SWF Smarkdown (July 22/2002)

July 23, 2002

SWF Smarkdown comes to your television sets live from Nova Scotia and the scene is quickly dispatched backstage, right into the Magnificnet Seven locker room where the Boston Strangler sits. By his side, the many members of the group, all about their own business. TNT and Frost begins to leave when the 6'9 giant steps in their way.

"Hey, what gives?" TNT asks. Strangler motions for them to sit down, and the newest SWF tag team has no choice but to obey.

"Erek Taylor!" Strangler yells. "It was a shot at the SWF title.... the World Title!! He fucking screwed me over!!"

"Is he making us stay here just for us to hear him whine?" TNT whispers to Frost. The icelandic giant shakes his head, warning TNT not to go on. Strangler paces around, looking at the television monitor constantly as he continues to speak, "A title shot! My first title shot and he screwed me over. I could just.... just..... hurt him..."

"Hurt him?" TNT wonders. "You want us to do a little number on him again?"

"No, I want to get him myself."

Strangler walks towards the door, but looks back at the last second. "You guys coming?"

"But I thought you sa-"

Strangler cuts TNT off with a sigh and the SWF tag team follows the Bostonian out into the hallways.

July 23, 2002

NON-TITLE SINGLES MATCH

El Luchadore Magnifico vs. Xero

- Magnifico tests out his springiness in preparation of an upcoming LHW title match against the almost equally springy Xero.

TAG TEAM MATCH

Frost & “TNT” Taylor Nicholas Thompson vs. Ced Odornez & Mercury

- Both these teams suffered tag team losses on Storm. They’ll try to get back on track this Monday.

US TITLE MATCH

Tom Flesher © vs. Z

- Tom Flesher will likely be facing Magnifico on the upcoming PPV, and has decided to try to strike a bit of fear into the luchadore’s heart by challenging and defeating one of his fellow Carnies. Unfortunately Johnny Rotten isn’t available so Flesher has challenged Z (who suffered a hard loss to Danny Williams on Storm) to a US title match, which he gladly accepted.

TAG TEAM MATCH

The Boston Strangler & Stryke vs. Erek Taylor & Ash Ketchum

- A storm has been brewing between Erek Taylor and the Boston Strangler over the past couple of weeks and it really hit the fan when Taylor cost the Strangler a shot at the SWF heavyweight championship. Of course Stryke and Ash Ketchum have had their share of battles over the hardcore title in the past as well. All this combines on Monday into what should be a slobberknocking tag match.

SINGLES MATCH

Chris Wilson vs. Fallout

- It will be the Magnificent 7 vs. the Midnight Carnival this next Sunday in a never seen before in the SWF, Wargames match! In a development that no one would have believed a month ago, Clan member Thoth will be joining the Carnival in their battle against Wilson’s group. Wilson will attempt to send a message by defeating long time Clan member Fallout this Monday.

CANADIAN DEATH MATCH FOR THE SWF HEAVYWEIGHT CHAMPIONSHIP

Edwin MacPhisto © vs. Lerrin Breggan [guest referee: Jay Dawg]

- Thoth was supposed to face Edwin for the title on Smarkdown, but the balancer will be unable to make it to the show and his title shot is in jeopardy. But just because Thoth won’t be wrestling on Smarkdown doesn’t mean Edwin won’t be defending the title! Oh no…the quick thinking Stubby has substituted his loyal hired muscle Lerrin Breggan to fill the spot and added his right hand jobber Jay Dawg as the referee!

Match Description – Regular DQ and count-out rules are not in effect. The winner is the first one to get a combined count of 10. For example, if one man pins the other for a 4 count, then a 3 count later in the match that’s a combined 7 count. Only 3 counts and higher can contribute to the combined count (you can’t just get 5 near falls in a row to win).

July 23, 2002

The fanfare and ungodly noise that is the opening ceremonies to SWF Smarkdown has finally died down, leaving a hyper-excited crowd and lazy clouds of grey smoke in its wake. Before anyone has the chance to recover, the lights suddenly turn pitch black and the intro of "Master of Puppets" by Metallica hits the speakers. After a few seconds, the music fades to black. Suddenly the chorus starts to play and the words are heard "OBEY YOUR MASTER!" At that point, Xero emerges from the dark, as "Master of Puppets" starts up again. Red fireworks explode from each side, as Xero heads down towards the ring, the crowd showering him with boos.

Funyon: The following contest is scheduled for one fall! Introducing first, from Port Colborne, Ontario, Canada, weighing in at 199 pounds...Xeeeeeeero!

Ignoring the apathy directed towards him, Xero reaches the ring and climbs up onto the apron before stepping between the ring ropes and into the ring. Xero immediately throws his fists into the air upon entering the ring, which only succeeds in further annoying the audience. Looking somewhat satisfied, Xero begins preparing for his match, stetching lightly and jumping a bit as his music dies out.

Stevens: And we get right to the action here on SWF Smarkdown, starting with some terrific Cruisweight action as Xero takes on El Luchadore Magnifico in a non-title match!

Riley: Thank God for that! If Magnifico were to lose the title here, I wouldn’t be able to enjoy the throrough trouncing Flesher gives him at Ground Zero nearly as much!

Mere seconds after Xero’s entrance finishes, the crowd is given another shock, as a Mexican voice suddenly shouts out, “UNO! DOS! TRES! CUATRO!” as a burst of pyro shoots upwards from each turnbuckle in time with each shouted word. The fans roar in anticipation, and only grow louder when El Luchadore Magnifico pops out from behind the curtain, holding the Light Heavyweight Title in one hand and his Mexican flag in the other. Grinning like a madman, Magnifico pauses at the top of the ramp and raises both arms in the air, bathing in the flashbulb light that suddenly envelopes him.

Funyon: And now, from Mexico City, Mexico, weighing in at 190 pounds, he is the SWF Light-Heavyweight Champion...El Luchadooooorre Magnificooooooo!!

Upon hearing his name, Magnifico breaks his pose and quickly heads down the ramp, slapping numerous fans' hands along the way. As he approaches the ring, ELM breaks into a run, sliding beneath the bottom rope and skidding to a halt on the canvas. Magnifico stays there for a second, then pops to his feet with title in hand and hops onto the nearby second turnbuckle, where he pumps his fist into the air repeatedly to suck a little more heat from the crowd. His showboating completed, Magnifico hops back off of the turnbuckle, picks up his flag, and hands it and the title to the ref. Seeing that everything is in order, the ref signals for the bell as Magnifico begins to loosen up, hopping in one spot while exchanging glares with Xero.

DING DING DING

Stevens: These two have a bit of history, as they were supposed to compete at May’s Pay-Per-View for the Light Heavyweight Title. Unfortunately, the match didn’t happen due to...unforeseen complications...so maybe Xero and ELM can finally get rid of their aggression towards each other tonight.

Wasting little time, Xero and ELM immediately charge forward at each other, tying themselves into a lockup in the center of the ring. They push back and forth for a few seconds until Xero takes control, spinning around behind Magnifico and trapping him in a Standing Sleeper. Xero wrenches away on ELM’s neck for a few seconds, until ELM maneuvers himself beside Xero, sticking his head beneath his arm. Magnifico grabs Xero around the waist and lifts him into the air for a Backdrop, but Simon manages to slip out of his grasp and flip backwards in mid-air, landing on his feet right behind the luchadore. As soon as he hits the canvas, Xero wraps his arms around ELM’s waist and charges forward, pushing him across the ring and towards the far ropes. Magnifico bounces off the ropes, and Xero tries to use that momentum to pull ELM backwards and roll him up! However, Magnifico hooks his arms around the top rope, allowing him to keep his ground as Xero rolls backwards and to his feet. ELM spins around to face Xero, which Xero takes as a cue to lift his leg and drive it forward into Magnifico’s chest, knocking the luchadore over the top rope with a High Leg Clothesline! The fans OOOH! simultaneously as Magnifico tumbles over the top on to the floor, landing awkwardly on the poorly protected concrete as Xero heads for the nearest corner.

Riley: Nice! Xero taking it directly to Magnifico with a perfectly-executed Leg Clothesline!

Stevens: And on top of that, it looks like he’s getting ready to fly to the outside from the top rope!

True to Grand Slam’s word, Xero is rapidly approaching the top turnbuckle, just as Magnifico begins pushing himself to his feet on the outside. Once Xero reaches the top, he remains perched there, waiting for Magnifico to rise fully and ignoring the ref’s empty threats about staying too long on the top. ELM finally does reach his feet and slowly turns around, unaware of Xero’s presence right behind him. By the time he does become aware, it’s a bit too late, as Xero has already leaped off of the top turnbuckle, his arms and legs extended for a Flying Cross-Body! Magnifico has no time to react, and is forced to take the full impact of the Cross-Body as Xero crashes directly into him, knocking both men to the ground! A weird combination of boos and OHHH!s rise from the crowd as a dazed Xero begins rising to his feet, leaving Magnifico alone on the floor.

Stevens: Xero has been extremely impressive thus far! I don’t know if he’s still pissed off at Magnifico, but whatever is motivating him is certainly working!

Xero slowly rises to his feet, one hand on his forehead as he shakes off the impact of the fall. While Magnifico begins to stir, Xero rolls into the ring and rolls back out, resetting the count and giving him giving him a little more time to continue his attack on the outside. Xero heads back towards the luchadore, grabbing him by the hair and painfully pulls him to his feet. Using his grip, Simon leads Magnifico over to the steel steps, where he suddenly and forcefully drives the luchadore’s head downwards, slamming them directly into the top step! ELM’s head jerks backwards from the top step as he stumbles away from Xero, keeping one hand on his forehead. However, Xero immediately catches up, coming up from behind Magnifico and grabbing him by the head and arm before twirling him around and rolling him beneath the bottom rope to get the luchadore back into the ring. Xero climbs up onto the apron and waits patiently as Magnifico begins climbing back to his feet, facing away from his opponent. Once the luchadore does stand, Xero immediately grabs him around the neck from behind, then jumps backwards off of the apron, driving the back of Magnifico’s neck into the top rope with a Reverse Guillotine! ELM’s neck quickly springs off of the top rope before the luchadore falls face-first to the mat, gripping the back of his neck as Xero rolls into the ring. Moving quickly, Xero grabs Magnifico by the shoulder and turns him onto his stomach, covering the luchadore immediately after doing so. The ref slides into position and begins counting as Xero hooks the luchadore’s leg...

ONE...

TWO...No! Magnifico kicks out at two and a half, drawing a few relieved cheers from the crowd.

Stevens: Man, Magnifico hasn’t been able to get a bit of offense in! Xero has just smothered him thus far.

Riley: Xero’s just like a huge fire blanket, extinguishing all of Magnifico’s fiery ambitions!

Stevens: WOW was that a bad analogy.

Riley: Screw you, Carnie-lover! I don’t see you making up and clever comparisons around here.

Xero quickly gets back to his feet after the kickout, only to grab Magnifico by the arm and jerk him to his feet. Xero then uses his grip to whip ELM hard across the ring, towards the far ropes. Magnifico bounces off and rushes back towards Xero, and as he approaches, Simon suddenly bends over, looking to land a Back Body Drop. However, Magnifico leapfrogs right over Xero and just keeps on running, bouncing off of the ropes behind Simon as he stands and turns to face the luchadore. As Magnifico approaches a second time, Xero throws a kick directly into his gut, immediately doubling ELM over. Xero quickly applies a Front Face Lock, then swings Magnifico’s neck to the side while turning around, looking to land a Swinging Neckbreaker! However, ELM breaks his neck free of Xero’s grasp and quickly spins around, grabbing Xero around the waist from behind before he has a chance to turn around! Magnifico quickly lifts Xero into the air and falls backwards, slamming the back of Simon’s neck and head into the canvas with a German Suplex! ELM manages to hold the bridge, drawing the referee down to count as the fans cheer in unison...

ONE...

TWO...No! Xero breaks the bridge and the pin at two and a half.

Riley: Mistake! Magnifico should not have held the bridge after the German Suplex, partially because he had very little chance of scoring a pinfall, but mostly because it gives Xero a chance to get right back on offense! If ELM had just landed the Suplex, he’d still be carrying Xero around the ring!

Stevens: Don’t you ever shut up?

Riley: (sadly) ....no.

Magnifico rests on the mat a second, still a bit dazed from the abuse absorbed earlier in the match, before turning onto his stomach and pushing himself to his feet. Xero tries to get to his feet as well, but ELM grabs him by the arm before he can do so, pulling Simon to his feet before using his grip to whip Xero into the nearby corner. Xero lands in the corner back-first and leans up against the turnbuckle as Magnifico approaches. ELM lands a few quick and well-placed kicks to the gut and chest, before grabbing Xero by the arm and whipping him towards the opposite corner. Magnifico charges after Xero even before he reaches the corner, which proves to be a mistake as Xero runs up the turnbuckles of the corner, flipping backwards off of the top turnbuckle and landing behind the charging luchadore! Magnifico isn’t able to stop himself in time, and charges directly into the corner, his chest colliding with the top turnbuckle! The force of the impact sends ELM stumbling backwards, and he just happens to stumble directly in front of Xero, who leaps into the air and kicks out his legs, driving them into the back of Magnifico’s head with a Flipping Dropkick! ELM is driven back forward before falling face-first, his chin landing directly on the bottom turnbuckle! A concerned OOOH! rises from the crowd as Xero falls to his knees, turns ELM onto his stomach, and covers, hooking Magnifico’s leg as the ref slides into position...

ONE...

TWO...No! Magnifico throws his foot on the nearby bottom rope, forcing the ref to stop the count! Annoyed, Xero grabs the leg and pulls it off of the rope, then covers once more!

ONE...

TWO...No! Magnifico actually kicks out this time, annoying Xero further while drawing a relieved cheer from the crowd.

Stevens: Ok, so now why aren’t you mentioning how that was a clever move by Magnifico, conserving his strength by getting a rope break and only kicking out when necessary?

Riley: I thought that was your job. I make sure everyone knows that the bad guy is clever, remember?

Stevens: Oh yeah, good point.

Xero rolls off of the luchadore, grabs him by the hair, and slowly stands up, dragging Magnifico to his feet behind him. As soon as ELM is standing, Xero immediately pulls him into a Suplex position, and then surprisingly hooks Magnifico’s right leg, setting him up for the Xero Gravity! Xero holds Magnifico in that position, then tries to lift the luchadore into the air to finish him off! However, ELM wraps his free foot around Xero’s leg, blocking the lifting action! Xero tries once more, only to get blocked again! Before Simon can make a third attempt, Magnifico suddenly breaks his hooked leg free, then uses it and his other leg to trip Xero up, causing him to fall face-first to the mat! On the way down, ELM shoots his hands out and wraps them around Xero’s face, locking him in the Sangria Stretch as he hits the ground! The surprised crowd begins to cheer like crazy, drowning out Xero’s cries of pain!

Stevens: Sangria Stretch! Sangria Stretch! Magnifico blocked the Xero Gravity and turned it into his submission-

Riley: Shut up for a second and look what’s happening, Stevens! Isn’t that Tom Flesher jumping over the guardrail!

As the ref asks Xero if he wants to quit or not, Tom Flesher suddenly materializes, jumping over the guardrail with a steel chair in hand! He immediately slides into the ring, pops to his feet, and rushes towards Magnifico, driving the steel chair downward and directly onto the luchadore’s back! The surprised ref catches a glimpse of the attack, and immediately calls for the bell as Magnifico cries out in pain and releases Xero!

Stevens: What the hell is this?! Flesher just came out of nowhere and bashed Magnifico with that steel chair! ELM had the match won, dammit!

Riley: He still won. What’s your problem?

DING DING DING

Funyon: Your winner, by disqualification, El Luchadooooooorre Magnificooooooo!!

This announcement does nothing to quell the crowd’s anger at Flesher, as he stands over the luchadore, a crazed look on his face and the steel chair still in hand. After escaping the submission, Xero rolls out of the ring, as Flesher suddenly heads over to the nearest corner, setting up the chair a few feet in front of it. Once this is done, Tom grabs Magnifico by the hair and painfully drags him over to said corner, before pulling him to his feet even more painfully. Flesher then grabs ELM around the waist and lifts him up into the air, placing the luchadore on the top turnbuckle. The crowd begins to realize what Flesher is planning, and only grows louder and angrier as Tom climbs the turnbuckles towards Magnifico.

Stevens: Oh no...no, what on Earth is Flesher doing?! It looks like he’s going to drive Magnifico through the steel chair with The Boilermaker!

Riley: Whoo! Now THAT’S how you get the right mood going for an upcoming match!

Flesher finally reaches the top turnbuckles and immediately locks Magnifico in a Suplex position. Tom then slowly stands up, careful to keep his balance as he pulls ELM to his feet with him. Flesher remains in that position for a second, almost as if giving second thoughts to actions......but that quickly proves to be untrue, as he suddenly lifts Magnifico into the air and falls off of the top turnbuckle! Thousands of flashbulbs go off, lighting up the scene as the top of ELM’s skull is driven directly through the chair with The Boilermaker!! A deafening OHHHH! rises from the crowd, but is quickly replaced by massive boos from the audience.

Stevens: Oh my God!! Boilermaker directly through the steel chair! Magnifico could have a concussion from that, dammit!

Flesher, himself a little dazed from the impact, quickly gets back to his feet, looking down on the luchadore with a sick, satisfied smile on his face. Tom turns to exit the ring just as a throng of referees approach it, sliding beneath the bottom rope and heading towards Magnifico as Flesher climbs out to the outside. Tom slowly makes his way up the ramp.

Riley: You can’t tell me that Flesher wasn’t out of line, Stevens! Magnifico conked him with a beer bottle not three days ago!

Stevens: A shot with a beer bottle and a Super Brainbuster through a chair are two very different things!

Riley: Pfft, says you.

Stevens: *sigh* Well, as the referees tend to Magnifico, let’s take a commercial break. Stick around, folks, we’ll be right back.

The final image broadcasted before the commercial break is El Luchadore Magnifico, fighting off unconsciousness as referees surround him...

July 23, 2002

The last commercial of the break fades away, replaced with the image of El Luchadore Magnifico, who is driving away the last few resilient officials who want to tend to Magnifico’s probable injuries. ELM stubbornly shooes them off, telling them that he’s fine, all the while cradling the back of his head with his hand. Once the final referee is gone, Magnifico signals for a microphone and gets one, the fans still buzzing over Flesher’s brutal assault on the luchadore. ELM paces around a second, looking incredibly pissed off and still holding his head.

“Flesher,” Magnifico begins, spitting out his words, “you get the hell back down here, you dirty sonofabitch! We’ve got some things to work out, right now!”

Magnifico’s anger and straightforwardness draws a large pop from the crowd, as the luchadore continues to pace around the ring, waiting impatiently for Tom.

“Hey! Escuchame, Flesher!” shouts Magnifico, only getting more frustrated. “If you don’t come down here, I’ll come back there and-“

The luchadore is suddenly cut off by the opening strains of the Doors' "Tell All The People", drawing angry heel heat from every corner of the arena as Flesher foregoes his flashy entrance and just pops out from behind the curtain, a hospitable smile on his face. He quickly makes his way down to the ring, ignoring the cold stare he receives from Magnifico as he approaches. Tom reaches the ring, rolls beneath the bottom rope, pops to his feet, and immediately signals for a microphone, which he immediately gets. Flesher taps the mic playfully a few times, preparing to speak as his music fades out.

“So what’s up, Mags?” asks Flesher.

Magnifico stares at Tom for a second, bewildered that a man who could assault him so violently one minute be so friendly the next. “How dare you act like it’s all cool between us, esse?!” Magnifico shouts, frustrated, “That Boilermaker through the chair didn’t exactly feel good, y’know.”

Flesher scratches the back of his neck before answering, looking almost embarrassed at himself. “Yeah, I can imagine. But that took care of all my anger towards you in one fell swoop. So, if we’re done here-“

“NO, we’re not done!” Magnifico cuts in, drawing a cheer from the crowd. “I don’t give a damn if you’re through with me, because I’m now completely pissed off.”

“I’m sensing some aggression here-“

“Shut up!” shouts Magnifico, cutting Flesher off once more. ELM takes a second or two to cool down, then continues. “I know that we’ve already got something going at Ground Zero, but frankly-“

“Whoa, whoa, whoa there, Mags.” Now it’s Tom’s turn to interrupt, drawing an annoyed wave of boos from the crowd. “What’s this about a match and Ground Zero? Sure, there were threats and challenges and such, but we never made anything official. Flesher grins as Magnifico stares at him, dumbfounded. “And quite frankly,” Flesher continues, “I think it would be a bit beneath me to compete with a Mexican of questionable legal status for a title that, quite frankly, means next to nothing.”

The crowd is furious now, shouting boos and curses at the smugly grinning Flesher. ELM looks down for a second, laughing to himself in disbelief, before responding to Flesher.

“Ok, esse, I know how you think.” Magnifico counters, still smiling. “I’m going to have to make this worth your while, huh?”

“Well, to be honest, yes. No offense, but walloping a dirty foreigner for his title isn’t my idea of a good time.” Flesher responds, not at all helping his standing with the crowd. Magnifico absorbs the insult and swallows his pride before continuing.

“Ok, ok, fine. You mentioned my title? I’ll put my Light Heavyweight Title on the line, and you won’t even have to bring that US Title of yours.” Offers Magnifico, pointing at the belt wrapped around Tom’s waist. A few boos float in from the audience upon hearing this offer, and only grow louder when Flesher begins shaking his head.

“No dice, man. I’m gonna need something a little better than that.” Counters Flesher, frustrating Magnifico somewhat.

“Alright, if it’s not the title you want,” Magnifico responds, “then I guess I’ll have to make the match more appealing. What do you say to a....Submission Match? I know it’s your specialty.” The crowd’s reaction is mix of cheers and boos, cheers in anticipation of said match, and boos for the fact that Flesher is getting what he wants. Tom ponders this for a second, stroking his chin thoughtfully.

“.....nope, sorry, can’t do it.” Flesher finally says. “You’re going to have to sweeten the pot a bit more if you really want this match.”

A look of desperation crosses Magnifico’s face upon hearing this, as he had hoped that Flesher would accept a Submission match easily. ELM thinks this over for a second, pacing back and forth again as the crowd grows restless around him.

“Ok, I know.” Says Magnifico, hesitantly. “If a Submission match isn’t good enough for you, then let’s take it one step further. How about you and me, this Sunday....in an Ultimate Submission match?” The fans that know of the stip suddenly roar in anticipation, and the rest join him as Magnifico explains the rules. “It’s simple; thirty minues, most submissions wins. No DQ’s, no count outs, no nothing. The only that counts is submissions. So, whattya say?”

A spark of genuine interest crosses Flesher’s face, but he quickly covers it up. “You drive a hard bargain, Mr. Luchadore.” Says Flesher, unconvincingly. “But I’ll take it. You and me, Ultimate Submission match, for your Light Heavyweight Title at Ground Zero.” Flesher offers his hand and a diplomatic smile, both of which almost make Magnifico recoil in disgust. Of course, the crowd warns ELM to not accept the handshake, but he decides to make the textbook babyface mistake anyway and shake Flesher’s hand to resounding boos. Surprisingly enough, Flesher simply gives Magnifico’s hand a firm shake, lets go, and takes two steps backwards, all the while wearing a smug smile on his face.

“Oh, you were expecting an attack?” Flesher questions, looking genuinely surprised. “Sorry to dissapoint you, but that’s simply not my style. Besides, you’ll go through enough pain and anguish this Sunday, Mags. See ya then, mi amigo.” The crowd’s booing starts up again as Tom hits the mat and rolls out of the ring, heading up the ramp as Magnifico stares out after him, looking both concerned and excited at the same time.

July 23, 2002

The Halifax Metro Centre in Halifax, Nova Scotia, Canada gently fades onto the screen, a visually loud Canadian flag flowing in the nippy breeze just outside. “SWF SMARKDOWN” is plastered in flashing letters on a sign in front of the building, the words “NOT QUITE SOLD OUT!” sporadically blinking just below. A bit to the right, yet another Titanatron-like billboard reads “Chess Tournament at 1 A.M. REALLY Sold Out.”

*** BOOM ***

“WELCOME LADIES…” a familiar vocal pitch rings out.

*** BOOM ***

”GENTS…”

*** BOOM ***

“AND EVERYTHING IN BETWEEN!”

*** BOOM ***

”TO SWF SMARKDOWN!” the voice bellows, now recognized as that of Mark Stevens.

Glistening flares of pyro blast from the ceiling while the camera pans the eager arena, hundreds of signs dotting the crowd:

“I Want Mayor McCheese Dammit!”

“Z PUTS THE Z IN Z!”

“TEAM MERCEDEZ!”

“Man, in my honest opinion I truly believe that the H-Ville Thugg is in all possibility the greatest man, wrestler, and marker of all time, for you see this prominent competitor has touched the hearts of…”

…and so on.

The camera scales the entire audience before finally honing in on the commentary booth, where Mark Stevens and Bob Riley reside. Mark squints at the camera, attempting to read the cue card, and Riley respectfully bows down to a miniature statue of Chris Wilson that sits on his desk.

Riley [singing]: “All hail the Magnificent Seven! For all the goodness they have brought! We bow down to the…”

Stevens: “…what the hell are you doing Riley?”

Riley: “Singing the Mag7 anthem.”

Stevens: “…”

Riley: “Oh come on! I’m just showing some respect.”

Stevens: “…Hello again loyal viewers, for yet another edition of Smarkdown! We’ve already witnessed quite the battle between El Luchadore Magnifico and Xero so far tonight, but now we’re ready for our SECOND matchup, as Chilly Chilly Bang Bang goes head-to-head with Team MerCedez!”

Riley: “This is sure to be a fantastic massacre as…”

Stevens: “Wait…massacre?”

Riley: “Well, after being cheated out of a win last Storm, do you think Taylor Thompson and Frost will give that XF9 reject Ced Ordonez and the Degenerate King Mercury ANY mercy? ANY!? HELL NO! They will spare no one! Just like they did one week ago LAST Smarkdown!”

Stevens: “Yes, with five other people assisting them.”

Riley: “…SPARE NO ONE!”

Stevens: “Ahem. We go down now to Funyon!”

The screen cuts to the interior of the ring, where Funyon is entering, looking a bit cranky, evidentially having “a case of the Mondays.” He acquires a microphone from a nearby stage attendant, and presses it up against his lips.

Funyon: “Ladies and gentlemen and Bob Riley, this contest is scheduled for one fall! Disqualification and count-out rules are IN affect! Introducing first, hailing from Los Angeles California, weighing in at 233 pounds, he is one half of Team MerCedez, the Regenerate King, MERCURY!”

A conspicuous darkness devours the entire arena within its depths, as the crowd shows a sudden nature of silence.

---silence---

“…one last disguise…”

Blinding blue lights flash wildly onto the stage as “Spy Hunter” by Project 86 blares from the loudspeakers, foreshadowing the entrance of the Regenerate King. Various clips of Mercury’s career are exhibited on the Smarktron. Just as the crowd’s anticipation is about to burst, Mercury steps out onto the entrance ramp, causing the audience to explode into thunderous cheers! Merc smiles broadly as he shuffles down the aisle way, intertwining his arms into the shape of an X, but suddenly reacts as if he forgot something, stopping dead in his tracks and glancing back up the ramp, awaiting his partner.

Funyon: “…and his partner, he wrestles out of Sacramento, California, weighing a slim 210 pounds, he completes Team MerCedez, CED ORDONEZ!”

“B4U ~glorious style~” sounds off as rhythmic lighting beats on and off at the peak of the stage. An echoing “CED! CED! CED!” creates the ideal setting for the former XF9 member’s arrival. The curtains ruffle to the side, and the petite posture of Ced Ordonez jogs onto the stage to a deafening, positive reaction! Ced jogs back and forth a bit, raising his arms up and letting out a roar as the fans egg him on. He avidly trots down the entrance ramp to the mid point, where he meets up with his partner, and lets out yet another roar, this time, hurling a series of blue, black, and silver streamers up into the air! The streamers subside into the audience, as Ced continues jogging to the ring, his partner accompanying him. The two competitors roll into the squared circle, and begin striking a few poses on the turnbuckles, as Ced’s music approaches its conclusion.

Stevens: “And look at these two! They looked PUMPED for what might be the biggest challenge of their respectable careers!”

Riley: “I agree, this will be their biggest challenge. It is quite challenging to die inside of the ring!”

Stevens: “Well, win or lose, I’m sure this will be quite a close match.”

Riley: “If your definition of close is one team being fed to a herd of cannibalistic sea monkeys within the first five seconds of the match, then I wholeheartedly agree.”

Funyon: “Second, coming down the aisle way now…”

The first few ghostly beats of System of a Down’s “Toxicity” emit from the PA system, immediately sending the audience into a frenzy of boos.

Funyon: “Their combined weight is a ponderous 563 pounds…”

The entire arena is flooded with darkness, save a single pair of two pale, lavender spotlights that twirl wildly about, seemingly searching for the arriving team.

Funyon: “Wrestling for the Magnificent Seven [earsplitting boos]…”

Finally, the music picks up the pace as the drums come in, and the two searchlights stop dead at the pinnacle of the entrance ramp, just a few feet from one another, both highlighting a separate hulking mass.

Funyon: “Frost, ‘TNT’ Taylor Nicholas Thompson…”

The two figures gradually meander out of the spotlight’s view, and a sea of black strobe light drowns the ramp, illuminating the team.

Funyon: “Chilly Chilly Bang Bang!”

The two rotund grapplers now gain a more lively composition, and confidentially pace down the ramp, and up to the ring. The duo hops up to the ring apron, each holding up a single fist of pride, and step over the top rope, entering the ring. Frost and Taylor, rather than take any time to pose, merely pace over to their corner, wanting to waste no time in getting down to business.

Riley: “Here they come to save the daaaaaaaaayyyyyyyyy!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!”

Stevens: “These guys want to get right down to it, something very surprising for Taylor Thompson, as he’s usually a hyper power outlet. Tonight he seems to be a bit more concentrated, maybe a little post loss depression after last Storm. That said, the guy still appears to be a bit on the ecstatic side.”

Riley: “No no no. Not ‘ecstatic’…that sounds too much like what I call my 5 year old nephew, he’s just…um…STOKED.”

Both pairs of teammates exchange a few pre-match words. Mercury willingly steps from the ring, as Ced, seemingly the chosen soul to start the match out, adjusts his ring boots and tests the ropes, preparing for the match. Meanwhile, on the opposite side of the squared circle, TNT insists to begin the match, and Frost steps over the top rope and onto the outside ring apron. Taylor outreaches his hand for a quick high-five, but Frost shoots him a grave glare, and TNT quickly recoils into the ring.

*** DING DING DING ***

The chosen wrestlers pace around a bit, sizing eachother up, every once and a while one of them striking out at the other, only to withdraw.

Stevens: “Well, five seconds in already, and Team MerCedez has NOT been fed to sea monkeys. I guess your prediction was wrong Bob.”

Riley: “Shut up. CCBB is just toying with those untalented hacks.”

With a sudden surge of energy, Taylor lunges at his smaller opponent with immeasurable aggression! Ced quickly dodges to the side in a single swift motion, quickly pelting the vulnerable Thompson with a quick kick to the back of his calf, and again traveling to the opposite side of the ring. Taylor collects himself, and once again dives at Ordonez! Ced hops out of the way at the last second, sending TNT crashing into the ropes, and reverberating off, bouncing onto the mat, landing on his dynamite behind! A thick mental layer of aggravation now in his mannerisms, Taylor kips up, and sprints at the chuckling Ced!

Stevens: “And the chase is on! This is literally a rerun of Tom and Jerry, as the TNT is pursuing a much speedier Ced Ordonez!”

Riley: “Stop running and fight with like a man Ced! Or at least a really bulky woman!”

Ced sprints in circles, and quickly glimpses backwards at his predator, who is slowly gaining on him from behind! Ced, rather than follow his textbook circle route this time around, darts towards the turnbuckle and leaps from the ground, landing on the second rope! Ced springs from the ropes, outstretching his figure and propelling his own body onto TNT with a flying body press! Taylor plummets backwards by force, and lands on his back, Ced still on top of him, and pinning him to the mat!

Stevens: “And a second rope springboard body press gets the cover for Ced! Will it be enough!?”

“ONE!”

…

“TWO!”

…

TNT body presses Ced off of him, twirling to his feet with a very shocked expression on his face. Ced smiles at him, as he lightly jogs over to Mercury, who stands on the outside apron, ready to make a tag.

*** SLAP ***

Stevens: “And here comes Mercury!”

Riley: “But TNT is quick to put the hurt on the pitiful little fellah! Taylor dashes at the Regenerate King with what looks to be a hooking clothesline!”

*** WHIFF ***

Riley: “WHAT!?!?!?!?”

Stevens: “Mercury quickly ducks this barrage of offense, and sends Thompson into the ropes with a dropkick to the small of his back!”

With the combined momentum of Taylor’s already apparent charging force and the dropkick to his spine, Thompson hurdles into the ropes, precisely where Ced is standing! Ced leans away from the ropes to avoid collision, and just when TNT is in his reach, Ordonez reaches out to grab a hold of his neck with both of his hands, and hops down to the outskirts of the ring, snapping Thompson’s neck across the ropes!

Riley: “Guillotine from the illegal man? DISQUALIFY HIM! That’s interference AND choking!”

Stevens: “Funny how you ceased to mention all of the dirty tricks TNT and Frost pulled on the Carnies last Storm, eh?”

Riley: “What? They NEVER cheat!”

Stevens [pulling out a long scroll with small print across it]: “Actually here’s quite an extensive list of things they’ve done if you’d like me to read it…”

Riley [quickly pulling out a lighter and burning the list]: “I don’t see nothing!”

Thompson staggers backwards, back towards Mercury, who readily awaits him from behind. Mercury grasps Taylor’s arms, hooking them behind his back, and relentlessly begins to tug backwards in order to flip the explosive one over his head. TNT holds his ground, putting all of his weight forward in order to struggle from the predicament.

Stevens: “And Mercury appears to be setting TNT up for a Tiger Suplex!”

Riley: “No way! TNT is way too heavy for this weakling!”

Mercury lets out a cry and desperately heaves Thompson off of the mat, but just as he’s almost flipped the big man all the way over, Taylor puts falls to the side and quickly rolls around to the backside of Mercury, applying a rear waste lock! TNT forcefully lugs his entire body backwards, sending Mercury sailing over his head with a German suplex! Mercury maintains his composure, completing an entire back flip in midair, and successfully lands on his feet!

Stevens: “Mercury reverses an attempted German suplex into…a rear waste lock! Now HE’S trying for a German!”

Riley: “But no! TNT twirls around him, hooking him into…[suddenly losing all enthusiasm] a rear waste lock. Horray.”

As Merc commences in yet another reversal attempt, TNT suddenly feels a rubbery cord rub against hick tattooed back, and notices that they’ve reversed all the way back into his own corner, Frost mere inches to his left! Thompson releases one arm from the torso of Mercury, quickly tagging in Frost, and latching back onto the waste lock.

Stevens: “And Frost has been tagged in!”

Frosty steps over the top rope, and ambles over until he arrives in front of Mercury. Frost reels back just as Thompson releases his hold, and exits the ring. Then, the Icelandic monster thrusts his bulging, chiseled arms right into the Renegade King’s forehead! Merc ducks the maneuver, dropping to the mat and intertwining his legs around the shin of Frost, toppling him to the mat with a drop toehold! Frost’s towering body slams to the mat, his head just reaching the bottom elastic ring rope, and snapping onto it! Merc clasps Frost’s snow-white boot between his hands, and strenuously drags him to the middle of the ring. Mercury spots an eager Ced just a yard away and approaches him…

*** SLAP ***

Stevens: “So far, we’ve seen Team MerCedez gain a noticeable advantage, presumably due to their speed advantage, and frequent tagging! Now, what Chilly Chilly Bang Bang needs to do, is either always keep a fresh man in the ring with numerous tags in and out of the ring, or they need to find a way to slow their speedy opponents down to their pace!”

Riley: “You heard Grand Spam, chop his feet off Frost!”

Frost rises up to his feet by the time Ced has arrived next to him, and simply stares an icy hole into Ordonez, surveying his lightweight foe, sizing up some sort of way to gain the match’s momentum. Ced seems to grow weary of this premature stare down, and breaks the relatively calm state of the ring’s inhabitants, lightly jogging back into the ropes and reverberating off.

Stevens: “And Ced goes soaring at Frost with the same move that took down TNT just earlier this match, a flying body press!”

As Ordonez does this, the chilly giant gains a “eureka” expression on his face and catches Ced in mid-air, using his flying force to spin him 180-degrees, and crater him into the mat with a vicious powerslam! Ced bounces from the mat due to the immense impact, but Frost pins his shoulders down, and the referee makes the count!

“ONE!”

…

“TWO!”

…

“TH…TWO COUNT!”

Stevens: “And Ced barely elevates a single arm from the mat after that stunning display of sheer strength!”

Riley: “He may have not gotten the pin, but I think the tide has finally turned!”

Frost steps away from his adversary’s proverbial corpse, circling him a few times before honing in on his limp body. Frost leans over and grabs Ced’s left leg, lifts it from the mat, and drives it directly into the mat! Ced winces in anguish, and rolls over to his stomach. The fans boo maliciously, and Frost simply sokes up the negative reaction, an evil grin plastered on his face. Frost eggs on the crowd by advancing on Ced once again, this time stomping the base of his boot right into the back of Ced’s calf! Ordonez moans in agony, all while clutching his pained leg in his arms. Frost delivers a final kick to the side of his leg, and walks sulks over to Taylor Thompson, tagging him into the ring!

*** SLAP ***

TNT leapfrogs into the ring, immediately picking up where Frost left off. Thompson steps over the floored Californian, facing his legs. He reaches down, and snatches Ced’s left leg up, seizing it between his arm and body.

Stevens: “He appears to be going for some type of submission move…and…YES! TNT leans backwards, cinching up on a half Boston crab!”

Riley: “He’s tapping! He’s tapping!”

Stevens: “That’s just your imagination Bobby.”

Riley: “No! The all mighty power of Taylor Nicholas Thompson has made him tap!”

Stevens: “TNT? Power? That’s just your imagination too Bobby. Nonetheless, Ced’s calf is being torques to no end in this devilish submission!”

TNT, a bit disappointed in Ced’s stubborn will to stay in the match, stalks over to Frosty, and tags him in once again. Frost takes his time to enter the ring, but Ced proves to still be alive, making a quick army crawl of desperation towards his corner! Frost abruptly becomes alert, pouncing at Ced, and barely entrapping his foot within the fingers or his hand! Mercury outstretches his arm as much as possible, but still remains inches away from being able to make the tag.

Riley: “Now THIS is good thinking! Frost is dragging Ced back into the corner of Chilly Chilly Bang Bang, in order to insure that no tags will be made!”

Stevens: “Frost weaves his brawny fingers through Ced’s stringy hair, pulling him to his feet. He positions himself behind the Filipino, and bends in his left leg at the knee joint. He lifts Ced from the mat...what’s he gonna do with him?”

*** CRACK ***

Stevens: “OUCH! Frost shatters Ced’s knee onto his own, with some sort of a knee breaker! And Ced can do nothing but sit there in pain, I doubt he can even walk at this point!”

Riley: “They’re taking Ced out from underneath! What a plan!”

Stevens: “And Frost makes an impromptu pin attempt! There was a bit of stalling there though, will this his opponent in, or will his antagonist prove to be the Comeback Ced?”

“ONE!”

…

“TWO!”

…

“THR…”

Stevens: “HE KICKS OUT! This guy, though small, is proving to be QUITE a tough challenge to Chilly Chilly Bang Bang!”

Riley: “Tough challenge? I call him a stubborn little bitch.”

*** SLAP ***

Stevens: “And now TNT is back in the ring AGAIN! See Bobby, THIS is the frequent tagging I spoke of earlier.”

TNT lifts Ced from the mat, performing a hurried scoop clam to wear Ordonez out a bit; he grabs his left foot, and steps over it, pretzels it with his right, and falls backwards, his legs intertwining through Ced’s!

“AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!”

Stevens: “Figure Four! It could very well be over right now!”

Riley: “He HAS to tap! Tap! Tap you pansy!”

Stevens: “And look at this! Frost is pulling TNT by his arms upwards to give him extra leverage! The ref doesn’t see it!”

Riley: “Stevens you take stuff WAY out of proportion, he’s just shaking TNT’s hand to congratulate him on a great match, duh.”

Ced screeches out in agonizing pain, desperately attempting to pull away from TNT’s corner with his hands alone. Frost grasps onto TNT, as the two gain the strength advantage, successfully keeping Ced in their corner! The referee spots this foul play however, forcing Frost to release Thompson! “DO YOU GIVE UP?!?!?” the referee questions Ced, as Ced can barely gurgle out much more than a few pained yelps and “I won’t!”

Riley: “Stop being the little train engine that could’ and just tap!”

Stevens: “And Ced seems to be going for a last ditch effort! He’s using every last ounce of energy in his body to edge over to the ropes! He’s…GOT THEM! HE’S GOT THEM! TNT won’t let go of the hold! TNT won’t let go of the hold!”

The referee demands Taylor to release the submission, but Taylor simply latches on tighter!

“1!”

The referee begins to issue the 5-count.

“2!”

TNT cinches up on the hold, refusing to let go.

“3!”

Ordonez squeals piercingly.

“4!”

He cinches up.

“I SAID FOUR!”

He cinches up.

“LET GO!”

The referee, refraining from making the final numeral utterance. Instead, he himself stomps on TNT’s calf, and forcing him to let go! Thompson furiously hops up to his feet, and aggressively corners the referee, verbally berating him.

Riley: “Don’t get yourself disqualified TNT! And look after Ced! He’s just an inch away from Merc…”

*** SLAP ***

The crowd bursts into cheers and Mercury charges into the ring, directly at TNT!

Stevens: “And Mercury is tagged in!”

Frost obtains a worried expression on his face, dropping to the outside mats, and ruffling up the curtains of the ring, immediately beginning to dig within its depths.

Stevens: “The Renegade King dives towards Taylor, thrusting his leg into the air, looking for a superkick! But no! Taylor ducks, and Mercury lashes his leg right across the referee’s chin! The referee is out!”

Thompson, still in a squatting position, hastily tackles Mercury to the mat with a Lou Thesz Press! TNT drives his knuckle into Mercury’s eye a few times, bloodying it slightly, but Murcury positions his legs under the chest of the dynamite warrior, and with all his might shoves him into the air! Taylor flips over Mercury, landing on the floor with a thud.

Stevens: “And Mercury flips TNT over his head with a monkey flip! He makes the cover, but realizes that the referee is unconscious, withdrawing from Thompson. And what the hell is Frost looking for anyway?”

Riley: “He appears to have found something under the ring…a baseball bat! HE’S GOT A BASEBALL BAT! And he slides it into the ring and to TNT! His intentions are obvious now!”

Stevens: “TNT’s going to use that bat to cheat and gain the win?”

Riley: “Of course not! TNT’s gonna show off his baseball bat!”

Taylor grips the metal shaft with his right hand, unbeknownst to Mercury, who jerks him to his feet by his dreads. Mercury positions Thompson in the center of the ring, and bounces off of the ropes, coming back with a…

*** CRACK ***

Riley: “What the hell? Mercury just slipped and fell into Taylor’s baseball bat! What a clumsy tool!”

Stevens: “Why, he just smashed the blunt end of that baseball bat right across Mercury’s forehead! Can’t you see that Riley?”

Riley: “I can see that TNT just wanted to show the audience his bat. I can see that Mercury is a klutz. And I can DEFINITELY see that TNT has made the cover, and the referee is slowly regaining consciousness! Of course Frost had to grab the baseball bat out of sight in case the referee saw it and foolishly assumed that it was involved in any kind of cheating.”

Stevens: “BUT IT WAS!”

“ONE!”

…

Ced hears the count begin, spontaneously hopping through the ropes and into the ring, slowly limping towards the wreckage of TNT and Mercury.

…

“TWO!”

…

Ced hobbles towards the two, attempting to break up the pin attempt, but suddenly, Frost dives from out of nowhere, charging him shoulder-first, taking his knee out from under him, and causing him to collapse to the mat, writhing in inevitable soreness.

…

Stevens: “NOT THIS WAY!”

…

“THRRRRRRRRRRRRRRREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!”

*** DING DING DING ***

The ecstatic pyromaniac abandons the carcass of Ced Ordonez, just as “Toxicity starts up one a final time, signaling a Chilly Chilly Bang Bang victory.

Funyon: “The winners of this bout, as a result of PINFALL, Taylor Nicholas Thompson and Frost, Chilly Chilly Bang Bang!”

The arena erupts in a volcano of sneers, jeers, boos, and a hail of Canadian beer cans raining down into the ring.

Riley: “Chilly Chilly Bang Bang win after Mercury tripped and hit his head on TNT’s belt!”

Stevens: “This is a travesty!”

The two sadistic teamsters part from the ring, each holding their arms up with victorious pride. The two saunter back up the entrance ramp leaving their bloodied opponents in the ring, all while the audience boos them out of the arena and throws everything they can spare at Chilly Chilly Bang Bang: Beanie Babies, Spice Girls CD’s, hell, even a large, cardboard sign that reads “THIS WAS ONE FUCKING RUSHED MATCH.”

Riley: “And Chilly Chilly Bang Bang shows once again why they’re called Chilly Chilly Bang Bang!”

Stevens: “Because they’re cold and explosive?”

Riley: “Um…yeah! We’ll be right back!”

*** commercials for Mak Francis dollar sign bags and whatnot ***

July 23, 2002

*** Deep inside the halls of the Halifax Metro Centre, we see Erek Taylor and Ash Ketchum in the swank XF9 dressing room; as they are seated on their finest corinthian leather couch, parked in front of their giant screen TV. With their Microsoft X-Box plugged in, they're going at it in a thrilling round of "Project Gotham Racing", with both sets of eyes glued to the TV as if they were two 11 year olds on a saturday morning. ***

Erek: BOOYAH!

Ash: Come ON!! That was SO hitting the railing!!

Erek: No way!!

Ash: Way!!

*** With both men's attention on their game, they don't notice the main doorknow jiggling and turning. As the door opens itself, we see Tod deKindes appear, clad in his street clothes. Just as he enters, he notices the scene in front of him: Erek's wrestling outfit drying off on the window. Ash's boots lying on the armchair. Erek's title belt serving as a coaster on the coffee table. The answering machine's light flashing, and with the number "58" blinking repeadetly. ***

Ash: OH!! You totally crashed!! I didn't think you were gonna crash...

*** Tod removes his silver shades to make sure he's seeing right. He furrows his brow at the sight of it all, registering a mix of shock and disgust. He walks among the mess, ending up next to the TV and its two gamers. Erek allows himselfs a distraction for a second to notice their new partner. ***

Erek: Oh, hey-hey, Tod the Bod!!

Ash: What's up, Todski!

*** They don't really care about getting an answer from the German one, as their attention is strictly on their racing game. Tod lowers his head in shame for a second, trying to convince himself he's not in hell ... ***

Tod: ... What ...the HELL is this?!

Erek: ...Whatchoo talking about, Tod?

Ash: Yeah, wanna join in?

*** Tod picks up the game box for a better look at what they're playing. ***

Tod: "Project Gotham Racing" ?!?

Ash: WHOA!! You SO crashed again!!!

Tod: You're playing a game about...Batman??

Ash: Not quite...

Erek: Come on, man, you played with us last week. We had a ball!

*** Tod releases a quiet sigh of frustration, as he dumps the game box on Erek's lap, grabs the remote control and turns off the TV. ***

Erek: Hey!!!

Ash: Dude, we were playing that!!!

*** Almost in a fit of exasperated rage, Tod grabs the X-Box console in both hands, yanks the wiring from its sockets, and then he HURLS the console past the doorframe and into the hallway, possibly startling a nearby stagehand. Tod takes a second to recollect himself, while his two new cohorts stop short and look like they've seen a ghost... ***

Tod: Not even one week...ONE WEEK, that I'm a member of this group and I see this...this MESS!! ... I let myself be distracted once, but I did NOT join this group so I can settle down, play video games, drink my ass off and become a lazy and pathetic LOSER!! (picks up the plastic game box and holds it up) THIS!! This is NOT what I had in mind when I became a member of this group!! I got my ASS KICKED FOR TEN MINUTES so I can be a member of this group!!

Erek: (meekly tries to cut in, pointing to the game box) I got a good deal on that th--...

Tod: (bops him on the head with the plastic container) Shut up!! (Erek rubs his forehead for effect) Tell me, is THIS what you had in mind for the next month?? The next YEAR??! Is this how you plan on SURVIVING in this company?!

Ash: Well...--

Tod: Shut up!! No, it's NOT!! The only way we're gonna SURVIVE in this company as a group is by WINNING - AT - ALL - COSTS!! ... Gewinn um jeden Preis ...Win at ALL costs!! ...SAY IT!!

Erek: Guhww...Ger...

Ash: Juw...Juhrr--...

Erek: Tod, we don't speak germ--...

Tod: Shut up!! Now, if I'm gonna be part of this team, I'm gonna be part of a WINNING team!! YOU!! (points to Ash) Where's your Hardcore title?

Ash: Um, I ... I lost--...

Tod: THAT'S RIGHT, YOU *LOST* IT!! And YOU!! (addressing Erek)

Erek: Yes sir.

Tod: (picks up Erek's title belt (knocking over a can of Mello Yello in the process) and holds it up in front of him) If you can't respect what brought you to the dance, what MADE you what you are; then why the HELL are you still champion?!

Erek: Um, well-- ...

Tod: What you two need to do is *focus* on WINNING AT ALL COSTS!! YOU!! (Ash) You want your Hardcore title back??

Ash: Yeah!

Tod: Then get your shit together and start winning some matches!! And YOU!! (Erek) If you wanna hang onto this (shoves the belt in his hands), you get YOUR shit together, stop with the childish CRAP and focus on holding onto THIS (taps belt)!!

Erek: Ye-..Yeah! Yeah!!

Tod: What I want for XF9...is to WIN!! Pete wants no less!! Misty wants no less!! Tonight, YOU GUYS want no less!!!

Erek: Where IS Misty?

Tod: Shut up!! Now...I'm gonna make sure this gets into your heads. If we're gonna make it in this company, we're gonna have to step up our game a notch. We gotta go out there and tell these people "We are X - FUCKING - Nine and we're gonna give you the BEST GODDAMN SHOW you have EVER seen!!"

*** A few seconds of silence, as Ash and Erek take this all in... ***

Tod: I just wanna make one thing clear...I did not...I repeat, I did NOT join this group ...for nothing. You hear me? ...Nothing ...... I'll catch you guys later.

*** Tod quietly walks out of the room, leaving his two cohorts sitting there, contemplating ... ***

July 23, 2002

The crowds are electric and as we return from commercials, the Smarkstron flickers on to life, bringing a live picture from the back. A door. Nothing special, but when it opens, the fans leap to life...

...

...as Erek Taylor exits the room!

"I'll be back. You want anything, Pops?" Erek asks. There is a faint answer, one that the system cannot make out. Taylor nods and leaves, the camera following his every step until a yell from behind booms through the corridors.

"TAYLOR!!!"

Erek sharply turns his head to face the Boston Strangler, as well as TNT and Frost, who do not show any signs of fatigue from their preceding match. The three M7 members stand there, eyes blazing with fury as Taylor casually walks forward.

"What can I do for you three overweight and unusually tall mammals?" Erek asks with a grin. "What? Is Chris Wilson not giving you the luxury of Dog Chow?" Nearby people watch on, ready for an ambush but no such thing comes...yet.

"Why did you do it?" Strangler asks. "It was a title shot. My title shot. You screwed me over, Erek. Why? I want to know why."

"You're still bitching about that?! GIVE ME A FUCKING BREAK!! Strangler, you better worry about what I'm going to do to you in that ring tonight. Don't dwell in the past, or you *will* get your ass kicked.

"Answer the question, Erek! I've been trying to figure out why these past two days but I still don't know why!"

"Which is another example of your stupidity. You want to know why I did it? Let me think. I've got this very painful back that I do believe you were responsible for. Um, you sent these two whores here to hit me with a bat. A BAT!! IT WAS ALUMINUM TOO!!"

"Quit the funny talk Erek. You know I can fucking kill you right now. They don't call me the Boston Strangler for nothing. But to make things interesting, I'm going to step back and give you a head start."

"A head start for what? A head start to kicking your ass?"

"No."

"Then what?"

"...to run."

"I'm not going to run away from your pans-"

Erek is silenced from a sudden shot by TNT. A punch right on the face, sending Erek staggering back. Frost joins his partner TNT, and the two corner Erek on the ground, delivering stomp after stomp to the ICTV Champion's torso. Erek tries to block but the two mammoths are just way too strong!! Strangler clears his voice, and TNT and Frost step aside in an instant. Strangler steps forward, kneeling to the ground and grabbing Erek by the neck. Strangler pulls the flyer up to his feet.

"Anymore smart ass comments, Erek? None? You seem a little under the weather."

Erek dangles about, but with his last remaining strength, shoots a drop of spit right into the Boston Strangler's face!! Strangler calmly wipes it off and lets go of Erek before turning away...

....

SMACK!! ALLOWING FROST TO COME IN WITH A MASSIVE HEADBUTT!! The fans in the arena give a loud and thorough boo as Strangler steps back into view.

"Let's go."

July 23, 2002

SWF Smarkdown returns from a commercial for the Magnificent Seven special-edition DVD ("Now with exclusive behind-the-scenes interviews with Yul Brynner and Frost") and pans the Halifax Metro Centre. Fans are shown holding such signs as "Breggan's a Royal Pain," "Z 4 PM" and "Canada Hates Fleshre." The SmarkTron shows photos of Tom Flesher with the US Title belt slung over his shoulder and Z looking exceptionally mean as the phrase "US TITLE: TOM VS Z" stamps onto the screen below their photos. The fans burst into a chant of "YOU SCREWED TED! YOU SCREWED TED!" as the camera pans over to the announcer's table, where Bobby Riley and "Grand Slam" Mark Stevens sit, each with a beverage in front of them. Stevens looks over, quite confused, and asks, "Bobby?"

"Yes Mark?"

"What are they talking about?"

Riley clears his throat, and patronizingly explains, "Well, they're mad about when we screwed Ted."

Stevens sighs, realizing he's going to have to dig a little deeper. "Who's Ted?"

"Oh, that's Thoth's real name. They really, REALLY like Thoth here in Halifax, and they're upset that Breggan got his title shot tonight."

"How did we screw him? He asked for the night off!"

Riley cups his hand to his ear and yells, "What's that? I can't hear you over the chant."

With that, referee Duke Hebner enters the ring, and is immediately besieged with a barrage of empty Molson Canadian cups. Stevens, once again lost, asks, "What did HE do to them?"

"Oh, he was the guy that was supposed to remind Thoth to buy Kitsu-chan the bottle of sake, and he forgot."

Stevens nods, satisfied with that explanation. "Well, let's go to Funyon!"

After Hebner clears the ring of all the empty beer cups, Funyon climbs into the ring and takes his place in the center. "Ladies and gentlemen, the following match is scheduled for one fall, and it is for the SWF United States Championship!"

The fans cheer as the guitar and synthesizer fanfare of Faith No More's "Epic" rings out through the arena, and as the vocals begin, a spotlight shines down on the ramp. After a moment, the curtain is pulled to the side, only to reveal Z turned around and chatting absently with road agent Kyousuke Jose Sanchez. KJ looks up, realizes that Z's on, and quickly shoves him out the entryway and into the spotlight. With a quick wave to the cheering masses, Z starts to shuffle down the ramp, looking slightly defeated.

Funyon announces, "Making his way to the ring is the challenger. From Trenton, New Jersey, and weighing in at 229 pounds, representing the Midnight Carnival, ZEDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDD!"

The fans pop as Z spins around, quickly saluting them, and then enters the ring via the stairs. He brushes some lint off his camouflage jacket, then leans in his corner, idly talking to a few fans in the front row as the music fades out and the lights dim.

The opening trumpet sequence of the Doors' "Tell All The People" blares out through the arena, and a series of blue and white pyro explosions go off as the SmarkTron shows an all-white background and the words "SUPERIORITY COMPLEX." After a moment, Flesher walks through the curtain, US Title strapped around his waist, and begins to wave. He struts down the ramp, finally entering the ring after wiping his Doc Martens on the apron.

"And," says Funyon, "his opponent... from Buffalo, New York, which is a suburb of Toronto, and competing at 213 pounds..." Funyon sighs deeply, and looks at his notecard. "The SWF United States Champion, the master of the Boilermaker, the most popular man in the SWF today, Don Cherry's favorite performer and the man who's singlehandedly holding up the Canadian economy through his t-shirt sales alone, put your hands together for the top light heavyweight in the SWF and the NEXT SWF Light Heavyweight Champion, 'The Superior One,' TOM FLESHER!!!!!!!!!!"

The crowd bursts into a chorus of boos, and Flesher responds by removing his belt and kissing it. He hands the belt off to Duke Hebner and then cracks his neck from side to side as the referee holds the belt in the air, then calls for the bell.

DING DING DING!!!!!!!

"And this one's underway," declares Mark Stevens as Tom Flesher moves to the center of the ring and, with a grin that says "You're a tune-up and you know it," waves toward himself to bait Z to lock up with him. Z backs away, avoiding the lockup. Flesher steps forward, going for the lockup again. Once again, Z backs away to avoid contact. Flesher looks over to Duke Hebner, and Z takes that opportunity to charge at Flesher and nail him with an Arm Grenade! Flesher staggers, both from the unexpectedness of the move and its impact, and nearly falls over. "Flesher was caught by suprise," says Stevens. "It's been a while since these two locked up. In fact, the last time they saw action was at the SJL's Absolution pay-per-view, where Z won a fatal four-way to end Flesher's European Championship reign!"

"He got lucky," spits Riley.

"Z is one of the few wrestlers to hold a clean win over Flesher, defeating him twice- once at Absolution and once near the beginning of their careers, in a tag match!"

"Lucky bastard."

Flesher turns around, and before Z can back away, locks him up into a collar-elbow tie. Overpowered, Z again tries to back out, but Flesher quickly whips him to the ropes. As Z bounces back, Flesher pops his foot up for a Doc Marten Yakuza kick, which Z ducks. He comes out behind Tom, spins around and hits him with a surprise Arm Grenade from behind! Flesher falls forward and crashes to the mat, but springs back up and faces Z... only to be hammered with yet another Arm Grenade! Flesher falls to the mat and rolls out of the ring, shaking his head wildly to restore some semblance of sense. Z, meanwhile, hits the corner to avoid any backlash.

"Z immediately moves on the offensive in this US Title match, and it looks like Flesher once again underestimated him!" Stevens is, of course, rooting for his Carnival stablemate.

"I keep telling you, he's just LUCKY!" Riley is, of course, a tool.

Flesher paces around on the outside as Hebner administers the standard ten-count. Around "EIGHT!" he rolls back in under the bottom rope, watching Z carefully to avoid getting caught with another surprise lariat. Carefully, he enters the ring and squares off with Z, who immediately backs away again.

"Look at that bastard! He's just stalling!" Riley says, livid.

Stevens taps his pen against the table and responds, "Z is employing a time-honored, tried-and-true strategy that harkens back to the Great One, Muhammed Ali. Bobby, do you know who Muhammed Ali is?"

"He's the guy with the bow tie, right?"

"...sure. In any event, Z has proven himself to be a master of the rope-a-dope technique, and I expect him to employ it heavily in this match."

Flesher, frustrated, lunges forward and nails Z in the face with a shotei. The New Jersey native steps backward, slightly stunned by the palm strike, giving Flesher an opportunity to hammer him with another, stiffer blow. Taking two quick steps forward, the Superior One pops up his Doc Marten and boots Z in the face with a Yakuza kick, sending him spilling over the top rope and onto the floor. Flesher turns around, waves to the crowd and is met with savage heat as Z pulls himself up on the apron and works his way back into the ring.

Z re-enters the ring and shushes the crowd. Then, with a quick charge, he extends his arm and charges, looking for another Arm Grenade...

BUT FLESHER PIVOTS WITH HIS ARM OUT, AND Z RUNS RIGHT INTO A PALM STRIKE! He falls to the mat, stunned and knocked silly by his own momentum, and Flesher grabs Z's left leg. Fluidly, he drops down and thrusts his elbow into the side of Z's knee, wrenching it. As Z recoils, Flesher stands back up, extending the leg even further and then immediately dropping a forceful elbow into the side of the joint again. He stands back up a third time and teases dropping another elbow, but opts instead to apply a spinning toehold. He spins through, going for the figure-four leglock, but Z grabs his head on the way around and pulls him over into a small package! Hebner counts

ONE

TWO

KICKOUT! Flesher rolls away, looking angry, and backs into the ropes.

"Mark, why didn't Tom switch legs right there? He was working the right knee, and then he was going to put the hold so that he was barring the left leg." Riley sounds genuinely curious, as opposed to his ridiculous mockeries of Z.

"That's a very astute observation, Bobby." Stevens seems taken aback. "Well, the reason Flesher continued the spinning toehold on the same leg is that the figure-four leglock is more than just a glorified kneebar. The idea of it is to wrench one leg and, by continuing to force it while it's bent out of position, use it to bar off the opposite knee. The figure-four works both legs simultaneously. Oh, and there's one other thing."

"What's that?"

"If you put it on the other way, it wouldn't look like a 4."

Riley nods, as if some nugget of philosophical wisdom had just been imparted on him. "Leave it to Tom Flesher to take time out of his busy match schedule to teach us something new. God bless that man."

"Don't you think you're being a bit... undercritical?"

"It's just that he's such a wonderful human being! He's shown us all how much better we can truly be!"

Stevens sighs. "How much of a kickback is he giving you?"

"I get a free t-shirt every week, and three pairs of boxers! Now I can keep the Superior One close to me always!"

Ewww. Sometimes, they should fire these guys, if only for the fans' sake.

Flesher goes for a lockup. Z tries to back away again, but Flesher grabs him and pulls him into a tieup before he can. Flesher goes for a whip to the ropes, but Z shifts his weight and follows through to reverse the direction. As Flesher rebounds, Z catches him with a hiptoss! Flesher impacts the mat hard, but rolls and bounces back to his feet looking slightly more upset.

"That was... let me check my notes.... the Hiptoss of Hauntingly Hellish Discombobulation," says Stevens. "Although Flesher looks more angry than discombobulated."

Flesher steps in, but Z quickly locks up a front facelock and falls back, suplexing his opponent to the canvas!

"And there we have the Generic Vertical Suplex of Unfathomably Evil Proportions, taking the Superior One to the mat," says Stevens, his face remarkably straight.

"Why do you cater to him so much?" asks Riley, sounding greatly offended for no good reason.

"Well, Bobby, I don't see how that's any different than calling a Texas cloverleaf 'the Superior Stretch' or a Tornado DDT 'the Spin Cycle.'"

"It is, though!"

"How so?"

Pause.

Riley replies, "Ah, shove it up your ass and die."

"You'd like that, wouldn't you?"

As soon as Z hits the suplex, he moves away, creating as much distance as possible between himself and his opponent. As Flesher gets back to his feet, Z runs at him and goes for a lariat, which Flesher promptly ducks. He ends up on his feet behind Z and promptly throws his hands around his waist. Tom arches back and throws Z overhead with a released German suplex, slamming him onto his shoulders with such force that he rolls over onto his stomach. With that, Flesher dusts off his hands in a satisfied manner and drops down onto Z's back in a posture reminiscent of the amateur par terre position, working on top of and behind Z.

"And HERE'S where the match gets exciting!" Riley is pleased, as always. "Woohoo! MAT WRESTLING! I love this guy!"

"Bobby, you hate technical wrestling."

"I know, but I just can't get enough of Flesher!"

"You love hosses."

"Flesher's amazing!"

"You're wearing a Lerrin Breggan t-shirt under your dress shirt. I can see the outline."

Bobby blushes. "Well... er... I just like him, okay? Why do you have to imply some kind of conspiracy?!"

Flesher slides down Z's body and grabs his left leg, torquing it out into an ankle lock. With a firm grip on the leg, he stands up, then drops an elbow into the pit of Z's knee, driving it hard into the mat. Z calls out in pain as Flesher stands up and grins, throwing off a royal wave and prompting a heat pop from the crowd. He then bends down to pull Z back up to his feet. Quickly, and before Z has a chance to react, Flesher throws a dropkick to the left knee of his opponent, and takes him back down to the mat. He falls back into his stance, waiting for Z to get back to his feet. As soon as he does, Flesher springs forward and hammers him with a train wreck double leg takedown, slamming the New Jerseyite to the mat. With one quick turn, he flips Z over into a Boston crab and sits back, locking on the hold. He sits back, grinning as he faces the entryway, with Z on his stomach only inches too far from the ropes to free himself.

Suddenly, a few of the fans begin cheering and pointing at the entrance. The camera pans over, and.... well, in the words of Mark Steves, "That's El Luchadore Magnifico!" Magnifico walks down the ramp carrying a steel chair. When he gets to the end of the ramp, he unfolds it and sits. "What's Magnifico doing at ringside?" Stevens asks.

"Looks to me like he's going to screw Flesher out of the match!" Riley seems quite pissed off. "That dirty Mexican!"

Stevens is aghast. "You can't say that on television!"

"What? He doesn't shower!"

"El Luchadore Magnifico has IMPECCABLE personal hygeine!"

"Well then maybe he should wash that damn sombrero of his."

Flesher looks down the aisle and sees Magnifico sitting on the ramp, and grins at him with a look that says "I'd blow you a kiss, but I've got my hands full making your stablemate squeal like a pig." He sits back even further, still smiling at his pay-per-view opponent.

"It seems quite appropriate that Magnifico chose to make his entrance at this point," notes Stevens. "Flesher has Magnifico's stablemate, Z, locked into a Boston crab submission, and Z is grimacing in pain."

And grimace he does. Z winces in pain as Flesher bends his back uncomfortably, and lunges for the ropes. He comes up a few inches short, though. Tom loosens the hold up, though, preoccupied with mouthing obscenities at the Luchadore, and Z takes advantage by pulling himself just a little closer to the ropes, finally reaching out and grasping the bottom strand! Hebner counts

ONE!

TWO!

THREE!

FOUR!

and Flesher finally breaks the hold. He nonchalantly strolls over to the corner and leans, looking especially cocky. Z pulls himself back up to his feet using the ropes, only to have Tom charge at him and nail him with a running shotei! With Z stunned, Flesher spins behind him and locks his hands, looking for another German suplex. He arches backwards, but Z hooks his leg inside Flesher's to block the throw! The US Champion loosens his grip, then re-locks his hands harder to squeeze some of the air out of Z. With that, he bends backwards again for the throw....

but he collapses to the mat with Z seated on top of him! Why, whatever could have happened?

Oh.

It's Z.

"GALATEA SPECIAL!!!!!!!!!" Mark Stevens is evidently quite pleased. "Z caught Flesher on the way over with a Galatea Special, and Flesher's down on the mat!"

"DISQUALIFY HIM! That was a BLATANT low blow by Z, and Flesher was robbed of the chance to secure a pin!"

"It wasn't blatant, Bobby. It was, in fact, most likely unintentional. Z had his leg hooked on Flesher's thigh, and Flesher continued the throw anyway."

"Flesher's just trying to impress the fans, beatific soul that he is, and this is the thanks he gets! Stubby, if Z gets this pin, expect a petition on your desk in the morning from the Friends of Tom Flesher demanding that the belt be returned to him."

"Oh, be quiet. You and I both know Flesher has no friends."

Flesher rolls to his stomach, and Z backs away. He crouches down, in position to pounce at any moment. As Flesher gets back to his feet, Z charges at him for an Arm Grenade, but Flesher ducks! Z stops in his tracks, and when Flesher turns around, Z boots him in the stomach to double him over. He grabs hold of Flesher's arm and, snapping backward, falls to the mat with a single-arm DDT! Flesher screams, and Z rolls away. Flesher comes back to his feet, but Z immediately grabs the arm again. He swings one leg over Flesher's back and hooks it under his jaw, then swings the other leg over and snaps Tom's head to the mat with the Krazy Krash!

"Z hits Flesher with a Krazy Krash, and holds on with an armbar. It looks like Flesher may be in trouble now, thanks to Z's ability top come out of even the worst situation on top!" Grand Slam, despite an outward appearance of impartiality, sometimes lets his love for a fellow Carnie show through.

"All a DIRECT result of the kick to the groin! Shameless!"

Z cranks the armbar, but Flesher is able to scoot to the edge of the mat fairly quickly and grab hold of the bottom rope. Z breaks the hold without incident and backs away as Flesher gets back to his feet, favoring his arm slightly. Magnifico, meanwhile, sits on the ramp with a look of focus on his face.

"And he shouldn't be allowed out here either," says Riley. "He has an ulterior motive! You can just see it in those beady little eyes!"

"Magnifico is out here for one reason, and one reason only: to watch Flesher firsthand. I'm sure he gave Z some pointers and wants to see the way Flesher reacts in certain situations."

Flesher turns around and grabs Z to pull him into a lockup. Z tries to back away, but Flesher rears back and stiffs him in the temple with a palm strike.

"Or," says Bobby, "maybe Z's just a schmuck."

Unable to get away, Z does his best to wrestle out of the grapple. He ducks down to attempt a bodyslam, but Flesher hooks his arm and muscles him by. He ends up behind Z with both arms hooked in a double chickenwing. Z tries to fight out of it, but before he can, Flesher overpowers him and spins out. He kicks out his legs and slams Z's face into the mat with an Unprettier! With that, he rolls Z over and casually leans across him, waving to Magnifico. Hebner counts

ONE

TWO

KICKOUT!!!!!! Z kicks out of the pin as Stevens points out, "Flesher didn't even see fit to hook the leg that time." Flesher gets back up to his feet and nails Z with another palm strike, then whips his opponent to the ropes. With a quick wave to Magnifico, Flesher pops his foot up and boots Z in the face, taking him to the mat. He grabs Z by the arm and yanks him back to his feet, then hoists him into the air in position for a vertical suplex. Flesher holds him upside down...

"Look at that!" says Riley.

and stalls...

"All the blood is rushing to Z's head here," notes Stevens.

and STALLS...

"That's gotta be uncomfortable," says Riley.

and finally falls to the mat, slamming Z straight onto his head with a brainbuster! Z splatters out on the mat and ends up flat on his back. Flesher looks up, starts a golf clap for himself, and promptly places his Doc Marten on Z's neck. Flesher leans his weight onto Z's neck and waves to Magnifico, smiling cockily. Hebner goes up to Flesher and yells, "Get off his neck!" Flesher raises his eyebrow and replies, "Pardon?" Stevens, meanwhile, sighs and mutters, "Not this again...."

Knowing Flesher's signature spot, Hebner steps up and physically shoves him off of Z's neck! Flesher, enraged, grabs the official by his collar and rears back for a palm strike......

but thinks better of it and shoves the official away. He readjusts Z's carcass slightly, then climbs to the top rope. Flesher raises his arms into the air, signaling his signature flying headbutt.... but instead waves it off. He leaps off the top and brings his knees and elbows together, then lands hard on Z in a cannonball senton.

"DIIIIIIIIIIIIIIVING SENTON!" shouts Stevens as Z sits up, then falls back down, selling the impact to perfection. Flesher looks down at the New Jersey native's body, and then gets back up. He walks over and leans in the corner, a look of total satisfaction on his face as he just stares down at his handiwork. Stevens is appalled.

"Look at the egotism from Flesher! He's not even trying to pin Z! He's just admiring the fact that he was able to put him down and hit a senton! What a shameless glory hog!"

"What a specimen of true benevolence!"

"What a crock."

Angered by Flesher's show of egotism, El Luchadore Magnifico jumps up onto the apron and shouts, "EY! ESSE! You wanna dis the Carnies, you come over here and dis ME!" Flesher pauses a moment, not noticing that Z has rolled to his stomach and started to pull himself to his feet. As the Superior One begins to slowly strut towards the ramp, Z gets all the way to his feet and shakes the cobwebs off. "Z's had a lot of time to recover," says Stevens, "and the senton really only knocked the wind out of him. It looks like he's getting his second wind!"

Flesher walks all the way over and leans on the top rope, trash-talking Magnifico. With his back turned, he doesn't see Z staggering up behind him, still a little wobbly but getting steadier with each step. Once Z gets behind Tom, he grapevines his right leg, grabs his left leg and rolls backwards into the Jack-In-The-Box! He ends up on top of Flesher and Hebner counts

ONE

TWO

KICKOUT! Flesher manages to break the pin and roll away. Z follows after him, throwing a sitdown dropkick to Flesher's ribs. Staggered and with the wind knocked out of him, Flesher backs into the ropes to regain his senses. Z, meanwhile, looks over and sees Magnifico clapping in rhythm. Taking his cue, Z starts to stomp the mat rhytmically, and soon the fans pick up the beat.

STOMP

"He's warming up the band!" says Stevens.

STOMP

"What the hell does that mean?" asks Riley.

STOMP

Flesher looks up, and immediately, Z shuffles toward him and nails him in the jaw with a Blizzard of Oz! Flesher collapses into the corner in a seated position, and the crowd pops like crazy for Z's big move! "Blizzard of Oz, and Flesher's down after that superkick!" Stevens, once again, marks for the fellow Carnie. "It looks like Flesher's completely out of it!"

Flesher tries to pull himself up to his feet, but can't quite do it. Z decides to help by grabbing Flesher in a front facelock and pulling him to the center of the ring. Z lifts Flesher into the air, in almost a carbon-copy of the position Flesher held Z in for the brainbuster. After a quick stall, he falls forward and pounds Flesher into the mat with....

"THE JACKHAMMER! Z busting out the Jackhammer, and the wind is knocked right out of Tom Flesher!"

And with that, Flesher lays on the mat, conscious but with the wind knocked right out of him. Z contemplates going for the pin... but suddenly, the proverbial light bulb goes off above his head, and he looks very excited. Quickly, he goes to work and stacks Flesher's legs up over his body, then wraps Flesher's arms up around his legs. With Flesher folded up and holding himself in place, Z rolls him over onto his knees and sits down on his back! Z flexes his biceps, as Mark Stevens shouts, "NELBINA!"

"Mark, that hold is disgusting! It shows no technical ability whatsoever and exists solely to embarrass the opponent! I can't believe you're encouraging it!"

"He's just having a little fun, Bobby."

"DISQUALIFY HIM!"

Z stays seated on Flesher's back for a while, changing poses from the Double Biceps to the Throat Slit and eventually the Dusting-Off-My-Hands, before finally ending the pose-o-rama with a copy of Flesher's arms-out, eyes-skyward Jesus pose. That draws a huge pop from the crowd, and when Flesher hears that he starts wriggling even harder to escape.

"Z is showing Flesher who's boss here!"

"And I can't stand another minute of it!"

Finally, feeling Flesher getting restless, Z decides not to press his luck and jumps off his opponent's back. He charges to the opposite corner and gets in position for an Arm Grenade, but as soon as Flesher rolls to his feet, he drops back down to the mat. The camera zooms in and catches him, beet-red and pissed off, saying "Fuck this, I'm out of here."

"What?"

"Good for you, Flesher!" Riley stands up and pats Flesher on the back as he walks past the announcers' table, but Flesher shrugs the hand off angrily. "Good for you!"

With that, Flesher grabs the US Title belt off the timekeeper's table, slings it roughly over his shoulder and stalks back toward the ramp. Duke Hebner, sighing, begins his count.

ONE!

TWO!

Flesher starts to get near Magnifico, who tries to block his way. Flesher just shoves him brusquely to the side and keeps walking.

THREE!

The Luchadore starts to move toward Flesher, but thinks better of it, realizing that if he attacks the Champion, Z will not only still not win the title, but will lose the match by disqualification.

FOUR!

All things being equal, a win is always better than a loss.

FIVE!

SIX!

SEVEN!

EIGHT!

Flesher walks through the curtain, not to be seen again.

NINE!

TEN!

DING DING DING!!!!!!!

Faith No More's "Epic" begins to play over the PA, but Z looks more disappointed than anything else. Funyon says, "The winner of the match, by countout, Z! However, still your United States Champion, 'The Superior One,' Tom Flesher!"

The crowd boos loudly, especially hot as Z sulks toward the ramp. Magnifico bows grandly and pulls the ropes open, holding them for Z in a gesture of great respect. The crowd pops as Mags leans over and says, "You beat him, brah. Now I'll make sure to keel him."

"That's a threat if I've ever heard one," says Stevens. "And we'll be right back!"

July 23, 2002

We come back from commercial to backstage at the Halifax Center, where Ben Hardy stands, a microphone, shockingly enough, in his hand.

“Welcome back to Smarkdown, folks! I’m here with Edwin MacPhisto--” and the camera pans left, revealing Edwin with double-title-wielding action and garnering a big cheer! “Edwin, there’s one question on everyone’s mind. With Wargames just around the corner, with Chris Wilson on your back, with the tensions with the Clan, with your evident scattered state of mind, and with your—oog, that’s a nasty cut on your hand there—and with your Canadian Deathmatch against Lerrin Breggan and impossible odds tonight…well…how are you holding up?” Ben offers the mic…and Edwin takes it.

“The answer to that, Ben, has got a lot of parts. But I’ll tell you something, Benjamin. I don’t know what Stubby thinks he’s doing with this match tonight—there’s not a person in this arena who thinks I have a chance against Lerrin Breggan under these rules, especially with Jay Dawg wearing the bloody striped shirt.”

“Bloody shirt? What?”

“…it’s a British thing, Ben. Hush. Irregardless: these are the biggest odds I’ve ever faced. For now. Title or no—and Ben, I can guarantee you that I’ve got a way out of tonight’s match if it really, truly, most definitely comes down to last straws—everything changes at Ground Zero. It’s Wargames. It’s going to be a beautiful release, Benjamin. A carefree, happy-go-lucky guy like me, like Z, like Chris Raynor, like Magnifico, like…okay, well, not exactly like Thoth, but bear with me here—a guy like that can use a release now and then. In Wargames…the Magnificent Seven finds out what happens when you push a Joker too far.”

“That’s all well and good, Edwin, but there are rumors going around--”

But Edwin cuts Hardy off, ignoring him completely as he turns straight towards the camera. “Hear that, Wilson? Hear that, Stubby? Hear that…” Edwin opens his mouth, but thinks better of continuing. “You can only push so far. I may have a lovely singing voice when it comes to being one of Chrissy Stardust’s ever-so-impressive Carnies from Mars, but the songbird can also send his beak straight through your eye given the chance. Don’t push me, and you may all walk out of Ground Zero under your own power.” Edwin stops briefly to catch a breath. “But…if you do push me…if you push me harder than you should…if you continue to play games…you’ll just simply have to learn that the Midnight Carnival is, most certainly, all fun and games. But, Stubby, Wilson…anyone…that’s not all we are. I’m waiting, Wilson. Do your worst…and you’ll get what’s coming to you.”

Ben Hardy is visibly shaking at this point. “Uh, Edwin?”

And MacPhisto snaps back to a grin. “You heard me, Ben. They can do what they like to me…but they’re going to have to get what pay for. Here’s your microphone. I apologize for the slight spittle saturation.” With that, Edwin hands the microphone off and disappears off-camera.

“Uh, Edwin MacPhisto, ladies and gentleman. We’ll be back after this…”

July 23, 2002

Fading in from commercials, the Halifax Metro centre looks like a gathering of boredom. But as soon as the Smarkstron lights up, these Nova Scotia fans rise to their feets, cheering at the top of their lungs while also holding up their homemade signs! The camera pans across, delivering air time to only the catchiest fans before setting its view on the SWF commentating team of Bobby Riley and Mark Stevens.

"(Mark) We're back on Smarkdown and what a night it has been."

"(Riley) Didn't you say that before the US title match?"

"(Mark) I'm not sure. I can't really remember."

"(Riley) That's because you're old."

"(Mark) Um... I'll give you that one. Up next, ladies and gents, we have the Magnificent 7 team of The Boston Strangler and Stryke, taking on the newly reformed X-Force 9 team of Erek Taylor and Ash Ketchum! Taylor cost Strangler a shot at the SWF Title this past Storm and he'll be wanting to give Erek some payback."

"(Riley) Well of course. Say I slept with your wife, wouldn't you want to take a swing at me?"

"(Mark) No, I would kick you in the nuts and then take a swing at you."

The slow and steady beat of "Toxicity" begins to blare out of the speakers, igniting wave after wave of boos from the audience. The fans continue to boo as the lights begins to flash and the M7 members Strangler and Stryke walk out on to the ramp. Strangler and Stryke stands there, staring at the crowds that they no longer care for.

"(Funyon) The following contest is scheduled for one fall. Introducing first, weighing in at a combined weight of 522 pounds, they are members of the Magnificent Seven.... THE BOSTON STRANGLER AND STRYKE!!!!!"

Strangler and Stryke ventures down the ramp, ignoring the countless insults from the crowds and dishing some of their own to the unlucky ones in the front. They roll into the ring, and are forced to dodge the trash being thrown in. The two M7 members are fortunate, because the opening rifts of "Operate, Annihilate" begins to play, and the trash throwing quickly ceases to exist. Attention of the fans are turned to the ramp, where smoke and mist has begun to rise and the only thing that clears it is the giant explosion that rocks the stage!! Then, out of the dark, the figures of Erek Taylor and Ash Ketchum.

"(Funyon) And their opponent, weighing in at a combined weight of 453 pounds, members of X FORCE NINE! The SWF Intercontinental Television Champion, Erek Taylor and Ash Ketchum!!!"

Deafening is the only word to describe the volume of the cheers given by the fans. Erek tosses his title belt aside, giving one look to Ash before the two break off into a run down the ramp, handing out high fives along the way. The two XF9ers slide into the ring, and immediately, Strangler and Stryke move forward to deliver a load of forearms to the opposition's backs!

***Ding ding ding!!!***

Strangler overpowers Erek with ease, shoving him into the corner before lunging forward with a hard hook. Strangler delivers another hook, and then another before grabbing Erek by the wrist and hurling him to the opposite corner! But Erek is quick to react and tries to counter the whip, but walks right into a hard clothesline from Strangler and the ICTV Champion is sent outside!! Strangler walks towards the other XF9er, Ash Ketchum, who is beaten down with repetitive rights from Stryke. The two M7 members join hands and grab each of Ketchum's wrist before whipping the Pokefreak to the ropes. Ketchum rebounds and gets knocked down from a double elbow. The referee seizes order, ordering Strangler to exit the ring and the mammoth of a man has no choice but to obey.

"(Mark) Ash Ketchum and Stryke starting things out here. These two have faced each other multiple times in their SWF careers but I do believe this is the first time they've met where they have had a partner."

"(Riley) Yeah, that was when Erek was still nursing his ugly ass at home."

Stryke traps Ketchum with a sleeper hold early, but the Pokefreak, still high on energy, battles out of it, driving elbows to the gut of Stryke. Ash rises to his feet and breaks Stryke's grip before giving the Aussie a heartwarming American punch. Ketchum goes in and connects with another punch before backing Stryke to the ropes with three loud and sickening chops, all receiving the usual "WHOOO!" response from the crowds. Ketchum grabs hold of Stryke's wrist, and with the pushing motion, sends the Showstopper whipping to the ropes. Stryke rebounds and Ash is quick to capitalize, grabbing Stryke by the waist and shoulder before planting him into the canvas with a hard powerslam! Ketchum crawls over and hooks the right leg:

ONE!!!

TWO!!!

THR- and Stryke kicks out! Ketchum doesn't discourage, grabbing Stryke by the hair before dragging the Aussie up to his feet. Ash swings and connects a right hand, but Stryke is quick to counter attack, starting off with a Strangler-influenced headbutt then continuing with repetitive jabs! Stryke backs Ash to the corner, where he thrusts his shoulder up and into Ketchum's gut. A thrust here, a thrust there, and Ash drops to his knees.

"(Mark) Stryke is greatly known for his impressive technical skills as well as his suicidal and aggressive nature, as you saw there."

"(Riley) Which means Ash and Erek has no chance of winning! Ha!"

Stryke grabs Ash by the hair and brings the Pokefreak up to his feet. The M7 member measures him up, and lashes out with a hard chop!

"(Crowds) OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOH!!!!!"

Stryke grabs Ketchum by the wrist and hurls him to the ropes. Ketchum rebounds and instinctively tries to counter attack with a clothesline but Stryke is yet again one step ahead, swiftly stepping to the side and hooking his own arm with Ash's arm. Then, with all necessary preparations done, Stryke hoists Ash into the air and plants him into the ground with a flipping arm drag. Stryke scurries over and quickly goes for the cover:

ONE!!!

TWO!!!

THR- but Ash is resiliant, inching his shoulder up at the last second! Stryke brings Ash back up in a hurry, and leads him over to the M7 corner. Strangler raises his boot, and Stryke uses it to his advantage, throwing Ketchum's face into the behemoth's feet before tagging the M7 lieutenant in. Strangler enters and quickly makes his prescence felt, snapping a choke hold on Ketchum and pulling him up into the air! Ash wails his feet about, trying to tear away but Strangler's grip is too strong. Finally, the referee steps in and forces the giant to release the Pokefreak.

"(Mark) My god, Strangler is so strong. How will Erek Taylor have a chance against him this Sunday?"

"(Riley) The fans? Pfft, they're probably too busy getting themselves drunk to do anything."

Ash staggers to his feet, and gets pummeled back from a hard right hand by Strangler. The behemoth of the entire league continues to prove his strength, delivering another right hand that sends Ash stumbling to the corner. Strangler corners his prey, and unleashes a fury of body punches to the Undercard King. After a hefty combination of punches, Strangler grabs Ash by the wrist and hurls him to the opposite corner, hard. Ash staggers forward, arching his back in pain as Strangler picks him up by the side, taking a moment to showboat before finally planting the Pokefreak into the canvas with a sidewalk slam! Strangler holds on to Ash's leg and pulls it up for the cover:

ONE!!!

TWO!!!

THRE- but still, Ash kicks out!! Strangler brings Ketchum to his feet, and with one mighty tug, throws him into the M7 corner. Stryke's eyes lighten up, and the Aussie quickly traps Ash with a sleeper in the corner as Strangler distracts the referee. Erek yells for attention, but Stryke releases the hold before the referee turns. Strangler walks in and collides into Ash with another M7 headbutt!

"(Riley) Yeah that's right... yell Erek! Yell! That's the only thing you can do. Yell, talk, the works."

"(Mark) Strangler luring the referee away from the Magnificent Seven corner, allowing Stryke to do some damage of his own. Brilliant strategy, but I must stand by my morals and say that is wrong."

"(Riley) But it's brilliant."

A tag, and Stryke enters the ring. Strangler holds Ketchum up for his partner, Stryke, who comes in and connects with a jab to the stomach. Stryke grabs Ketchum by the wrist and hurls the Pokefreak to the ropes. Ketchum rebounds, and runs right into a back body drop by Stryke! Stryke goes for the cover but Ash, once again, kicks out at two. Stryke drags Ash to the center of the ring, away from the safety of the ropes before dropping an elbow on to Ash's body. Stryke stands back up and once again, drops another elbow into Ash's gut. Ketchum grimaces, extending his hand towards the XF9 corner. It's just too bad the corner is ten feet away. Therefore, Stryke gets the advantage and lands a third elbow on Ash Ketchum before hooking the right leg up and going for the cover:

ONE!!!

TWO!!!

THRE- but Ash kicks out!!

"(Mark) I think all this action has killed Ash's brain cells. Why in the world would he go for a tag ten feet away?"

"(Riley) Because he's a Pokemon freak. He actually thinks there are yellow mice running around shocking people."

Stryke brings the Pokefreak back up, grabbing him by the wrist before hurling him to the ropes. Ketchum rebounds and dodges a clothesline before the momentum carries him to the ropes once again. A second rebound and Ketchum flies into Stryke with a desperation cross body block! The Pokefreak goes for the cover:

ON- OOOH!! Stryke reaches upwards and pulls Ash into a cradle!!!!

ONE!!!

TWO!!!

THREE- and Ash manages to kick out!!! Ketchum crawls towards the XF9 corner but Stryke puts a stop to that, stepping on to Ash's hand with a hard thud! The crowds responds with a hefty "BOOOO!" as Stryke drags Ash back over to the M7 corner and tags in the Boston Strangler. Strangler enters the ring, joining with Stryke as the two surround Ash in the M7 corner and relay hard body punches left and right to his midsection. The referee calls for order and Stryke exits. Strangler brings Ash to the center of the ring, snapping on a front facelock before hoisting the 258 pounder into the air! Strangler positions Ash in a near-perfect vertical position before rendering a fall backwards and plants Ash into the mat with a suplex. Ketchum staggers to his feet, and Strangler moves in, grabbing Ash by the wrist before whipping him to the ropes. Ash rebounds and Strangler quickly positions himself, grabbing Ash by the waist and shoulder before body pressing the Pokefreak into the air! Ten, fifteen feet up, Ketchum is helpless as he falls down flat on his stomach.

"(Mark) My god the power. Ash has got to tag in his partner but the M7 team is just...."

"(Riley) -brilliant? Magnificent? Dominant?"

"(Mark) Sad to say that I agree with you."

The Pokefreak piles back on his feet as Strangler squares himself up, drawing his fist back before shooting it forward, decking Ketchum with a hard right. Ash falls to the canvas not for the first time, and Strangler goes down and attempts the pin:

ONE!!!

TWO!!!

THRE- and another kickout by Ash! Strangler brings Ash back up, and with a hold on the Pokefreak's wrist, he sends the XF9er whipping to the ropes. Ash rebounds and instinctively dives into the air...drilling a forearm across Strangler's face!!! Strangler pops right back up but Ash is ready with another trick up his sleeve, luring Strangler in before tripping him to the ground with a scissor sweep. Ash races to the ropes and delivers a dropkick to the head of the Boston Strangler!! The crowds rise to their feets, clapping in unison and cheering Ash on as he crawls for the XF9 corner!

"(Mark) Ash getting some offense in finally."

Erek stretches his hand out as far as he can, hoping his comrade will succeed. Ash is so near..... A swing but Ash misses the tag! Strangler pulls Ketchum down, not allowing him to tag in the fresher of the team. Ketchum fights back, sending hard boots to Strangler's chest. But the behemoth will not be denied, catching one of Ash's boots in the air before pulling him down to the ground. Strangler mounts himself on Ash's chest and demolishes the Pokefreak with hard punches left and right.

"(Riley) Haha!! Teach him how a punch is thrown, Strangler."

Strangler brings Ash back up and leads him to the M7 corner. Tag, and Stryke enters the ring. The two M7 members isolate Ash from the rest of the world, delivering body punches to the Pokefreak before hurling him to the ropes. Stryke goes to the perpendicular ropes as Ash rebounds, right into a kick to the gut by Strangler, who watches as his M7 comrade runs right back in and grabs Ash by the head before planting it into the canvas with a spinning neckbreaker. Cover:

ONE!!!

TWO!!!

THRE- but still Ash refuses to lay down! Ash starts to crawl for the XF9 corner, feeling the effects of fatigue as he does so. Ketchum gets a head start but doesn't go far as Stryke pulls his nemesis back to the center of the ring. There, Stryke mounts himself on Ketchum's back before pulling his leg back, trapping the Pokefreak with the Single Crab.

"(Mark) Stryke using his technical expertise to inflict further harm on the Pokemon Freak, who has managed to last this long against the two beasts."

"(Riley) I'll give him that. But everything else, Ash sucks."

Ash twists in anguish, his entire body shrieking in pain. The UnderCard King tries desperately to go for the tag but he's just too far. And so, he goes for the ropes. Although not as far as his corner, the ropes are still a good length away. Ketchum sucks up the pain, and begins crawling with his forearms. Inch by inch, he draws nearer until finally, he circles his hand around the bottom rope! The official restrains Stryke, who doesn't let go without a scuffle. Stryke races to the ropes, trying to catch Ketchum by surprise. As the Showstopper draws near, Ketchum quickly puts his plan into action, pulling the top rope down and using his body as a launching pad, hurling Stryke into the air and to the mat outside!! The arena erupts as Ash extends for Erek, who is bouncing up and down on the second rope, dying to get into the ring. Ketchum takes a swing..... but falls to the ground!!!

"(Mark) THAT BOSTON STRANGLER!!!"

STRANGLER ENTERS THE RING AND NAILS KETCHUM FROM BEHIND WITH A CLOTHESLINE!!! The referee is drawn away, but Ketchum doesn't know it. Ash summons the remaining bits of his energy and lunges forward, slapping Erek across the hand and tagging in the High Flyin' Prince! Erek enters the ring and quickly breaks off towards Strangler!! NOOO!! The referee turns and quickly restrains Erek, forcing the ICTV Champion back out on to the apron!

"(Riley) YES!!! If the referee can't see the tag, don't bother to tag!"

"(Mark) Now that's just BS! Strangler came in and hit Ash with the clothesline, then drew the referee away so that he couldn't see Ash tag in Erek!"

"(Riley) Admit it, it's magnificent."

The Halifax Metro centre jeers, but regardless of their emotions, Erek stays on the outside while Ash stays in. Stryke slowly slides back into the ring, piling back on his feet before raging forward and dropping another elbow down Ash's back. Stryke brings Ash up in a hurry, circling his hands around the Pokefreak's waist before hoisting him into the air! Time slows down, as every second plays over in every fan's head. Stryke renders a quick fall backwards and drives Ash's neck into the canvas. A textbook German Suplex, followed by a bridge:

ONE!!!

TWO!!! Erek slingshots into the ring...

THRE- OOOH! And the ICTV Champion brings a boot across Stryke's head!! Erek yells for the tag but Ash is just too dazed to make sense of anything. He gets brought up by Stryke once more, and gets hammered in the head with a right jab. Stryke moves in, delivering another jab before grabbing hold of Ash's wrist and hurling him to the ropes. Ash rebounds, and runs right into a a spinning heel kick by Stryke!! The Showstopper once again goes for the cover:

ONE!!!

TWO!!!

THREE- and yet again, Ash Ketchum kicks out!!

"(Riley) Why won't he just fall down and die?! LET THE MAGNIFICENT SEVEN WIN ALREADY ASH!!"

"(Mark) I say you fight Ash. FIGHT!"

Stryke brings Ash up to his feet and decks him with a hard right. The Showstopper advances and delivers another right hand, a third, a fourth, a fifth, everytime backing Ash Ketchum further towards the ropes. Finally, as the ropes press against Ash's back, Stryke grabs hold of his opponent's wrist and hurls him to the ropes. Ash rebounds and Stryke swiftly goes for the icing of the cake, hooking his arm around Ash's arm and hoisting him into the air for a firearm's carry- OOOH!! Ash twirls around, ruining the setup for the move and spoiling Stryke's plans! Stryke can only settle for a back suplex. Stryke locks in the bridge but Ketchum, once again, kicks out before three. The Showstopper snaps in a front facelock on Ash, dragging the Pokefreak up before hoisting him into the air. Rendering a quick fall backwards, Stryke lands a snap suplex on Ash, who is still trying to find a way to get a tag.

"(Mark) Another great suplex by Stryke. But I'm more concerned for Ash. He can't go on much longer and he needs to make a tag."

"(Riley) He needs to... but it doesn't mean he will."

Stryke crawls over for the cover:

ONE!!!

TWO!!!

THRE- OOOH! And still, Ash Ketchum is resiliant, popping his shoulder forward at the last second. Stryke slams his fist into the mat, the unsubmitting nature of Ash Ketchum becoming a nuisance at last. He starts to lead Ash over to the M7 corner but Ash struggles, pulling hard and whipping Stryke to the ropes. Stryke rebounds....

THWACK!!! And Ash drives a flying forearm across Stryke's head!! The Pokefreak, feeling the first effects of an adrenaline rush, piles back on his feet before starting his counter attack against Stryke, bringing the Showstopper up before lashing out with a hard chop. The crowds responds with the usual "WHOOOO!" after the chop while Ash grabs Stryke by the wrist and hurls him to the ropes. Stryke rebounds, and with his last remaining bits of energy, Ash circles his hands around Stryke's waist and flips him into the air, connecting with a belly to belly suplex!! The two combantants in the ring collapse, both out of energy and seeking a tag from their respective partners.

"(Mark) Now that's more like it! Come on Ash, get the tag."

"(Riley) No you can't! No you can't! No you can't!"

Ash reaches for Erek, extending his arm as far as he can. The distance between the two comrades begins to disappear and as Ash comes in for the last inch, he takes a wild swing, but Stryke pulls Ash by the leg, away from the tag!! The crowds bursts into boos but Ash is desperate and tries again. Stryke holds on for his dear life and Ash starts to drag the Showstopper along with him. Again, Ash comes in for the last inch, and takes a more direct swing:

SMACK!!

TAG!! The Halifax Metro centre is on fiyah!! Erek Taylor enters the ring with a thunderous ovation as he lashes out on Stryke with a fierce chop.

"(Crowds) OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOH!!!!!!!"

SMACK! Another chop!

"(Crowds) OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOH!!!!!!!"

Then another chop, and another, and another. The crowds responds with the respectable "WHOO!"s as Erek grabs Stryke by the wrist and hurls him to the opposite corner, hard. Stryke staggers forward, arching his back in pain as Erek squares up and shoots his right leg upwards, connecting it with Stryke's face!! Stryke goes down hard but Erek doesn't attempt the cover, instead, dragging Stryke back up and throwing him into the M7 corner!! Erek points to Strangler, waving for the big man to come in.

"(Mark) Erek Taylor is calling in Strangler!! These two collide this Sunday but I guess we'll have a good preview!!"

Strangler wonders for a moment, but his wondering along causes the crowds to deliver chants of "CHICKEN! CHICKEN!". Finally, the behemoth gives in, tapping Stryke on the shoulder for the tag. He enters the ring and immediately is showered with quick rights and lefts from the High Flyin' Prince! Strangler battles out of it, shoving Erek to the ground like a rag doll. The smallest of the four fighters isn't a pushover, bursting back up on his feet and getting right back at it, throwing another round of shots at Strangler. Strangler catches the punches in the air and retaliates with a massive headbutt. He then goes on the attack, swinging and connecting one hard roundhouse! Erek falls to the ground but pops right back up, only to get knocked down from another roundhouse punch. Strangler sets himself up, raising one hand into the air and stretching his fingers out...

"(Riley) Here we go!! Erek Taylor is going to go for the ride!! CHOKESLAM TIME!!!"

And as Erek staggers back up, Strangler slaps a hold around Erek's neck!! A gasp from the crowds is all he needs and Strangler hoists the High Flyin' Prince into the air!! Quick thinking and quick acting, Ash dives forward, connecting a forearm across Strangler's leg, sending the big man dropping to his knees. Erek is saved, for now, and breaks free of Strangler's grip. A kick to the gut doubles Strangler over and Erek steps forward, wrapping his arm around the behemoth's head! The crowds rise but before Erek can go for the spin, Stryke is right there, running in from behind with a diving bulldog!! Ash gets right into Stryke's face, delivering a batch of shots to his nemesis. Stryke staggers to the ropes and Ash sends him out of the ring with a clothesline! Ash turns back to the main fight, but Stryke trips Ash down and pulls the Pokefreak out of the ring to continue their fight outside!

"(Mark) Erek and Strangler are in the ring. Ash and Stryke outside. All of them are fighting their hearts out."

"(Riley) Yeah, sure."

Strangler gets up to his feet first, and quickly tries to take advantage of Erek's position, running to the ropes as fast as he can. Strangler rebounds, but with all the strength Erek can muster, he grabs the behemoth by the waist and hoists him into the air before drilling him into the canvas with a diving spinebuster!! The arena has exploded and Erek quickly grabs Strangler by the legs, positioning it in a "V" formation before crossing it up then spinning around, swiftly applying the Sharpshooter!! Holding on to the legs with one arm, Erek uses his free arm and reaches down, wrapping it around Strangler's neck before tightening it up, now trapping Strangler with the Sharpshooter as well as the Sleeper!!

"(Mark) Execution Hold! A combination of the Sharpshooter and the Sleeper. This may be it right here!"

The referee gets into position. He asks for submission but Strangler refuses. The giant behemoth grimaces with pain but with no air, Strangler has no choice but to submit. He feels his hand go up....

......

...... then stop?!?!

"(Mark) What the hell? Erek just let go of the Execution!!"

"(Riley) Um.... I'm at a loss of words."

Erek releases the hold, giving Strangler some air and space, then reveals his true nature, going back to work on the behemoth. The ICTV Champion grabs Strangler by the legs, crossing it into a "T" position before turning around and applying the Inverted Texas Cloverleaf on the Boston Strangler!!

"(Mark) Wait...is that what I think it is?"

"(Riley) You have got to be kidding me!"

"(Mark) IT IS!! IT IS!!!"

Taylor continues the hold, standing behind Strangler's legs as he increases the hold. The audience is in awe, but as the truth dawns upon them, they release their joy in harmony!

"(Mark) COMET'S TAIL!!! COMET'S TAIL!!! EREK TAYLOR JUST LOCKED IN THE COMET'S TAIL!! A SUBMISSION MOVE THAT WAS MADE FAMOUS BY CYCLONE COMET HIMSELF!!!"

"(Riley) Oh damn...."

Chants of the legend begin to rise... "Comet! Comet! Comet!". Erek continues the hold on to the Comet's Tail, his own face beginning to red from the length of the manuever. Strangler can't take the pain, and can't reach the ropes. There's no other way, the pain is just too much and the Boston Strangler slaps his hand on the canvas:

ONE!

TWO!

THREE!!!!

The referee immediately signals for the bell....

***Ding ding ding!!!***

.....and holds Erek's hand up in victory! The crowds are leaping up and down, chants of "Erek! Erek!" here, chants of "Comet! Comet!" there.

"(Funyon) The winners of this match...ASH KETCHUM AND EREK TAYLORR!!!!"

"Downfall" plays, but the music can barely be heard. The fans are cheering their hearts out, every single one of them all pointing to the sky, a salute to Cyclone Comet. Erek rolls out of the ring, joining his comrade Ash Ketchum at ringside. The two XF9ers slowly venture back up the ramp, looking about the arena and the unity of the fans. A smile crosses their face and the two disappear into the curtains.

"(Mark) What a match! What an ending!! Erek Taylor locked in the Comet's Tail and forced the Boston Strangler to tap out to the legendary move."

"(Riley) I'm still at a loss of words."

"(Mark) Erek and Ash wins. Stay tuned folks, because we still have some great matches coming your way! INCLUDING: Edwin MacPhisto facing Lerrin Breggan for the SWF TItle... with Jay Dawg as the special guest referee!!"

July 23, 2002

Ash Ketchum wanders the halls backstage at the Halifax Metro Centre, coming off his X Force 9 tag team matchup where he and Erek Taylor took on the Magnificent Seven's team of the Boston Strangler and Stryke. He is in good spirits, looking forward to what should be a good matchup for him at the upcoming pay per view, Ground Zero. He wondered who his opponent would be at that show--Stryke, perhaps, or maybe Jay Dawg. Ash has seen some success in the ring lately, and his recently gained status as an X Force 9 member has the potential to prove very beneficial to his career. Life is good for the Undercard King.

The only thing that currently sours his mood? He appears to be lost.

"Damn Canadians and all their unmarked doors," he mumbles as he checks random doors backstage, searching frantically for the X Force 9 locker room. Sure enough, one hallway in the Halifax arena looks pretty much like the next, and twenty minutes of searching has been fruitless thus far.

Finally, hope springs forth to Ash in the form of a door cracked partially open. Ash hovers close, approaching the door, daring the thought that his search might possibly be over. Unfortunately, he hears unfamiliar voices behind the door, and so chooses not to enter... though, something in the voices is enough to convince Ash to remain close to the door, listening to hear what is being said.

"...so you see, it really doesn't matter how we get booked at Ground Zero. The alliance of the Midnight Carnival and the Clan is shaky at best. It won't hold up under prolonged circumstances. We will emerge triumphant."

"What about X Force 9?" asks a second voice. "They'll surely be looking to make an impact."

"X Force 9?" laughs the first voice. "They don't even stand Chance One. Let me tell you a little something about X Force 9. I've been manipulating them ever since they came about, and I'm going to keep on manipulating them. Remember Longdogger Pete getting jumped in the weight room a few weeks back? Remember Pete and Erek Taylor, at each other's throats because of some whispered comments each one was believed to have made against the other? That was all my doing. I played one off against the other. I am manipulating X Force 9 because it makes them paranoid. And their paranoia is keeping them out of the way."

"Is that really going to work?" a third voice chimes in. "Surely the other members would have--"

"What other members?" the first voice cuts off. "Tod deKindes? Ash Ketchum? You expect a green rookie and the most ridiculous gimmick in the history of the SWF to have some sort of impact? Give me a break."

Ash opens his mouth, offended by the comments against him, but utters no sound, not wanting to be detected behind the door.

"All are going to fall before me," the voice continues. "Before us."

Ash steps back away from the door, in shock from what he had just heard. All the planning, all the manipulating, all the work done against X Force 9, and the identity of the mastermind had been revealed to him! He had to tell the rest of the team, he thinks to himself as he backs away from the door. He had to let them know who--

CLANG!

Crap, Ash thinks to himself as he trips over a large equipment crate that he hadn't noticed in his haste to leave the area. How did that get there?

"What the hell was that?" exclaims a voice from the door.

Ash tries to get back up off the floor, but he doesn't make it in time. The door flies open, and he hears several heavy footfalls. He starts to get up, but then is shoved violently back down to the floor, his head striking the concrete with a loud SMACK! Ash is in pain, and pain intensifies as several more objects--feet? weapons?--lay into him, over and over again. Finally Ash rolls over in pain, landing on his back, struggling to stay conscious as he stares into the faces of his attackers...

"Well, hello, there," smiles Chris Wilson. "Let's go for a little ride, shall we?"

* * * * *

Things are quiet for the moment inside the X Force 9 locker room. Erek Taylor lies draped across the couch, idly playing SWF Battleground 2K2 on the team's X-Box. Behind the couch, and standing, the team leader, Longdogger Pete, looks on.

"Where the hell is he?" Pete asks.

"Who, Ash?" Erek replies.

"Yes, Ash. He said he'd be back after his match, and that was an hour ago. Wasn't he with you?"

Erek shrugs. "I guess we got separated somewhere. Don't worry, pops, I'm sure he'll turn up at one point or another." And with that, he withdraws back into his quest to wrest the World title away from Bobby Riley, of all people... damn cheating game.

After a minute or two without further conversation, Pete speaks up again. "Do you hear something, Erek?"

"Hmm?"

"I said, do you hear something strange?"

Erek pauses the game and glances up, listening carefully. "Yeah... yeah, I do. Sounds like... like an engine revving up."

"Where the hell could that be coming from," Pete wonders aloud... and then, he shoots a horrified glance at Erek, his eyes wide open. "Get back!"

"But I--"

"NOW!" hollers Pete.

SCREEEEEEECH! SMASH! As Pete ducks, and Erek dives for cover behind the couch, the XF9 locker room is suddenly torn apart, thrown into chaos by the speeding automobile that crashes in through the wall. With an ear-splitting roar, the car mows down the entertainment center, obliterating the furniture, shattering the television into thousands of tiny pieces, and scratching up the X-Box. Fortunately for Erek, the car comes to an abrupt halt mere centimeters from the couch.

The room is silent for a long moment, and then Pete and Erek lift their heads up from behind the couch to survey the damage. What Pete sees shocks him.

"That's my car," he mutters, staring at what remains of his black Ford Mustang. "That's my god-damned car!"

But it's what's inside the car that causes Erek to react. "Oh, my God..." he whispers.

Inside the driver's seat is a tied-up, bruised, beaten, and obviously unconscious Ash Ketchum. To Erek and Pete's horror, Ash's body slumps forward in the seat, and his head hits the steering wheel hard, activating the horn and lying on it.

HOOOOOOOOOOOOOOONK....

"Get some EMTs down here..." says Pete, his voice barely above a whisper. "Right now."

July 23, 2002

“Welcome back to SWF Smarkdown!” greets ‘Grand Slam’ Mark Stevens. “This is a big-time show, as we’re only six days away from Ground Zero, where we’ll see possibly our greatest main event ever in the SWF as Team Carnival goes up against Team Magnificent Seven in WarGames, a double cage, one submission extravaganza. Not to mention two absolutely simmering title matches as El Luchadore Magnifico and “The Superior One” himself settle their differences while X Force 9 member and ICTV Champion Erek Taylor defends his gold against Magnificent Seven member The Boston Strangler in a street fight. Should be absolutely great.”

“Not to mention our main event tonight,” continues Riley. “Edwin MacPhisto against the newcomer Lerrin Breggan in a Canadian Deathmatch for the SWF World Title! With Jay Dawg as the guest referee! Edwin has to freaking lose! He has to, Mark.”

“I don’t know about that, Bobby-“

Mark Stevens is interrupted as the arena plunges into darkness, a fog settling as a soft female voice begins to sing.

“Ah…..ah..ah…….Ah…….ah…ah……”

The crowd rises to its feet, booing extremely loudly as a wave of hate begins to radiate.

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

Chris Wilson strolls out onto the stage, Ruby Juliets sparkling in the limited light as he begins to walk slowly down the ramp, black trench coat swirling around him. Funyon stands in the ring, preparing to try and overtake this crowd with his experienced voice.

“Ladies and gentlemen, the following contest is scheduled for one fall!! First, making his way to the ring from Miami, Pennsylvania, and weighing in at two hundred and seventy-three pounds…the leader of the Magnificent Seven…….Chris Wil-SOOOOOOOOOOOOOON!”

The continues his display of distaste as Wilson steps into the ring and shoves his Oakleys and gloves into his pockets before tossing the coat to the side, turning to face his incoming opponent…

The lights stay out as “Scum of the Earth” begins to play, the crowd stopping their booing and actually beginning to slightly cheer. As soon as the heaviness kicks in, a huge explosion rocks the arena, in its wake a pale green light settling over everything. A few moments later, the Nuclear Weapon himself, Fallout, steps through the curtain and heads down to the ring, Clan robe enveloping him.

“And his opponent…hailing from Phoenix, Arizona, and weighing in at one hundred and eighty-five pounds…he represents the Clan….FALLOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOUT!”

As Fallout reaches the bottom of the ramp, Wilson hurriedly drops himself through the ropes to the floor and charges at his opponent. Fallout takes a hard shot to the jaw and drops to the steel ramp, Clan robe hindering his usually superior mobility. Wilson pounds on him with some hard right hands before throwing the former ICTV champion into the barricade.

“Wilson’s getting violent right off,” declares Riley, “as this match hasn’t even started yet and he’s taking it to Fallout.”

“You think this has something to do about Thoth’s attack on Wilson at Storm?” questions Stevens. “For those of you who didn’t tune in, Edwin announced that Thoth would be the fifth member on Team Carnival and then the Balancer proceeded to beat the snot out of the Magnificent Seven. Wilson’s probably hell-bent on getting some revenge on the Clan, be that Thoth or his stablemate Fallout.”

Wilson charges at Fallout, but he drops out of the way and Wilson plows into the Jersey barrier. Fallout quickly pulls his robe off and wraps it around Wilson’s neck, choking him furiously. Wilson powers himself out with some elbows and delivers a stiff headbutt to Fallout’s painted face. He follows up the BUTT with some hard right hands before whipping Fallout right into the ringpost. Fallout clangs off of it and collapses to the floor. Wilson immediately stands him up again and slaps on a side headlock, holding tightly on to Fallout and then slowly walking around the bottom of the ramp, back towards the production area.

The crowd boo’s loudly as Wilson reaches a set of tables, monitors and other equipment near the stage, shooing away the operators and clearing off the one table. Wilson rolls Fallout on top of it and slowly begins to grind his forearm into the smaller man’s throat, pressuring it and using his size and strength advantage to his fullest. Fallout manages to reach under Wilson’s arm and free himself, before spinning on his back and delivering a hard toe to the head of the evil genius. Wilson staggers back and that allows Fallout to spin the rest of the way around and get into a crouch. As Wilson takes a step forward, Fallout dives forward and takes him down with a flying clothesline.

“This isn’t a wrestling match,” cries Stevens as the crowd pops wildly. “Wilson and Fallout are reaching into their hardcore backgrounds and turning this thing into a brawl. They’re stables are opposing each other and these two are turning this match into a summary of those feelings.”

“You’re getting all philosophical about it,” snorts Riley. “They just enjoy beating the hell out of each other, and this crowd enjoys it just as much as I do.”

Wilson and Fallout slowly rise, and the Nuclear Weapon laces a pair of knife-edge chops across Wilson’s tank-topped chest, eliciting loud “WHOOOO’s!” from the crowd. Wilson stumbles farther back, but Fallout grabs him by the back of the neck and runs forward, releasing him so the Mag 7 leader goes sliding across the table and into the center of equipment and furniture. Fallout follows, leaping gracefully up onto the table and hopping off, preparing to rain some more pain down onto Wilson. It’s countered, however, as Wilson grabs a chair and jams it hard into the gut of Fallout, dropping him to one knee as he clenches his stomach. Wilson stands back up, rears back..

CRACK!

..and brings the chair down across the skull of Fallout! The crowd lets him hear it as Fallout crumples to the cement, Wilson not paying attention the public and instead concentrating on his opponent. He rolls Fallout onto the table once more and crawls up himself, slowly standing up the fallen Weapon and lacing his arms around into a full nelson. The crowd boo’s even louder as they see a table-assisted Platinum Nightmare in the near future, but their fears aren’t realized as a crimson, green and black faced Fallout lances back with a mule kick that catches Wilson right in the groin and causes him to loosen his grip.

“Fallout manages to free himself from Wilson’s full nelson,” calls Stevens, “and he turns around and slaps on a front facelock of his own. Wilson tries to get out of it, but can do little as the cruiserweight Fallout lifts him into the air and drops him back off the table to the cement with a painful looking vertical suplex.”

“Nice move by Fallout there,” commends Riley as the crowd roars in approval, “but now he’s crawling off the table and standing Wilson up. Wilson’s holding his back, but he has enough sense to fight back, throwing some right hands into Fallout’s mouth. Wilson throws a particularly wild haymaker, but Fallout ducks it and spins around just as Wilson recovers…kick to the gut…headlock…..MELTDOWN!!!!! MELTDOWN ON THE CEMENT!”

“Holy crap!” exclaims Stevens as the crowd breaks into a rare, rare chant of ‘FALL-OUT!’ “Wilson is dead, and Fallout isn’t done yet! He picks up a slightly dead Wilson and places him on the table, then points up to the stage, the crowd going absolutely insane as Fallout heads over to the ramp, hops on and begins to trek up to the stage.”

“Is he crazy?!” wonders Riley aloud as Fallout heads to the edge of the stage, taking a deep breath. “He’s suicidal! Fallout takes a step forward, right beside the edge….BUT HERE COMES THE SEVEN! ‘DEATHWISH’ DANNY WILLIAMS JUST CLOBBERED FALLOUT FROM BEHIND BEFORE TOSSING HIM HARD INTO THE STEEL SET OF SMARKDOWN!”

“He has no business being out here!” shouts Stevens as Williams begins to beat down Fallout, standing him up against the set and delivering a barrage of his deadly elbow strikes. The crowd boos even louder as The Boston Strangler, TNT and Frost also come out onto the stage and join in on the fun. “There is no way Fallout can defend himself against four men like this-“

“Grand Slam” Mark Stevens is interrupted as the crowd simply explodes. The Magnificent Seven turn around to find themselves facing something they’d probably rather not. Spider Nekura, Tom Flesher and Thoth, armed with steel chairs.

“Oh, like they have a reason to be out here!” exclaims Riley as the three Clansmen begin to clean house, catching a surprised Magnificent Seven with faces full of steel. “Fallout’s getting saved by his compatriots, but the delay is enough for Wilson to get off that table and slowly begin to stagger towards the action, clutching the back of his neck. That Meltdown was sick a few moments ago.”

As the Clan and the Seven brawl on the stage, an even four on four clash, Thoth wrings his chair around the head of TNT and turns to see Wilson. The crowd roars as they notice that Thoth notices Wilson, and the Balancer sprints down the ramp towards Wilson, who sees him out of the corner of his eye and high-tails it towards the ring.

Wilson slides into the ring and a few seconds behind him Thoth does the same. Before Thoth can push himself up to his feet, Wilson stomps him in the back of the head then drops a double axe handle across the back of his neck. He drags Thoth back up to his feet and whips him against the ropes. Wilson comes at him with a clothesline, but Thoth ducks it and both men hit the opposite ropes again. They bounce back and each throw strong arms out, completing a double clothesline that leaves both men lying!

“This is what these fans want to see,” shouts Stevens over the roar of the crowd as both men wobble to their feet, eyeing each other voraciously. “Back on the stage, the Seven has taken advantage of their numbers advantage and are really starting to turn the tide on the Clan, even as Spider, Flesher and Fallout fight with a gritty determination. Strangler grabs his former leader around the throat, rasping something inaudible to all but Spider, and then throws him into the set. Flesher and Deathwish battle on one side of the stage as Fallout picks up one of the battered steel chairs and blasts TNT over the head with it. He drops to his knees, and Fallout beams triumphantly for a moment…but only for a moment as Frost absolutely annihilates him from behind!”

“Sneakiness and power is a good combination,” insists Riley as Frost picks Fallout up. “Frost grabs our longest running light-heavyweight champion ever…oh God…EARLY WINTER ON THE STEEL STAGE! Boo-yah, baby.”

“That’s twisted,” responds Stevens. “Back in the ring, Wilson and Thoth begin to circle each other, these two wanting to of gone at it one on one for a while now. They lock up, each jockeying for an advantage of some sort, but being able to fine none they release and take a step back, eyeing each other warily. Wilson dances back, Thoth follows….AND GETS CLOTHESLINED FROM BEHIND FROM TYLER MCCLELLAND! DAMN HIM!”

“Numbers help you every time,” assures Riley as the man formerly known as Outcast begins to stomp at Thoth with Wilson. “This battle has swayed back to the side of the Magnificent Seven-“

“Simply because they outnumber everybody. Big freaking deal. Let’s wait until this Sunday when its five-on-five.”

“Well, I think Thoth should be worrying about right now,” continues Riley as Wilson drops out of the ring and grabs a pair of folding chairs. He tosses one to Tyler then slides into the ring. “Wilson unfolds his chair and drags a bewildered Thoth up to his feet. He laces him up for a Platinum Nightmare, reaches around with his leg, and falls forward….

CRUNCH!

PLATINUM NIGHTMARE THROUGH THAT CHAIR!”

“This is turning into a truly vile display,” remarks Stevens as a valiant Spider Nekura can do nothing as he’s triple teamed high up on the stage as a weary Tom Flesher and Danny Williams continue to go at it. “’The Dark Prophet’ urges Wilson to stand Thoth up, and he does so, blood starting to trickle down the Balancer’s face. Tyler rears back and connects with his steel chair right across the skull of Thoth. Wilson drops Thoth and Tyler drops down, grabbing his arm…INCAPACITATOR!”

“Man, this is like we’re in a time warp or something!” giggles Riley as the modified Crippler crossface is locked on to Thoth. “Tyler is flashing back to his Outcast days and his submission roots as he tears at a bloody, broken and beaten Thoth’s shoulder. Yes!”

Back on the stage, the Magnificent Seven turn their attention to Flesher, wore out from his title match with Z already, and begin to completely destroy him on the stage. Flesher fights off Frost, then TNT and as he turns to combat Danny, he can do nothing as a large Massachusetts native grabs him from behind, lifts his easily into the air and brings him crashing down to the with the Last Breath.

Back in the ring, Wilson stomps away at Thoth as the Dark Prophet keeps him locked in the Incapacitator. The crowd gives a standing ovation of boos as referees and road agents come down, trying to separate the brawl. They’re moderately successful, except for Tyler, who will not release Thoth. Instead, his face in cold as stone as he wrenches away at the shoulder. Wilson smiles, then shouts loudly “Play our music!”

“I’m taking it this match never happened,” assumes Stevens as “Toxicity” kicks up. “Even with the entire force of the Clan, the numbers game was once again won by the Magnificent Seven. But like I said, Sunday is going to be a completely different story.”

“Oh, whatever,” snips Riley. “If Thoth can even make it that far. Tyler is like a man possessed, even as the rest of the Seven quits their assualt. The referees finally separate him from Thoth, who clutches his arm in pain as his face is a complete crimson mask. Well, Thoth could be done for WarGames, as could Edwin if things go pleasantly tonight. Actually, next.”

“That’s right, Bobby. Stay tuned folks, because we’re taking our last commercial break, and when we return you’re going to see Edwin versus Lerrin in the first ever Canadian Deathmatch, for the SWF Title. You won’t want to miss it!”

Smarkdown fades to commercial as Tyler McClelland finishes his journey up the ramp to join the rest of the Seven, the Clan strewn around them in a show of what happens when you don’t fight fair. Ever. Of course, this says nothing of what happens when the odds even up.

And those odds are evened up inside a big, mean and nasty cage…

July 23, 2002

The atmosphere is as always, electric in this SWF crowd. They're cheering and chanting about, waiting for the next match to begin.

"Well, we're moments away from our main event! Edwin MacPhisto takes on Lerrin Breggan for the SWF Title!" exclaims Mark Stevens. Riley gives a little yawn but before he can make a comment, the opening chime to "Downfall" blasts through the speakers! Before you know it, the bouncing beat begins to play, giving the arena a feeling you can't begin to describe. The lights mutate into the many colors of the rainbow, transforming the arena into a magnificent nightclub.

"Can I break away? Push me away,

Make me fall, just to see,

another side of me.

Push me away, you can't see,

what I see,

on the other side of me."

Erek Taylor walks out from the back, no smoke and no fireworks this time. The ICTV Champion ignores his usual routine and rolls into the ring. Grabbing the microphone away from Funyon's hands, Erek pauses for the crowds before starting up, "Alright, cut the song. People of Nova Scotia! [cheap pop] I hope you've enjoyed these past weeks. Not only are the events entertaining, but they are somewhat annoying in my part. You all know what I'm talking about. Everywhere I go, there is always someone with an aluminum bat who's trying to go Barry Bonds on me. Now, a man named TNT achieved that. He's 2 for 2 with the bat. I say, congradulations Thompson. This is the first perfect score you've ever gotten in your life!"

The crowds murmors as Erek pauses. The ICTV Champion paces around the ring before finally continuing:

"There's a big poodle back there in the locker room with a bad smell and the fighting skills to match. His name is the Boston Strangler. Now, Strangler, I know you can hear me. I know you're obsessed with trying to hurt me. But you haven't gotten the courage to go up against me one on one. Come Sunday, I'll give you your chance. So why don't you get away from giving Wilson's feet a pedicure, and come out to this ring."

The anticipation is building, Erek Taylor standing and waiting for some movement on the ramp. He doesn't wait long, as soon after his calling, "Burn to Burn" begins to play! Boos immediately erupt and the Boston Strangler walks out on to the ramp. He begin to venture down, but is interrupted by Erek's words, "WHOA WHOA WHOA!! Stay right there. I've only got a few minutes left in the ring and I don't want to waste it humiliating you and wiping the floor with your blood. I'll make this fast. Sunday."

Strangler has a mic in hand and he brings it up to his lips. "Sunday, Erek?"

"Sunday, Strangler. It's Ground Zero and I'm sick and tired of you sending your two whores after me. I'm sick and tired of all your cheap shot, all your sneak attacks, and your annoying stench. It'll be me and you, one on one, with nothing to gain except for pride and hopefully, peace and quiet."

"Pride? What, Erek, too scared to put your title on the line? You scared that I will beat you down senseless and take the title away from your cold little hands? I don't blame yo-"

"Wait right there! You're saying I'm scared?"

"That's right. Sca-"

"GOD DAMN STRANGLER!! Once again, that was a simple 'yes' or 'no' question. You think I'm scared of you? That I'm scared of your overgrown hairy ass walking down here? Hell no! I'll put the title on the line. You got your shot."

"Very nice, Erek. But you do kno-"

"Hold on right there! I know what you're planning. You're thinking...'hmmm, Erek's gonna kick my ass on Sunday. What am I going to do to stop him from humiliating me for the one hundredth time? I know, I'm going to get me two bitches, one named TNT, the other named Frost. Then I'll get them to come down and make me look like a god'.... Well Strangler, no way. You got your title shot, but no M7 is allowed. They're not only banned from ringside, but they can't get involved at all!"

Strangler ponders for a moment. His lips twist into a smile as he starts off again, "Okay Erek. No M7. But I don't need any help to take you out. You won't last one minute against me. But because you made that request, I'm going to make a request of my own. It'll be me and you, no M7.... and because you love flying so much, I'm going to go away from any match that gives you that advantage.... so the only thing that comes to my mind is...."

"A shower?"

"NO! Shut up Erek. No M7, no ladders, no cages, none of those matches that let you throw bird poop on me. No, I'm thinking a more ground based match..... somewhere along the lines of a....

....

....a streetfight."

"Streetfight?!" Mark hollers. "Will Erek accept?"

Erek Taylor thinks the match over carefully, glaring at Strangler whenever possible. Then, at the last moment:

"You got it." Waves of cheers pours down from the crowds as Strangler nods and smiles. The behemoth starts off again:

"It'll be at Ground Zero, Erek against Strangler, Streetfight, with no Magnificent Seven members allowed. I'll see you Sunday."

"Burn to Burn" begins to play and the Boston Strangler turns and heads to the back. Erek stands there for a moment, but as the scene slowly zooms out, two blurs from each side can be seen. The two figures slide into the ring, each wielding a bat in hand...

"IT'S TNT AND FROST!!" Stevens yells but it's too late, and Erek goes down hard. TNT and Frost deliver the sneak attack, nailing Erek with the bats before sliding out of the ring and racing up the ramp to meet up with Strangler, every second showered with boos.

Strangler heads back out, and flashes his sadistic grin once more before turning and going back to the locker room, TNT and Frost now by his side.

"Erek Taylor and the Boston Strangler meet at Ground Zero, with the ICTV title on the line!! It'll be no M7, and it will be a streetfight!! What a match that is going to be!!"

July 23, 2002

"You will get yours...

you will get yours...

YOU WILL GET YOURS!"

Longdogger Pete emerges on the stage of the Halifax Metro Centre as "Cold Contagious" by Bush plays over the arena speakers. He holds a microphone in one hand, and the audience can tell that he is NOT in a good mood. He doesn't even wait for his music to die down before he begins speaking.

"Hello, everyone, I have an announcement to make. As you may have seen earlier, there was an incident tonight involving SWF superstar Ash Ketchum. Ash has been taken to a Halifax hospital, where he is listed in critical condition. Unfortunately, this means that Ash will not be able to appear at SWF Ground Zero this Sunday on pay per view."

The audience begins booing at this turn of events.

"Let me just say," Pete continues, "on behalf of Ash and the rest of X Force 9, that I will not allow this heinous act of violence and malice to go unpunished. Rest assured... you know who you are... there WILL be retribution."

Pete pauses to gather his thoughts.

"But in the meantime. I've just spoken to Commissioner McWeed. Now, it would seem that Ash Ketchum was scheduled to challenge Jay Dawg at Ground Zero for the SWF Hardcore Championship. Since Ash will be unavailable, the commissioner has given me permission to substitute any one member of X Force 9 to take Ash's place against Jay Dawg. I'm not going to make that decision now. I've got a lot on my mind right now, and I'm about to leave for the hospital so I can check on Ash's condition. So I'll be making that decision at the pay per view itself."

"To summarize, in Ash's absence, Jay Dawg will be defending the SWF Hardcore Championship against an X Force 9 member of my choosing. Thank you for your time, and I'll see you all again this Sunday."

Short, serious, and to the point. Pete's music kicks up again as he turns and walks off the stage.

July 23, 2002

Back in the Magnificent Seven locker room, TNT is an anxious ball of excitement.

“So, when are we gonna smash Edwin, boss? Me and Frost, we’re DYING to know. After the match? During the match?” TNT’s eyes light up. “Beeeefore the match?”

“No, Taylor.” Wilson’s voice drifts in from off-camera.

“When then, huh? Tonight at the hotel? Blow up another building? That was totally awesome…”

“We’re not going to do anything.”

“…what?”

Wilson sighs and enters the frame, putting his hand on TNT’s shoulder. “Taylor, there are a few things you’ll learn as you increase your stay here in the SWF. Point number one: no one ever sees a low blow. Point number two: you can always count on the announce table to break your fall. And, point number three: the slow burn is where the satisfaction truly lies.”

“Uh…wha?”

“Edwin is on the edge, Taylor. Sit back tonight, and watch him. Watch him break. Relish it. Learn it. Once he goes over the edge…it’s only a matter of time.”

“A matter of time till what?”

Wilson smirks and puts a finger to his lips. “Shh, Taylor. The match is starting.” Both men turn their heads up to the monitors, and we fade out…

July 23, 2002

The lights in the Halifax Center drop out, and suddenly the opening chords of Do Or Die’s “Victory” blare over the speakers! A huge explosion of white pyro rocks the ramp, and the lights are restored to reveal Lerrin Breggan and his fellow soldier in Creative Control, Jay Dawg, standing atop the entrance stage!

“The following contest is for the SWF World Heavyweight Title, and it is a Canadian deathmatch! To win, a competitor must score 10 counts on his opponent, in falls of three counts or greater! Entering first, being accompanied by tonight’s special guest referee, Jay Dawg, he hails from Cincinnati, Ohio, and weighs in at 285 pounds…the self-proclaimed King…Lerrrrrin Brrrrrrrreggan!”

“Welcome back to SWF Smarkdown,” shouts Mark Stevens over the tumultuous crowd, “and our unique main event for tonight! I can’t say I’m happy about the stipulation, but it’s going to be an interesting fight nonetheless: can world champion Edwin MacPhisto retain his belt against the heavily stacked odds in favor of Creative Control?” As Lerrin and JD stalk to the ring, Bobby Riley chimes in with his thoughts!

“Of course not, Mark! Breggan is a beast, and with his tag partner calling things right up the middle, he’s sure to win out over MacPhisto’s cheating, hold-you-down ways!”

“Please, Bobby,” retorts Mark, as the dynamic duo dives into the ring, “give it up. It was cute the first time…” “Victory” cuts out, and the lights drop out again, the roar of boos being replaced by a rousing cheer…and a huge explosion of pyro!

“I SAID HALLELUJAH!”

The vocals of “Battleflag” immediately drop in to the surprise of the crowd, and the arena illuminates with spinning lights as Edwin MacPhisto, world title around his waist and tag title over his shoulder, appears at the top of the ramp and immediately begins his journey down to the ring! “What, no stupid pre-match promo from Edwin tonight?” scoffs Riley.

“Edwin’s talked enough tonight,” says Mark, “giving Chris Wilson, Creative Control, and everyone threatening him a huge ultimatum earlier in the show. He’s all action now, Bobby, and he has to be if he’s going to retain his belt…”

“And his opponent, from Amsterdam, England, weighing 239 pounds, the leader of the Midnight Carnival, one-half of the tag team champions, your SWF World Heavyweight Champion…Edddddwin MacPhistOOOOO!” At the cry of his name, Edwin busts a wide grin and breaks into a dash down the ramp, garnering a big pop from the crowd! He dives into the ring and passes his accoutrements off to the timekeeper, then nurses his bandaged hand, trying to work out some kinks before the match.

“Edwin hurt that hand somehow this weekend, and I can’t help but think that Lerrin Breggan and Jay Dawg will have their eye on any weakness they can find in the champ,” comments Stevens. In the ring, JD mumbles something to Lerrin, who nods…and our guest referee for the evening calls for the start of the match!

*DING DING DING*

“The opening bell’s sounded,” says Stevens, looking on grimly, “but for our champion, the final bell may have just tolled.” Edwin MacPhisto shoots his gaze back and forth between Jay Dawg and Lerrin Breggan, both members of Creative Control bouncing on the balls of their feet as they size up their prey for the evening. Lerrin and Edwin start to circle each other slowly, each looking for an opening in the others defenses, and the hot crowd fills with murmurs as they notice JD getting a little closer than a referee should. “Look at that!” snaps Stevens. “Jay Dawg doesn’t look much like a referee in there…the way he’s positioning himself, hell, he looks more like Breggan’s corner man!”

“Uh…well, Mark,” responds Riley, “he basically is. I mean, Stubby booked it this way for a reason.”

“…you admit that?”

“Oh, come on, Mark. Not even me in all my infinite fast-talkery can hold up any other sort of pretense for this match. Methinks Stubby sees Edwin on the breaking point, and he’d like his boys to be the ones responsible for finally breaking our champion’s will.” Stevens just sits, jaw gaping at Riley, as in the ring, Lerrin takes a lunge for Edwin—no, the Mac Daddy slides to the side, keeping his distance from the technical monster across from him. Breggan closes the distance with a thundering forward step, but Edwin keeps moving and juking, circling with the CC hired guns while the crowd starts to bubble over with anticipation.

“So, wait a second. Let me get this straight. You, Robert Riley, ADMIT that this match is basically designed to railroad Edwin out of the champion’s seat?”

“Well, yeah. Duh, Mark.”

“Gah! I can’t believe we just have to let this happen! The Canadian Deathmatch rules are one thing, but Jay Dawg as the referee is another! There’s no way he’s going to count a single fall for his buddy Breggan!”

“Who knows, Mark. JD might call it right up the middle!”

A split-second after Riley offers that thought, Lerrin lunges forward again, and Edwin dodges to the side again…but this time, Jay Dawg throws his leg in front of the evading Edwin and clips the world champion’s shin out from under him! MacPhisto stumbles and nearly falls, barely avoiding a faceplant with a last-minute snag of the ring ropes! The Halifax Centre floods with boos for the rather partial guest ref!

“Right, Riley. Call it right up the middle. This is barely underway, and it’s already ridiculous.” In the ring, Edwin collects himself and stares daggers at JD, opening his mouth and starting to sling some choice verbiage at the devious Dawg, only to have Lerrin Breggan seize on the momentary distraction and barrel forward with a hard shoulder tackle! Edwin is swept off his feet and driven into the nearest corner, the impact of Lerrin’s massive and dense frame pasting the Mac Daddy’s spine to the post.

“Look at that power!” shouts Riley as Breggan briefly pulls his shoulder back before pounding it into Edwin’s lungs again…and again…and again! “He’s a different breed of big man, Mark, one like we’ve never seen before—agile when it counts, but most importantly, a skilled technical wrestler who can do a lot more than the typical big-man punching and kicking!” As if to prove Riley’s point, Breggan lets off his corner assault for just a moment, long enough to pull Edwin to his feet and underhook his arms. Jay Dawg gives an encouraging shout of “show ‘em what you got, big guy!”, and with that, Breggan jerks backwards and lifts Edwin MacPhisto up and out of the corner with a tremendous Northern Light suplex! Edwin crashes down hard and skids halfway across the ring, doing his best to protect his bandaged hand as he lands, and Jay Dawg is absolutely giddy as Lerrin effortlessly rises back to his feet. “Huge overhead belly-to-belly throw from Lerrin Breggan—god, if he can wrestle like that, I know why he calls himself the king…and why Stubby was smart enough to give him a title shot so soon!” Edwin curls up uncomfortably for a moment, but Breggan drops to cover! JD dives to the mat and counts as Edwin struggles against Breggan’s oppressive force!

ONE!

TWO—no, Edwin shoves Breggan’s shoulder up and rolls out from under him. “First attempted fall of the night from Lerrin Breggan,” calls Mark Stevens, “and certainly the first of many, as we need a combined ten-count worth of valid pinfalls to crown a victor.” Edwin rolls back to his feet as Breggan rises off his knees, and Edwin rushes forward with a shoulder charge. He connects, but the rookie hoss doesn’t budge an inch. Edwin backs off and drives the side of his body into Breggan again…with the same unfortunate result. The crowd noise swells with worried murmurs as Breggan, unfazed, stares coldly into Edwin’s eyes and works out a large, loud kink in his neck. Not wanting to stay on Beatdown Street for any longer than he has to, Edwin checks his six and then darts backwards, bouncing into the ropes for a little extra momentum on his forward burst…and getting nowhere, as Lerrin Breggan blocks the incoming shotei with an extended palm, then yanks Edwin over and down to the center of the ring with a big arm drag!

“Look at that! Lookit!” squeals Riley. “Breggan can even make an arm drag look brutal!” The self-proclaimed King keeps a tight lock on Edwin’s arm, pulling him back to his feet with an uncomfortable twist into a hammerlock before suddenly tugging hard to reel the Mac Daddy in! All twisted up, Edwin stumbles into Breggan back-first, and the big beast quickly transitions from the hammerlock to a rear waistlock before vaulting backwards…and nearly dropping Edwin straight on his head with a high-angle belly-to-back suplex! Edwin impacts on the back of his neck and lets out a dull cry of pain as he hits canvas, and Breggan bridges for a pin! JD is on the mat faster than flies on Z after he accidentally trips and falls into a big pool of honey, and Edwin’s kicking his feet and trying to escape!

ONE!

TWO!

TH-no, Edwin barely escapes, thrashing out of the hold just before three! He falls aside and scrambles back to his feet, breathing heavily and trying to get his bearings, but before he can mount an offensive Breggan has him caught in another rear waistlock—no, Edwin throws an elbow back into Lerrin’s skull for the break! Trying to keep the big man on his toes, Edwin swings a sharp left fist at the same place his lucky elbow struck, but Breggan gets his arm up and blocks! Lerrin seizes on the arm again and suddenly shifts his momentum, dragging Edwin and whipping him forward towards the ropes. Edwin hits and bounces back, and Lerrin shoots forward with a stiff clothesline, but the Crown Prince of Flash and Panache ducks beneath and runs the ropes! The crowd gives a bit of a cheer as Edwin rockets back towards Breggan and with a big crossbody!

“Crossbody from Edwin, a bit of airspeed to hopefully turns this match around!” shouts Stevens.

This is the point at which Lerrin Breggan nonchalantly catches Edwin.

Edwin thrashes and tries to get out, but in Breggan’s arms his mobility is drastically reduced. He fails to escape, and so Breggan lets him go…if by let him go you mean ‘extend his knee and drive Edwin down over it firmly and sharply with a textbook backbreaker.’ With a careful shove, Breggan removes Edwin from his knee and goes for another cover!

ONE!

TWO!

TH—no, Edwin gets the shoulders up! JD looks at Breggan with a sick grin and says, quite audibly, “Sorry, man. I’ll count faster next time.” Ticked off beyond belief at JD’s blatant exploitation of the rules, Edwin comes surging off the canvas with a swinging fist, aiming straight for JD, but Lerrin Breggan’s two massive palms lock around Edwin’s neck and stop the surge! “Ha! With JD running the show and Lerrin as good as he his, there’s nothing Edwin can do! They’re going to break him tonight!” asserts Riley. Breggan pulls Edwin in a bit closer, still maintaining the double choke on the champion…and Edwin lashes out with a fierce snap kick into Breggan’s right knee! Lerrin grunts, and Edwin fires off another right-side kick, then another to the thigh, to the thigh, and back to the knee, this fifth shot clipping it out and dropping Breggan down into a kneel! The crowd starts to audibly regain some hope!

“Edwin’s fighting back—I knew he had the heart! Come on, Edwin! Just make it through Lerrin Breggan somehow, and you’ve got a week off before Wargames!” With Breggan kneeling, Edwin pulls his palms back and brings them in one Lerrin’s ears with a solid bell clap, and a pained Breggan releases the choke! The Mac Daddy thinks on his feet and dashes back into the ropes again, bouncing off and this time scoring a direct hit on Lerrin’s forehead with a big running kneelift! The King falls onto his back, and Edwin immediately loops back around and slides in for the cover! “Shining wizard kneelift, and Edwin’s got his first pinfall of the night!” JD dives to the mat…

…and yawns.

Cue the thundering ovation of boos.

“Oh, come on!”

JD raises his hand slowly as Lerrin struggles, and a look of rage passes over Edwin’s face as he tries to hold the King in place.

OOOOOOOOOOOOONE…and Breggan explodes outward as JD makes the slowest one-count in the history of the sport! He sits up and shares a grin with JD, who helps him back up to his feet. “Excuse my language, ladies and gentlemen,” shouts a very pissed Stevens, “but this is bullshit!”

“It’s all in the rules, Mark!”

“Then the rules are bullshit, god dammit! If I were Edwin I would be royally pissed at this so-called King and his court jester right now!” In the ring, Edwin starts to shout at JD again, but Breggan silences him with a charge! Edwin sidesteps, but Breggan comes right off the ropes with a rebound clothesline and blindsides Edwin from behind! Lerrin lifts Edwin by his hair and again goes to the two-handed choke. With Edwin stunned, he hooks a front facelock and cinches Edwin’s waist, lifting him up and away from the ropes into a vertical suplex.

“Amazing elevation! Breggan’s got Edwin suspended high and dry!” shouts Riley. “I haven’t seen someone get that much hang-time on a fellow wrestler since the Hville Thugg!” Edwin’s free arm goes slack as the blood rushes to his head after 10, 15 seconds of stalling, and suddenly Breggan spins and falls backwards, thundering Edwin down to rock the ring!

“Corkscrew vertical suplex from Lerrin Breggan,” mutters Stevens, “and I am about to give up hope. At this point, Edwin’s going to need a miracle to retain his title.”

“What a great opportunity for Lerrin Breggan! Only his third match in the SWF, and he’s already got a chance to win our most prestigious prize!”

“You mean have it handed to him? Don’t make any pretensions now, Riley. This is a gift from the Commissioner, plain and simple. Imagine what sort of favors Breggan’ll owe to our resident Mephistopheles if he becomes the champion tonight…” As Stevens trails off, Breggan pulls Edwin up off the mat with one hand and makes a cut-throat gesture with the other, drawing a big roar of boos from the crowd. With Edwin dazed and dizzy from the perpetual power assault, Breggan gets back-to-back with the Daddy Mac and hooks both his arms! A roar of irate recognition courses through the crowd.

“Here we go!” shouts a giddy Riley as Lerrin starts to twist Edwin into position over his back. “Breggan’s jumping vertebreaker, the Kingdom Come, should be more than enough to get the first 8, 9, hell, even 10 counts on Edwin MacPhisto!” Lerrin slowly twists Edwin, trying to lift him off his feet but having some trouble manipulating Edwin’s lanky form. Breggan’s slight delay gives Edwin a chance to come to his senses, and in half-a-second Breggan finds himself meeting a lot more resistance as Edwin powers forward and tries to break out of the back-to-back lock! The crowd starts to cheer for the champ!

“MAC-PHIST-OOOOO!”

But Breggan won’t let go, and Creative Control’s big brute takes a heavy step forward, then another, dragging Edwin with him! “The monstrous Breggan is just too strong!” bemoans Stevens. JD is frothing at the mouth, all-too-eager to count the pinfall on Edwin…but before Breggan can secure, Edwin manages to fire his left leg into the back of Lerrin’s right knee! Breggan buckles as Edwin’s sharp mule kick forces him to bend his knee, and Edwin launches another! “Again Edwin’s going to that right knee, one weak joint, the only thing that’s keeping him going right now!” The crowd roars, and the third mule kick does it: Lerrin’s leg gives out again and he has to release Edwin to brace himself on the mat! “Edwin’s still in this!” cries Mark with renewed hope, and Edwin charges back for the ropes again! He springs off with added momentum, rushing towards Lerrin, leaping, and pumping his boots out to drive a firm running dropkick into the back of Breggan’s head!

“Cheap shot! Cheap shot!”

“Shut up, Bobby!” The crowd is roaring as Edwin back rolls to his feet! Lerrin turns, clutching at the back of his skull…and another dropkick from Edwin blasts him across the ring! “We’ve got a major turn around here--Edwin MacPhisto’s on the comeback attack!” Lerrin Breggan clambers to his feet, shaking the ring as he thunders back up for revenge, but instead he turns into a sharp left-hand palm strike to the jaw! Lerrin’s head snaps backwards, and Edwin fires second shotei into the underside of his upturned jaw, knocking him backward towards the ropes! Letting out a roar of his own, Edwin surges forward and leaps towards the faltering Breggan, throwing his leg out…and blasting him up and over the ropes with a springing sidekick! Breggan tries to grab the ropes as he sails over top, but he misses and crashes off to the thin ringside mats below! “Edwin did it! Listen to that crowd, Bobby—Edwin just knocked Lerrin Breggan out of the ring!”

“God dammit! JD better get this match under control!” In the ring, JD has a mild conniption, running to the ropes and shouting as the big rookie pulls himself up!

“Lerrin! Get the hell up! Get in here and tear Edwin a new--” but the roars of the crowd swell to tremendous levels before JD can finish! Edwin MacPhisto blazes past him in a whirl of color, leaping between the second and third ropes and crashing head-on into Breggan with a powerful tope suicida!

“In just a few moments,” shouts Mark Stevens, as Edwin takes it to Lerrin just a few feet in front of him, “our World Champion has proven why he’s got the belt!” JD’s shouting ceaseless profanity from the ring as Edwin grabs Breggan and gives him a forceful whip into the guardrail, flows a kick into Breggan’s gut, and grabs a front facelock!

BAM! “DDT! DDT onto the concrete!”

“No! No! JD, DQ him! Count him out! This is unnecessary brutality!”

“Ah-ah-ah, Riley: this is a no-DQ match! Quit yer bitching!”

“Grarr!”

Edwin pulls Riley up again and gestures outward to the crowd, giving a potent shout of “Hallelujah!” before hooking another front facelock! Suddenly, a shout comes from in the ring!

“Lerrin! Get his fucking hand!” Edwin looks up at JD and suddenly Lerrin’s free hand shoots up…and catches Edwin’s left hand! Breggan clasps his large palm around Edwin’s bandaged wing and squeezes down hard!

“Ah! Ah! You big bloody bastard!” A thin layer of red starts to appear on the fresh bandage, and Edwin lets go of the facelock to try and rip Lerrin’s hand off his own!

“Breggan’s going after Edwin’s taped-up hand!” shouts Stevens, pounding the announce table.

“He’s not just frickin’ huge, Mark! He’s brilliant!” Breggan squeezes away and the crowd boos as Edwin cries out, but Breggan keeps squeezing…and shoots his big knee firmly into Edwin’s gut! Edwin tries to fight through and claw Breggan off with his left hand, but Breggan just swats it away and ducks forward, keeping that right hand firmly locked as he scoops Edwin up onto his shoulders!

“Aw, no! Torture rack--”

“Nuh-uh!” chimes Riley. “Not just any torture rack! That’s the start of Lerrin Breggan’s--”

And with a shocking amount of agility for a man his size, Breggan ducks his head forward and effortlessly flips Edwin’s body around into powerbomb position, holding him there for the briefest of seconds before falling to his knees and driving the Mac Daddy’s upper back into the unyielding concrete with a sheer drop!

“—Royal Decision! Breggan just hit one of his most devastating maneuvers, and on the concrete to boot!” Riley cackles briefly as the crowd slings shocked boos. “How do you like them apples, Stevens?”

“Not one bit, Bobby! Edwin had a great thing going with his rally on the outside, but this doesn’t look good…”

“Roll him in, come on!” shouts Jay Dawg as Lerrin stands, still shaking off a bit of his own dizziness from the DDT. Nonetheless, he manages to drag Edwin’s limp form off the concrete, roll him into the ring, and follow with a lateral press to cover. JD’s already waiting on the mat, and starts the count ASAP…

ONE!

TWO!

THREE!

“Ah, dammit! That’s three against Edwin!”

…FOUR!

FI—and before the damage gets any worse, Edwin gets his shoulder up—but Breggan immediately goes for the wounded right hand, giving it a firm rake before shoving the shoulder back down again! JD dives to count as the fans flip out!

ONE!

TWO!

TH—no! “Edwin beats the three, having recovered just enough!” shouts a relieved Stevens. “That was almost a disaster…”

“Almost? Your boy is down 4 counts to none, Mark! Creative Control has a commanding lead in our first ever Canadian Deathmatch!” The fans agree, showering the ring with boos as Breggan pulls Edwin up by the injured right hand before whipping his still-staggering frame to the ropes, then flooring the Mac Daddy with a lackadaisical clothesline on the return. Edwin collapses, still drained from the Royal Decision, and Breggan pulls him straight into a gutwrench…and a big flip onto his shoulders! “Powerbomb! Another powerbomb! Lerrin never lets up!” Edwin tries to retaliate with punches to the head, but Lerrin storms right through…and charges for the ropes.

“Oh, lord no…”

“Yes! He’s gonna powerbomb him to the outside! The King’s Command!” The crowd is furious as Lerrin pauses by the ring ropes, pushing Edwin, getting ready to slam him over the top—no, as Breggan brings him down, Edwin tightly locks his legs around his captor’s neck! The crowd roars as Lerrin inadvertently brings himself down throat-first over the top rope! Lerrin snaps off the top rope, clutching his throat, and drops Edwin!

“Blocked!” shouts Stevens. “Edwin blocked that powerbomb with a headscissors…and he’s got Breggan’s ankle!” Clutching his throat, Breggan is easy prey for Edwin to pull out his ankle and trip him to the mat! Revitalized, Edwin climbs up, signals to the crowd, grabs the top rope…and pulls himself over the ropes and down onto Breggan with a slingshot guillotine legdrop! “Edwin might have something here! Come on JD, be a sport!” Edwin hooks the leg tightly and looks to JD…

…who points, and laughs.

“AUUUGH!” Edwin lets out a frustrated roar and charges JD, giving him a big shove back into the ropes! JD fires back with a shove of his own, and Edwin suddenly grabs JD by the lapels of his shirt and starts to lift him up! The crowd is ecstatic for the payback, but—

“Edwin, turn around!” Too little too late—Edwin finds himself torn off JD and moving upward in the firm military press of Lerrin Breggan! Before Edwin can get his bearings, Breggan brings Edwin crashing down with a monstrous slam! Keeping the assault up, Breggan drops a big elbow on Edwin’s back, then tears him off the canvas clear into a back-to-back lock! The arena thunders with disapproval!

“NOW he’s got it!” shouts Riley, as Lerrin twists a helpless Edwin into position for the vertebreaker! “Lerrin’s already got four counts--”

“I know, Bobby--”

“—and the Kingdom Come is huge--”

“I KNOW, Bobby--”

And Breggan leaps into the air…and hits the jumping vertebreaker, folding Edwin up like an accordion under an irate steamroller! The Mac Daddy collapses in a heap, hanging on the very borderline between consciousness and blackout.

“—and we have got ourselves a new champion!”

Breggan rolls over and presses down on Edwin to furious boos, and JD dives to the mat. A brief MacPhisto chant starts up, but quickly fades as the count starts…

One.

Two.

…three.

“It’s good! It counts! Lerrin’s at seven!” And JD keeps counting.

Four.

“He’s at eight!”

…

Five. The crowd is in shocked disbelief. How could it end this way?

“NINE! IT’S OVER!”

Six…

NO! EDWIN THROWS HIS SHOULDER UP AT THE LAST POSSIBLE SECOND! Lerrin immediately shoves him back down, and JD counts fast!

ONE!

TWO!

THR—Edwin thrashes out—no, Breggan hooks the leg!

ONE!

TWO!

TH—and Edwin kicks out! “Edwin’s still in this!” screams Mark Stevens, vocal cords straining over the deafening crowd noise. “He’s down 9 counts to 0, but by god I’ll be damned if that means he’s giving up!” Breggan shouts at JD to count faster next time and rises to his feet, dragging Edwin up behind him. Lerrin steadies Edwin…and then floors him again with a big haymaker! Edwin drops like a sack of doorknobs in a gravity well, and Lerrin pounces on him pounds away with mounted punches—no, Edwin rakes Lerrin across the eyes and throws him off! The crowd cheers wildly as Edwin kips-up and beckons Lerrin to bring it! And bring it Lerrin does, charging forward and swinging fist after fist in a wild brawl with the equally ferocious MacPhisto! “CC may be trying to break Edwin, but the champ has Lerrin near his own breaking point: the usually reserved technical giant is devolving into violent, careless brawling!”

Indeed, Lerrin’s getting a lot of hits on Edwin, but he’s taking a lot on his end too. JD is baffled, trying to figure out what the hell he can do. Edwin keeps resisting Breggan, sending electric jab after jab into the big man’s ribs, but powerful Lerrin keeps his haymakers and body blows coming, driving Edwin back into a corner! Without anywhere to go, Edwin’s in trouble…and then Lerrin feeds him a stiff kneelift! Edwin sputters from the shot and Lerrin backs up! JD shouts words of encouragement as Breggan makes a target with his fingers, then barrels forward! “Huge splash from Lerrin, Edwin’s about to get crushed!” cries Riley.

Breggan thunders towards his target…

…and as he arrives, his eyes bug out and he lets out a pained gasp. Why, you ask?

Because there’s a pesky ladder-laced Doc Marten boot driving itself right into his crotch.

“REVERSAL! REVERSAL!” shouts Stevens, and the crowd explodes! Breggan clutches at his groin, and Edwin catches his breath and stumbles forward!

“Reversal? He kicked him in the balls!”

“Anything goes, Bobby—anything goes!”

JD’s shouting expletives, but Edwin ignores as he quickly slaps a facelock on the stunned Lerrin! He pumps his fist towards the turnbuckle, and the crowd gets even louder as Edwin dashes, hopping to the bottom buckle, the second, the third…and kicking off the top, bringing Lerrin’s fazed form out to the center of the ring…

…and hitting the Tornado stunner!

“SPINAL TAP! SPINAL TAP! Lerrin’s got to be out!” blares Stevens! Edwin hooks the leg and the crowd’s response is immense! He looks up to JD!

“For god’s sakes, cut me a bloody break, you ridiculous loon!”

“Fuck you, Edwin! You’ve been on top too long, and we’re here to take you the fuck out!”

“God dammit!” shouts Stevens. “If it weren’t for JD’s cheating, Edwin would have had this won long ago!”

“Hey now!” snaps Riley. “Bitch all you want about JD, but you can’t take shit away from Lerrin Breggan! All JD’s done is keep Edwin from scoring any pins of his own—Lerrin’s gotten two lengthy falls on our world champion, and he did it clean! Get off your bias train for just one moment, Mark!” Edwin glares at JD, not saying a word. The crowd is roaring with noise, eager for a brawl…and Edwin takes a deep breath. He grins, and nobly turns his back on JD and returns to the match.

“Way to be the bigger man, Edwin--”

Edwin takes a step forward, and then another, but the disposition of the crowd sinks as JD comes at him with a bum rush from behind—

CRACK.

The arena falls silent. Edwin stands tall, still facing forward. Behind him, JD staggers.

“H-holy shit.” Stevens can’t believe it. “That was…that had to be the stiffest elbow shot I’ve ever seen.”

The mood has changed.

A thin, trickle of blood slides out of JD’s nostril. He stands for a moment…and then collapses to the mat.

Half the crowd explodes, and the other half stares silently.

“Jesus! Jesus! Where the hell did MacPhisto pull that out of?” screams Riley. Across the ring, Lerrin Breggan has gotten to his feet, and he stares drop-jawed at his crumpled tag partner.

“You said it yourself, Riley,” says Stevens grimly. “Creative Control wanted to be the ones to break Edwin MacPhisto. Now they have to eat what they ordered…”

Edwin stands in the center of the ring, breathing heavily, almost perfectly still as Lerrin Breggan comes charging forward in a rage—

SNAP.

Breggan staggers backward as Edwin’s boot sails up and into his throat.

SNAP.

“Snap high kicks from Edwin…right into Breggan’s throat! Jesus!” The fans are on their feet as Breggan topples forward, and Edwin catches him with a slick drop toehold, drilling him facefirst into the mat!

“What the hell is going on here? Edwin’s suddenly ripping Lerrin apart!” screams Riley.

“He’s had enough, Bobby! He knows this match is bullshit as much as we do, and the last thing you want to do is crack a very stressed individu—dragon sleeper, dragon sleeper!” Stevens cuts himself off as Edwin wrenches Breggan up off the mat into a dragon sleeper, hooks Lerrin’s leg with his own…and falls backward, drilling him into the mat with the dragon-sleeper Russian-legsweep! MacPhisto immediately pulls Lerrin up again, maintaining the dragon sleeper…WHAM! “Another dragon sweeper! Even Breggan has to be feeling this—ANOTHER! Edwin’s gone over the edge!” The Mac Daddy slams Breggan backwards with a THIRD legsweep, then picks him up one more time, a blend of rage and determination etched across his face. He drags the limp King across the ring, lining him up in front of the ringpost.

“Oh, no, Edwin,” says Stevens. “Don’t do this.”

Too late.

CLANG.

The fourth and final legsweep drills Lerrin Breggan’s head straight into the cold steel, and the big man looks to be out cold! Edwin turns away from Breggan for a moment…and Jay Dawg comes charging in for revenge!

Uh-uh.

WHUMP. The stiff boot of Edwin MacPhisto finds it way to the back of JD’s head as the champion leaps with a brutal enzuigiri. Dawg collapses again, but Edwin is on him, pulling him into a facelock and a vertical suplex as the crowd keeps cheering!

“Why are they cheering?” shouts Riley. “He’s flipping out!”

“True, but these two have had it coming…haven’t they?” There’s a little doubt in Stevens’s voice as Edwin holds JD high with the suplex…and suddenly drops straight down, drilling him with a brainbuster! “Brainbuster! Edwin dropped him right on his head!”

But that’s not enough.

Edwin picks JD up into another vertical suplex…and again, falls straight back, crushing the hardcore champion’s skull into the mat. And then…he does it a third time. The ring shakes with violence.

“Brainbusters-a-go-go!” shouts Stevens, trying to make light of the situation. But as Edwin lifts JD up for a fourth consecutive brainbuster, stalling on this one, it’s clear that a switch has been flipped. “Riley…something’s terribly wrong here…”

CRUNCH. Edwin spins and makes this brainbuster a corkscrew variant. Four brainbusters. JD is a limp wreck…and Edwin isn’t through with him. Edwin hoists JD up and positions his own back towards the center of the ring, lining Jay Dawg up in a back-to-back armlock. “Encore Cross! Jay Dawg must be wishing he never put on that referee’s shirt!” Edwin holds the back-to-back lock…and then, changes things up from the norm. The crowd keeps cheering, but they’re seeing something new…the champion shoves his hands under JD’s arms and bends at the knees, tossing his victim up over his right shoulder, holding him there in a Canadian backbreaker rack, head dangling in front of Edwin’s chest. “This is new…” wonders Stevens, and suddenly Edwin turns 180 degrees towards the center of the ring, takes two running steps…and leaps.

“Oh god.”

Edwin preps his knees for the landing, and as he descends, he flips Jay Dawg forward…and down. Right in front of a waking Lerrin Breggan.

The unprotected piledriver takes Jay Dawg directly on the top of his head, and the hardcore champion stops moving.

“Holy shit.”

“Mark…that was…”

The fans love it.

“MAC-PHIST-OOOOO!”

“What the hell? How can they cheer…”

Breggan staggers to his feet, his jaw gaping as Edwin rises in front of him. The rookie charges forward screaming…and Edwin meets him with stiff shotei. Breggan spins around 180 degrees, and Edwin quickly spins his back to the big man, locking their arms together…

“He couldn’t!” shouts Riley! “There’s no way--”

And the entire Halifax Center gasps as Edwin MacPhisto vaults Lerrin Breggan up over his right shoulder, spins…and takes two dashing steps forward.

Lerrin Breggan takes his Canadian backbreaker rack piledriver right next to Jay Dawg.

He has also stopped moving.

The fans are a little less certain of what they think now.

“That move…” gapes Stevens. “That was…incredible.”

As Edwin kneels between the two men, he lifts each man’s hand into the air, then releases.

One time.

He does it again, and referees flood out the back.

Two times.

Edwin lifts the hands once more as Matty Kivell dives into the ring…and, very calmly and quietly, he lets them drop.

Three times.

The crowd roars…decidedly mixed…and Edwin slides out of the ring, towards Funyon, past the stunned announcers, past the astonished front-row fans. The ring announcer hands his microphone over, shaking…and Edwin speaks in a rough, battle-worn voice.

“To all of you…but especially Wilson…Wilson. Chrissy Stardust? Can you hear me, Christopher? Do you see them?” Edwin points towards the ring, raising his voice. “You see Breggan? You see JD?”

Pause.

“I don’t.

I see you.”

“Is this a message to Wilson?!” questions Stevens. “It’s got to be more than that…”

“This is what happens when you screw with the Joker one time too many, Wilson. You dig up the worst stuff you can find, and you get what’s coming to you. See you on Sunday, Chris. Until then…have a nice week, will you? Here, Funyon. Make it official, why don’t you?” Edwin hands the microphone over to Funyon and collects his two title belts, and senior referee Matty Kivell signals to Funyon….

“As a result of the challenger being unable to continue the match…your SWF World Heavyweight Champion remains…Edwin MacPhistOOOOO!”

“Battleflag” begins to blare as Edwin walks up ringside, a title belt over each shoulder as he ascends the ring ramp, slapping hands with the fans who’ll oblige. “We’ve just seem something phenomenal, folks,” says Mark Stevens, “and I don’t really know what to make of it. The odds were stacked against Edwin MacPhisto, totally and utterly…and the machinations of Creative Control forced him to take drastic measures. Jay Dawg and Lerrin Breggan are out cold after an absolutely barbaric assault, culminating in those stiff piledrivers…and Edwin MacPhisto is still our champion heading into Ground Zero…and Wargames! We’ll see you on Sunday, folks—for Bobby Riley, I’m Mark Stevens, and this has been SWF Smarkdown!” Stevens grins into the camera, but it doesn’t cut away quickly enough…it catches the downturn of his lips and the frightened stare past the ring, to the man he once tagged with, grinning it up as he backstruts up the ramp.

We fade to black on a shot of Edwin MacPhisto, tired, worn-down, but somehow triumphant tonight, staring into the camera. He purses his lips, and mouths two words before we fade.

“I’m waiting.”

July 23, 2002

As the main event draws to a close, Chris Wilson is sitting in a darkened locker room, bag of ice on his head from the little encounter with the Clan as only the glow from the television fills the room.

But even with the limited lighting, a very sinister smile can be seen creeping across his face, followed by a laughter that makes one's skin crawl.

It was actually happening. There had never been a better time of being in the business of being evil.

July 23, 2002

The Boston Strangler, Frost, and TNT proudly steps into the parking lot. The three M7 members share a laugh, some conversation, and some Jack Daniel's as they head towards the black sedan in the corner. Ben Hardy rushes up to the biggest of the three, and with all the courage he has, the veteran interviewer squeaks out a question, "S-s-t-r-angler...you've attacked Erek Taylor on several occassions and the question that's on all our minds is: why?"

Strangler shoots a dirty look into Hardy's eyes.

"Did you see Storm, little man?"

Hardy nods his head, his feet shaking like a little girl.

"Then, you should know why that question is not only offensive to my pride, but also stupid. Everyone knows that a great fighter like me should never be screwed out of a title shot. Taylor decided he wanted to have the last laugh so he counted me down 1, 2, 3. Now like I always say, if you can't take the heat, stay cool. But no, Erek didn't want to just step aside. He had to go Hero again and do what he felt like. Well, tonight, I did what I felt like. I tore Erek apart. And if Erek knows what's best, he will stay away."

"But didn't Frost and TNT do the fighting?" Hardy asks. Strangler snaps his head and grabs Ben Hardy by the collar.

"ARE YOU SAYING I'M LYING?! ARE YOU CLAIMING THAT I AM A NO GOOD LIAR?"

"Um.... um..... no?"

"Good." Strangler taps Hardy on the head before pushing the interviewer aside and entering the sedan. The M7 lieutenant starts the engine and pushes the vehicle into drive before heading out of its parking place and starting for the exit.

Hardy steps away and stands in a clear view. "Well, there you have it. Words from the Boston Strangler himself. He cla-"

CRAAAAAAASSSSSSSSHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!

"Gus, quick, turn the damn camera around!"

The camera turns around, and the sedan in which Strangler, TNT, and Frost were in is now in a horrifying condition. The windows on the left side, the driver side, is all shattered. There's no trace in which what did it. Hardy races forward, Gus following close behind when they hear a loud screeching noise.

Then, out of the left side...

CRAAAAAAAAAAAASSSSSSSHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!

Another black sedan rams right into the left side of the vehicle! The door of the attacking vehicle opens, and Erek Taylor steps out with an aluminum bat in hand!!! The crowds roar with approval as Erek hops on to the car's hood and starts swinging his bat, shattering the windshield of Strangler's car into pieces!!

"IT'S FUCKING ALUMINUM, YOU FOOL!! YOU HIT ME WITH A FUCKING ALUMINUM BAT!!" Erek yells as crys for help begin to come out of Strangler, TNT, and Frost's mouths. The three M7 members are trapped in the car as Erek wildly swings the bat on the right side of the car, shattering the windows as well.

"What's the matter, Stripper? Crap in your pants?" Another swing at the window. Frost kicks his door open and crawls out of the wreck.

"Oh fucking no!" Erek yells. The ICTV Champion steps over Frost and swings the bat, landing it square over the Icelandic Giant's back. Erek goes back to swinging the bat on the car, giving dents here and there before finally tossing the bat aside. The ICTV Champion gets back on the hood of the wrecked vehicle, and stares right into the battered Strangler's eyes.

"I'll see you Sunday."

Erek gets back into his sedan and pulls it into reverse before turning and heading out into the cold night. Hardy and Gus rush in front of the wrecked sedan, and watch as Strangler climbs out of the front, face all covered with blood. And with one loud voice, Strangler yells,

"THIS ISN'T OVER EREK!!! I'LL GET YOU BACK!!!!"

July 23, 2002

NON-TITLE SINGLES MATCH

El Luchadore Magnifico vs. Xero

- Magnifico wins...of course.

TAG TEAM MATCH

Frost & “TNT” Taylor Nicholas Thompson vs. Ced Odornez & Mercury

- Frosty chitti-bang bomb or whoever gets the win.

US TITLE MATCH

- Tom Flesher takes the high road...and walks out in the middle of the match!

TAG TEAM MATCH

The Boston Strangler & Stryke vs. Erek Taylor & Ash Ketchum

- Taylor makes Strangler submit using a submission we haven't seen in a while...

SINGLES MATCH

Chris Wilson vs. Fallout

- A Clan/Magnificent 7 clusterfuckorama!

CANADIAN DEATH MATCH FOR THE SWF HEAVYWEIGHT CHAMPIONSHIP

- Edwin goes berserk and barely manages to get the victory. In real life this match was very close...

SWF Smarkdown (July 22/2002)

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