 

T-Bone kicks out!

 

Renegade quickly pulls T-Bone up again and stabs at his stomach with his patella. The Steak Sauce Covered bastard buckles over from the knee as Renegade darts out towards the ropes to gain velocity and WHAM! Renegade fires his knee outwards again, as his kneecap smashes across T-Bone’s head. T-Bone crumples to the mat as Renegade covers again:

 

ONE!

 

TWO!

 

T- Kickout.

 

“Renegade is breaking T-Bone down with some strong powerful brawling.” Axis states.

 

“Did you really think someone like T-Bone would overpower Renegade?” King asks.

 

“I thought he was doing pretty well myself.” Edwin says.

 

Renegade pulls T-Bone back up and bombards T-Bone’s temple with an influx of closed fists. T-Bone totters back, as Renegade pushes T-Bone up to the corner. Renegade inclines as he stabs at T-Bone’s gut and abdomen with his shoulder bone. T-Bone’s stomach churns as Renegade’s shoulder impales into T-Bone’s anatomy with increasing brute force. T-Bone’s body starts to crumple from the excess thrusts, as Renegade moves a few steps back, and comes charging in with an extra rough left shoulder. T-Bone grimaces as Renegade clutches onto T-Bone’s hand and whips him towards the opposite corner. T-Bone lands into the turnbuckles as Renegade makes a full on charge towards him, but T-Bone raises his leg up. Renegade paces right into it, causing him to stammer back in pain and shock, exposing his back to T-Bone. T-Bone laps this free shot up and hauls Renegade up from behind. T-Bone descends to his back, which causes Renegade to land crudely onto the back of his skull T-Bone goes for the cover:

 

“DANGEROUS BACKDROPPAH! Axis booms

 

“The Steak Sauce covered Bastard has managed to switch things round with the spike backdrop.” Edwin adds.

 

“That move should be banned, just think what would happen if he crippled Renegade!” King says.

 

ONE!

 

TWO!

 

TH- Renegade gets the shoulder up.

 

T-Bone lifts Renegade up again and turns his back towards Renegade. T-Bone brings both of his arms back and clutches onto the back of Renegade’s neck. With a downward tug, Renegade is deposited onto his rear end in a snap mare. T-Bone takes one deep breath to recover for a short oxygen debt and bullets towards the ropes. T-Bone comes hurdling back towards Renegade and forces himself downward with his left elbow extended. T-Bone gores into Renegade’s chest. The small area and high force of T-Bone’s elbow puts great pressure onto Renegade’s chest as T-Bone covers:

 

ONE!

 

TWO!

 

TH- Kickout!

 

 

T-Bone leans over and grips onto Renegade’s length hair as a handle to lift him up onto a vertical base. For good measure T-Bone slashes another scalding knife-edge chop against Renegade’s chest. Renegade falters back as T-Bone whips Renegade across the ring again in an Irish whip. T-Bone lies in waiting for Renegade to return and casts his arm outwards, opening his fist for a chokeslam attempt. Renegade sees it coming and arches his back, avoiding T-Bone’s arm all together. Renegade comes to his senses quick enough to swivel underneath and orbit under T-Bone to the point where they are back to back. Renegade reaches his arms behind him and sinks his fingernails deep into the flesh on T-Bone’s chin and pulls him down in a falling neckbreaker. Renegade follows with a lateral press:

 

ONE!

 

TWO!

 

Kickout.

 

“Renegade back in the game with a falling neckbreaker.” Axis says.

 

“The match is really rocking back and forth, T-Bone is really putting the fight to Renegade.” Edwin says impressively.

 

“Renegade is owning T-Bone, see how he just reversed the pathetically attempted “Miracle Ecstasy Bomb.” King argues.

 

Renegade disallows any recovery time, as he picks T-Bone straight back up again. Renegade lifts T-Bone up by the body and quickly tosses him down onto his back with a scoop slam, aligning T-Bone body parallel to wards to the ropes. Renegade takes a quick trip to the ropes, as he comes back by making an incredible jump for a man of his height and flings his leg outwards, as he comes down with dexterity with a 260 pound leg drop onto T-Bone’s windpipe. Renegade goes for a weary cover:

 

ONE!

 

TWO!

 

TH- Shoulder up!

 

Both men lay on the mat momentarily until Renegade pulls back onto his heels. Renegade heaves T-Bone up on a vertical base but T-Bone comes back with knife-edge chops to the chest. Again and again T-Bone hacks away at Renegade’s chest until its visibly roseate and discoloured to the rest of his body. T-Bone continues to hack through Renegade’s chest and tops it off with an extended arm right arm, levelling Renegade onto the canvas with a clothesline. T-Bone pulls Renegade up, and smacks him dead centre in the chest with yet another awe-inspiring knife-edged chop. Renegade reels backward towards the ropes. T-Bone bolts towards the opposite ropes to gain a momentum boost, racing down towards Renegade. T-Bone flies outwards, but Renegade ducks down, as he pulls down onto the top rope. Renegade creates a low bridge, sending The Steak Sauce Covered Bastard to the outside. T-Bone gets onto both feet, stumbling back, resting on the steps.

 

“Renegade sending T-Bone out to the outside!” Axis says.

 

“Well duh!” King snaps.

 

Renegade himself rolls to the outside in short time and pulls T-Bone by the hair, flinging his face to the security railings, with Renegade getting many profanities from the crowd seated near there. Renegade pulls T-Bone’s face away from the railings and prepares to fire it at the steel again, but T-Bone brings his leg froward and places it over the railings, preventing his face being crunched into the steel. T-Bone lands an elbow into the side of Renegade’s neck, causing Renegade to shrug off as T-Bone extends his left arm and razes Renegade on the concrete with a clothesline. T-Bone homes in on Renegade and lands an elbow right across his heart. Renegade can feel his blood circulation freeze for a split second as T-Bone lands another elbow, this time into the rigging of his ribs. T-Bone picks Renegade by the back of his head and slams into right into the announcers’ table, beating it into the wood again and again. The wood on the table makes small cracks as Renegade’s skull it put through the wood like a battering ram. The ref can see both men on the outside, knowing that both men can’t be disqualified, but still makes a count out in hope that it can at least make both men return to the ring:

 

ONE!

 

T-Bone can hear the count, but takes no notice as he throws Renegade onto the announcers’ table. T-Bone also climbs onto the table as he pulls Renegade up to his feet, Renegade suddenly throws a punch to T-Bone, but T-Bone ducks as he locks on a full nelson from behind.

 

TWO!

 

 

THREE!

 

 

“T-Bone is going to put Renegade through our announcing table!” Axis says as he steps aside from T-Bone and Renegade a few inches away from him.

 

“You better not break that table! Otherwise I’ll have nowhere to rest my elbows!” King Hisses.

 

T-Bone prepares to haul Renegade down in Dragon Suplex, or the “Marinader” as he calls it, but Renegade astutely sneaks in a few elbows into the side of T-Bone’s face. Renegade stuns T-Bone long enough for…THUD! Renegade; still in the full nelson hold, hurls his body to the side. Renegade and T-Bone fly off the table as both their bodies go headfirst into the concrete. A “Holy SH*T chant begins to commence as the count out continues:

 

FOUR!

 

FIVE!

 

SIX!

 

SEVEN!

 

Renegade raises his arm and clasps onto the bottom rope, trying to pull himself up with his aching, burning muscles from the lactic acid building up during the intense match.

 

EIGHT!

 

T-Bone also manages to grab a hold of the bottom rope, lugging himself into the ring.

 

NINE!

 

Renegade and T-Bone JUST manage to pull themselves into the ring.

 

“The match still continues! Both men have managed to maintain a whirling blade of momentum and force, but still no win so far!”

 

T-Bone who is the first man up takes a little breath and stoops down to pick Renegade up, but Renegade throws his hand out, gouging his thumb into T-Bone’s eye socket. T-bone stumbles back as Renegade gets back onto both feet. Through a blurred vision, T-Bone throws a blind punch, in the sheer hope that it will catch Renegade. Renegade easily dodges the fist and applies a headlock, and at the same time he grabs onto T-Bone’s attire, getting him in a suplex position. Renegade makes a sharp tug as T-Bone goes spine first into the canvas with a snap suplex. T-Bone holds his back in sheer anguish as Renegade picks him back up, locking on another headlock, and once again hitting another straight-on snap suplex, Renegade covers:

 

ONE!

 

TWO!

 

T- Shoulder up!

 

“Two Suplexes onto T-Bone! As technical as T-Bone is, almost all of Renegade’s move list consists of a variety of suplexes.” Axis says.

 

“Still no winning fall? Come on!” King moans.

 

T-Bone crawls away towards the ropes, resting his back against the bottom rope and BAM! Renegade crouches down and sinks a huge right hand into T-Bone face. Renegade yanks T-Bone up to the ropes, laying down more rounds of closed fists into T-Bone’s forehead. Renegade ends his combo of punches with a whip to the ropes and dashes right after him. Renegade chases after T-Bone with a raised arm, in hope of scoring a clothesline, but Renegade’s knee gives in due to the huge attack on his knee during the fall on the announce table. T-Bone uses the opportunity to the fullest and quickly swings Renegade in 180-degree motion, and flattens Renegade on his tailbone in a fast spinebuster. T-Bone hooks the leg up:

 

ONE!

 

TWO!

 

THRE- KICK-OUT!

 

 

T-Bone brings himself up and leans over to his downed opponent, and grabs both of his legs. T-Bone hurls himself onto his back, catapulting Renegade face first into the top turnbuckle. Renegade’s head bounces right off the top turnbuckle pad, stammering back from the impact as T-Bone wraps both of his arms around Renegade’s stomach in a waist lock. T-Bone pulls back, hauling Renegade over and driving him into the canvas with a German Suplex pin. Before the ref can count T-Bone rolls back into a bridge:

 

ONE!

 

TWO!

 

TH- Renegade kick-out of the pinning position he was in.

“T-Bone is coming back into the match, and he has set his sights to win this!” Axis says by looking at T-Bone’s sudden comeback.

 

“Really? I thought he came to this match to lose?” King says sarcastically.

 

“Aroint thee King!” Edwin responds.

 

T-Bone furiously picks himself back up again and reaches out for Renegade’s legs. T-Bone goes straight for Renegade’s legs, placing his foot between Renegade’s legs, trying for a sharpshooter. Before T-Bone can get a tenacious grip, Renegade rolls onto his spine and frees one of his legs, shoving it into T-Bone’s back, pushing him away and spoiling any chances for the sharpshooter. T-Bone is pushed towards the corner, as his head smacks into the top turnbuckle, causing him to waver back towards Renegade. Renegade brings his arm up and latches onto T-Bone’s hair, pulling him down in a rollup:

 

ONE!

 

TWO!

 

 

THRE- Flipout by T-Bone.

 

Renegade pulls T-Bone up again, as T-Bone tries to defend himself by throwing a right hand down Renegade’s way, but Renegade slaps T-Bone’s incoming fist and pitches a stiff right of his own, rocking T-Bone back. T-Bone tumbles into the turnbuckle as Renegade straightens up, and scoops him up, establishing T-Bone on the top turnbuckle. Renegade himself climbs the turnbuckle right up to the top, both men’s feet balancing on the ropes. Renegade applies a headlock from up top as T-Bone tries to fight his way out of it, but its too late. Renegade manages to go the whole nine yards and comes crashing down as he brings T-Bone down with him in a superplex. Both men’s bodies give a fair amount of back bounce as Renegade slowly, wearily slings an arm across T-Bone’s chest:

 

ONE!

 

TWO!

 

THRE- KICK-OUT!

 

“T-Bone kicking out of the superplex, whatever Renegade throws at T-Bone he’s kicking out of!” Axis says.

 

“But you have to admit that was a slow count!”

 

“Uh…no it wasn’t!” Edwin says.

 

Renegade grabs T-Bone by the hair and drags him towards the ropes. Renegade tosses T-Bone’s head over the bottom rope, with T-Bone’s neck resting on the ropes. Renegade brings his knee into the back of T-Bone’s head, choking the life out of the Steak Sauce covered bastard. Renegade latches his arms onto the top rope for leverage. Before the ref can even warn Renegade to back off, Renegade paces back to the ropes behind. Renegade charges back towards T-Bone trapped body. Renegade makes a small leap forward, landing directly onto T-Bone’s back. T-Bone snaps back onto the mat, starving for air as Renegade waves his arms back and forth, impatiently waiting for T-Bone to rise. T-Bone slowly staggers onto his feet, still visibly shaken. T-Bone gets up to his feet, as Renegade brings his foot forward in a fast short-ranged kick. Renegade’s toes stab into T-Bone gut, causing him to buckle over. Renegade turns his back towards his foe, bringing his arms backwards, attempting to a lock in a ¾ facelock over his opponent. Renegade can feel his fingers run over the grease on T-Bone hair, and oh so close to locking the hold in. T-Bone drops to his knees! Renegade’s arms catch nothing but air as T-Bone pulls away at Renegade’s ankles, sweeping off his feet and uprooting him from the canvas. Renegade lands on the mat face first, as T-Bone immediately wraps both his legs. T-Bone gets Renegade’s right leg in-between both of his as he turns his back towards Renegade. T-Bone brings Renegade’s left leg across both of his legs to create a “4” symbol as he brings his right leg in front of the crossed leg, locking it in. T-Bone gives a quick Salute to the crowd and falls backwards.

 

“T-BONE TWISTER! T-Bone reversed the Renebreak into his version of the Nagata lock II!” Axis says.

 

“Whoopdidoo!” King groans.

 

“Is Renegade going to tap?”

 

Renegade tilts his head to the side as he endures the pain, the ropes are way too far away, and unless Renegade happens to be a blood relative of Mr. Fantastic, the chances of reaching the ropes are very slim. Renegade knows he has to do something because the pain he is withstanding is becoming unbearable. The ref falls to his knees, asking Renegade whether he’s had enough or not, but Renegade shakes his head. Out of complete desperation, Renegade clutches onto the ref by his trouser leg, which causes the ref to fall to the mat. Renegade uses the ref’s body as a ladder to scale over the mat and YES! Renegade clutches the ropes. Even through the ref is somewhat dumbstruck to this action, he commands T-Bone to release the hold. Seemingly stoic to the fact that the hold was broken, T-Bone kneels over, waiting for Renegade to fetter his way back up. As soon as he does, T-Bone wraps his right arm over Renegade’s left shoulder in the position of a T-Bone suplex.

 

“He’s setting Renegade up for PorterHouse Suplex!” Axis says.

 

“This is just wrong! T-Bone CAN’T go through!” King says.

 

All T-Bone has to do is hook the back of Renegade’s right knee. The crowd cringe as T-Bone’s jaw drops in shock and paralyzing pain, as Renegade uses his free arm and drives it right between T-Bone legs in a low blow. The ref cannot detect this blatant cheat due to being positioned in T-Bone’s direction rather than Renegades. T-Bone releases the hold as he bows forward. Renegade hobbles his way towards the ropes to gain momentum and bolts forwards. Renegade brings his arms back, frustrated that he still hasn’t managed to lock a firm enough ¾ facelock to put T-Bone out for good, but this time he manages to clip the facelock in before he falls. T-Bone lands face first as Renegade rolls T-Bone onto his back and hooks the leg up:

 

“RENEBREAK! IT IS OVER!”

 

ONE!

 

TWO!

 

 

 

 

THREE!

 

 

DING! DING! DING!

 

“Ladies and Gentlemen, here is your winner…RENNEGAAADE!”

 

“(SIC)” blares over in all its viciousness as Renegade hampers back up, waiting for the ref to raise his arm up in victory before he fetters his way outside the ring and down the ramp, dispatching many flip offs to the crowd, inducing them to do the same.

 

“Renegade goes through to the next round, but T-Bone tried his damnedest to get through this round!” Axis says in T-Bone’s favour.

 

“If it wasn’t for that low blow, I think T-Bone may have just beaten Renegade!” Edwin says.

 

“MAY being the key word Edwin. The point is T-Bone didn’t win, Renegade beat him, and that’s that.” King snarls.

 

“Still more to come folks, Poisyn takes on the Franchise, Crimson will be right back!” Axis says.

 

(Fades to commercial)

[Guest crusen86]

Chris Wilson and El Luchador Magnifico stand side by sides as ELM starts to speak.

 

ELM: “I’m El Luchador Magnifico…”

 

Wilson: And I’m Chris Wilson…”

 

Mags puts an arm around Wilson’s shoulder and looks directly into the camera. The both look upset about being near each other.

 

ELM: “I may hate this man with every breath in my body and crucified him to the mat with Mexican flags. I also don’t think I have ever with anything he’s ever said.”

 

Wilson: “But this one thing we both agree on. Milk builds strong bones and muscles.”

 

ELM: “Every child should drink milk whether they want to be a crazy super luchador like me…”

 

Wilson: “Or an evil genius that toy stores fear like me. So we have one question.”

 

ELM & Wilson: “Got leche.”

 

The two men stop their fake smiles after they think the camera has stopped and start fist fighting as a group of tech people come into the picture and try to break them up. Finally the commercial fades to black as Mags starts cursing in Spanish.

 

And SJL Crimson comes back from commercial break to a wild and ruckus crowd. A panning shot of the audience shows a few noteworthy signs like “Fugue smiles too much”, “So Say the Clan…Suckaaaaa!”, “sWo is SoL”, LDP for ICTV Title”, “I want to immigrate to Miami home of the Doggah” and finally “With TNT gone I’m the only suck up in the JL”. The camera cuts to the announce table where a big burley Aussie sits in between two other men.

 

Axis: “ Good day and welcome back to SJL Crimson if your just tuning in you’ve missed a hell of a show as the quarter finals for the World Title tourney are finished. And did you ever miss something, the return of Flunkmaster Flexxx from indefinite suspension in a match against CIA to the shock of this Mexican crowd.

 

MacPhisto: “And we are about to see tonight’s five star Main Event. I must be a booking god.”

 

King: “Edwin, being the jackass that he is, has force sWo leader Poisyn to face his own stable mate, and current Euro-TV champion “The Franchise” Mak Francis. The loopy Brit thinks that he’ll cause some conflict between the two members but that ain’t gonna happen. Wilson’s trained them too well for that!”

 

MacPhisto: “They were just two of four people not in our tournament Kingy. It’ll be a good match that really tests the abilities of both men.”

 

King: “Screw that you’re just trying to hold them down. You’re about as unbiased as Mark Stevens on the mike. Straight-man my ass.”

 

Axis: “We should also mention CIA’s involvement in Francis’s last match and one has to wonder if he’ll make an appearance here.”

 

[Whispered] ‘Are you Ready?’….

 

Axis: “Well here comes the first sWo member and our double champion.”

 

Blue and White strobe lights flash as the Smarktron airs highlights of Mak Francis hitting the perfect kick on TNT. This is followed by a blue and white photonegative image of Mak Francis…

 

[semi loud] ‘Are you Ready?’….

 

And a clip of him planting Scott Reid with The Franchise Tag followed by the blue and white photonegative image again…

 

[screamed] ‘CAUSE THE FRANCHISE HERE!’

 

The Smarktron flashes the words 'The Franchise' as the lights partially come up. This allows the fans to see Mak Francis posed with his back to the crowd. Francis sticks his right arm out and the European Title can be seen dangling across his shoulder and bicep. His left arm replicates the action but the TV Title hangs about it. A defining boo breaks out as he spins around and raises both fists in the air, a superior smirk very evident. While strolling down to the ring he alternates kisses between his two belts. Francis smoothly enters through the middle ropes and spins in the center of the ring arm outstretched then he ends the pose by holding the belts in his hands and dropping to a knee executing a double bicep pose that really gets the crowd going.

 

MacPhisto: “He’s certainly looking in high spirits tonight.”

 

Francis hands his belts to the time keeper and stands in the center of the ring waiting for his opponent.

 

The arena's lights go off…

 

And as the first few guitar lines of Hoobastank’s “Crawling In The Dark” hits…

 

FWOOOOOOSH!

 

Purple pyrotechnics shoots up from the stage.

 

Posiyn then emerges from some smoke that flows out of the stage entrance shrouding. When Posiyn walks out on stage, a green strobe light hits.

 

MacPhisto: “And a new entrance with dare I say it…flash and panache from Poisyn.”

 

Funyon: And his opponent making his way to ringside…weighing in tonight at 229 pounds…from New Haven, Connecticut…sWo member, POOOOOI-SYNNNNNN!

 

As Myers enters the ring, he takes off his bandanna and sWo t-shirt, and throws it to a mark in the crowd that promptly throws it back at the ring. Poisyn just ignores the insolent fan and marches into the ring. Once inside he and Francis stand toe to toe, with neither man backing down. The Franchise is forced to look up a little at the slightly taller man and seeming starts to back off from Poisyn’s intimidating gaze. Francis turns and walks back to a neutral corner and waits there for the referee to check him.

 

MacPhisto: “Francis has turned tail and run from his sWo comrade. Although the kid came down to ringside with all the confidence in the world, he looks completely shell shocked now. Just how much did the World Title tourney loss to Renegade affect him?”

 

Axis: “Referee Matthew Kivell checks both men and asks for the bell as the Franchise Mak Francis v Poisyn is underway.”

 

DING! DING! DING!

 

Francis comes back from the corner and meets eyes with his other sWo member. Poisyn eyes still haven’t wavered as the two men come together in a collar and elbow tie-up. Poisyn being the larger man takes control and backs Francis into the nearest corner. Kivell moves in between the two men and receives a clean break?!

 

Axis: “A clean break from these two? That’s just ludicrous!”

 

King: “Why these are two model wrestlers…ah who am I kidding, I like them both because they cheat. They’re just trying to stick it to “da man”.

 

MacPhisto: “I told them what would happen if they didn’t wrestle…”

 

The two combatants meet in the center of the ring again but this time Poisyn raises his pointer finger in the air and waves it about in a wacky manner.

 

Axis: “What the hell is he doing?”

 

King: “I’ve seen this deadly move before. It’s the finger poke of doom!”

 

MacPhisto: “This isn’t going to bloody happen. Not while I’m JL commissioner!”

 

Edwin disconnects his headset and stalks towards the ring while King is laughing like a hyena. True to Kings words Poisyn touches Francis in the chest and he oversell the poke, falling to the mat and flailing about the ground and clutching his chest in pain. Matthew Kivell can’t even keep a straight face as Francis rolls around like a fool and suddenly stops in the center of the on his back. Poisyn points at all the fans and laughs as he drops to the mat covering his sWo teammate. Kivell still shock looks at the booth where King is yelling for them to make the count. He is unsure but still drops to the mat and gets ready to start the count.

 

Edwin grabs a mic from Funyon and brings it to his lips in extreme anger.

 

MacPhisto: “Wait Kivell. Start the count right after I speak. Okay now go.”

 

ONE

 

MacPhisto: “You guys think you can make a mockery of this match of me. Well I got news for you.”

 

 

 

TWO

 

MacPhisto: “If he gets to the count of three you just forfeited both your titles Francis!”

 

T

 

H

 

R

 

E

 

E-

 

Axis: “ Well that certainly made Francis kick out and get up to his feet. And boy does he look upset. I guess that devastating attack didn’t knock him out after all…”

 

Edwin stands up on the ring apron and points at the two comrades that were about to pull a fast one on him and the SJL crowd. Poisyn gets into his face and Mak stands behind him yelling a few choice comments.”

 

MacPhisto: “If I think for one second that the winner of this match-up was planned then you get striped of your titles and you will be opening shows against the worst jobbers I can find for the rest of your career. You guys got that!”

 

King: “Edwin ruined the finger poke of doom damnit!”

 

Edwin jumps off the apron and walks back to his seat getting a huge pop from the crowd that wants to see this bug time main event. Suddenly Francis grabs at Poisyn and rolls him onto his back holding the pin. Kivell is just as surprised as Poisyn but drops to the mat anyway.

 

Axis: “SCHOOL BOY, SCHOOL BOY BY THE FRANCHISE!”

 

ONE

 

 

 

 

 

TWO

 

 

 

 

 

THREE-

 

Axis: “No Poisyn got the shoulder up. And look at his eyes. He looks like a deer caught in the headlights of a Mak Truck.”

 

King: “Rimshot. Axis finally used a somewhat new pun. But you still suck.”

 

Edwin finally hooks his mic back in.

 

MacPhisto: “ -bout Rimshot’s Kingy…”

 

King: “Even though I still don’t respect him, because he got himself locked in a fricken shed, he said something somewhat entertaining for once.”

 

Axis: “Well I guess I could call that a complement. Anyways Posiyn and Francis are both on there feet now and it looks like Poisyn’s a little bit upset. Wait, I think Francis just said he won’t forfeit the titles.”

 

MacPhisto: “Good maybe we’ll get a nice match out of these two.”

 

Poisyn stares at Francis but nods his head in acceptance. He tells Francis that he understand but to get ready for the ride of his life as the two member throw down in the center of the ring.

 

King: “You’re making them actually fight each other. This is a travesty of justice. What does this mean for the sWo?”

 

MacPhisto: I know they’re teammates, but what's a little healthy competition among friends, eh? A little healthy competition is always good. Me and Raynor spar all the time.”

 

Francis takes a right-handed swing at Poisyn but Matt Myers parries the blow and nails Francis with a roundhouse to the noggin. The Franchise hits the mat but while down hooks Poisyn left leg and bring him down also.

 

Axis: “Drop toe hold by the Franchise and this match is really going down. It is sWo versus sWo in our main event and after that beginning I never thought that I would see this.”

 

King: “Shut up, this should not be happening. Wilson will make you pay Edwin!”

 

MacPhisto: “I beat him once and I’ll beat his new Magnificent Seven too.”

 

Mak floats over behind Myers and attempts to grab some kind of arm submission but Poisyn shakes his arm free and kips up off the mat. He goes for a diving elbow drop to Francis’s back but his fellow sWo member rolls out of the way and gets up to his feet bouncing off the near ropes and comes back jumping over the man on the mat. Francis comes back off those ropes and Poisyn now up to his feet goes for a spinning heel kick. But “the Franchise” ducks and grabs him in a front waist lock. Francis then tosses Poisyn but he shifts his weight and lands on his feet. Poisyn turns and faces Francis and the two men stare each other down after the fast paced action.

 

Axis: “Well I’d call that a stalemate.”

 

MacPhisto: “Great action. To think we could have missed out on this because Francis was going to lay down.”

 

King: “But I wanted to see a finger poke off doom. It’s one of the moves this guys faxed me about seeing in the match.”

 

Axis: “What’s his name?”

 

King: “5_moves_of_doom or some crap like that. He’s has the weird obsession with Mak Francis’s TV title too.”

 

MacPhisto: “Maybe LDP would know who he is?”

 

Axis: “Why LDP what does he have to do with anything?”

 

MacPhisto & King: “Easy it’s a cheap plug!”

 

Axis: “Well, Francis and Poisyn are back together in a collar and elbow tie-up. Francis takes control this time and locks on a side headlock. Poisyn tries to counter by bouncing them off the ropes but Francis holds on to the headlock.”

 

King: “Thanks for the play by play jackass we can see it.”

 

Axis: “I was telling the TV fans you moron.”

 

MacPhisto: “Score! What is this Axis gets all the witty remarks day.”

 

Francis grinds in the headlock but Poisyn grabs his wrist and twirls into an arm wrench, which is an impressive display by the high flyer. Francis search for a way to escape and finally moves into forward roll and goes for a head stand flip but Poisyn kicks his feet out directly after the flip placing him back on his ass. Poisyn maintains his hold on Francis’s arm and jumps into a leg drop. Matthew Kivell moves into position and…

 

One…

 

 

Two…

 

Axis: “And a kick out by Francis. Well scouted by Poisyn. Being teammates they both know each other’s moves and tendencies. This is shaping up to be a top flight match!”

 

MacPhisto: “Carnies always book it better. Quite frankly they do everything better. Bong!”

 

King: “And Carnie killers do it better than them so that means I’m the King of the World. Now give me back my title Edwin-“

 

Axis: “No you are the King of ye ole’ Assclowns…another one for the Aussie!”

 

MacPhisto: “I’m really starting to believe Mark. It seems like some dumb college student is writing what we say. I’d never say bong normally. I have a great deal of funny jokes and flowery poetic wordage I could use instead of saying bong. And Axis is the serious straight man. You’re supposed to write him with the right side of your brain…or was it left.”

 

King: “Well you are just like MARK.”

 

Poisyn still maintaining his hold on Francis’s arm gets up to his feet and drags him up. Poisyn then Irish whips Francis into the corner with authority. Francis hits the turnbuckle and drops into corner while Poisyn slowly walks towards him. Mak’s eye look like saucers as Poisyn sprints towards him and hits a dropkick to his face. Francis’s arms are draped across the ropes as Poisyn pulls him by his legs. Francis goes into the air…out of the corner…and back onto his back in a modified version of the powerbomb. Kivell slides into position and starts the count.

 

One…

 

 

Two…

 

 

T-

 

Axis: “And the Franchise gets a weak kick out. Poisyn dominating the match so far.”

 

MacPhisto: “Well Poisyn does have the experience factor and if you’ll remember back Wilson assigned Francis as Poisyn’s protégée. I guess this is the same as Obi Wan v Darth Vader or Yoda v whoever the hell his padawan learner was.”

 

King: “No more Star Wars talk…ever.”

 

Poisyn gets up and brings Francis up along with him. After a few stiff right and left handed blows he Irish whips the Franchise but short arms it into a belly to belly suplex. Poisyn heads towards the ropes and briefly exits the ring to go up top. He signal to the crowd, and they boo just for the hell of it as he comes off the top rope in a Five Star Frog Splash.

 

Axis: “Francis got the knees up. It’s seems that turn about is fair play as Francis had the Frog Splash scouted.”

 

Poisyn holds his stomach in pain as Francis wearily gets up to his feet and points to his head, as if to say he out smarted him. Francis finally in control for once grabs Poisyn by the hair and hits a stiff elbow to the back of his neck. Poisyn hits the mat face down and attempts to get up but Francis follows up with another monstrous elbow strike. Finally after Francis repeats this process two more times he grabs his opponent in a front face lock and attempts to hit a DDT but Poisyn frees his neck. Francis quickly grabs a hold of Poisyn’s other arm and flips him to the mat with a fireman’s carry takedown.

 

Axis: “Francis is finally in control and slowing the match down with that fireman’s carry takedown after Poisyn countered the DDT.”

 

King: “Amateur wrestling at its best.”

 

Poisyn rushes back up to his feet but Francis hits a kick to the gut and grabs a front face lock.

 

Axis: “Francis going for the DDT again…”

 

But Poisyn blocks and Francis quickly realizing Poisyn is about to get free twists so that they are back to back and drapes the mans neck over his shoulder in a hangman’s neckbreaker. Francis thinks about going for the cover but instead picks him up and places him in a standing fireman’s carry. He try to swing him to the side for his Death Valley Bomb but Poisyn shifts his weight again and lands on his feet. Poisyn grabs the surprised Francis and places him in a fireman’s carry.

 

Axis: “He’s going for THE CRAWLING!”

 

MacPhisto: “Dump him on his head Poisyn!”

 

King: “Going for it too early…”

 

But Francis slides down his back and spins him around. One kick to the gut and a DDT later Poisyn’s on the mat and Francis is making the cover. Kivell hits the canvas and the crowd doesn’t know whether to cheer or boo as they love the match but hate both wrestlers.

 

One

 

 

Two

 

 

Th-

 

Axis: “No! He got the shoulder up.”

 

Francis grabs Poisyn and brings him up to his feet. Then he scoops Poisyn like he is about to hit a body slam but drops his shoulder across a bent knee. Poisyn holds his shoulder and neck in pain as Francis continues to lay boots to the back of his neck. Francis picks Poisyn up to his feet and moves behind him and locks on a rear waist lock. Francis lifts him up into the air and goes for a release German suplex dropping Poisyn right on his neck. Francis scoots over to him and goes for the cover as Matthew Kivell gets into position.

 

One

 

 

Two

 

 

Thr-

 

 

Axis: “Another kick out from Poisyn.”

 

MacPhisto: “Nice German suplex from the Euro-TV champ and this match is starting to get nasty. He dropped him right on his neck.”

 

King: “It’s all your fault Edwin. So you are finally feeling their pain. I knew you wouldn’t like the outcome of this match.”

 

MacPhisto: “Who said I didn’t like it. I just said it’s getting nasty.”

 

Francis tries to pick Poisyn up and whip him but Poisyn reverses. Francis bounces back off the ropes and jumps over Poisyn who hit the mat. Upon his return Francis dives at Poisyn with a flying forearm but Matt Myers uses his quick thinking and pulls Kivell in front of him.

 

King: “Ref bump. Now some cheatings going to happen.”

 

Francis kicks the ref a couple of times and he and Poisyn laugh a little before they both go at it again. Francis ducks a right hand from Poisyn and grabs a back waist lock but this time Poisyn has the answer in the form of a low blow. Mak hits the mat hard and feels the pain and Poisyn just puts on a innocent look.

 

MacPhisto: “Damn that was a hard mule kick.”

 

Poisyn kick the referee and wakes him up. Then he goes for the cover.

 

O-N-E

 

T-W-O

 

 

 

T-H-R-E-E!

 

 

Axis: “NO! He got a shoulder up.”

 

MacPhisto: “The count seemed a little slow.”

 

Poisyn gets into the still hurt refs face about the slow count and one punch later Kivell is out like a light. Poisyn walks over to his opponent and grabs Francis by the head and then pulls him up to his vertical base. Francis is still holding his nuts and gets put into a full Nelson. The Franchise tries to fight out but Poisyn drops him back to the mat.

 

Axis: “Alternative Slam!”

 

King: “I think Poisyn going to go up top and end this.”

 

Poisyn scales the top rope and screams to the crowd that he’s going for the Poisyn Drop but out off the crowd comes…CIA and he pushes Poisyn off the top rope and to the floor. CIA then climbs the ropes himself and jumps down hitting Air Canada on Francis to the cheers of the crowd. CIA slides out of the ring looking for Poisyn but Posiyn, still wondering who the hell hit him, sees Francis on the mat and that causes him crawls back in. He nudges the referee who still doesn’t wake up and then goes for the cover but CIA grabs him by the neck and starts laying into him with right hands.

 

King: “What the hell is CIA doing?”

 

Axis: “He’s whooping both sWo members ass!”

 

MacPhisto: “I guess he doesn’t want either of them to win.”

 

And suddenly the Rising Sun Y2K runs out of the back coming to the aid of his sWo comrades. Y2K rushes the ring and takes a swipe at CIA but misses. The Canadian knocks him down with a bionic elbow and finishes taking it to Poisyn with a Via Rail. Francis finally gets up but gets hit in the face as Y2K again goes for CIA missing his target. Francis hits the mat and Y2K finally connects with CIA taking both men out of the ring. The two guys go into the crowd and continue to brawl.

 

Axis: “All hell has broken loose here, folks.”

 

MacPhisto: “And I’m loving it.”

 

King: “Thank good Y2K finally got CIA out of the ring.”

 

Seeing all this from the back Sexton Hardcastle runs down to see Francis and Poisyn out on the mat. He pushes Kivell out of the ring to safety and gets ready to start the mandatory 10 count but Francis gets up to one knee. Francis shakes the cobwebs out and picks Poisyn up in a fireman’s carry like earlier but this time the Franchise nails the deadly move and drop Poisyn on his neck once again.

 

Axis: “Death Valley Bomb. That’s a set up for the Franchise Tag.”

 

King: “Damn it, CIA should be disqualified.”

 

MacPhisto: “he’s not even in the match.”

 

King: “Oh yeah.”

 

Francis picks him up. Puts him in a front face lock and lifts him up in the air but somehow, someway Poisyn fights out of the hold and falls to the mat with a super DDT.

 

Axis: “Oh my God. A Buzz killer DDT from Poisyn out if the Franchise Tag.”

 

And Posiyn weak and tired slides over, while Hardcastle starts the count.

 

ONE

 

 

TWO

 

 

 

THREE

 

Axis: “I can’t believe it! Somebody win the damn match. How did he kick out?”

 

MacPhisto: “Ha, this is crazy.”

 

Poisyn and Francis both worn out and tired just sit on the mat as Hardcastle waves off the three count. Poisyn rises to his feet and kicks at the limp body off Francis wondering how he kicked out. Poisyn grabs the nearly dead wrestler and locks on a front face lock…cradles his leg…but Francis takes what little strength he has left and punches him in the nuts.

 

Francis then grabs the hurting Poisyn…cradles the leg and drops him to the mat with the Franchise Tag.

 

MacPhisto: “FISHAMANBUSTA~!”

 

ONE

 

Axis: “This must be it.”

 

 

TWO

 

 

 

 

THREE

 

Axis: “ I don’t care if Poisyn kicked out just ring the bell…”

 

King: “HE KICKED OUT OF THE FRANCHISE TAG!”

 

MacPhisto: “A better match than I could have hoped for...”

 

Francis can’t believe it and goes to hit Poisyn with a second Franchise Tag…

 

 

But Posiyn counters into small package…

 

ONE

 

TWO

 

 

 

T

H

R

E-

 

Axis: “Please he couldn’t lose to a roll up.”

 

Poisyn bangs his hand on the mat and yells in frustration but gets up anyways. He awaits Francis, who struggles to his feet and grabs him for a diamond cutter. Francis pushes him away and sets up for a super kick while Poisyn rebounds of the ropes. Poisyn holds onto the ropes and dodges the on coming kick. The he attempts one of his own for it to be parried by the Franchise. Francis goes for a 3/4 neckbreaker but Poisyn just pushes him off. Francis turns around and Poisyn hits him with a boot to the stomach. The martial artist bounces off the near ropes and connects with a scissors kick to the back of Francis’s head. He goes for the pin…

 

ONE

 

TWO

 

 

THRE-

 

Axis: “There’s just nothing to say…”

 

Poisyn doesn’t waste any time and picks Francis up t his feet. The Franchise looks out of it as Poisyn whips him into the ropes but the Franchise reverses. Poisyn comes bounding off the ropes as Francis attempts a leapfrog but he has hardly any energy left and Poisyn catches him in mid air…

 

King: “A Suicide King like power bomb here will end this match…”

 

But Francis rotates around Poisyn’s shoulders and rolls forward grabbing his legs and ended up sit on Poisyn’s chest.

 

MacPhisto: “A Victory Roll!”

O

N

E!

 

 

 

T

W

O!

 

 

 

 

 

T

H

R

E

E!

 

Axis: “NO! I MEAN YES THE FRANCHISE FINALLY PULLS THIS ONE OUT!”

 

DING! DING! DING!

 

Funyon: “And the winner of this match the Franchise Mak Francis.”

 

King: “This match sucked. A victory rolls the finish, please.”

 

MacPhisto: “Hehe…I liked it.”

 

King: “Because you hate the sWo!”

 

Axis: “Well that’s the match and your winner is the Franchise Mak Francis. After everything that went down he won with a goddamn Victory roll. Well that it for this weeks Crimson one has to wonder what next week will be like. And for Edwin MacPhisto and the Suicide King I guess this is goodbye until next week.”

 

The camera fades as Francis and Poisyn are in the ring neither man getting up.

[Guest crusen86]

Summary.

 

SINGLES MATCH

Thor vs. "The Rising Sun" Y2K

WINNER: Thor

 

WORLD TITLE TOURNAMENT

 

Bracket 1-2

Jacob Helmsley vs. Fugue

WINNER: Fugue

 

Bracket 3-4

CIA vs. Flexxx

WINNER: CIA (Default)

 

Bracket 5-6

Silent vs. Hollywood Spike Jenkins

WINNER: Silent

 

Bracket 7-8

T-Bone vs. Renegade

WINNER: Renegade

 

MAIN EVENT

NON-TITLE SINGLES MATCH

"The Franchise" Mak Francis © © vs. Poisyn

WINNER: Mak Francis (Default)

 

Some motherfuckers gonna pay on Wrath.