SWF Smarkdown (August 5/2002)

August 6, 2002

The opening music for SWF Smarkdown hits, and the New York City audience goes wild, cheering as loudly as they can as the cameras come on and the opening pyrotechnic display begins to erupt!

BOOM!

"Welcome to SWF Smarkdown!" hollers an excited "Grand Slam" Mark Stevens from the commentary table. "We are here live tonight from Madison Square Garden, and we've got a great show for you tonight! The US title is on the line tonight! The ICTV title is on the line tonight! And Thoth takes on Magnificent Seven leader Chris Wilson in our main event!"

Suddenly the lights in the arena change to a bright shade of green. A series of green and white pyrotechnic explosions erupt from the stage, and "Figure 8" by Trust Company hits the speaker system.

"What the hell?" asks Stevens' counterpart, Bobby Riley.

The fans are confused for a moment by the unfamiliar music, but their confusion gives way to applause as they see several wrestlers emerge on stage, fronted by Longdogger Pete.

"Well, it looks like X Force 9 is coming out here to kick things off," says Stevens.

"Oh, not these guys!" Riley complains.

Following Longdogger Pete down the ramp are Erek Taylor (carrying his Intercontinental Television title belt over his shoulder), Tod deKindes, Annie Eclectic, and Renegade. The music continues as the team of X Force 9 makes their way to the ring.

take you down

leave you fallen, faceless, hurt

and leave you down

fall, break you now

leave you fallen, faceless, hurt

and take you down

wanna take you down!

I am all you need to know

I am everywhere you go

no one can save you now

when it all comes around

I am everything you see

I am what you'll never be

no one can save you now

when it all comes around

After the team members have all entered the ring, team leader Longdogger Pete takes the microphone out of ring announcer Funyon's hands. "Hi everyone. Before we get started tonight, I just wanted to say something real quick. Right before we came out here, I got a phone call from Ash Ketchum..."

The audience pops for X Force 9's sole missing member, out with an injury for the last couple weeks. The cameras even go so far as to show an audience member holding up a cardboard sign that reads "WE MISS YOU ASH!"

Pete continues. "He's recovering and now in stable condition, and hopefully he'll be back in the ring real soon. So, some good news on that front."

"OK, call it right now," grumbles Riley.

"What are you babbling about now?" Stevens wonders.

"Any show that opens with an Ash Ketchum mention is going to absolutely suck!" Riley complains.

"Now that that's out of the way," says Pete, "My teammates wish to speak their minds tonight, so we're going to start off with Erek Taylor."

Pete hands off the microphone to Erek, who shifts his title belt to the other shoulder so that he can take the microphone, and then begins talking. "Last Friday on Storm, in the lumberjack match, I was this close to earning my first shot at the SWF World Championship. Chris Wilson, you got lucky and managed to squeak out the win. But the next time we meet face to face, without your Magnificent Seven buddies out there, you aren't going to be so lucky."

Tod deKindes then takes the microphone from Erek Taylor. "Also on Storm, LDP and I managed to beat two of your stooges, Frost and the Boston Strangler. You see, Pete and I have made a new mission statement for X Force 9... Win at all costs. Friday night, we went out there and did just that. So it looks like your 'Magnificent' team is fallible after all."

The next to speak is Annie Eclectic. "I've got a message for Chris Wilson. What you did to Ash Ketchum was just plain sadistic. I came aboard X Force 9 to have a little fun, and when you threaten the well being of this team, when you try to break the spirit that binds us together, well, we don't take too kindly to that."

Finally, Renegade gets his two cents in. "Wilson, you don't think we stand a chance as a collective unit? What does not kill us makes us stronger, Wilson, and tonight we stand strong... and we're taking a stand against you and the Magnificent Seven."

The microphone is then passed back to Longdogger Pete, who allows himself a wry smile. "Looks like you've made quite a few enemies, Wilson. And I think these people want to hear your side of things. So it comes down to this... Chris Wilson... we're calling you out! Right here, right now!"

The audience explodes with enthusiasm, and even Stevens sounds surprised. "Pete's calling out Chris Wilson!"

"He isn't going to come out," says Riley. "He's too good for this team!"

Riley's words hold false, however, as "Toxicity" from System of a Down hits, instantly igniting the already hot audience. The man himself, Chris Wilson, emerges on the stage, followed up by the entirety of the Magnificent Seven. Frost and "TNT" Taylor Nicholas Thompson stand at his flanks, and Mercury, Outcast, Danny Williams, and the Boston Strangler also round out the group. The audience begins jeering at the entrance of the Magnificent Seven, but the heel stable doesn't seem to care. Wilson walks out to the edge of the stage, staring down at the assembled X Force 9 members in the ring... and begins clapping slowly. Moments later, Frost holds up a microphone, offering it to Wilson, who snatches it and begins speaking.

"How touching, people," Wilson says sarcastically, rubbing away an imaginary tear from his eye. "Gives me goosebumps just thinking about it."

"Wilson!" Pete shouts over his own microphone. "Good to see you again, and I see you didn't come alone!"

"I'm not stupid, Pete," replies Wilson. "I'm not going to stand out here by myself and risk a five on one ambush from X Force 9. But let me tell you something. You people may think you're a cohesive unit now, but you aren't. Not by a long shot. Just look at who you have as your manager. Longdogger Pete? A guy with absolutely no managerial experience. The only thing he's ever been able to do well is wrestle. And your little team is going to crumble under his leadership."

Pete replies to Wilson using his own microphone. "First, Wilson, don't talk about me like I'm not out here. And second, you are dead wrong. You see, I took our last conversation to heart... and you're absolutely right. I have no experience as a manager. So I've taken the liberty of hiring a new business manager for X Force 9... to help make my job a little easier."

Wilson looks shocked. "You did WHAT? You hired a business manager to work for X Force 9? From outside the company? No offense, Pete, but a good SWF manager needs to have leadership AND wrestling experience!"

Pete smiles at Wilson, as if it were all one big joke. "Right you are, Wilson, yet again. And that's why I hired someone who has a business education background AND wrestling experience... specifically, SWF wrestling experience!"

"What?" Stevens now sounds surprised. "LDP has signed a former SWF talent to manage his team?"

"Well, who is it?" Riley demands.

"Let me introduce you and the Magnificent Seven," Pete goes on, "to the business manager and NEWEST member of X Force 9... Sarah Leavenworth... or as you may remember her... MISTRESS SARAH!"

"OH, MY GOD!" hollers Stevens.

"NO WAY!" shouts Riley. "NO F'N WAY!"

Sure enough, a very familiar woman comes out onto the stage. The audience goes crazy as Sarah Leavenworth, formerly known to the SWF as Mistress Sarah, makes her first televised appearance in months. Sarah is dressed very businesslike, with a silk blouse, short (very short) skirt, and two inch heels. She stops in front of the Magnificent Seven specifically to gauge their leader's reaction, and she smiles as she spots the look of utter shock that plays across Wilson's face. Sarah pats Wilson on the side of his face with mock affection as she saunters past him, and then makes her way down the ramp toward the ring, waving at the audience as she walks. After climbing into the ring, Sarah begins shaking hands with the other X Force 9 members, and then stopping and facing Pete in the ring. For a long moment, Pete and Sarah stare at each other, long time rivals facing each other once again--until finally, Pete breaks down and shakes Sarah's hand, causing the audience to cheer even more loudly.

"My God, Riley!" hollers Stevens. "Can you believe this? Pete and Sarah, once the greatest of enemies, now shaking hands here in Madison Square Garden!"

"Can you believe the look on Chris Wilson's face?" Riley answers.

The Magnificent Seven members all appear shocked, except for Wilson, who doesn't seem like anything could faze him. As they begin milling about in confusion, trying to get words in with Wilson, Pete plays to the crowd, pointing to each X Force 9 member and mouthing a quick head count. "Well, look at this, Wilson," Pete says, though watching Sarah instead of Wilson. "It would seem that counting Ash... X Force 9 now numbers... seven."

Pete suddenly turns around to face Wilson again, stepping across the ring to get closer to the stage. "Isn't that interesting? I wonder just how magnificent OUR seven can be." And then Pete smiles. "I know. Why don't you all come down here and find out?"

Several Magnficent Seven members look about ready to charge the ring, but Wilson stands fast, raising an arm to signal them to stay back.

"Come on, Wilson," Pete prods. "You've proven you can beat someone senseless quite effectively outside the ring. Why not come down here and take us on, so we can see what you've got INSIDE the ring?"

"Sounds like LDP is trying to push Chris Wilson's buttons by luring him to the ring!" says Stevens.

"I don't think it's working," replies Riley.

Despite visible protestations from TNT and the Boston Strangler in particular, Wilson continues to keep his team on the stage, speaking in his own defense. "The timing is not yet right for this," Wilson says. "One day, Pete, it may in fact come down to such an event, but tonight... tonight, the Magnificent Seven has other concerns." With that, Wilson leads his team off stage. The audience begins booing loudly at this turn of events.

"They're leaving?!" asks Riley, incredulous. "But I wanted to see two stables brawl!"

"I guess it won't happen tonight, Riley," answers Stevens, "but even so, this confrontation came with a huge surprise from LDP... Sarah Leavenworth has been hired as X Force 9's new business manager! What else is in store for the growing stable, and how does Sarah intend to keep her stablemates in check? Folks, don't go away; we'll be back with our first match right after this!"

August 6, 2002

Tag Team Match

X Force 9 (Annie E./Renegade) vs. Creative Control (Lerrin Breggan/Sacred)

- Annie E pulled the upset of upsets on Storm when she defeated Sacred. However, she took it a bit too far, and began to beat on Sacred after he was out while calling out the HVT-obsessed Jay Dawg. Well, Jay Dawg has the night off, but as Stubby’s right hand man, has asked his two friends to take care of it. Annie will team up with XF9 cohort, Renegade, who had his head imploded on Storm by Jay Dawg. ‘Gade was less then pleased with the way he was treated in his debut, so he’ll be glad to step in the ring and prove his worth to the rest of the Niners. Sacred’s obviously upset about being embarrassed on Storm, so he’s mad. Breggan’s mad because he lost his #1 contendership match, so he’ll be happy to rip some XF9ers apart. Should be brutal! Oh yeah…and what about Silent?!?

Ladder Match for the US Title

Tom Flesher© vs. “TNT” Taylor Nicholas Thompson

- TNT has been having some amazing success in the tag division as one half of Chilly Chilly Bang Bang from the Magnificent Seven. He went to Stubby to request a singles gimmick match for Smarkdown in hopes of testing himself out in singles competition while tuning up for a tag title match against Edwin MacPhisto and Chris Raynor somewhere down the road, a right they earned at Ground Zero. Stubby, in what may be considered a cruel joke, gave him a match against an old adversary, The Clan’s Tom Flesher, a man that has beaten the explosive one within an inch of his life on more than one occasion. Tom is riding high coming off a huge win over the veteran El Luchadore Magnifico to become both the US and Light-Heavyweight champion. This Monday, he will attempt to beat some sense into TNT and hold onto his double champion status, but in a brutal Ladder Match. Will Flesher have enough in his tank to endure a tough ladder match with the upstart TNT after being only a week removed from an Ultimate Submissions Match? Will the explosive talent of Thompson overcome the head-to-head edge Tom has? Don’t miss this huge matchup this Monday! Oh yeah…and what about Silent?!?

- Match Rules: DQ and countout rules are not in effect. Pinfalls, KOs, and submissions are not valid. The only way to win this match is to climb a ladder and retrieve the US title belt suspended 20 ft above the ring. Yeah…good luck with that.

Tag Team Match

Midnight Carnival (Edwin MacPhisto & El Luchadore Magnifico) vs. Magnificent 7 (The Boston Strangler & Frost)

- While his normal partner, TNT, was maxing and relaxing on Storm, Frost teamed up with Strangler to take on some XF9ers. Well, the team from Mag 7 was not successful, mainly because of some miscommunication when Hell Froze Over for Strangler. Now, the question is…has Strangler forgiven Frost for the mistake, or does he harbor some resentment? Well, the team will get another chance to gel together as they take on the world champion, Edwin MacPhisto, and the 4-time Light-Heavyweight champion, El Luchadore Magnifico. The heat between Mag 7 and the Carnival is well documented, but the hotheadedness of Strangler is also well documented. Can Strangler keep a cool head about Frost’s mistake and work with him again, or will Strangler teach the rookie a lesson out there against the stiff Carnival competition? Oh yeah…and what about Silent?!?

Hardcore Match

Z vs. Silent

- It seems that Silent has taken the SWF by storm, despite having participated in NO matches. The Edwin’s scared of him…Thoth’s scared of him…Raynor’s scared of him…but you know who isn’t? Z!! The one letter wonder, as fool-hearty as he may be, challenged the Silent One to a hardcore match this Monday! Edwin nor Raynor could stop him as Z may as well have signed his deathwish…and I don’t mean Danny.

- Match Rules: DQ and countout rules are not in effect. Pinfalls, submissions, and KO’s may happen anywhere in the arena, and the first one to score one of the above will be declared the winner.

ICTV Title Match

Erek Taylor© vs. Fallout

Special Commentator: The Boston Strangler

- On Ground Zero, Fallout defeated three other men to earn the #1 contendership to the ICTV title. He’s cashing in this Monday as he takes on the ever-impressive Erek Taylor, who can’t seem to get the Boston Strangler off his back. As soon as Strangler heard about this match, he asked profusely to be the referee. Well, Stubby’s said we’ve had enough of the special referee matches, but he will allow Strangler to join our announce team during this match, much to Grand Slam’s dismay. What kind of effect will Strangler have on this match, or will he simply vent from behind the table?…a technique perfected by Bobby Riley in the JL and now the WF. Oh yeah…and what about Silent?!?

MAIN EVENT

Singles Match

Thoth vs. Chris Wilson

- After Storm, we have two #1 contenders to the World Title in the names of Thoth and Chris Wilson. Thoth and Edwin got into it a little bit on Storm over the infamous Silent, and, of course, there’s no love lost between Wilson and Edwin..or Thoth for that matter. Well, before these three lock up on Storm for the World Title, Thoth and Wilson will fight on Smarkdown with an interesting stipulation. Stubby hates Wilson almost as much as he hates Edwin, so he added this…Should Thoth win this match against Edwin, he will face Edwin for the World Title alone on Storm! If Wilson wins, it’s a 3-way on Storm. What’s the status of the fragile relationship between Thoth and Edwin, and does Thoth really want to face Edwin alone, knowing how unstable their “friendship” is? Who knows…but we’ll find out on Monday! Oh yeah…and what about Silent?!?

August 6, 2002

Lights flash, pyro explodes, and fans scream as the theme music for SWF SmarkDown plays over the loudspeakers. The camera catches signs held by fans, with words and sometimes even pictures on them! Cut to the announcer table where "Grand Slam" Mark Stevens and Bobby Riley sit, headphones on and waiting to speak...)

"Welcome to SWF SmarkDown, coming to you from the historic arena known as none other than MADISON SQUARE GARDEN!!!!" screams the emphatic Mark Stevens.

"You make it sound like it's an honour to be in this rat-infested glorydome of crap, Mark," yells Bobby Riley, shouting to be heard over the fan noise.

"That's because it is Bobby. It is. Many a wrestler made their names here, many a -promotion- made their names here Bobby, and now we're here, and it's great to be back! And we even have a solid card showcasing all our best talent just for the occasion! Two titles are on the line tonight, the US Title in a Ladder match, and a huge ICTV title match between the High Flying Prince Erek Taylor and the winner of the #1 contendership match at Ground Zero... Fallout!" says Mark.

"But first folks, we are going to show you a beatdown of massive proportions! Two members of Creative Control, Sacred and Lerrin Breggan, are full of hate and spite and looking to take it out on two members of X Force Nine, Renegade and Annie Eclectic." says Bobby Riley.

"I don't know about beatdown, but both CC members are very angry about their current standings. Sacred got his shoulder nearly beaten out of the socket in his loss versus Annie Eclectic, a shock win from the returning underdog. Annie took the injury further by attacking his weak shoulder while Sacred was unconcious, all the while shouting out yet another challenge to the hardcore champion, Jay Dawg." says Mark Stevens.

"You mean being a royal bitch and kicking the man while he was down? Well, yes! As for Breggan, he has no personal reason to rip apart a lesbian homewrecker and the green rookie, but he's smarting after losing a #1 ICTV contendership match to Fallout. He's not exactly the type of man to wait to extract revenge, as much as take it out on the nearest available body, which may just be Renegade or Eclectic. XF9 is put in the underdog spot yet again, but they've shown resiliency there, can they pull it out again?" asks Grand Slam.

"All I have to add to that is, don't hold your breath!" exclaims Bobby Riley.

Funyon enters the ring and walks to the center spot, microphone in hand. Raising it to his lips, the immaculately dressed announcer begins....

"Ladies and gentlemen, this tag match is set for one fall..."

From out of the entrance ramp, a bare chested Aussie with a dragon tattoo walks straight out liek a shot, followed by a methodically slow beast of a man with black spiked hair. No pyro or music accompanies them as they walk forward with a no-nonsense attitude radiating from them...

"Weighing in at a combined weight of 516lbs... SACRED.... LERRIN BREGGAN.... they are CREATIVE CONTROL!!!"

The crowd lobs boos and jeers at the pair entering the ring. The two men pay zero attention, walking to their corner and passing a couple words of strategy between them. The crowd's attention becomes distracted away from the two men inside the ring and focus on the SmarkTron. A voice booms out of seemingly nowhere, screaming "X...F...9" The crowd explodes in a chorus of cheers as "Operate Annihilate" by Powerman 5000 explodes on the PA, as green and white pyro alternately shoot off the entrance ramp. Two figures walk out of the curtain, their silouhettes casting a dark shadow across the clouds of smoke created by the pyro....

"And their opponents, at a combined weight of 415lbs... RENEGADE.... ANNIE ECLECTIC... they are... X FORCE NINE!!!"

The smoke clears, Renegade resplendent in his plain black attire stares inside the ring at the monster and the technician. A wooden staff of sorts begins to appear from Renegade's left, moving forward until a handle is seen being held by a woman's hand...the hand attaches to Annie Eclectic, pointing her kendo sword directly at her opponents. The Angel lifts her other hand, a microphone coming up to her lips...

"Cut the music if you would..." says Annie as the sound technicians respond to her request, "I do believe I have a couple words to say before we get into this...."

"Oh wonderful! The bitch incarnate gets to speak. Stop with the talk-talk and more with the beat-hit!" whines Bobby Riley.

"It seems, that Jay Dawg still doesn't have the proper jumbly configuration to get to me face to face! So what do I get? A sucker punching bitch from down under and Mrs. Jamie Drazon himself! I gotta ask Breggan.... are you the butch, or the bitch?" asks Annie E. The crowd erupts into fits of laughter, Mark Stevens trying to hold in his own snickers, as both Sacred and Breggan turn to face their opponents, rage slowly creeping up to full boil inside them.

"I mean, we got a reclamation project in it's first step in Sacred, a man who couldn't cut it in this league after being given a gift gimmick. A monster who's done nothing but nearly get his neck broken by the world champ, then lose a #1 ICTV contendership the next week! The only positive thing is announce that you'll trash anyone who even dares lay their hands on your pretty little boyfriend. Don't try to deny it Breggan, being in the closet is a horrible thing. It's all so much better to leave it out in the open, I should know!" exclaims Annie, grinning maniacally as the two men inside the ring start to smoke at the ears at these implications.

"Annie is completely nuts! I would never... EVER intentionally get a monster like Lerrin Breggan mad. That's not just career suicide, it's complete life-ending suicide!" exclaims Riley.

"Anyway, you're much more Breggan's type, Riley" quips Mark.

"HEY!"

"So, to end my little tirade let it be known that Gade and I are going to wreak some serious... HAVOC... heh... on these two little behotches, then I'm going to extract double revenge on one Jamie 'I'm a scared little Altar Boy' Drazon, for myself and the Renegade Mastah! The Hardcore Queen declares it so!"

Suddenly both members of XF9 rush into the ring, sliding in underneath the bottom rope. Renegade rushes ahead and leaps forward, hitting a fast spear into the midsection of Lerrin Breggan! The big man staggers backwards a step, bracing himself against the corner. Annie Eclectic runs up and leaps high into the air, landing a Dropkiss on Sacred! The referee runs to the mass of people, Sacred having got to his feet and struggling with the Angel in a collar elbow tie up. Renegade blindly throws hard lefts and rights into the midsection of Lerrin Breggan as Breggan tries to break off the attack with club-like forearm shots to the head and neck of Renegade. The official begins a double count, pushing his way into all four wrestlers trying to force a break.

"They may be the underdogs but they came in here to fight!" exclaims Mark Stevens.

"Dirty tactics for poor fighters, it's sad that this is the only way they have a shot at beating the just plain better team of Creative Control." says Riley.

Sacred and Annie break, walking back a step as Annie sends a middle finger salute at him. Sacred tries to rush in again but Annie backs off, letting the referee force Sacred into his corner. Annie steps through the ropes at her corner, readying herself for a tag whenever it may come. Renegade and Breggan continue trading barbs in the corner, as Breggan starts to get in more hits than the XF9er. Breggan sends a couple quick club-shots down on Renegade's head, dropping Renegade to one knee. Breggan lifts Renegade up by his head to a standing position, only to shove him backward to the mat. Renegade rolls back with the impact, rubbing his sore head once his body comes to rest halfway across the ring on one knee.

"Such POWER from Breggan! This man should have the World Strap over his shoulder this instant if it weren't for cheating on account of that snake in the grass, Edwin MacPhisto!" Screams Riley.

"I believe the cheating in that match was all on CC's side of the match, but that's in the past. Right now the weakened Renegade has to watch out, the power on Breggan's side can hurt a man at one hundred percent. Renegade took a piledriver through two chairs only three days ago, an errant shot from this beast might actually break his neck!" exclaims Stevens, almost trying to warn Renegade.

Renegade gauges the massive man across the ring from him. With a Reengade hurls himself headfirst at the monster a second time, spearing him in the midsection... but Breggan absorbs the blow and grabs Renegade by the waist. Using his own momentum, Breggan flips Renegade up from his side onto his shoulder. Renegade becomes slightly dizzy as his world suddenly consists of the bright lights from the Arena roof. Breggan pushes Renegade straight up in the air with a grunt then pushes him back down with his opposite hand in a modified chokeslam/powerbomb. Annie Eclectic watches on in horror as her partner gets thrown down to the mat like a rag doll.

"LOOK AT THAT MAN! He not only took the spear, but also used it to his advantage, flipping Renegade up and shoving him down! The beatdown has begun!" squeals Riley with glee.

Breggan begins to stomp away at the dropped body of Renegade, making sure to land more than most of his stomps on the tender head and neck of Renegade. The official warns Breggan on the head shots, as Breggan responds with a threatening stare. Lerrin drags Renegade up by his head, and locks him in a front facelock. With another grunt, Breggan lifts Renegade high up into the air, the two bodies creating a vertical line to the canvas. Breggan simply stands there, opting to allow the blood to rush to the Renegade's head. Breggan spins in a three hundred and sixty degree circle, crashing Renegade down on his head, neck, and upper back in a vertical suplex. The crowd just stares in awe at the strength of the behemoth that seemingly has no weakness.

"Corkscrew Suplex!!! A devastating move by Breggan onto Renegade, and it appears as if Renegade is out of it! Breggan makes a cocky one foot cover..." screams Mark.

ONE!

TWO!

kickout!

Breggan contiguously reaches out for Renegade's hair and hauls him back up to his feet with minimum effort. Before Renegade can even formulate an escape plan Breggan clutches Renegade by the neck with both hands. Breggan tenses his hands, pushing his fingers deeper and deeper around Renegade's exposes throat in a chokehold. With one mighty heave, Breggan hauls Renegade off the mat and flings him across the ring, unceremoniously dumping him by the Creative Control corner. Breggan extends his hand and slaps it across Sacred's to make the tag. Sacred hoists Renegade up to his feet and scythes his forearm across Renegade's skull. Renegade stammers back as Sacred pitches himself to the ropes and comes back with another forearm to the head, causing Renegade to frantically fall to the canvas. Sacred spreads his elbow over Renegade's chest, forcing his shoulders down in a cover:

ONE!

TWO!

Shoulder up!

"Sacred putting Renegade down for the cover with two forearms to the head!" Stevens says.

"X-Force Nine don't stand a chance I tell you." Riley retorts.

Sacred brushes his hand into Renegade's hair and clips onto the strands to pull him up to his feet. Sacred offers a myriad of fiendishly perforating knife-edge chops across Renegade's chest, causing him to falter back to the ropes. Sacred holds Renegade by the arm and whips him to the ropes. Renegade's body frame sinks into the ropes as Sacred pitches his body forward feet first in hope to catch Renegade with a poignant dropkick, but Sacred falls flat on his back as Renegade slings his arm over the ropes, nullifying his momentum. Shaken but still visibly not out, Sacred pulls himself right back up as Renegade comes charging through with an extended right arm. Sacred lowers his upper torso to duck under to arm as he propels his foot outwards, but Sacred gives the game away by making the movement too soon. Renegade brings his arm up, capturing the incoming foot and pressing it upward in the air. Sacred has only one leg to stand on as Renegade sinks backwards, smearing Sacred across the canvas with a cradle suplex.

"Renegade counters the sidekick into a cradle suplex!" Stevens says with the play by play."

Renegade pulls himself back and reaches out for Sacred's hair, Renegade pulls Sacred up to a vertical base and darts his arm forward towards Sacred's temple, but Sacred suddenly darts his leg outwards. Renegade takes a kick to the gut as Sacred places both of his hands over Renegade's head, his fingers knotting into Renegade's hair and pulls Renegade down with a sporadic speed burst. Sacred falls onto his rear end as he directs Renegade's head onto his right knee, flawlessly segueing it into a facebuster, bludgeoning Renegade's face. An incomprehensible anguish ripples through Renegade's head as Sacred hooks up the leg:

"Facebuster onto the knee, you see that Mark? Renegade has already received a plethora of pain to the head, Sacred sees the weakness and targets it with a facebuster." Riley says haughtily.

ONE!

TWO!

THRE- Kickout

Sacred makes his way to his corner and slaps his palm across Breggan's hand in a tag. Lerrin intrudes the ring and lifts Renegade back up to his feet. Breggan clutches onto Renegade's hand and with a raw slab of power he whips him towards the corner. Renegade's head jars into the top turnbuckle with supreme velocity, causing a flabbergasted Renegade to loiter back towards Lerrin. Lerrin scoops Renegade up into his arms and walks towards the ropes, curtly dropping him over the tope rope in a snake eyes with casual callousness. Renegade's neck is compressed over the top ropes, multiplying the agony in Renegade's head and neck as he slips and falls back to the mat. Lerrin falls on top of Renegade and places his palm over Renegade's chest as he puts his other arm behind his back to cover Renegade in a one-hand pin:

ONE!

TWO!

THRE- Annie violates the ring and drops a boot into Lerrin's temple, breaking up the pin. Before the ref can even give Annie a warning, she slides back to the apron.

"Breggan picking and dropping Renegade up and down like he's a lightweight. Renegade needs to make a tag and he needs to do it soon." Stevens says.

"Bah! Renegade was down for the three if Annie didn't intervene." Riley replies.

Breggan again heaves Renegade up to his feet and pitches him across the ring towards the ropes in an Irish whip, but Renegade side-steps to counter it into a whip of his own, but Lerrin tugs onto arm, jerking Renegade towards him. Breggan slaps both of his arms across Renegade sides and interlocks his finger behind Renegade's back in a waistlock. With seismic shift, Breggan hauls Renegade up and over his head, chucking him down shrewdly in a belly to belly suplex. Breggan leans onto his back as he casts Renegade over, guaranteeing more impact. Renegade lays flat on the mat as if dead, his arms and legs all reaching out like travellers in search of water as Breggan rises like a wafting flame. Breggan clips his hands onto Renegade's head and exalts him up to his knees. Breggan positions himself in front of Renegade as he establishes Renegade's head between his legs and ensnares both of Renegade's arms.

"Breggan is going for the Kingdom Come! A jumping vertibreaker might kill Renegade if he pulls it off." Stevens says solicitously.

Breggan takes a deep breath full of air as he prepares to hoist Renegade for his finishing manoeuvre. Renegade suddenly manages to sagaciously wriggle one of his arms of the hold as he backs up slightly. Renegade knows its know or never as he fires his arm forwards, right between Breggan's thighs and...

"OOOOH!"

The crowd cringe as Renegade delivers a low blow from behind. The ref is oblivious to the low blow as he can only see the front of both men due to his position. Breggan bows forward in agony. Renegade clutches Breggan by the hair and drags it to the nearest corner. Renegade lugs Breggan's head back and hurls forward into the top turnbuckle. Breggan's head bounces off the pad as Renegade again drives it back into the pad, officiously propelling Breggan's face into the top turnbuckle again and again. The slams are coupled with a reciprocal chant-along from the crowd as Renegade continues:

ONE!

TWO!

THREE!

FOUR!

FIVE!

SIX!

SEVEN!

EIGHT!

NINE!

TEN!

Renegade's fearsome firestorm of turnbuckle shots finally ceases as Breggan staggers back from the turnbuckle. Breggan is manifestly shaken, but also clearly not out as Renegade paces towards the ropes. Renegade comes back with an extended right arm and hits a clothesline, but Breggan's blank refusal is clear as he falls to his knees, still reluctant to desist. Renegade falls to his knees in Breggan's direction and drives his elbow right into the back of Breggan's neck. Breggan's nerves begin to spasm as he's floored down to the mat. Renegade picks himself back up only to drop down again, lodging those elbow bones directly back into Breggan's neck to make sure Breggan stays down momentarily. Breggan revolves onto his back as Renegade sprints towards the ropes and comes vaulting back as he makes a small leap. Renegade withdraws both legs out and catches Breggan in the windpipe with his left leg. Breggan is forced down to mat in a leg drop as Renegade goes for the cover:

ONE!

TWO!

THR- Kickout!

"Breggan isn't going to quit! Anything that Renegade throws at him is futile!" Riley says with a smirk.

"Renegade might have been able to put Breggan down right now, but he needs to make the tag." Stevens says.

Renegade strives to his feet as Breggan also gradually returns to a vertical base. Renegade launches his leg outwards, piercing into Breggan's gut and causing him to double over. In a split second, Renegade rotates away from Breggan and reaches out for his head and WHAM! Sacred intrudes the ring at flings himself at Renegade. Renegade has just enough time to see Sacred's forearm zooming towards him with bullet acceleration. Sacred pushes downwards with his tibia bone, pressing it against Renegade's skull which sends Renegade down and out on the canvas with a flying forearm, killing any chances of Renegade scoring the Ÿ neckbreaker. The ring is flooded with jeers as the ref has no choice but send Sacred back to his corner. Breggan heaves Renegade up to his feet, geared to discharge more punishment but Renegade thrusts his right arm forward with his fingers drawn out, digging into Breggan's eye socket with a poke to the eye. Breggan immediately withdraws as he screens his face with his hands, as a sharp stinging discomfort flows through his right eye. This gives Renegade the quick escape he needs to make his way to his corner and SLAP! Tags in Annie. Annie makes her way to the turnbuckle and ascends, then plunges off with her elbow sticking out and catches Breggan right in the face with the elbow bone. Breggan is instantly floored as Annie imperatively bolts to the ropes as Breggan wearily pulls himself back up and WHAM! Annie sends Breggan back down again with a forearm to the head, as he topples like a fallen redwood.

"Annie is in, and she has just exploded with an influx of blows!" Stevens says.

"Low blow AND an eye poke! Conspiracy!" Riley moans.

With refused style snarls Breggan pull himself up for a second time as Annie casts herself back into the ropes. Annie comes back from the rebound as Breggan goes under Annie, placing both of his arms spread over Annie's upper torso above him in a military press. Renegade rushes into the ring to makes the save for his XF9 comrade. Renegade darts at Breggan exposed and unprotected stomach, goring his stomach with a spear. Breggan's back gives in due to the pressure as he drops flat on his back. Annie falls right on top of Breggan with a crossbody, pinning the shoulders as the ref orders Renegade to return to his corner before counting for the pin:

ONE!

TWO!

THRE- Kickout!

Annie pulls Breggan up to his feet, but Breggan sneaks in a glut of right hands, causing Annie to falter back as Breggan immediately tags in Sacred. Sacred impales his knee into Annie's gut to momentarily stunning her before he whips Annie across the rings and lies in waiting. Annie ricochets back as Sacred wraps his arm around Annie's shoulder, and with a quick lift; Sacred genuflects and flattens Annie down in a Strong Sambo suplex. Sacred makes another cover:

"Spanish Inquisition! Sacred putting the damage to Annie's back with that manoeuvre!" Stevens says.

"Sacred damaged Annie's back on Storm and he's doing the same thing right now." Riley adds.

ONE!

TWO!

THRE- Shoulder up!

Sacred hoists Annie up and applies a front headlock. With a tug of Annie's attire Sacred lifts Annie up in a suplex, but Annie floats over and lands on both feet behind Sacred. Before Sacred can even turn around Annie bolts to the ropes behind her and leaps forward, clipping onto Sacred's hair and driving him down face first in a bulldog. Before Annie can even go for the cover Breggan cuts her short. Annie is taken down in a clothesline as the ref tries to control the chaos. Renegade tries to make the save and with a burst of speed, escalates with a diving lariat towards Breggan. Both men descend out of the ring to the floor. Both men's heads make contact into the floor, knocking them out cold as Sacred manages to pull himself back up. Sacred pulls his body back as Annie exhaustedly raises to her feet with her eyes glazed over. Sacred suddenly shoots his leg outward towards Annie's face in a superkick, but Annie catches Sacred's foot with both hands to block it. Annie spins the captured foot, causing Sacred to rotate on his standing foot back in one complete circle. Annie darts her leg out and scores into the midsection with a fast kick. Sacred doubles over as Annie coils her arm over Sacred's head and reaches out for Sacred's belt line with the other hand. Putting an undue strain on her muscles, Annie lifts Sacred off the mat and brings him down on the top of his skull in a brainbuster DDT. Sacred flips onto his back from the impact as Annie covers:

"ANNIE T! Annie counters the superkick and comes out of nowhere with the finisher!" Stevens shouts.

ONE!

TWO!

THREE!

DING! DING! DING!

"Ladies and gentlemen, here are your winners...X-Force-NINE!"

'Operation Annihilate' by Powerman 5000 blares over the speakers again, as Annie Eclectic rolls out of the ring and revives her fallen tag partner. Cautious to avoid the monster Breggan, Annie succeds in getting Gade out of the way and up. Before they leave, Annie grabs a microphone and brings it back to her lips...

"Jaaaaaaaay Daaaaaaaawg! Jaaaaaaaaaay Daaaaaaaaaaawg! I'm not dead yet! I'm still breathing, and if I'm still breathing, I'm coming after you. Remember this! You'll see this face again for certain!" exclaims Annie who spikes the mic to the ground. The XF9ers limp their way backstage, cheers raining down from the crowd.

"An amazing upset again as Annie E and Renegade take out Creative Control! The Angel seems unwilling to give up on Jay Dawg, even after facing the rest of his stable! Could we be in line for a rematch at Ground Zero? Find out, and stay tuned for the rest of our merry band of theives, on SWF SmarkDown!!!" exclaims Mark.

August 6, 2002

We’re in the back, in the interview area, where Ben Hardy and Chris Wilson stand, Hardy holding the mike.

“Chris, you said there were a few things you wanted to say-“

Wilson takes the mike away from Hardy and smiles at him, nodding his head off camera. Hardy looks at him confused, and Wilson’s smile gets bigger. “Go.”

“Ohhhh…of course…”

Trying to avoid the usual beating or insults he takes from wrestler, Hardy scurries off camera and Wilson has the microphone.

“Hello, ladies and gentlemen. Now I know you’re getting spoiled seeing me yet again even before the main event, but please control yourselves. I have a few matters to address, and Benjamin here was kind enough to let me use this classy interview area of his as my forum.”

Wilson looks at the camera, anger in his eyes. “Pete, you think you’re something? You want to get fancy, and try to match us, man for man? It doesn’t matter! You’re ego infested group of punks and rejects is no match against the excellence that is the Magnificent Seven. You just need to concern yourself with something else, Peter. Not worry about us or our affairs. You wouldn’t want another accident like with Ash to happen.” Wilson frowns, and fakes a sniffle. “I’d hate to see another terrrrrible thing like that befall any of your beloved members.”

Wilson then forces a smile. “And Sarah: Honey, baby, good to see you back! Rough to see you made a rather bad career move, but it’s understandable you want to start at the bottom and work your way back up to prove yourself to me. I just want you to know that the little thing in the past with you slapping me and stuff is all but forgotten. My heart is open, and I’m going to accept you when you come crawling back to me. That’s how much I love you, dearest. Good luck with the managing of your…umm…elite group of individuals.” The smile becomes genuine as Wilson chuckles. “You’re going to need it. And when you decide to come home to Chris, I’ll be right here for you. Shnookums?”

Wilson gives up trying to sweet talk his old foe returned.

“It’s also come to my attention that there’s quite a bit of hoopla over some bumpee named Silent. Apparently he’s one bad mutha, since he’s got our world champion and one of the #1 contenders up in arms and having their partnership slightly dissolving.”

Wilson bites his lip, looking down, before returning his gaze to the camera. “But I’m not seeing what the big deal is about. I’m watching some tape, and I see you beating Spike Jenkins and Cutthroat. That is like me walking out to the ring and challenging Xero and Johnny Rotten to matches. And then you beat former World Champion Sydney Sky…who didn’t have a match until about a month before she fought you. No rust there. Congratulations.”

“Yet we still get to spend half of Storm hearing people crying about how bad you are. You even drove a wedge between the Balancer and the Reaper, something I’ve never tried since I assumed it would be impossible. Congratulations, yet again.”

“But what I don’t see is what all the hoopla is about. You think you’re bad? You think you’re the best? I don’t even know if your hearing this, because you’re probably under Stubby’s desk finishing off the final payment on how you got bumped over folks like C.I.A and Mak Francis.”

Wilson composes himself. “I don’t think you understand who you got yourself involved with when you came down and attacked me, after Wargames. I wouldn’t even give a shit about you, but now you’ve got me mad, and you’ve got the Magnificent Seven mad. Not to mention you’re a member for a Clan, the stable that has had about every member declare war on me and my stable for the past month or so.”

“No, Silent. I don’t think you understand. I’m a baaaaaaad man. I’m not the greatest; I’m the double greatest. Not only do I beat em’, but I pick when and how. I’m so mean I make medicine sick. It’s just pretty much a job. Grass grows, birds fly, waves pound up on the sand, I beat the hell out of people. I will beat you so bad you’re gonna need a shoehorn to put your hat on.”

“Hell, I am the greatest. I float like a butterfly,” Wilson does the Ali shuffle, obviously enjoying his ranting, then snaps his head down as he stops, eyes cold, lips twisted into a snarl, “and sting like a goddamn cruise missile, motherfucker. Don’t even think about getting involved in my fuckin’ business again, you little prick. My match, tonight or in the future, you just need to stay away from. For your own health. They don’t call me the Slaughterer, but they do call me one of the evilest bastards around, and if you want to run with big dogs…well, I just suggest you don’t even try.”

Wilson drops the mike and storms away, the show fading to commercial…

August 6, 2002

A large blowup figure of SWF superstar Edwin MacPhisto looms over Madison Square Garden in New York, New York, as the makeshift doll of sorts holds a large sign that reads: “SWF SMARKDOWN! SOLD OUT! MORE FUN THAN A SET OF SWEDISH TRIPLETS!”

***BOOM***

“LIVE!” the familiar vocals of Bob Riley squeamishly bellows.

***BOOM***

“FROM NEW YORK!”

***BOOM***

“IT’S SATURDAY NIGHT!”

“Oh shut up Booby, it’s Monday night, and Smarkdown.”

The camera cuts to the fervent interior of Madison Square Garden, displaying the thousands of fans returning to their seats with nachos, dozens of signs dotting the enthusiastic arena:

“Chris Raynor put me in this seat.”

“Z put me in this seat.”

“My winy son put me in this seat.”

The screen gradually pans the crowd, as glimmering pyro explodes from the ceiling…until the camera eventually comes to a halt at the ringside commentator’s table, where Bob Riley and Mark Stevens sit, readying themselves for the next match.

Stevens: “Welcome back ladies, gents, and everything in between to SWF Smarkdown! We have a great show lined up for you tonight, which has already become apparent with the opening tag team showdown between Creative Control and X Force Nine, that occurred just moments ago!”

Riley: “But up next, two of the greatest wrestlers in the history of this sport square off in a ladder match, and for US gold no less! That’s right, in just a few minutes, ‘TNT’ Taylor Nicholas Thompson will challenge Tom Flesher for his United States title!”

Stevens: “Add a few ladders, and you get what could be a classic!”

Riley: “Well, we want to get straight to the action, so, we go now to ring announcer FUNYON!”

Stevens: “Very rare of you to root for BOTH men in a match, Bobby.”

Riley: “Well, they’re both equally valiant, though I must admit Tom stands out in a particular display of honest and clean brilliance, so, go him.”

Funyon situates himself in the center of the ring, and within a few seconds his booming voice echoes in the ears of every single rabid fan in the arena.

Funyon: “Ladies and gentlemen and Bob Riley, this contest is for the United States Championship, and is a LADDER MATCH!”

The crowd bursts into a frenzy of cheers at the aforementioned gimmick, and their anticipation rises in a giddy buzz of excitement.

Funyon: “The only rule is, THERE ARE NO RULES…save the first rule about the fact that there are no rules. The SWF US Title will be suspended approximately 20 feet above the ring, and the first man to climb a ladder, and retrieve the belt, will be named the Smarks Wrestling Federation United States Champion! Introducing first, coming down the aisle-way now, hailing from Anaheim, California, weighing in at 267 pounds…’TNT’ TAYLOR NICHOLAS THOOOOOOOOOOMMMMMMPSOOOOOOOOOOOONNNNNNNNNN!”

The opening guitar riff of AC/DC’s “TNT” signals the initiation of Thompson’s entrance, as Bon Scott’s voice screeches out a familiar slur of “Oy’s.”

“Oy! Oy! Oy!”

The entrance curtains ruffle to the side a bit, and the familiar stature of Taylor Nicholas Thompson steps out onto the stage, drawing out some unexpected cheers from the amped audience.

Stevens: “And this NY crowd seems to have picked TNT as their favorite in this match, simply for the longing to see Tom Flesher get his ass kicked.”

Riley: “Fans rooting for TNT? Well then, it’s official…GO TOM!”

Sporadic red and orange strobe-lights flood the entrance ramp, and the letters “T-N-T” slink across the Smarktron.

“Watch me EXPLOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOODE!!!”

Bon’s vocal climax blasts from the speakers, foreshadowing a visually loud flare of white pyro to blast from the stage, and the music’s pace picks up, as well as the speed of Taylor’s stride. He confidentially ambles towards the ring, sliding underneath the bottom rope, and with a mischievous grin painted across his face, he begins to approach each of the four ring posts, letting out a resounding “KABOOM!” at each one.

Stevens: “TNT looks pumped tonight, for what could be his first title win here in the SWF.”

Taylor’s music comes to its conclusion, but just as it does, darkness consumes the arena, followed by the inauguration of “I Am the Man” by the Philosopher Kings. Pillars of baby blue pyro gently fountain from the sides of the entry, and just as the lyrics kick in, a blue explosion shoots from the stage.

Funyon: “Introducing second…”

“I’ll take it from here Tons-of-Fun!” Tom Flesher’s self-assured voice violates its way into the ears of every fan in the arena. Boos hail onto the Superior One, who stands upright at the peak of the stage, a cordless microphone in his grip. The US and Light-Heavyweight titles, both slung over his left and right shoulders, glimmer a gold color, as Tom announces himself down to the ring while strutting the length of the entranceway.

Flesher: “Introducing, hailing from Buffalo, New York, weighing in at 213 pounds, women want him and men want to be him, current SWF US champion, as well as possessor of the most prominent belt in the World, the SWF Light-Heavyweight championship…”

Stevens: “And it was just a few weeks ago that he was talking about how little that very same belt meant.”

Riley: “That was before HE had it!”

Tom slides into the ring as he finishes his monologue.

Flesher: “…a man with more charisma than Burt Reynolds, more wit than Pauly Shore, and more fashion than Michael Jackson, the Superiorly Superior One…TOOOOOMMMMMMMM FLE-FLE-FLE-FLEEEEEEESSSSSSSSSHHHHEEEEEEERRRR!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!”

Riley: “Oh the charisma! Uh oh…I almost forgot to make some coffee for this match.”

Funyon snatches the mic from the Superior One, along with his US title. Tom reluctantly releases the title, and suddenly begins to lightly sob, spurting out a pitiful “I’ll miss you!” to his belt. Funyon hooks the belt to a wire at the ring’s midpoint, and it begins to rise about twenty-feet up towards the rafters. TNT glances up to observe the ascending belt, looking up at it like a God, but just as he does this, Tom hurls his other belt from the ring, and blindsides Taylor with a slap directly across the face! Funyon bails from the ring, and referee Sexton Hardcastle signals for the bell.

***DING DING DING***

TNT staggers backwards, palming his reddened face, but has no time to recuperate, as Tom charges at him, sweeping his legs out from under him with a double-leg takedown! The two struggle against eachother, both trying to ease their way into some type of submission maneuver. Tom edges around to the backside of TNT, and hooks his arm behind his back in a hammerlock! Taylor immediately makes his way to his feet, still in the hold, and ducks around behind Tom to latch on a hammerlock of his own! Tom thinks fast, twirling around and straightening out his arm into its regular position before any pressure is applied. Taylor still grips Flesher’s wrist though, and hurls him into the opposite ropes with an Irish-whip! Tom reverses and sends Taylor into the ropes with a whip of his own, and falls to his side, toppling Thompson to the mat on the rebound with a drop toehold! He keeps his legs crossed around the left foot of Taylor, and slides up his back until he reaches his arm, where he fastens it into a Fujiwara armbar! TNT pushes himself up and away from the mat with his free arm, and in one flowing motion, rolls over onto his back, rotating Tom onto the other side of him. With the pressure off of his opponent’s elbow, the Superior One releases the submission, and withdraws into a nearby corner to collect himself.

Riley: “Some superior mat action so far from the Superior One!”

Stevens: “I’m a bit surprised here so far in this bout, since I really was expecting a hardcore brawl due to the ladder stipulation, whereas in this opening exchange we’ve seen nothing but amateur wrestling.”

Riley: “I think these two are holding out until the actual ladder gets involved in the match. They need to remain as reserved as possible until then, so that they can be 100% when push comes to shove.”

TNT rises to his feet, and Tom charges at him from his corner, going for what looks like a spear! Taylor catches him in mid-movement, grasping Tom’s neck and left arm under his armpit, and using Flesher’s running momentum to fall backwards and plant him into the mat with a single-arm DDT! A thunderous “GAH!” is drawn from an aching Tom, who’s arm nearly shatters upon impact!

Stevens: “And Taylor may have found an opening on Tom Flesher here! He looks to be going for Tom’s left shoulder and arm, a region that was promptly brutalized just more than a week ago at SWF Ground Zero by El Luchadore Magnifico!”

Riley: “Nonsense! Tom is 100% by now…I hope.”

Stevens: “Well, he may have recovered a bit, but old injuries never fully heel, just look at Danny Williams’ ankle.”

Riley: “Didn’t you see his interview on Xero a while ago? He said it was fine.”

Stevens: “Hell, I don’t even think TNT is fully recovered from Ground Zero, when he participated in TWO matches, including War Games.

Taylor kips up to his feet to a relatively positive reaction from the crowd. He circles Tom for a few seconds, allowing him to make his way to his feet, but just as he stands, Thompson sprints at him with a surge of vigor, and proverbially decapitates him with a hooking clothesline! Flesher’s face bruises like an old cantaloupe, and the stiff clothesline sends him flipping over the top rope, and down to the protective mats that litter the ring’s outskirts!

Stevens: “Ouch! Thompson spills this action to the outside with a devastating clothesline!”

Riley: “And look how superiorly the Superior One sold that move!”

Stevens: “Or more accurately, look how well TNT performed that move…I’m surprised that Tom’s head didn’t explode like a watermelon in a Gallagher standup convention.”

Flesher brings himself up by tugging at the ring apron, and gazes around in a dazed manner. He spots the thirteen-foot ladder standing erect just up the entrance ramp, and appears to start a journey towards it, but isn’t given time to embark on his quest, as TNT reaches down to him from the ring, and clasps his fingers through his brown hair. He then yanks him off of his feet by his hair! Flesher freely hangs from his brown locks for a good five or six seconds before desperately grabbing onto the ring apron and sitting on it to reduce the pressure. Taylor twists Tom around to face him, and pulls him to his feet. Thompson then drives a few rigid elbows into the shoulder of Tom, and then grabs him in a front facelock. He slings Flesher’s left arm over his shoulder, and with forceful momentum flips him over his head and into the ring with a hasty snap suplex! The Superior One lands on his back and his shoulder, grimacing in pain before Taylor grabs him by hishair once again, and tugs him up. Thompson hooks his arm under Tom’s pelvis, and flips him over for a generic slam, but releases him at a nearly vertical position with a high-angle scoop slam!

Stevens: “And Tommy lands on his hindered shoulder once again after a slightly modified scoop slam! Look how Thompson is using the simplest of moves, and just slightly changing the execution of each so that they are significantly devastating to his opponent’s shoulder. Tom is hurting, but forging forward with all his remaining strength. He manages his way to his feet, but TNT pounces behind him, and hooks his left arm through his left armpit and around the back of his head, locking him in a half-nelson!”

Tom immediately realizes his predicament, and uses his free right arm to elbow back at TNT, driving his bent joint into the side of Thompson’s cranium. TNT releases him, and Tom follows up by thrusting his unyielding arm directly into Taylor’s chest with a shotei! The dynamite warrior staggers back in anguish, and Flesher propels his palm forward once more, with yet another shotei! Finally, the Superior One concludes this flurry of palm thrusts by spinning an entire 360-degrees to gain momentum, and plunging his palm into the forehead of…

Stevens: “TNT DUCKS!”

Taylor veers out of the way of his opponent’s strike, and Flesher rides his already apparent impetus past TNT! Thompson spots an opening through this makeshift evasion of Tom’s offense, and once again hooks a half-nelson around the Superior One’s left arm. Before “The-Artist-Formerly-Known-As-Durandal” has time to even reflect on his situation, the explosive one falls backwards and powers Tom up and over himself! Flesher soars back in a flipping manner, and lands with a thud on the unforgiving mat, right onto his shoulder and head!

Stevens: “Oh my God! Tom Flesher was just floored by a release half-nelson suplex, and his body nearly folded in half after the collision between his skull and the ring!”

Riley: “Come on Taamo! My coffee is ready!”

Stevens: “Wait…what did you just say?”

Riley: “Uh…I said…’You better win cleanly in front of this adoring city’…nothing involving cheating at all.”

Stevens: “Well, either way, Tom is dead now, giving TNT a chance to make a go for the ladder, just a few yards from the ring!”

Taylor soaks up the mild applause that he receives, and saunters over to the edge of the ring, stepping over the tope rope and dropping to the outside floor. He meanders up the entrance ramp, moving slowly with a fatigued disposition invading all of his actions. Thompson reaches the ladder, located at the midpoint of the stage, and folds it inward to make it flat, so that he can comfortably carry it down to the ring. He hooks the ladder under his arm, and with some mild straining, lugs the heavy metallic object back down the ramp and to the ring. He reaches the ring, ladder in hand, and lifts it horizontally, beginning to slide it into the squared circle just as Tom begins to recover.

Stevens: “And Thompson acquires the ladder! We can only imagine the sheer brutality that will surely follow!”

Riley: “Yeah, just wait until Tom gets his hands on that thing!”

Taylor attempts to slide the ladder into the ring, but it unfolds as he does so, and the top half gets caught in between the bottom and middle rope, as the ladder forms a sideways arch.

Stevens: “Uh oh, Taylor seems to have caught a snag here. The ladder has opened up over the bottom rope, and he needs to back up and untangle it if he wants to get anywhere.”

Riley: “But this occurrence has allowed Flesher to fully recover inside the ring! Go Tom! Go Tom! It’s your birthday! It’s your…”

Stevens: “…homo.”

Tom stands in a dazed state inside the ring, rolling out his shoulders and neck to crack them. He clutches at his soar left arm, but spots TNT at ringside and is forced to ignore his pained shoulder. Taylor spots his opponent, and enters the ring to put him down once more, but just as he slides in he is met by a firm dropkick right to his jaw! He rolls over, grasping at his chin, and Flesher immediately grabs his arm, dragging him towards the unfolded ladder. He tows Thompson to the arched ladder, and sets him inside the hinges, sandwiching him between the sides of the ladder.

Stevens: “What the hell does he have in mind here? He seems to be making a dynamite sandwich, using TNT, and the two metallic sides of the ladder!”

Riley: “And THIS is why Tom Flesher is World Champion!”

Stevens: “Bob…he’s NOT World Champion.”

Riley: “Sorry, daydreaming again.”

Tom bounces off a pair of ropes on the other side of the ring, darting back towards TNT and lunging from the mat, landing on the slanted, top half of ladder back-first with a senton splash! The top caves inward onto TNT, crushing him beneath its steel rungs, and bending the rope downward to its farthest extent! The rope reaches its bending limits, and then, when it can’t go down any farther, the elastic cable springs upward, sending the top of the ladder lobbing up, with the Superior One still on top of it! Tom flies off to the side as the ladder frame hurls him up, and he helixes down to the mat!

Stevens: “Tom Flesher just sandwiched Taylor Thompson inside the ladder with an earth-shattering senton splash, but it cost him, and he is sent lurching off the device!”

Riley: “The pace is really picking up in this match, and Tom’s winning! Come on Tom! If you move quickly you can go for the gold!”

Tom rubs the small of his arched back, convalescing after his high-risk maneuver, and slides over to the edge of the ring, collapsing off of the apron and to the outside. Flesher begins to stand, and TNT meanwhile rolls out of the ladder’s hinges, recoiling into a corner to recuperate, and breathing heavily as he sits against the turnbuckle.

Stevens: “The Superior One has grabbed a hold of the ladder, and removed it from the ropes, this time sliding the entire contraption under the bottom elastic band! Tom follows suit, and as quickly as he can, sets up the ladder directly under the belt, which hangs almost twenty feet above! He makes sure the ladder is sturdy, and begins the climb, with TNT a dead pile of muscle and bone, sitting helplessly in the corner!”

Riley: “GO TOM! YOU SEXY BEAST!”

Stevens: “What did you say?”

Riley: “Um…nothing.”

Tom moves as quickly as his weary composition can manage, scaling the thirteen-foot ladder, one rung at a time. He arrives at the peak, and extends his arms up to the belt just inches from his reach! He consumes all of his energy as he quickly hops from the ladder, grabbing the US title in his hands!

Riley: “He’s got it!”

“WHA--?” Tom screams out in fear.

Stevens: “NO! TNT GRABS THE LADDER OUT FROM UNDER HIM!”

Riley: “BUT TOM HOLDS ON! HE’S HANGING BY THE BELT, AN ENTIRE TWENTY FEET ABOVE THE RING!”

TNT grips the frame of the ladder, and yanks it away, leaving Tom to hang in the air. Tom’s feet wriggle, attempting to seize something, anything to stand on, but he finds nothing but air.

Stevens: “And now Tom is trying to hang on, while unbuckling the belt!”

Riley: “He could freefall nearly twenty feet! It’s a good thing he’s as swift as a cat and would naturally land on his feet, or else I would be worried.”

Flesher claws at the belt’s buckle, attempting to loosen it…

***SMACK***

The sickening noise of flesh-on-metal chimes throughout the arena, as Taylor leans over to gain some leverage, and then drives the ladder upward with all of his might, sinking it into the gut of Tom, who lets out a “GAH!” The audience sympathetically moans, and TNT thrusts the ladder up into Tom again and again, smashing the metal into Tom’s thigh, stomach, back, and every other body part that his aimless strikes pierce into.

Riley: “Someone call the firemen! There’s a cat stuck in a tree!”

Stevens: “Well, if Tom’s a cat and the belt’s a tree, then you’re right.”

Riley: “TNT is prodding at Tom with that heavy and ponderous ladder, but Tom refuses to let go of the gold that is rightfully his!”

***SMACK***

With his hardest knock yet, Taylor gouges the ladder into the impaired left shoulder of the dangling Superior One…

“AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!”

…who clutches at his arm, and releases his grasp from the belt, plummeting to his demise! Hundreds of camera flashes blaze consecutively, and Tom lands on the mat, his injured arm taking much of the force!

Riley: “Good plan by Flesher!”

Stevens: “What? How is injuring his arm even MORE a good plan?”

Riley: “Um…call the match! It’s your job!”

Stevens: “At any rate, things are looking up for Taylor Nicholas Thompson at this point, and Tom Flesher’s left arm is a tattered mess! Small scrapes permit blood to flow freely from his shoulder, slightly soaking a portion of his jet black ‘SUBMISSION IS MY MIDDLE NAME’ t-shirt.”

Riley: “TNT has set the ladder against the turnbuckle now, and has decided to attempt to actually wrestler against Flesher, rather than use this cheap ladder stuff.”

Stevens: “He lifts the Superiorly Dead One from the mat, prying him to his feet, and locks on a standing armbar! Working the arm over a bit, Taylor clasps his fingers around Tom’s wrist, and with momentous force, hurls him into the ropes!”

Riley: “Flesher comes hurdling back, but slides right between TNT’s legs to avoid confrontation, and while still keeping pressure off of his left shoulder, hooks his arms around Thompson’s stomach with a rear waistlock! TNT is struggling a bit, but Tom NEEDS to execute this move!”

Stevens: “TNT reverses into a waistlock of his own!”

Riley and Stevens: “HOLY FUCKING SHIT!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!”

Stevens: “TNT just performed a German suplex, and sent Tom soaring over his head! But Tom flew unswervingly into the ring corner, and the same one that the ladder was leaning against to boot!”

Riley: “Poor Tom’s neck and shoulders are metaphorically shot dead and then cremated, as his head jams into one of the slanted ladder’s rungs!”

Stevens: “Tom is dead! TNT can easily go for the belt now…he stands up, and gazes towards the title, but suddenly his attention is attracted by Tom Flesher! Taylor, in a last attempt at virtually liquidizing Flesher, charges at him with all his might!”

Riley: “HE JUMPS OUT OF THE WAY!”

Stevens: “…well…he kind of COLLAPSED out of the way, but the results are the same, and Taylor Thompson rams his head into the ladder!”

A conspicuous silence falls upon the arena once the shocked cheers die down, and both men lie dead in the ring. A puddle of blood forms around Tom, some from his shoulder, and a bit from his ear as well. Taylor rolls from the ring, and out onto the ring apron, slowly but surely restoring his lively demeanor. Tom begins to also pull himself up with the ropes, and TNT grabs the ladder that still leans against the ring post, balancing horizontally on the top rope. Tom sees this, and immediately pounces on the half that juts into the ring, forcing it down with his arms. The other half tilts up in a seesaw comportment. TNT holds the other half down, and the two struggle with the ladder, tilting it up and down. Flesher leans down on his half with his chest, but just as he does, Thompson leaps from the apron and onto the very end of his half! TNT’s portion of the ladder descends to the outside, as Tom’s side elevates up, and takes him with it! Flesher’s feet leave the mat entirely, until the entire ladder is vertical on the outside mat, and Tom flips over the top-rope with his half, dropping down headfirst to the outside mats! The fans roar with approval, and Thompson shoves the ladder over the top-rope and into the ring, stepping after it himself.

Stevens: “TNT just seesawed Tom Flesher up and over the top-rope with the ladder, and has now entered the ring! Now is his chance!”

Riley: “Tom landed on the outside pads headfirst, but that broad neck of his is amazingly welded and durable! He recovers rather quickly…”

Stevens: “But Thompson has set the ladder in the center of the ring, and is beginning to climb!”

Tom sees Taylor stepping onto the first rung of the ladder, and slides under the bottom rope in pursuit! Flesher chooses to climb the other side of the ladder, and begins to ascend the apparatus just as Thompson steps up onto the second step on the other side.

Stevens: “The race is on!”

Riley: “TNT is a step or two ahead, but Flesher is just behind him!”

Stevens: “Thompson has reached the top! He just has to reach out and grab that…”

***SLAP***

The Superior One cuffs the unprotected cheek of the man who puts the “Bang Bang” in “Chilly Chilly Bang Bang” with his right hand, just as TNT reaches out for the gold above. Thompson retreats down a step, and Tom jabs him with a palm thrust right across his chin! TNT reels back, and Tom hooks Taylor’s head in his armpit with a front facelock! Though not approving of Tom’s morals, personality, or his new theme song that makes him seem like a fruit, the fans definitely approve of sick bumps, and engage in a session of deafening screams, predicting the inevitably approaching move before it even happens…

Stevens: “Tom lifts TNT with all of his might, using EVERY LAST OUNCE OF BLOOD, SWEAT, AND TEARS THAT HE HAS, TO RAISE TAYLOR UP IN A VERTICAL SUPLEX POSITION AT THE PEAK OF THE LADDER…”

Riley: “AND POP HIS HEAD LIKE A FUCKING BALLOON WITH A BOILMAKER FROM THE TOP OF THE LADDER!!!!!!”

Stevens: “BUT WAIT!”

Riley: “NO! I REFUSE TO WAIT ANY LONGER! BOILMAKER HIS ASS FLESHER!”

Stevens: “NO! Tom’s weakened left shoulder gives out in mid-move!”

“FUCK!”

Tom yelps out in disappointment, as his left arm and shoulder practically cave in, and he is forced to set TNT back down! Thompson pulls himself together in a jiffy, hooks on a front facelock of his own, and with a handful of Tom’s blue cargo jeans, heaves him into the air, looking for a vertical suplex!

Riley: “Like a vertical suplex from the top of a ladder can REALLY put Tom down. Pfft.”

Stevens: “I THINK TNT REALIZES THAT, AND COMPROMISES BY FLIPPING TOM IN FRONT OF HIM IN A TYPE OF POWERBOMB it looks like…and…and…and…ORANGE CRUSHER AT THE TOP OF THE LADDER!”

Riley: “HOLY FUCKING FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCKER FUCKBEANS FUCKS FUCK!!!!!!!!!!!!”

Just as Stevens inquired, TNT flips Tom from the suplex position onto his shoulder, and with thousands of camera bulbs sizzling off to illuminate the moment, falls back, and slams Tom down with an attempted sit-out powerbomb! But Being on top of a ladder, TNT sits on nothing, and topples backwards down the ladder, Flesher’s skull and shoulder shattering onto the top ladder rung, and then the next down, and then the next, and then the next, as he slides down the rocky chorus of pain that is the ladder. TNT lands on his backside on one of the lower rungs, teetering back onto the mat in exhaustion, but suffers nowhere near as much as Tom, as Flesher’s head splits open more and more with each metallic step that it cracks onto, until he finally plops onto the mat in a bloodied heap of Superior-osity.

“HOLY SHIT!”

Every fan in the arena chants with appreciation of this high-risk move, and millions of viewers around the World gape in a state of shock at the previous chain of events.

Stevens: “TNT had to endure some pain of his own to pull it off, but he just hit an Orange Crusher off of the ladder! And just look at Tom! This isn’t fairytale wrestling where these two land perfectly onto the mat, this is REAL LIFE, and Tom awkwardly and unevenly crashed onto almost every single rung of the ladder, before finally dropping like a sack of potatoes on the mat. His shoulder is completely BRUTALIZED!”

Riley: “Look! Tom’s getting up!”

Stevens: “No Riley, that’s TNT.”

Riley: “GO TOM!”

Stevens: “Riley, face it, your man is dead.”

TNT rises to his knees, and hauls himself up the ladder, each rung a step towards the awaiting gold. Thompson climbs this ladder of success, and Flesher lies just a few feet away, crimson fluid seething from his head.

Riley: “TOM CAN STILL MAKE IT!”

TNT climbs…

Tom bleeds…

Riley: “HE CAN STILL PULL THIS OUT!”

Climbs…

Bleeds…

Riley: “He’s the Superior One!”

Climbs…

Bleeds…

Riley: “…awe fuck it, he’s dead.”

TNT reaches the ladder’s summit, and with the little liveliness that he still possesses, stretches his arms as high as he can, grazing the leather and gold belt that hangs just in his reach. Thompson steps up a rung, and what seems like bajillions of staccato camera flashes invade the ring, as Thompson unbuckles the belt, slings it over his arm, lets out a strident “KABOOM!” and limply falls to the mat a good fifteen feet below!

***DING DING DING***

AC/DC’s “TNT” erupts from the PA system, and drowns out any existing cheers directed towards Taylor Thompson. Funyon grabs the microphone, to make the official announcement.

Funyon: “Ladies and gentlemen, the winner of this bout, and NEW SWF UNITED STATES CHAMPION [cheers at the mere mentioning of a NON-Flesher US champ]…’TNT’ TAAAAAAAAAAAAAAYYYYYLOOOOOORRRR NICHOLAAAAAAAASSSSSSSSS THOOOOOMMMMMMMMPSSSSOOOOOOOONNNNN!!!!!!”

A few shots of orange pyro spurt from the ceiling, and TNT breaks out a smile as he lies on the mat, paralyzed, his newly gained belt draped over him.

Stevens: “Well, he may have been the good guy in this matchup, but we can’t forget that this introduces a new SWF title belt into the evil stable that is the Magnificent Seven! And three more belts could be not too far down the road, as Chris Wilson, TNT, and Frost all are #1 contenders for OTHER championships!”

Riley: “Well, I just remembered that Taylor Nicholas Thompson IS a member of the Mag7 indeed. Woo! The Seven got a title! Happy day!”

Stevens: “Well, hopefully we can get these corpses out of here before we return…we’ll be right back with a randomly booked…er…incredibly important tag team matchup!”

The camera fades away, with the last scene being a sweaty TNT sitting up in the ring with belt in hand, raising a single clenched fist into the air to represent victory.

August 6, 2002

“Where is he? Where is he? I need to talk to him…”

Edwin MacPhisto paces back and forth in the Midnight Carnival locker room, looking at the clock, looking at his feet, looking at the eyes of Chris Raynor and El Luchadore Magnifico following him as he moves.

“Edwin, amigo…” whispers Magnifico. “It is time for our contest…we do not have much time to spare, my friend.”

“I need to talk to Z, Mag. We can wait. We’ve got…we’ve got…45 seconds? Bloody hell.”

“Edwin, he’ll be all right. I could have been all right with Silent, and I’m sure Z’ll be fine--”

“Chris, no, you couldn’t have. Not like that you couldn’t. Just trust me here, all right?”

Raynor stirs, and his voice becomes a bit hard. “Look, Edwin, you’re going to have to start explaining some things--” And suddenly, a crash at the door signals the arrival of the man of the hour.

“30 seconds, senor…”

Z stumbles in through the door, a bit of a sweat on his forehead. “What’s up, guys? I was out on a jog…getting fired up to beat Silent down into a pulp, and do it Carnie-Style with--”

“Z. Don’t do this. Please. I’m begging you,” says Edwin, grabbing the shoulder of the one-letter wonder.

“15 seconds, mi amigo…”

“Silent,” continues Edwin scrambling for words, “he’s not a nice fellow, all right? If you can keep him wrestling, if you can keep it clean, you can beat him—anyone could beat him if they could manage to control him. But if you let him fly off the handle, if you let him get brutal the way he can…it is over, Alex. If you have to do this…if I can’t sway you…don’t let him draw you in. Don’t let him control you--”

“Edwin, senor…”

“Don’t let him control you! Lead the match! Put your best foot forward! Don’t let him engage you—you go after him! Don’t let him trap you, and you can beat him, Z! Anyone can beat him…”

“Edwin, arriba…”

“…if they can just catch him off-guard. Z, we have to go—Raynor, keep an eye out for things. We’ll see you after the match.” Edwin and Magnifico make for the door, and the luchadore turns to meet Z’s eyes, eyes that are confused, eager, and frightened all at once…

“Buena suerte, senor.”

And they disappear down the hall, as Raynor watches the monitors. Z turns to the couch-prone Carnie vet. “Chris…uh…what do you think my chances are?”

Raynor looks up, sullen. “I don’t know, Z. If Edwin didn’t want me to fight him, there’s gotta be a reason…there better be a reason.” Raynor sighs. “Just do your best, all right? We’ll be here for you no matter what happens.”

“All right. That’s…uh…good to hear. Yep.”

Z sits down on the couch next to Raynor, and looks up at the monitor as Edwin and Magnifico make their tag entrance. “This one’s for the team…”

August 6, 2002

“Welcome back to Smarkdown, ladies and gentlemen!” shouts Mark Stevens heralding the return from commercial. “We’ve just about reached the mid-point of our show, and we’ve got one heckuva tag match lined up: current and former world champions Edwin MacPhisto and El Luchadore Magnifico are slated to take on the two monsters from the Magnificent Seven, The Boston Strangler and Frost! This two-ton duo from the M7 tagged for the first time on Storm, and ran into some problems when…well, when Frost ran into Strangler!”

“That was a lucky break and you know it!” snaps Riley. “Frost and Strangler have talked it over and now that they’re on the same page, there’s no way the Carnies can stop them! M7 crushed them at Wargames, and they’ll crush them again tonight!”

“This is the first match for the Carnies since Wargames,” comments Stevens as Funyon takes his place in the ring, “and you’ve got to think they want to get back on their feet in style tonight.”

“The following contest is a tag team match-up, and it is scheduled for one fall!” booms Funyon, drawing an anticipatory cheer from the NYC crowd. “Entering first…”

And with that, Madison Square Garden falls into a darkened hush, spacey beats intertwining with swinging spotlights…until the rushing power chords of System of a Down’s “Toxicity” obliterates the speaker system! The white stage lights flare out with every thick drop of the bass, and the crowd roars with boos as two mammoth silhouettes appear at the top of the ramp, almost dwarfing the entrance stage. “Representing the Magnificent Seven, and weighing in at a combined 602 pounds…The Boston Strangler, and Frooooooooooost!”

The two monoliths of massivity truck down the ramp, each man scaling the apron and making a formidable show of stepping over the top rope. The referee points them towards their designated corner, and the two big men conference, Strangler with a stern scowl on his face as he lectures Frost on the merits of not hitting him with a gigantic-ass clothesline this time. And then…

“Midnight Carnival…”

The crowd pops loud at the woman’s soft whisper, and as the opening beats of “Love Rollercoaster” pump through MSG, the arena falls black but for the blazing white Smarktron!

“And their opponents,” bellows Funyon, as three blue laser-lights start to trace across the arena, “representing the Midnight Carnival, weighing in at a combined 429 pounds, they are El Luchadore Magnifico, and world and tag champion Edwin MacPhistOOOOO!” With a flare of blue light, Mag and Edwin appear at the top of the ramp, titles slung across the Mac Daddy’s shoulders and the Mexican flag waving proudly in the arms of Magnifico! The purple strobe lights explode, and the Garden is on its feet with excitement as the Carnies strut down the ramp!

“429 pounds?” giggles Riley. “They’re giving up almost 200 to Strangler and Frost! This is gonna be disgusting!”

“The Carnies have the speed advantage, Bobby--”

“And the ‘nearly crippled’ advantage too, right?” smirks Riley. “A cage-battered, high-strung Brit and a Mexican who experienced an hour of brutal submission wrestling on Sunday won’t even be able to move Frost and Strangler! Strangler no-sold a fricking car, Mark! A CAR! And it wasn’t even a compact! It was a sedan! It’s gonna take at least a Dodge Ram to take that sonofabitch down!”

“What about Frost?”

“Eh…Jeep Cherokee, at least.”

The Carnies dive into the ring, eager but a bit weary. “The Carnival looks distracted tonight, Riley, and I can see why—their poor cohort Z has got a hardcore match against the debuting Silent right after this. Magnifico’s got to be stinging after two tough losses at Ground Zero, and Edwin’s under a lot of stress…will Strangler and Frost capitalize on these distractions tonight, or will they get their wires crossed yet again?”

“Love Rollercoaster” fades out, and the referee signals to both teams, then calls for the bell…

DING DING DING!

In the M7 corner, Strangler gives Frost a high-five and then steps out towards the center of the ring. The Carnies, indecisive as always, lock fingers in a manic thumb war—10 fast counts and one devious Index Finger Snake later, Magnifico wins, and Edwin sulks into the ring. He starts to circle up with Strangler, who, obviously very agitated, talks quite a bit of trash concerning mothers, dump trucks, and maple syrup. Strangler feints forward, but Edwin hops back. Strangler takes another careful lunge, but Edwin ducks out of the way, starting to get a feel for Strangler’s movements. Strangler steps forward…and Edwin dodges again. “The champion seems to be adopting a passive-aggressive approach here, letting Strangler do the work, forcing the big man to make the moves.”

“I think he’s just a pussy, Mark,” suggest Riley. In the ring, Strangler swings a punch, but Edwin drops under it with a side roll, flowing back to his feet on Strangler’s flank.

“Scintillating analysis, Bobby. If you’ll remember, the last time Edwin fought Strangler, he was able to beat him by pulling a Spinal Tap stunner off a counter to one of Strangler’s charges. Edwin may be trying to bait him in again tonight, and with Strangler in such a bad mood, I wouldn’t be surprised to see him go for it.” As Stevens offers his thoughts, Strangler turns and points at Edwin, shouting at him to bring his ass or get the hell out of the ring. With a mild shrug, Edwin nods, and then suddenly bolts forward! Strangler braces himself, getting his arms up to block a clothesline…and Edwin drops into a baseball slide, scooting between Strangler’s legs and springing to his feet on the other side! The crowd cheers for Edwin’s show, and Magnifico gives some light applause from the Carnival corner as Strangler turns, looking mighty, mighty pissed.

“What are they cheering for?” rails Riley. “Edwin hasn’t even touched him yet!”

“He’s 6’9”, 306 pounds, and according to Erek Taylor, he smells. Who’d want to touch him?” Face to face with big Bostonian once again, Edwin leans up against the ropes and pretends to file his nails, maxing and relaxing as Strangler shouts at him. Edwin doesn’t respond, and so Strangler makes his move, barreling forward…and slamming chest-first into the ropes as Edwin ducks under the clothesline! The Mac Daddy slides behind Strangler and rears back, and the big man turns—

CRACK!

--right into a gamengiri! Strangler gets knocked back into the ropes as Edwin flips out and lands on his feet, but when the Immovable Object comes back for revenge, Edwin leaps again, this time launching his kick in the opposite direction to score an enzuigiri! The blow to the back of the head knocks Strangler off his feet and he faceplants into the canvas, drawing a big pop from the crowd—

SLAP!

--and a bigger pop as Edwin quickly tags in El Luchadore Magnifico! “Two big strikes from Edwin and a fast tag to Mag, but Strangler’s getting back to his feet…” Magnifico grabs the top rope as Strangler angrily staggers up, then pulls himself up, springs on the second rope…and sails right into action with a springboard plancha onto the big man! The crowd gives a big cheer as ELM’s acrobatics take Strangler down, with Mag conveniently landing across Strangler’s chest for a cover! “First fall of the night!”

ONE!

TWO—and Strangler powers up and out, throwing Mag off and giving him some serious hang time before he comes back down to earth! Strangler rises and immediately rushes for the Carnival corner, raising a fist to strike Edwin…but the Mac Daddy duck and pumps through the ropes with a shoulder block, taking Strangler in the gut and leaving him easy prey for an ELM jumping neckbreaker! Strangler hits the mat hard, and a loud “CARN-I-VAL!” chant starts up as Magnifico frantically drags him to the center of the ring for a second cover!

ONE!

TWO—another easy power-out from the Boston Strangler! “Why are they cheering?” cries Riley. “That was an illegal double-team!”

“Strangler crossed the line—he went after Edwin, so Edwin had the right to go after him!” retorts Stevens as Magnifico works his way through Strangler’s stringy hair and pulls him to his feet. “The Carnies are doing a good job of capitalizing on Strangler’s foul mood and short temper thus far, with Magnifico now firmly in control.” The luchadore keeps Strangler’s head down, holding it in place as he drives a kneelift into his face, then another…and the crowd starts to count! Mag takes it in stride, and keeps going!

“-THREE!

FOUR!

FIVE!” After five shots, Strangler is very woozy, and very easy prey for a simple Magnifico DDT! Skull meets canvas, and ELM hits the third quick cover as the referee drops to the mat…

ONE!

TWO—and Strangler gets his shoulder up, a little less powerfully this time! “Sound strategy from Magnifico,” comments Stevens. “By keeping Strangler low to the ground and out of a full stand, he’s preventing the bigger man from utterly manhandling him with his trademark power moves. Focusing his attack on the head and neck with neckbreakers and DDTs is also smart—even if you’re 300 pounds, you can only take so many shots to the head before you go down!”

“But…Strangler survived a CAR!”

“The car didn’t hit him in the head, now did it?”

In the Carnival corner, Edwin waves to Magnifico…and the luchadore moves for the tag, dragging the recovering Strangler behind him! One quick exchange of palms and a headlock transition later, Edwin’s replaced Magnifico, and it’s Mag’s turn to play staring contest with iron-faced Frost. “Two tags in about two minutes from the Carnies—if they can keep this pace, they’ll be running circles around the Magnificent Seven’s big man team all night long,” says Stevens. Frost is getting antsy as the Mac Daddy shifts out of the headlock into a front facelock, then drills Strangler with the second DDT in 30 seconds, shaking the ring! Edwin hooks the leg…

ONE!

TWO!

T—Strangler kicks out, still a good bit of fight in him. “Fighting out of these rapid covers is taking a lot out of Strangler too,” notes Stevens. In the ring, Edwin leisurely pulls Strangler up and cracks an elbow into his jaw, pausing for a moment to grin and wave at Frost, who squeezes the ropes hard and glares with rage. The Mac Daddy gives the wobbling Strangler a light shove to a full stand, then rears back…

THWACK! Big bitchslap across the left cheek!

THWACK! Big bitchslap across the right cheek, and the fans are roaring!

“Cocktail O’ Shame from the Mac Daddy!” shouts Stevens, and Edwin rears back, charges forward…and walks face-first into a stiff Strangler fist!

The crowd deflates and Edwin collapses like a tranquilized hippo, crumbling to the mat as a dizzy Strangler shakes off the recent punishment and steadies. Frost pounds on the turnbuckle now, rallying his equally large and imposing partner to take the champion apart. Edwin crawls to his knees…and goes right back down again as Strangler comes off the ropes with a cheap kick to the face! Edwin’s head snaps backwards, and Strangler bends to lift his fallen form. Edwin fights back with quick body blows, but the light strikes don’t do much to Boston man running on rage—Strangler easily scoops Edwin off the mat, holds his flailing form by his side, and sits down to drill him with a brutal sidewalk slam straight into a cover! “Here’s what I’m looking for, an M7 pin!” cries Riley, and the ref dives down as Edwin struggles to escape the behemoth upon him!

ONE!

TWO!

THR—Edwin gets the shoulder up! “Look at how strong Strangler is!” cackles Riley. “First cover of the night, and he almost pins the world champion clean! That’s great stuff!” Strangler quickly picks Edwin up, lands a punch, and then heaves him back-first into the Mag7 ringpost, scoring a quick boot choke and using his oppressive force to slide Edwin down into a slump. Strangler starts to stomp away, the boos inside MSG increasing with every shudder of MacPhisto’s body. The ref tries to break it up, but Strangler just shoves him away, fires off one more stomp to the sternum for good measure…and then tags in Frost! “First tag, and a fresh man’s coming in for M7…wait, hold on here folks…” Frost, now the legal man, crouches down on the apron and wraps his hands around Edwin’s throat, holding him in place as Strangler backs up halfway across the ring, ignoring the referee’s count completely…

“ONE!”

Strangler stomps his foot…

“TWO!”

He breaks into a run…

“THREE!”

He drops into a baseball slide…

“FOUR!”

And he connects with a wicked baseball slide dropkick right into the slumped form of Edwin MacPhisto! Strangler gets to his feet, raising his fist in the air to a chorus of jeers, and the impatient referee orders him out of the ring, calling Frost to come in. Frost steps through the ropes just as Strangler steps out, and he takes his turn stomping Edwin in the corner. “Things have gone from bad to worse for Edwin MacPhisto,” notes Stevens. “Strangler turned this match around with a reversal out of the Cocktail O’ Shame, and now the fresh Frost is in, and eager to give Edwin a taste of what’s coming when Chilly Chilly Bang Bang cashes in their tag title shot!”

Frost pulls Edwin up out of the corner, then drops him right back into the post with a spinning back fist. In the Carnival corner, Magnifico is pounding the turnbuckle and cursing his luck, trying to start a clapping rally to get Edwin back in the game. Frost ignores the rallying crowd and pulls Edwin up out of the corner, immediately flipping him straight into a hanging body vice and parading him out to the center of the ring.

“Frost has Edwin in the Icelandic Backbreaker, wearing him down with that typical power assault,” comments Stevens. “Edwin’s got to get out of there…” But before the Mac Daddy can escape, Frost releases him…straight into a powerslam! The ring rocks and Frost falls onto Edwin for the cover…

ONE!

TWO—kickout from Edwin, but a drowsy one! Frost shoves him down again…

ONE!

TWO—“another kickout, another bit of strength sapped!” calls Stevens. “Edwin’s being worn down, and he really needs to make that tag to Mag.” Frost winds his fingers into Edwin’s unkempt hair, pulls him up—and eats a shotei to the ribs! The crowd pops as Edwin shows some life, firing off another, and then one more, the killer shot straight into the throat! “Edwin’s aggression comes out—that might be just what he needs to get the upperhand on the M7!” The crowd gasps as the thick strikes makes poor Frost gurgle and stumble…right into a MacPhisto headlock! Edwin immediately gets his bearings and bolts for the nearest corner, while in the M7 corner, Strangler looks on in abject horror! “He got him! Spinal Tap!”

“Shit! Frost, wake up!” cries Riley, but it’s too late! Edwin hops to the 2nd buckle, the third, and kicks off for the Spinal Tap—no! As Edwin twists off the top turnbuckle, Frost regains his senses and gets his hands up, pulling Edwin off the buckle awkwardly, whirling around…and throwing Edwin headfirst into the guardrail like a lawn dart! The resounding clang of skull on steel echoes out into the arena, and Edwin collapses in the ropes, his head and arms dangling out over the apron limply!

“Holy shit!” cries Stevens, as the crowd gasps. “Frost’s not taking any guff after that loss to X Force 9—he just nearly killed Edwin with that throw!” Frost, cold and blank-faced as ever, grabs Edwin by the calves and drags his barely moving form out from the corner, steadying himself in the center of the ring.

Frost begins to spin.

“No way! No way in hell!” gapes Stevens. But it’s happening—Frost whirls around, dragging Edwin across the mat…then up, up, up off the canvas in an amazing airplane spin! “That’s 240 pounds of airborne Brit!”

“Hey, now you can say that Edwin’s ready to join the royal air force! Woo-hoo!” The fans stare in amazement as Frost picks up the space, spins Edwin three full rotations, and then lets out a roar before releasing his grip and letting Edwin fly free—he rockets awkwardly towards the M7 corner and barely misses another ringpost snack! Across the ring, Mag is straining, pacing back and forth, unsure of what to do as Strangler bears Edwin up and shoves him forward to Frost…and the Icelandic giant receives Edwin with a stiff heart punch! “Touch of Frost!” snickers Riley, “Edwin’s about to go into hibernation!” The boos of the crowd pick up as Frost pulls Edwin’s arms into a double-underhook, then lifts…and goes nowhere! Edwin shifts his weight back, blocking the Early Winter! Frost lifts again…and again Edwin stops him in his tracks!

“Amazing resiliency from the Mac Daddy! He’s holding on!”

Of course, Stevens says this BEFORE Frost nonchalantly drops a fist onto the back of Edwin’s neck.

“Uh, oops. Nevermind.”

Frost lifts once more and this time he gets it, hefting Edwin up onto his shoulders! The giant lets out a roar—and is interrupted by a fist to the face! Edwin pounds away from his seated position on Frost’s shoulders, and the big man can’t block! Frost can’t hold on much longer, and his grip starts to slip, but as Edwin falls, he catches Frost’s head and falls forward—

WHAM!

“Inverted DDT! Edwin reversed the Early Winter to an inverted DDT, and he’s got a chance!” Edwin crawls away from Frost’s form as the big man rolls to his feet, fazed and clutching his head, but still bearing down on Edwin with big, heavy steps. The Mac Daddy looks back, then looks towards the corner, straining his arm up…Magnifico reaches out…

…and connects with the tip of Edwin’s fingers! The crowd pops for the tag, and Magnifico bursts through the ropes with a pint-sized spear, catching Frost off-guard and barreling him back away from the wounded MacPhisto crawling out of the ring! “Mag’s in, and Mag is on fire!” cries Stevens! The little luchadore backs out of the charge and shoves Frost away! The big man barrels forward, but Mag is ready and waiting with a big spinning heel kick! Frost goes down fast, and the roars of the crowd alert Mag to another presence on his tail—the Boston Strangler barreling out of the corner! He charges Magnifico, but the luchadore ducks his lariat, leaps…and catches a facelock, pulling a full rotation around Strangler’s body before slamming into the mat headfirst! “Standing tornado DDT on Strangler, another headshot! He’s gotta be feeling it!” True to Stevens’s words, Strangler pops up from the DDT…only to stumble away, fleeing back to his corner. Mag turns to deal with the legal man…and suffers a heart punch as Frost connects with the Touch of Frost!

“Heart punch—he just turned Mag’s fiery fury COLD!” laughs Riley, punning it up. Frost steps forward, ready to take Magnifico into the Early Winter…and grabbing nothing but air as Magnifico back-rolls away! “What the hell?” cries Riley, his mood suddenly changing. “That was the Touch of Frost!”

“And,” retorts Stevens, “it was the first shot Frost’s gotten on Mag! He’s breathing heavy, but it wasn’t enough to just clear-out take him down!” Indeed, Mag is huffing and puffing, but he’s doing all right. With the ropes behind him, Mag takes a jog backwards, bounces off, and leaps with a flying clothesline towards the stunned Frost! Mag connects…but Frost goes nowhere! ELM ducks around Frost to the opposite ropes, coming off with a flying forearm from behind…but Frost only stumbles! Getting fed up now, Mag whips Frost towards the ropes near the M7 corner, then preps for a crossbody…but amidst his preparations, he doesn’t notice Strangler slapping Frost’s shoulder! “Blind tag! Blind tag! Look out, Mag!” The crowd roars as Frost goes down to the crossbody block, but shudder as Strangler comes through the ropes to floor the unsuspecting luchadore with a hiiiiiiiyuuuuuuuuuuuuge clothesline!

“Bahaha! I guess they don’t sell glasses in Mexico! I don’t know how Magnifico missed that--it’s the oldest trick in the book!” Frost rolls out of the ring to collect himself from the hard crossbody as Strangler comes in, immediately wrenching Mag off the mat throat-first…and then plowing him right back down to the canvas with a monstrous chokeslam! “The Plunge! Magnifico’s little 190-pound frame has got to be racked with pain!” In the Carnival corner, Edwin looks on hopelessly as the ref dives to count the pinfall…

ONE!

TWOOO!

THREEEEE—and Mag gets the shoulder up! “Mag’s still going! I knew he was a fighter, but the Plunge…hell, that’d probably even put you down for three, Bobby!”

“If by ‘the Plunge’ you mean, ‘a bulldozer,’ then yes, I’d agree.” Strangler pulls Magnifico up, a bit frustrated at what he believes to be a slow-count, pounding away at him with heavy fists…when suddenly, another roar of boos fills the arena! The fans turn towards the entrance ramp, and Edwin MacPhisto follows suit…and sees Chris Wilson standing at the top!

“Wilson’s out here—he has no business being out here!” snaps Stevens as the crowd lets the mastermind have it with jeers.

“He’s just out to support his boys--”

“—and distract Edwin!” The Crown Prince jawjacks with Wilson and hops off the apron, starting to walk up the ramp, while meanwhile in the ring, Magnifico takes an absolutely savage powerbomb! The ref drops to count! “Edwin, you left him high and dry, get back there!”

ONE!

TWO!

THR—“and Mag barely gets the shoulder up! He needs to make a tag, and right now! He can’t take much more of this!” Edwin continues up the ramp, and in the ring, Mag tries to fight back, but just keeps taking heavy fist after heavy fist from an enraged Strangler. “This is the perfect chance for Strangler to break his losing streak—he’s got Mag all alone!” Edwin continues to stalk up the ramp, ready to lay into Wilson…when suddenly, the crowd cheers as another figure appears from behind the curtain! Wilson turns, wondering what the hell is going on…and finds himself face-to-face with Thoth! “It’s Thoth! It’s Thoth! He and Wilson have both earned title shots, but that’s not gonna stop them from getting into it tonight!” And the Clansman fires away with a blazing thrust uppercut, knocking Wilson back…and then landing a high leg clothesline to take him off his feet! “The Balancer’s come out to provide some balance—but dammit, Edwin needs to get back in the ring!” Grinning as Thoth waves him on and starts to drag Wilson backstage, Edwin suddenly remembers the match at hand! He goes bolting for the ring, while inside, Magnifico manages to score a toe kick and break away from Strangler! Mag runs to his corner…and finds nobody there!

“Edwin deserted him! Ha!”

Magnifico’s face pales as the crowd boos, and suddenly Strangler comes up from behind, snagging Mag in a rear choke and dragging him back out! Edwin arrives a moment to late, his swinging palm hitting air! Muffled curses fly from his mouth as Strangler pounds away at Mag, choking him over the ropes. “Edwin got there too late! Strangler’s afire, and Mag is toast!” Strangler pulls the luchadore back up and down with a violent vertical suplex, leaving his body racked, broken…and easy prey. Strangler pulls Magnifico up and raises his fist, shouting “It’s over!” to the irate Garden crowd.

In the Carnival corner, Edwin looks on desperately. He’s got to do something. Frost waits restfully in the M7 corner, and Strangler punches Magnifico hard in the jaw one more time, sending a spray of spit and sweat up into the atmosphere. The big Bostonian, tasting his first win in a while, whips Mag towards the ropes…

…and Edwin slips his hand out, making the lightest slap on his friend’s back.

The ref sees it.

“Blind tag! Strangler got one earlier and now Edwin hit it, but Strangler didn’t see--”

“It doesn’t matter! Mag’s going up—BOSTON MASSACRE!” With amazing speed for a man his side, Strangler receives Magnifico off the ropes straight into a military press, then floats him over into an ASTOUNDING Death Valley Driver, crumpling the luchadore into a little heap! Strangler drops for the cover, but behind him Edwin climbs the turnbuckle, as Frost looks on, wide-eyed and confused as the ref refuses to count the fall! He waves off, and the crowd cheers as he makes the call:

“He’s not the legal man!”

Strangler rises, dumbfounded and irate. He rises, looks down at Magnifico…and then looks up, just as Edwin leaps off the top rope! Strangler can’t react fast enough and flipping Edwin catches his neck as the crowd roars…

WHAAAAAM!

“Diamond Dust! MacPhisto hits a diamond dust and drops Strangler right on his head, the target of choice for—COVER! COVER!” The crowd is going nuts! Magnifico rolls away! The ref drops to the mat! Frost finally understands!

“No no no!” cries Riley!

ONE!

“He’s got it!” shouts Stevens!

Frost charges through the ropes!

TWO!

“No no no!” cries Riley, yet again!

Frost dives towards Edwin…

THREE!

…and hits him a moment too late, just an instant after the ref’s hand counts three! The bell rings, and Edwin gets knocked away by Frost’s blow!

“Your winners,” bellows Funyon, “the Midnight Carnival!” “Love Rollercoaster” starts to blare, and an irate Frost goes for Edwin—no, the Mac Daddy rolls out under the ropes, pulling a dizzy but recovering Magnifico behind him! Frost lunges but gets caught up on the ropes, stomping angrily as the Carnies back up the ramp, breathing heavily! Strangler starts to come to…and realizing what just happened, he bursts up and dives through the ropes, giving chase!

“Strangler’s in a fury!” The big Bostonian pursues…but Edwin and Mag share a nod, then immediately dart for the guardrail, leap, and take the easy way out—the crowd-surfing way out!

“Dammit!” shouts Riley. “How do they get those lucky wins?”

“A combination of skill and fortune, Bobby! The Carnival dropped Strangler on his head all match long, and that diamond dust was enough for the surprise pin off the blind tag! Wilson’s appearance almost took our stressed-out world champion out of the game, but in the end he was in the right place at the right time—it was a match of Carnies bailing out Carnies, and luck to boot!”

“Blarrr! Well, the Carnival’s luck is about to change,” sneers Riley. “It’s Z versus Silent, next…and I expect a bloodbath!”

“Maybe so, Riley…we’ll see, right after this!”

We cut to commercial on Frost and Strangler conversing, trying to figure out what went wrong…

August 6, 2002

...and we’re back on Storm! The camera does its usual fly-in from the commercial break, closing in on the commentary table. The audio guys are obviously sleeping on the job, as the sound kicks in just a moment too late…

“…to get the win in that last tag match!” Shouts Stevens, the start of what he said cut-off. “Man, who could’ve predicted that finish?”

“Well, myself, naturally.” Bobby Riley, as always, oozes smarm. “I did predict something identical to that happening before the match began, during the commercial break, right? But you wouldn’t believe me!”

“…Riley, you were using a D&D board and a die to randomly pick outcomes.”

“Yes, and!?” Riley assumes a defensive stance. “This just goes to show the extreme relevance Dungeons and Dragons has on out society! Soon, geeks like me will rule the world, and you’ll slave in a salt mine! Geek power, Mark! GEEK POWER!”

“Uh, Bobby? I like D&D. …and I don’t care what McClelland says!”

Riley can’t hear Mark, as he’s thrusting his arm into the air, trying to start a ‘Geek Power!’ chant. Trying his best to ignore his broadcasting compatriot, Mark shuffles through his notes…

“I give up.” Mark groans. “Anyway, up next we’ve got a… well… we’ve got a--”

“An onslaught? A catastrophe? A justifiable homicide that’s about to take place in that very ring?” Turning his back to Stevens, Riley grins in sadistic fashion. “C’mon, Mark! You know any of those will do!”

Mark sighs. “Sadly, Bobby, I think you may be right.” Mark looks dead into the camera, putting on his ‘serious’ voice. “For the benefit of you who didn’t see Storm, you might not know that Silent, who debuted here at the aftermath of WarGames, was supposed to face Chris Raynor in his first match. However, Edwin MacPhisto interrupted, and convinced Raynor not to go out and face Silent, taking into his account Silent’s *incredibly* violent nature, but also because Raynor was injured at the end of the WarGames match. And--”

“You mean, MacPhisto is coward out because of Silent, and didn’t want him to kill Raynor like he knew he would! ” Interrupts Bobby. “Is that because our ‘great and glorious’ champion Edwin MacPhisto is quaking in his booties because of the big, bad Clansman?”

Mark frowns, “Now, Riley, you--”

“Mark… you’re such a… mark for MacPhisto!” Bobby sounds disgusted. “I said it before, I’ll say it again: Raynor *wanted* to wrestle. If he was in fact so injured he couldn’t compete, then why didn’t he stay damn well at home?”

“Well, I--” Mark knows this is futile. “This is beside the point. Anyway, after Raynor left, possessed by either by some seriously bizarre sense of honor for his leader and friends, *Z* actually came out and challenged Silent to this match!”

“Silent, ever the gracious person that he is, offered the stupid kid a chance out of it!” Says Riley, before shaking his head. “It’s sad, really, the youth of today.” Mark peers at Riley, who –ahem-‘s and continues, “Anyway, Silent accepted, with one stipulation: This had to be a *hardcore* match.” Riley pauses, than cackles at the possibilities. “And what can I say, Mark? He bought it on himself! Gya’hahaha!”

Mark shakes his head at the display of Riley’s morbid mind, as right on cue, the funk of “Epic” tears it! As Michael Patton’s nasally vocals ring out, the black curtains are ruffled, and a ball of camouflage and blue hair makes his way out. Funyon clears his throat…

“The following contest, scheduled for one fall, is a HARDCORE match! Wherein, there are no disqualifications, no-count outs, and falls count anywhere in the arena! Introducing first… from Trenton, New Jersey! Weighing in at 229lbs… representing the Midnight Carnival… Z!!!”

The crowd gives a solid ovation for Z, as he surveys them with a look mixed with anxiety, fear, and determination. Dispensing with his usual shtick, he makes his way down the aisle, idly tagging a few hands.

“Well, foolhardy or not, Z is determined to prove something to Silent, Edwin, and everyone else!” Mark yells, already getting behind Z.

“Yup.” Riley nods. “Damn determined to prove he bounces just that *little* bit higher with all the excess padding.” Riley smirks, before Stevens tosses a pen at him.

Rolling under the bottom ring-rope, Z settles down into a corner… as the houselights drop. The entrance lights begin to flicker, as a white fog billows from the stage. Front Line Assembly’s “Retribution (Front 242 remix)” crawls into the air, as the SmarksTron blinks, clips of the horrifying Demonstar Drivers lit up on it. From the ring, Z looks on at the ‘Tron warily, as Funyon raises the mic to his lips.

“And his opponent, from Phoenix, Arizona! Weighing in at 248lbs… representing the Clan… SSSIIILEEEEENT!!!”

With the Chinese character for ‘retribution’ lit up on the SmarksTron, The Silent One steps through the fog, black coat trailing dramatically behind him. The crowd boos vehemently, as Silent barely regards them, tapping the steel tip of his cane on the ground idly as he walks to the ring.

“Hmn… I think Z may have made a slight error, here… Probably forgot to take note that Silent always enters with that cane, meaning he’s armed before the match even begins.” Mark notes. “Z might do well do remedy that, quick.”

“That won’t be the first error Z makes in this match, either.” Snickers Bobby.

Making Mark look prophetic, though, Z takes a look at Silent’s cane. And gulps. Quickly bailing out of the ring after the exiting Funyon, Z beats him to his seat, and with a light -snap- folds the steel chair up. Mark smirks. Bobby fumes.

“What the hell, Mark?! You feeding him notes or something?”

Stevens smiles. “I dunno, Bobby, maybe Z’s just a little more perceptive than you thought.”

Riley grumbles, as Z runs back past a certain stunned ring announcer, Z slides into the ring, leaning up against his corner… to see Silent walking up the steps, about to enter. Z crosses himself and says a quick prayer, as ‘The Slaughterer’ barely pays him any mind. Removing his coat and sending it fluttering to the outside, Silent looks at his cane. Then Z. Then his cane again. …and grins.

**DING!DING!DING!**

Having signaled the timekeeper just as the lights return, the referee ducks out of the line-of-fire. Keeping an eye on Silent, Z drops into a loose crouch, holding the chair at the ready. Smirking, Silent takes a few steps into the centre of the ring, hand on the cane.

“And with the match, the mind games have begun!” Shouts Mark.

“Yes, *Silent’s* mind games have begun.” Bobby corrects. “Z, being the weenie that he is, should crumple like a paper cup in a moment.”

The air hangs over the two men as tensely as possible, as the crowd eats it up with a spork. Silent raises the cane…!

Z jumps!

…Silent lets it side down with a grin.

Z shudders, as The Silent One continues to grin at his anxiety. Knowing just what to do next, Silent… sets the cane at his feet. Z gives ‘The Slaughterer’ a perturbed look, as Silent spreads his arms out.

Mark snorts. “Silent, having a bit of fun with Z’s jumpyness… and now he’s just set the cane down?” Mark sounds stunned, as the crowd starts to jeer. “Silent’s… he’s offering Z the first shot!”

“Well, Silent’s known for his intelligence as much as his brutality, Marky Mark.” Riley informs, with all the conviction of a sleazy used car salesman. “It’s a complicated plan, but it boils down to Silent setting the cane down, allowing Z to foolishly run at him and trip, thus setting him up for the--” -whack!- “Owe!”

Mark puts his hand down. “Riley, you tool. That’s just the *arrogance* of Silent… something he may regret in this match—especially with the way Z’s charging!” Mark quickly adds, as Z charges out of the corner at Silent, raising the chair up and trying for a mighty swing… that meets nothing but tips of Silent’s hair, as he ducks out of the way! Z barely has a moment to register not hitting anything, as he skids to a stop, turns himself around, and is met by pivoting Silent, and a brutal Spinning Crescent Kick to the head! Z staggers, dropping the chair with a -clank- before being smashed by two more consecutive snap-kicks to the head!

“Holy man!” Exclaims Mark. “Silent’s just kicking the yellow off of Z’s teeth!”

“And indeed, there’s a lot of plaque there.” Bobby quips.

Ignoring him, Grand Slam focuses on calling the match. “Z’s backed into the ropes, here… and Silent seizes his hand, throwing him to the opposite side. Z rebounds, and--” -SMACK!- “Just tasted more leather, courtesy Silent’s boots!”

Dazedly pulling himself off the canvas after another *stiff* Silent kick, Z wobbles in The Silent One’s general direction, and is taken right back down to the mat with an Arm Drag! Before Silent con complete his usual motion of locking on a quick Arm Scissors, Z rolls through, shambling back to his feet and into the ropes, turning around just in time to get a second Arm Drag onto—

*CRACK!*

…the chair.

“That chair in an awful precarious position after being dropped, as Z’s just found out!” Hollers Mark. “And the fans do not like the way this match is headed, right out of the gate!”

“Bah, tell em’ to go get stuffed.” Huffs Riley. “They knew what Z was getting into just as well as he did.”

With a groan of pain, Z flops around, trying to console his sore back. Smirking, (Some things never change) Silent again forgoes any hold, opting to stomp Z square in the head! The crowd boo’s moderately, the decibels rising as Silent arrogantly steps onto Z’s nose, grinding it viciously! Z kicks and yells feebly in pain, as Silent does an exaggerated yawn. The ref vainly tries to talk Silent down, but gets a cold glare for his troubles.

Mark seethes. “Silent’s arrogance coming into play once again… ooh, what I wouldn’t give for this to be a normal match. Just to see him get disqualified for--!”

“Keep dreamin,’ Mark.” Riley dismisses. “As if Silent would make that kind of cardinal error in a regular match. And, see? He’s even being nice enough to stop stepping on Z’s face!”

–whump!- “Booooo!”

“ …‘course, he had to kick him in the head again.”

“Yeah,” Murmurs Mark, “What a considerate fellow.”

Stepping away from the One Letter Wonder (who clutches his face in pain), Silent moves to move the chair into a more proper position. Moving back over the gather up the prone figure of Z, Silent slaps on a Front Facelock, tosses Z’s arm over him, and hooks him for a suplex perpendicular to chair! …which Z blocks, getting his leg behind Silent’s. With a growl, Silent redoubles his effort, trying to get Z over… and is again denied. Silent curses, clenching onto Z tighter for a third time, but in blur of motion, Z snatches up a handful of Silent’s pants, and snaps him over in a suplex! His first offensive move of the night gets a solid pop! …But Silent easily shakes off the minimal damage, yanking himself up.

“Silent’s tenacity getting a chance to show through.” Calls Mark. “I seriously doubt Z’s going to win anything on a suplex.”

The slower to get up, Z rises to his knees, before getting cut off by Silent, who peppers his back with stomps! Z continues to rise despite it, before being grabbed by Silent, and Irish Whips him to the ropes—Reversed! Z Pulls Silent around in a tight circle, lining him right up with the chair, throws his leg behind his… and gets a swift elbow to the head before he can snap off the Russian Legsweep! Z staggers around, holding his throbbing head, wandering right back to Silent, who -WHAM!- doubles him over with a kick! Silent takes Z’s arm in a quick hammerlock, and drops his straight down with a DDT… onto the chair! The buzz from the crowd created by Z’s offence changes to boos for Silent stopping him cold, and now to heavy jeering! Not caring, ‘The Slaughterer’ rolls Z onto his back, and is quick to hook a leg. Count…

ONE!

TWO!

THREE—NO! “Oooooooh!”

“Dammit!” Riley curses. “I could swear Silent had him!”

“Z getting a response, kicking out of that first cover.” Notes Mark. “He’s just as tenacious as Silent, if not more.”

“He’s gotta be, the way he’s getting kicked around.” Says Bobby, “Silent’s pulled him up and—He’s bleeding! Z’s bleeding from that DDT!”

At the sight of blood running down Z’s face, Bobby becomes disturbingly giddy. Much like Silent, come to think of it… but he hides it well. Scooting over to Z’s head, Silent pulls him up roughly by the hair, pistoning the new wound with his knuckles! Shaking a small amount of pain (and blood) from his hands, Silent steps over to the corner where he entered the ring, gathering up his discarded cane. The crowd begins to buzz, knowing full well what Silent can do with that cane… With his usual smirk of sadism and arrogance, Silent lines up the cane, rears back and…

**WHACK!**

“GYAAAAAGH!”

**WHACK!**

“AAAGH…”

**WHACK!**

“GAH…”

“Sweet *Jesus*.” Mark almost audibly winces. “Silent just *driving* that cane into Z’s ribs. Folks, you don’t learn to fake *that.*”

“Mark, why do you even bother to ‘protect the business’ anymore?” Asks Bobby.

“Bobby, I--”

“I mean, after SWF Hard Knocks, where we gave a bunch of regular Joe’s the chance to get an SWF contract, the business has been exposed.”

“Hard… Knocks?” Mark blinks. “I’ve never heard of that!”

Riley shrugs. “Well, yeah. I mean, where do you think Breggan came from?”

Back in the ring, Z groans in pain, trying to curl himself up into a fetal position to stop the pain. Sadly, Silent’s having none of that. Stepping onto Z’s shoulder to pin him, Silent steps over Z, pressing the steel tip of the cane to his head…

Mark looks horrified. “No… Silent…”

The crowd swells with boos…

“Don’t do that…”

Silent grins, and winds up…

“Don’t hit him with the--”

**WACK!!**

With a disgusting sound of the steel tip, Silent absolutely tees off with Z’s head!! Howling with more pain, Silent finally lets him roll to his stomach, clutching his head, letting the camera get a great shot of the blood trickling from his ear…

“FORE!” Shouts Riley, before braking out into giggles. “Blahahaha… It’s a line drive, right down the fairway! Impeccable swing, my good man!”

“Riley, you disgust me.”

The crowd finally makes its first full-on blast against Silent, starting the first “SILENT SUCKS! SILENT SUCKS!” chant, which does nothing to phase ‘The Slaughterer’. Not looking concerned for his opponent at all, Silent yanks Z up to his feet, hurling him to the ropes… which is a rather pathetic display, as Z trips and stumbles into them, his equilibrium shot. Keeping hold of the top rope for balance, Z pushes away, shambling into Silent… who kicks him—hard, in the ribs. Z drops to one knee, wincing… and is kicked right in the face, springing upright! And again, Silent kicks him in the ribs, this time following up with a cane shot to put Z up again! Getting a bit of a rhythm going, Silent gives Z a kick to face! Cane shot to the gut! Cane shot to the face! Kick to the knee! Cane shot to the ribs! Kick to the face! Dazed, and in fantastic pain, Z stumbles back against the ropes… and sees Silent crouching down. He leaps forward. With one last loud **SMACK!** Silent’s foot connects with Z’s face, knocking him over the ropes! Riley applauds.

“Ph34r Silent’s l337 mad skillz, baybe!”

Mark rolls his eyes. “Right. Well, fancy moves or not, Silent’s only succeeded in knocking Z to the apron. He’s pulling on the ropes, trying to get himself back in!”

With a snort, Silent takes not of this, and tosses his cane to the side. He quickly shoots himself off the ropes opposite to Z, and drops, baseball sliding into the small of his back! The force throws Z off the apron, sending him into the steel railing with a -clang!- Arm hung over the top of the rails, barely standing, Z serves Silent a look. Silent licks his lips. Z chokes.

Making sure of Z’s position, Silent shoots himself off the ropes again, charging at the opposite ones and LEAPING THROUGH… Time stalls. About to be compressed against 250lbs and a steel rail, Z does the only thing he can: Drop to the ground. Leaving the railing exposed. Silent blanches.

**CRASH!**

“Oh my GOD!” Mark yells. “Silent just threw himself outside, and Z *dropped!* He threw *all* of his body weight out there, and Silent just caught the steel rail with his FACE!”

“What!? NO!” Riley panics! “That’s impossible! People in the Clan NEVER make technical errors!”

“…”

“Uh, well… except for that whole ‘getting turned on by Stubby’ thing, and getting trumped by Wilson… and, um, alright! So they aren’t infallible!” Riley snorts. “Yeesh… I say one little incorrect thing and you jump all over me.”

On the outside, a mild “Z! Z! Z!” chant has picked up, as Silent lies, trying to force the pain out of his head. Z, meanwhile, crawls like slug to the ring, tugging up the apron, and searching underneath. Pulling himself up to a sitting position, Z drags out that good old hardcore standby, The Garbage Can Of Stuff. It gets a pop. Nearly falling over himself, Z clambers over to the steel rail, holding the garbage can at the ready… and does a great double-take as he sees that Silent is almost recovered. He isn’t even cut! Wiping a bit of blood from his face, Z digs his feet into the safety mats, grits his teeth, and charges with all his might! Silent, turns, looks… and catches a rubbage pail to the face! The crowd swells with cheers, as Z drops to one knee. Expelling a breath, Z leans over, and casually dumps the contents of the can over ‘The Slaughterer’!

“Paybacks’ a bitch, ain’t it, Silent!” Mark can’t help but smile. “Silent getting his own snobby attitude rubbed back in his own face, so to speak!”

Riley scoffs. “Oh, so it’s alright if *Z* plays cocky, and displays some childish revenge, it’s okay. But if *Silent* shows actual *skill* acts like it means something, it’s BS. Bah, you fkn Carnies have such a racket going.”

“…did you just say ‘fkn’?”

“…uh…”

That done, Z raises an arm, playing to the fans… as an ominous figure rises from the junk behind him. Obviously *really* pissed off, Silent snarls. Z turns around. And gulps. Quickly picking up a cookie sheet from the junk strewn around, he brings it down on Silent’s head. Silent does nothing but let his eyes lower. Z tries again! Silent twitches. That look could kill. Z, obviously knowing he has about 4 more seconds to live, brings a train of shots to Silent’s head!

“Wham! Wham! Wham! Wham!”

Z tries for another shot, but Silent lashes out, slapping the aluminum tray away! A sanp kick to the gut later, Silent has Z’s head in hand, and slams him into the rail! Reaching down, Silent grabs the trash can, and SLAMS it over Z’s head! The Z-Can wobbles a bit, and falls straight down as Silent crushes more aluminum with a roundhouse kick! Z-Can lying against the ring, Silent grabs the bottom rope, and stomps the hell out of him!

“And now, I’d say Z has a pretty good idea what a trash compactor is like.” Mark notes.

“And now, I’d say that Z has an all new description for *pain.*” Bobby adds.

Pulling up Z-Can, Silent yanks the waste bin off of Z, grabs him by the arm, and hurls him to the steel as hard as he can! The sheer force of the Irish Whip has Z stumble, and crash *upside down* into the steel! With an ‘ugh’ Z collapses to the ground proper… and Silent actually pulls him to his feet, leaning him against the rail for something. Silent takes a light jog down the outside, and rushes at Z, looking for a Burning Lariat! …out of instinct, Z ducks. …and Silent gets Z’s shoulder right in the stomach! Standing up as well as he can, Z dumps Silent into the crowd!

“Good lord!” Cries Mark. “Z’s taken an absolute *shit-kicking* right here, but he keeps coming back!”

“You know, you’re far too easily exitable, Mark.” Says Bobby. “You wet yourself over seeing Z make a comeback. *I* wet myself over having too much beer.”

“...thanks for sharing, Bobby.”

Carefully, Z steps over the railing, walking into the sea of humanity. The Silent One has already gotten to his feet, as Z grabs a handful of his hair, drilling him with a weak punch! Another! A third, and Z adds on to that by slamming Silent’s head against the railing! Picking up his second or third wind, Z grabs the slumped Silent, and topples him over, back toward the ring! Urged on by the chants and cheers, Z parts the crowd, getting a small runway, and looks down Silent, waiting for him to rise…

Silent uneasily gets to his feet, and looks to see a parted crowd. And Z barreling down at him. Z runs as fast as his hurt self can go, hops on the steel, and soars at Silent with a bodypress…

…and in one fluid motion, Silent catches Z, and THROWS him into the ring-post in a powerslam like maneuver! The crowd collectively winces.

“Holy damn! Silent just countered some Z-air with a… I don’t know what to call that!” Mark shouts. “Although by now, Silent’s gotta’ be wondering how to beat Z! He’s taken everything but the kitchen sink!”

“Or a Demonstar.” Adds Riley, thoughtfully.

Clearly frustrated, Silent yanks up Z yet again, and tosses him into the ring, under the ropes. Climbing up onto the apron, Silent steps halfway through into the ring… before stopping to look to the crowd. And drawing a thumb across his throat… slowly. The crowd registers Silent’s signal for the end, booing quite severely as he hauls Z up by his jacket… and is surprised as Z scores several last minute, total desperation rabbit-punches! With that last bit of fight, the crowd swells yet again, as Z manages to whip Silent to the ropes…

…and is all for not as Silent calmly reverses. Z ricochets back, as Silent -WHAM!- kicks him in the gut, doubling him over! With Z limply placed in a standing head-scissors, Silent reaches under him, pulling him up onto his back! He spreads Z’s arms out in the crucifix, and…

**BAM!**

The ring shudders as Z’s neck impacts on it once more. Rather lackadaisically, Silent follow with a roll up…

“ONE!”

“Well, this is it!” Begins Bobby, smiling.

“TWO!”

“Z tried hard, but it wasn’t enough!”

“THREE!”

**DING!DING!DING!**

“The winner of this match, as a result of a pinfall… SIIIIIILENT!”

“Yeah…” Mark hangs his head. “That last rush by Z just wasn’t enough to put Silent away. But my *god* what an asskicking!”

“Hey, I said Z tried, didn’t I?” Chides Bobby. “And this is just the beginning, Mark! JUST THE BEGINNING! Silent doesn’t even *hate* Z! Could you image what’ll happen to Ediwn?”

“I don’t even want to think about that, Bobby…” Mark is sincerely solemn there. “Anyway, there’s more Storm, after this break!”

The camera gives one lat shot of the ring, as Silent gathers his coat and cane, “Retribution” pumping, the crowd booing… and Z, a bloody mess, staring up at the lights…

August 6, 2002

...but still at the arena, this goes on.

"Anyway, Folks, this... this horrorshow of a match over, we're about ready to cut to commercial..." The voice of Mark Stevens calls out, as the sounds of "Retribution" continues to pump through the arena, and the crowd continues to jeer, having just seen Silent utterly dismantle Z moments ago.

Coat and cane in hand, 'The Slaughterer' takes one stop toward leaving the ring... before turning back, nearly mauling Funyon to get a hold of his microphone. Huffing into it, catching his breath, Silent speaks...

"Cut... my... music." The sound crew evidentially don't hear him. "I SAID, CUT MY MOTHERFUCKING MUSIC!" screams the Slaughterer, and now the production team is quick to oblige him. Even the audience quiets down substantially, momentarily stunned by the Clansman's outburst, and all eyes turn to the Silent One, standing over Z's bleeding body in the ring…

"We… are not… quite… finished… in here…"

"Oh, for the love of god..." Mark buries his head in his hands. "Haven't you done enough for one night?"

"Well, obviously *not,* Mark. Silent isn't finished." Bobby nods curtly after speaking. "...now, where'd I put my popcorn?"

Silent drops one hand down, pointing a finger right at Z. "Do you see him, MacPhisto? Do you see what I've done to him?" The camera zooms in on the Carnie's face, getting a good shot of his 'crimson mask'.

"You could've prevented this, Edwin..." Silent steps away from Z, walking over to the well used, but discarded steel chair. "You had more than enough chances to talk this... 'child' out of facing me, but you failed." With a light -snkrt- Silent opens the chair, placing it in the dead center of the ring. The crowd begins to stir, knowing exactly what 'The Slaughterer' is up to. Mark clues in just as quickly...

"No... he isn't." Mark gapes. "Dammit, Silent's going to get Z with the chair! Again! Someone stop this!"

"Bah! Sittdown, Stevens! All's fair in love and hardcore!"

"But AFTER the match!?"

Taking the limp Z up by his camo coat, Silent gives on last look into the camera, mic held to his lips. "Edwin MacPhisto... this man's blood... is... on... *your* hands!" The crowd boos heavily as Silent lets the microphone drop to the mat with a slight squeal of feedback. Pulling Z up fully to his wobbly feet, Silent turns him around... and hooks each of his arms.

Mark gapes in recognition. "Oh, *no*..."

With a grunt of effort, Silent thrusts his palms into Z's underarms, hoisting him onto his shoulder...

The crowd begins to reach a fever-pitch with its jeering, as Mark shouts, horrified. "Damn it! I know this move! Damnit, Silent, you know what this did to Breggan! STOP!"

"He can't hear you, Mark."

Not paying the jeers of the crowd, or the cries of Mark Stevens, Silent sizes up the chair... and jogs foreward. Tossing Z haphazardly infront of him... and letting him spiral down almost in... slow motion...

...down to...

...

...the edge of the unfolded Metal chair!! Head and neck basically folded over on the steel surface, it folds like a paper cup, Z slumping into it, totally Unconscious. The crowd is awash with heat. Silent couldn't care less. Mark is aghast.

"I--I... Dammit! Silent just drove Z head and neck first into the chair! With... with Edwin's Union Jack!"

"Hmn." Bobby 'hmn's' quietly. "You know, I think he's actually got a better handle on that move opposed to Edwin."

"I... Bobby, this is no time to say things like that! This is serious! I... Silent... dammit, there are better ways to get to Edwin than this!"

Silent looks down at his handiwork, showing only that slight smirk... he's quite pleased with himself. But... something's not right. Did the crowd just start cheering? Silent takes one look to the right of the ring... and sees Edwin MacPhisto barelling down, another chair in hand!

"Edwin!" Shouts Mark! "Edwin's coming down to stop this thing! To get Silent!"

Silent quickly sizes up his options, and does the only logical thing: He bails. The Silent One dives over the ropes, just as the world champion slides into the ring, swinging the chair at where Silent should be, and catching nothing but air! The crowd is a mix between cheers for Edwin, and boos at Silent's cowardace. The Clansman jumps the railing, and runs through the crowd, as Edwin looks to follow... and turns to look at Z. Wearing a mixed expression on his face, Edwin lets his chair drop to the canvas, and drops to his knees, uttering a very un-Edwin-like word. Mark's expression is sour...

"Silent, once again playing mind games with Edwin... and going through Z to make his point." Mark frowns. "I... just... dammit. Can we cut to commercial now?"

The production crew is more than happy to oblige, cutting away to a commercial...

August 6, 2002

We return from the commercial break. “Burn to Burn” by Static X is already playing over the PA. The camera is focused on the announce table. The Boston Strangler is taking the empty seat next to Bobby Riley.

*Stevens: Welcome back to Smarkdown. We are being joined by The Boston Strangler, who has been awarded the opportunity to do commentary for the upcoming ICTV Title match by Commissioner McWeed.

*Riley: Are you ready for this next match, Strangler?

*TBS: You bet I’m ready.

*Riley: Well before we talk about that, I have to ask you something.

*TBS: Go ahead.

*Riley: Strangler, what about Silent?

*Stevens: Yeah, Strangler. What about Silent?

*TBS: That’s a good question. What about Silent?

*Stevens: …

*Riley: …

*TBS: …

*Stevens: …

*Riley: …

*TBS: …

*Stevens: Okay then.

The lights go out. “Scum of the Earth” by Rob Zombie begins to play. As soon as the heavy guitar part starts, an explosion hits the entrance area, a faint green glow lights up the arena, and Fallout comes through the curtain. He heads straight for the ring.

*Funyon: The following contest is scheduled for one fall, and it is for the SWF Intercontinental-Television Championship! Introducing first, from Phoenix, Arizona, weighing 185 lbs., representing The Clan…Fallout!

Fallout stands in the center of the squared circle, feet apart. He closes his eyes, and slowly lifts his arms skyward. A huge green explosion comes from behind him. He then removes his Clan robe and prepares for the match.

*Stevens: He won the right to challenge Erek Taylor for the ICTV Title at our Ground Zero pay-per-view last week. And tonight, he’ll be cashing in on that opportunity.

*Riley: Fallout is a tough man to stop. I have to pick him to win this one. Strangler, what about you?

*TBS: Well, it’s hard to say who will win, but I’m hoping for Fallout.

*Stevens: Really? You’re rooting for a member of The Clan?

*TBS: Don’t get me wrong. I hate to see The Clan win. But I love to see Erek Taylor lose.

The energy and excitement in the arena can't be contained as the opening rhymes of P.O.D's "Satellite" blasts out of the speakers. The lights transform into a show, every single bulb now portraying a different color, turning the arena into a nightclub.

"I wonder how clear it must look from there to here

No obstruction, this selfish corruption

All in this atmosphere"

"No fear, less tears, only time to catch my breath

I fail to inhale

Your love constricts my chest"

"Confusion blinded me, mental and physically

And it’s because of you that now I can see

So now I can run, I follow the Son and ride on to Zion

And dance this last song of freedom"

As the opening verse ends and the chorus begins, flames begin to ignite until it sets off a giant explosion of pyro! The pyrotechnics leave behind a trail of smoke. As the smoke clears Erek Taylor can be seen, crouched and facing the fans with that familiar smile. He runs down to the ring and slides in. He then removes his title belt and hands it to the referee, who holds it up for all to see. Taylor takes a look at TBS and yells something at him.

*Stevens: Well, I couldn’t hear what Erek Taylor just said, but I’d bet money that he wasn’t inviting you to dinner.

*TBS: This guy is pathetic. Look at him. He’s so focused on me that he’s not even paying attention to his opponent. And all I’m doing is color commentary. He is so paranoid.

*Riley: Well, I guess you would know.

*TBS: What’s that supposed to mean?

*Riley: Um…uh…hey, what about Silent?

*TBS: Yeah, what about Silent?

*Stevens: Indeed. What about Silent?

*Riley: …

*TBS: …

*Stevens: …

DING DING DING

*Riley: Huh? What was that?

*Stevens: The bell.

*Riley: What? Oh right, the match!

Fallout and Taylor start circling. After a moment, they lock up in the center of the ring. Taylor turns it into a side headlock. Fallout grabs Taylor’s hands and pushes up, trying to free himself from the headlock. Slowly but surely, he forces Taylor’s hands up into a top wristlock, and then he takes a step back and pulls Taylor’s arm into a hammerlock. Taylor tries to reach underneath and pull Fallout’s legs out from under him, but with no success. He goes to plan B and reaches over his shoulder with his free arm and grabs Fallout’s head. Taylor jumps up, and as he comes down he kicks his legs out and lands in a sitting position, and in the process he takes Fallout down with a snapmare! Fallout loses his grip on Taylor’s arm as he goes flying forward. Taylor quickly gets up and delivers a stiff kick to Fallout’s back! Taylor then backs away, allowing Fallout to stand up. Fallout holds his back as he rises, and he turns to face Taylor.

*Stevens: Taylor got the better end of that exchange.

*TBS: But he seems too overconfident to me. He used some great wrestling maneuvers and took Fallout down, but then he backed away. Big mistake.

*Riley: Strangler has a point. You can’t let up on Fallout. Take him lightly, and he’ll take you down.

Fallout and Taylor start circling again. They lock up again, and this time Fallout goes into an arm wringer. But Taylor quickly reverses into an arm wringer of his own. Fallout winces slightly from the pain. He rolls forward, relieving the pressure, and kips up. He then gives Taylor’s arm a sharp tug downward, flipping him forward onto his back. Fallout reaches down and tries to grab him, but Taylor gets his feet up and kicks Fallout away. Taylor stands up. Fallout charges at him, but Taylor takes him down with an arm drag! Fallout gets back up and charges again, but Taylor takes him down with another arm drag! Fallout gets up again. Taylor tries to take him down with a hip toss, but Fallout floats through and lands on his feet. He goes for a hip toss of his own, but Taylor blocks it. Fallout tries again, but Taylor blocks it again. Fallout kicks Taylor in the gut, bending him over, and then sticks his leg on top of Taylor’s head. Taylor bends back up, and as Fallout flips back, he wraps his legs around Taylor’s head and takes him down with a Hurricanrana! Taylor gets back up. Fallout wraps his arm around Taylor’s head and brings him down with a side headlock takeover.

*TBS: Looks like the High Flying Prince has been grounded.

*Stevens: For the moment, he has. But I suspect that sooner or later both of these guys will be flying all over the place.

*Riley: Fortunately we have Air Traffic Control on speed dial.

Fallout tries to force Taylor’s shoulders down while maintaining the headlock. After a good ten seconds, he succeeds…

ONE!

TWO!

…but Taylor rolls back over and gets the shoulder up. Fallout slowly forces the shoulder back down…

ONE!

…Taylor continues to roll in that direction, pulling Fallout’s shoulders down…

ONE!

TWO!

…but Fallout rolls back the other way, pulling his and Taylor’s shoulders off the mat. Taylor starts to make his move and slowly forces his way to his feet. He pushes Fallout back and bounces him off the ropes, but Fallout puts the brakes on and manages to maintain the hold. He applies a little extra pressure to the headlock. Taylor pushes Fallout into the ropes again, and this time Fallout loses his grip on Taylor. However, Fallout comes off the opposite ropes and takes Taylor down with a shoulder block. Fallout runs off the ropes, Taylor slides underneath him, Fallout bounces off the opposite ropes, Taylor leap-frogs over him, Fallout bounces off the ropes again, Taylor rolls back for a monkey flip, but Fallout somersaults over him. Both men stand up. Fallout kicks Taylor in the midsection. Irish whip, Fallout lowers his head, but Taylor jumps over him and avoids the back drop. Fallout raises his head. Taylor grabs him from behind with a waistlock. He pushes Fallout into the ropes and rolls backward, trying to roll Fallout into a pin, but Fallout grabs the ropes and keeps himself from rolling backward with Taylor. Taylor stands up. Fallout charges at him with a clothesline, but Taylor ducks and runs forward. Both men bounce off the ropes on opposite sides of the ring, and as they charge toward each other, Taylor leaps up and nails Fallout right between the eyes with a flying forearm that flip-flops him around before he lands on the mat! Fallout gets up, looking a bit dazed. Taylor takes him back down with a dropkick! Fallout gets back up, but another dropkick from Taylor knocks him back down! Fallout stands up again. Taylor grabs his arm. Irish whip, Fallout reverses, but Taylor grabs the ropes and stops himself. Fallout charges at him, but Taylor back drops him over the top rope to the floor! Fallout slowly gets up on the outside of the ring. Taylor waits patiently, ready to strike. Once Fallout is almost on his feet, Taylor runs the other way and bounces off the ropes. Fallout sees him coming and ducks…but as Taylor runs toward that side of the ring, he merely jumps up and stands on the middle rope. Fallout realizes that Taylor isn’t coming down, and he looks up. Taylor backflips off of the middle rope and lands safely in the center of the ring. Fallout looks down at the floor and shakes his head, and starts to walk around the ring.

*TBS: What a showoff.

*Stevens: Showoff or not, the ICTV Champion is really taking it to the challenger!

*Riley: But Fallout is being very smart here. He’s staying out of the ring, catching his breath, and rethinking his strategy. There are no time-outs in professional wrestling, so Fallout created his own.

Fallout continues to walk around the ring. The referee counts while he’s out there.

ONE!

TWO!

THREE!

FOUR!

FIVE!

SIX!

Fallout climbs onto the apron. Taylor approaches him, and Fallout quickly jumps back down to the floor. Fallout yells at the referee, who tries to convince Taylor to step back and let Fallout back in the ring. Taylor eventually backs up. Fallout climbs up onto the apron again and cautiously steps through the ropes. This time Taylor doesn’t interfere. The two men start circling again. They start to lock up, but Fallout suddenly kicks Taylor in the midsection. He follows it up with a few right hands to the face, backing Taylor into a corner. Once Taylor is in the corner, Fallout winds up and nails him with a knife-edge chop across the chest! (WHOO!) Make it two chops! (WHOO!) Three! (WHOO!) Four! (WHOO!) Fallout grabs Taylor’s arm and whips him into the opposite corner and follows him in, but Taylor slings over Fallout! Taylor grabs him from behind and throws him into a belly-to-back suplex…but Fallout flips through and lands on his feet! He then hits Taylor with a dropkick, knocking him forward and bouncing his face off the turnbuckle! Taylor staggers back. Fallout turns around, reaches over his shoulder, grabs Taylor’s head, and takes him down with a neckbreaker. Cover…

ONE!

TWO!

…and Taylor kicks out.

*Stevens: I guess that little time-out worked. Fallout has turned it up a notch.

*Riley: Mark, The Clan cranks it all the way up to 11.

*TBS: What’s that supposed to mean?

*Riley: Nothing.

*TBS: You think The Clan are better than me, don’t you?

*Riley: No, man. Uh…you and The Magnificent Seven crank it way past 11. You go all the way up to…uh…15. Yeah.

*TBS: Oh. Okay.

Fallout pulls Taylor up and away from the corner. Irish whip, Fallout lowers his head, and he sends Taylor high into the air with a huge back drop! Taylor crashes to the mat. Before he can get up, Fallout nails him with an elbow drop. He quickly stands back up, and Fallout drops another elbow. He stands up again, and he runs away from Taylor, bounces off the ropes, jumps into the air, and nails Taylor with a leg drop. Cover…

ONE!

TWO!

…but Taylor kicks out again. Fallout pulls Taylor up to his feet. Irish whip, and Fallout takes Taylor down with a Hurricanrana into a pin…but Taylor uses Fallout’s own momentum to roll through, and now Fallout’s shoulders are down…

ONE!

TWO!

…and Fallout kicks out. Both men get up. Fallout takes a swing at Taylor, but he ducks and kicks Fallout in the midsection. Irish whip, Taylor lowers his head, but Fallout counters with a Sunset Flip…

ONE!

TWO!

…and Taylor kicks out. He goes for a punch, but Fallout ducks, gets behind Taylor, and pulls him down into a School Boy…

ONE!

TWO!

…and Taylor kicks out again. Both men get up, but Taylor quickly pulls Fallout down into a Small Package…

ONE!

TWO!

…and Fallout kicks out. Both men get up again, but Fallout quickly hits the mat again thanks to a double leg takedown from Taylor. Taylor holds onto Fallout’s legs and flips forward into a pin…

ONE!

TWO!

…but Fallout wraps his arms around Taylor and bridges up. He turns over, hooks Taylor’s arms, spins around, and pulls Taylor down into a backslide…

ONE!

TWO!

…but Taylor kicks out again! Both men have the same idea and jump into the air for a dropkick, but they only succeed in dropkicking each other’s boots. Both men get up. Fallout goes for a clothesline, but Taylor ducks and gets behind Fallout. He slaps on a waistlock, but Fallout elbows him in the head a few times and breaks the hold. Fallout runs off the ropes, leaps into the air, and takes Taylor down with a spinning heel kick! The impact rolls Taylor under the ropes and out of the ring. Fallout walks over to the side of the ring and waits for Taylor to stand. Taylor gets up fairly quickly, but Fallout slingshots himself over the top rope and takes Taylor down with a pescado!

*Riley: Like I said, notify Air Traffic Control.

*Stevens: That was some great wrestling there. Despite having only wrestled each other a couple of times, Taylor and Fallout seem to know each other very well.

Both men slowly get up. Fallout is the first one to his feet. He grabs Taylor by the arm and whips him hard into the steel ring stairs! Taylor tries to get up, grabbing his shoulder. Fallout lifts him up and rolls him back into the ring, and then he rolls in after him. Taylor stands up. Fallout grabs him, scoops him up, and slams him to the mat. Fallout then moves to the corner and climbs up to the top turnbuckle. He looks down at Taylor, who hasn’t moved. Fallout leaps off the top turnbuckle and nails Taylor with a leg drop! Fallout hooks the leg…

ONE!

TWO!

T-but Taylor gets the shoulder up.

*Stevens: Beautiful leg drop off the top rope.

*TBS: Looks like the High Flying Prince is about to be dethroned. Too bad it has to be Fallout, but I’ll take what I can get.

Fallout pulls Taylor up and drags him into the center of the ring. Fallout sets him up, and then takes him down with a snap suplex. Fallout then runs to the ropes, springboards off the middle one, and flies into an Asai Moonsault…but Taylor rolls out of the way and Fallout hits nothing but canvas! Fallout slowly gets up. Taylor hits him with a few right hands, backing him into the ropes. Irish whip, Fallout reverses, but Taylor takes Fallout down with a Lou Thesz Press! Taylor chokes away with one hand and delivers a frenzy of punches with the other! The referee yells at him, both for the punches and the choke, and starts a five-count.

ONE!

TWO!

THREE!

FOUR!

Taylor releases the choke and ceases the punching. He pulls Fallout up, drags him into the corner, and slams his head into the top turnbuckle. Taylor turns Fallout around and kicks him in the midsection a few times. He then whips Fallout into the opposite corner. Taylor charges in, but Fallout sticks his foot up and catches Taylor in the face. Taylor staggers backward. Fallout charges at Taylor, but Taylor grabs him as he comes in and takes him down with a Diving Spinebuster! Taylor hooks the leg…

ONE!

TWO!

T-but Fallout gets the shoulder up.

*Stevens: Nice Spinebuster by Erek Taylor, and the ICTV Champion is back in control.

*Riley: The soon-to-be-former ICTV Champion.

*Stevens: That remains to be seen.

*TBS: Oh don’t worry. It will be seen.

*Stevens: How do you know that?

*TBS: You’ll find out.

Taylor lifts Fallout up. He sets up the challenger, and then takes him down with a suplex. Taylor brings Fallout back up and hits him with a few right hands, backing him into the ropes. Irish whip, but Fallout grabs the ropes and stops himself. Taylor charges at him, but Fallout kicks him in the gut as he comes in. Fallout sets him up for a suplex, with his back to the ropes. Fallout lifts Taylor up…but Taylor slips out of his grasp and lands on his feet on the apron! Fallout turns around, and Taylor nails him with a right hand! Fallout staggers back. Taylor pulls himself onto the top rope and springboards off of it…but Fallout suddenly jumps up and dropkicks Taylor in midair! Taylor hits the mat hard, and Fallout hooks the leg…

ONE!

TWO!

TH-but Taylor avoids the count of three. Fallout pulls Taylor up. Irish whip, Fallout goes for a hip toss, but Taylor blocks it, steps over Fallout’s left leg with his own, and turns it into an abdominal stretch! Fallout lets out a small cry of pain, but he manages to reach up with his free arm and poke Taylor in the eye, freeing himself from the hold. Fallout brings Taylor to the mat with a drop toe hold. He secures the leg, reaches forward…and locks in the STF! Taylor screams from the pain! He reaches for the ropes, but they’re so far away. He starts to pull himself closer to the ropes…closer…closer…getting there…he reaches out but he still can’t quite grab them. Taylor continues to pull…he’s getting closer…he reaches out…still just out of reach. A little closer…closer still…he reaches out…and he grabs the bottom rope! The referee tells Fallout to break the hold, but he refuses. The referee starts a five-count.

ONE!

TWO!

THREE!

FOUR!

Reluctantly, Fallout breaks the hold.

*Stevens: That was too close. Somehow Taylor managed to hold on.

*Riley: I thought he was going to tap for sure.

Fallout stomps on Taylor a few times before he can get up. After about ten stomps, he allows Taylor to stand. Fallout hits him with a knife-edge chop for good measure. (WHOO!) Irish whip, Fallout lowers his head, but Taylor grabs Fallout’s head as he comes in and takes him down with a DDT! Both men slowly get up. Taylor is the first one to his feet. Fallout gets up a few seconds later, but Taylor sweeps the legs and takes him back down. Taylor then grabs Fallout’s legs, crosses them, and turns him over into a Sharpshooter! He then reaches back with one hand and locks in a sleeper, completing the Execution Leg Hold! Now Fallout is screaming in pain! He reaches out for the ropes, but he can’t reach them! Fallout starts to pull himself toward the ropes…closer…closer…he reaches out…nope, not there yet. He pulls himself a little closer…a little more…a little more…he sticks his hand out…so close, yet so far. Fallout continues to drag himself in that direction…he sticks out his hand one more time…and he grabs the bottom rope! The referee orders Taylor to break the hold, and he does.

*Stevens: I can’t believe Fallout survived that one.

*Riley: Of course he did! Can you remember a time when Fallout tapped out to anything?

*Stevens: Yes. He’s done it several times.

*Riley: Well, maybe…but…uh…look, it’s the Goodyear Blimp!

*TBS: [sarcasm] Good save, Riley. [/sarcasm]

Taylor pulls Fallout into the corner, scoops him up, and slams him to the mat. He then starts climbing the turnbuckles, facing away from Fallout. Taylor gets to the top, but as he does, Fallout manages to get to his feet and stumbles into the ropes. The vibration knocks Taylor off balance, causing him to fall in a very painful position. Fallout climbs up after him. He sets him up for a belly-to-back superplex. Fallout lifts him up and falls back…but Taylor makes the adjustment in midair and lands on top of Fallout as he comes down!

ONE!

TWO!

THR-no! Fallout barely gets the shoulder up in time. Both men stand up. Taylor hits Fallout with a pair of right hands, but Fallout reaches out and rakes the eyes. Taylor staggers back, holding his eyes. Fallout kicks him in the gut, slaps on a front facelock…

*Riley: Here it comes!

…but Taylor punches Fallout in the gut a few times and prevents Fallout from hitting the Meltdown. Taylor grabs Fallout’s legs and pulls them out from under him, and then he falls backward, catapulting Fallout into the corner! Unfortunately, the dumb-as-a-post referee wasn’t smart enough to get out of the corner, and Fallout runs right into him. The referee goes down. Fallout staggers out of the corner. Taylor kicks him in the gut and then slaps on a front facelock. Taylor spins around…AND TAKES FALLOUT DOWN WITH THE FAME AND FURY!!! Taylor hooks the leg…but there’s no referee!

*Stevens: Fame and Fury! But there’s no one to make the count!

*TBS: Excuse me, gentlemen. Duty calls.

*Stevens: What? Where are you going?

TBS takes off his headset, folds up his chair and takes it into the ring. Taylor is trying to revive the referee and doesn’t see him. After a few seconds, Taylor gives up on the referee and turns around. TBS winds up with the chair and swings it, aiming for Taylor’s head…but Taylor ducks! He takes TBS down with a drop toe hold, causing him to drop the chair, and then he grabs TBS’s ankle and applies an ankle lock! TBS lets out a cry of pain! Fallout slowly gets up, but Taylor is too busy focusing on TBS and doesn’t see him. TBS continues to scream from the pain! Fallout grabs the chair that TBS tried to use a moment earlier. The referee is still down. Fallout sneaks up behind Taylor…AND NAILS HIM IN THE BACK OF THE HEAD WITH THE CHAIR!!! Taylor goes down! TBS rolls out of the ring. He tries to get to his feet, but he’s heavily favoring his left ankle.

*Stevens: Dammit! Fallout nearly took Taylor’s head off with that chair!

*Riley: I know! Isn’t it great?

*Stevens: No it’s not!

Fallout tosses the chair out of the ring. He grabs Taylor and pulls him up. TBS is standing, although he’s leaning against the apron. The referee is starting to come around. Fallout applies a front facelock…AND PLANTS TAYLOR WITH THE MELTDOWN!!! Fallout makes the cover, and the groggy referee crawls into position…

ONE!

Taylor gets his foot on the ropes…

TWO!

…but TBS pushes it off!

THREE!!!

DING DING DING

*Stevens: No!

“Scum of the Earth” begins to play.

*Funyon: The winner of this match…and new SWF Intercontinental-Television Champion…FALLOUT!!!

*Stevens: I can’t believe it! It looked like The Boston Strangler’s plan blew up in his face, but he still managed to cost Erek Taylor the ICTV Title! Dammit!

TBS, walking with a slight limp, makes his way out of the arena. Fallout looks over at the timekeeper’s table and points at the timekeeper. He grabs the belt, walks up to the ring, and hands it to Fallout, as the referee is unable to do so. Fallout takes a look at the belt, and then he turns and looks at TBS, who is walking up the ramp. Then Fallout moves to the corner and climbs up onto the middle turnbuckle, and he triumphantly raises the title belt above his head.

*Stevens: Fallout and The Boston Strangler definitely aren’t drinking buddies, but Strangler didn’t care about Fallout tonight. He just wanted to make sure that Erek Taylor didn’t leave here with the ICTV Title.

*Riley: All in all, a fantastic ICTV Title match!

*Stevens: What about that screwjob at the end?

*Riley: …All in all, a fantastic ICTV Title match!

*Stevens: My head hurts.

August 6, 2002

“Welcome back to a sold-out Madison Square Garden!!” greets “Grand Slam” Mark Stevens as the camera whirls around the famed arena… the lights continue flashing and the music pumps as he continues, “We’re deep in the heart of the city that never sleeps! As usual, when the SWF comes into the Garden, we put on one hell of a show!”

“I’ll actually agree with you there…” Bobby Riley nods as the camera comes to a halt in front of the announcer’s table. “We’ve seen a pair of title matches, some intense battles between tag teams representing the plethora of stables in the WF, as well as the in-ring debut of the new WFer, Silent!”

“Hell, we haven’t even had the main event yet! This is probably one of the most intriguing shows we’ve had in the past two years, and it’s all going to be capped off by this next match between Thoth and Chris Wilson!”

“Off the top of my head, I can’t remember a better show in recent memory either…” admits Riley. “Thoth made his return to the SWF by costing Chris Wilson a handicap match against Edwin MacPhisto. After that, he announced his intentions of making Wilson pay for all of the injustices he brought onto the Clan, and by doing this, he formed an uneasy alliance with Edwin. He was on our champion’s side at Ground Zero, and was one of the few men left standing afterwards.”

“And afterwards is when it really started to get interesting, at least for Edwin and Thoth,” continues Stevens. “Silent made his surprise debut in the WF, and it has the entire Clan and Edwin up in arms. It’s going to be interesting to see how this exciting young prospect will pan out, but right now I know what we’re going to find next: Two men who don’t like each other very much going at it with a shot at the greatest gold of them all on the line.”

“Hold up a second,” halts Riley. “Only Wilson is competing for his spot. For some reason, Thoth, who won his shot unfairly in a match with some shady officiating, doesn’t have to worry about his slot in the match on Storm this Friday. It’s Wilson, who went through hell to win this shot in an elimination match just three days ago, who will be trying to keep it a triple threat for the SWF title on Storm. If he loses, we see Thoth vs. Edwin at the end of the week.”

“Well, that about outlines the match and stipulations,” sums up Stevens. “I think it’s time to get this thing started.”

As if on cue, the lights drop out and a fog starts to roll across the arena. The fans reach their foot, booing loudly as a soft voice starts to coo…

“Ah….ah..ah…..Ah…..

The booing reaches an unbridled roar as Chris Wilson slowly walks out onto the stage, just as the St. Lunatics begin to sing...

“I am the king of this city, top down, windows up…”

Chris Wilson begins to stride down to the ring, black trench coat flowing around him as his Oakley sunglasses sparkle in the limited light. He soaks in the raw emotion of the crowd, but his demeanor remains all business as he reaches the base of the ramp.

“Ladies and gentlemen, it is time for your main event!” Screams Funyon to a loud ovation… “The following contest is scheduled for one fall, and will determine the title match for this week’s Storm. First, making his way to the ring, hailing from Miami, Florida, and weighing in at 273 pounds, he is the leader of the Magnificent Seven….CHRIS WILSOOOOOOOON!”

The jeers continue as Wilson walks up the steps into the ring and begins to disrobe, tossing his coat aside as he turns to face the stage. The fog slowly dissipates as “Summer in the City” dies down. Replacing it is “Quarantined” as the arena shifts to an eerie blue hew. The crowd immediately does an about face, cheering wildly for one of their new unwilling heroes. As the beat reaches its peak, the blue light shifts to a bloody crimson as Thoth appears on the stage! He’s adorned in his Clan robes, but not receiving the reaction usually reserved for a man wearing those garments…

“And his opponent, weighing in at 236 pounds and representing the Clan, he is the Balancer…THOOOOOOOOOTH!”

Thoth climbs up into the ring, eyeing Wilson warily as he climbs up onto the turnbuckle, facing the crowd as he pulls off his robe and drops it nonchalantly to the floor, the first row fans leaning over the barricade, trying to grab a memory as Thoth descends from his perch. The referee looks at both men, neither one of them returning his glance as their eyes remain locked from across the ring. The official shrugs and points behind him…

DING DING DING

…signifying the beginning of the match!

“It’s time to get it on!” Shouts Stevens as the two men begin to circle each other, Thoth finishing unbuttoning of his dress shirt and tossing it aside. “They’re each looking for an opening as they step in, and lock up, collar and elbow. Wilson tries to use his size advantage, but its all for nil as they both release at the same time and take a step back, looking at each other. There’s no way to make a prediction for this match.”

“Oh, they’re very even all the way down,” analyzes Riley as he looks both of them all the way from head to toe…

Wilson’s size does become an advantage as he manages to force Thoth down to his knees. He gets out of the tricky predicament by ramming his knee into Wilson’s abdomen and trying to take him over with a suplex. Wilson only rises off the ground a foot or so before he drops back down, using the momentum to lift Thoth up in the air. He raises him high to sky, in preparation for a powerbomb, but Thoth slips free and flips over top, landing back-to-back Wilson. He rotates his torso at a deadly speed, elbow cracking into Wilson’s temple. Chris stumbles away and Thoth grabs him from behind, twisting him into a hammerlock. Wilson spins out of that and right into a wristlock on the Clansmen. He hooks a back kick around at Thoth’s face, but the Balancer ducks it and goes at Wilson’s ankle for a single leg takedown from behind. Wilson breaks the hold and skips away as Thoth rises up to his feet, still staring just as cold as ever.

The crowd rises up to its feet, applauding both men’s efforts. The gladiators, circling each other and looking for an opening, pay no attention… They each take a few steps forward, the last stride thundering down to the mat and there’s another collar and elbow tie up. Thoth manages to twist Wilson into a side headlock, tightening his grip before shooting him against the ropes. As he rebounds, the M7 leader drops a shoulder that levels Thoth. He heads back to the same ropes and bounces off again and hops over Thoth. Immediately, the Balancer is up to his feet preparing for another attack. As Wilson rebounds, Thoth spins around, laces his arm around and throws Wilson to the mat with a diving arm drag. He tries to maintain the hold on the arm as he stands, but Wilson wrenches him down to the mat with a judo flip and tries to lock on a sitting sleeper. Thoth is in it but a second before the toe of his dress shoe flares up and finds its way right between Wilson’s eyes. He flops backwards and immediately forces himself back up to his feet, breathing heavily, as Thoth brings himself into a crouch, panting hard as well.

They receive another round of applause, Thoth getting the rest of the way up to his feet. “For never really facing each other before,” Stevens ponders, “these two seem to know each other. Neither can get an advantage for more than a second.”

“It’s like they’ve been preparing for this match all their lives,” suggests Riley, “and here we are, in MSG, live to see it!”

“It appears they’re going to try a different approach,” notices Stevens rather obviously as the two men rush each other, “and just duke it out! They throw powerful right hands, swinging wildly, some connecting solidly, some just glancing off or missing completely! Wilson misses by a rather large margin and the martial arts background of Thoth helps him as he side steps the blow and pelts Wilson’s leg with stiff kicks, scattering them up and down. He pauses a moment, then drops low and sweeps his foot around the back of his ankles, flopping Wilson back to the mat.”

Wilson pushes himself back up, but Thoth is already guiding him into the corner. Before Wilson has time to react, Thoth cocks back and lets a knife-edge chop rip across his chest, eliciting a loud “Wooo” from the crowd. Wilson sells it like he got shot, cringing in pain as Thoth resets and lets loose another blow.

WOOO!

Thoth prepares for a third, but Wilson explodes with a right hook that catches his enemy in the ear and gives him a slight reprieve. He launches another powerful shot, but Thoth catches it and jerks Wilson towards the opposite corner. Wilson won’t allow it, shifting his weight and planting his base foot hard to the mat, he reverses the Irish whip and immediately follows. Thoth reaches the corner and hops up, landing gracefully on the second rope. He spins back, and Wilson skids to a halt just in time as Thoth fires out a kick. He grabs the leg of the Clansman, before anything further can be done, Thoth spins his other leg around in an enziguri that catches Wilson in the back of the head and twists both men to the mat!

The crowd explodes and Thoth is up to his feet, adrenaline pumping. “Wilson’s simply being outclassed at the moment,” summarizes Stevens as Thoth waits for him to get up. “Wilson pulls himself up to his feet, and immediately is knocked back down by a hard clothesline. He rolls over onto his stomach, and Thoth responds by stomping away at his back, raining down his heel into the injury Wilson’s been nursing since last Sunday!”

“It’s not a bad strategy at all,” Riley replies sarcastically as Thoth stands Wilson up and shoves him chest-first into the corner. “He’s got to keep the pressure on, and Wilson’s back will just knot up or crumble and he can win this thing easy.”

With Wilson facing backwards and not showing any signs of a defense, Thoth peppers a series of stiff kicks into the small of Wilson’s back before taking a step back and driving his shoulder into it. Wilson winces, but as Thoth pulls back for a second spear, Wilson pushes up on the top rope and holds himself up, like a reverse iron cross, and Thoth’s head finds itself impacting the ringpost.

Thoth pauses for a moment, head ringing with pain and neck jammed, as Wilson lets himself down and decides to capitalize on the advantage. He extracts Thoth from the corner and slaps on a front facelock, cinching him up. He lifts him up into the air, and drops straight down, spiking him to the mat with a stiff brainbuster. A collective “Ouch” comes from the crowd as Wilson stands up, bringing Thoth with him. He cinches him up again, hefts him up into the air and drops him again with another skull-crushing brainbuster. Thoth lands hard and sits up, but it’s momentarily as he lies back down to his back. Wilson rolls over and makes the first cover of the match. ONE!

TWO!

T… Thoth kicks out, but he’s not looking very spry at the moment.

“Thoth made a mistake, and Wilson isn’t going to let it pass,” reports Stevens as Wilson stands up and heads over to the corner. “Wilson is messing with the top turnbuckle pad. In fact, he’s trying to untie it to expose that steel bolt underneath, most likely to use as a weapon. That isn’t allowed!”

“Oh, please,” retorts Riley. “He’s just trying to air it out. Don’t you know by doing that, you give the ropes more spring? It makes for better wrestling. I thought that was obvious.”

“Likely story,” is the only reply gotten out of Stevens. “Whatever his reasoning, Wilson has that bolt exposed, but Thoth’s very aware again. He charges in and jams his shoulder into Wilson’s back, pinning Wilson into the corner while his back takes another blow. Chris should have never taken his eye off of the ball, that being Thoth.”

Thoth pulls Wilson back a few steps, lifts him up and falls back, planting Wilson down flat to the canvas with a belly-to-back suplex. He rolls him over, lateral press. ONE

TWO

T and a kick out, Thoth doing all he can to keep increasing the pain radiating in Wilson’s back. He drags him up again and whips Wilson hard against the ropes. As he bounces back, Thoth bends over just at the last second and stands back up, jettisoning Wilson high up into the air where he flips over and comes crashing down with a back body drop. He instinctively rolls off of his stomach to avoid a cover, but by doing that exposes the more important target to Thoth at the moment. The Balancer takes a few steps to gain speed and then falls, driving his elbows once again down onto Wilson. He lets out a cry of pain and is rolled over and covered again. ONE

TWO

T-another kick out! Thoth stands Wilson up again and whips him towards the ropes. As he comes back towards the Clansman’s clutches, Thoth tries to lift him up for a backbreaker. Wilson gets out of it with a hard jab to the jaw that allows him to be dropped in front of any sort of outstretched knee. Thoth takes only a second to recover, but as he spins around, Wilson is reaching up and pulling him back down, rolling him over with an inside cradle. The ref spins down, checking to make sure both of Thoth’s shoulders are down and begins to count. ONE

TWO

TH…and Thoth manages to uncoil, breaking himself free of the surprise pin attempt.

“Close one there,” calls Stevens as Wilson gets up to his feet and drops a double axe handle across the back of Thoth as he tries to do the same. “This match is see-sawing back and forth, and right now I think its Wilson who has the advantage. He’s pounding forearms into the back of Thoth’s neck with reckless abandon, trying to follow up his pair of brainbusters.”

“Wilson’s going to try and break Thoth down so the Platinum Nightmare or Last Resort is even more devastating as a finishing maneuver,” informs Riley. “He brings Thoth up to his feet and stands with their backs pressed together. He clutches Thoth around his throat, head pinned against Wilson’s shoulder and drops down, snapping his head back with a stiff falling neckbreaker. Thoth holds the back of his head in pain, and Wilson doesn’t let up this time, dragging Thoth back up to his feet.

Wilson grabs Thoth around the back of the head and walks towards the exposed turnbuckle. He pulls him back and swings back forward, trying to shatter his face. Thoth blocks it, planting his hands down tightly on the top rope to stop the forward momentum, then jamming his left elbow into Wilson’s stomach. Wilson releases him, but as Thoth turns around, he takes a kick to the gut, double underhook, and Wilson is trying for a double arm DDT. Thoth slips out of it, his left arm sliding around Wilson’s waist, followed by the rest of him. Wilson finds himself clamped tightly in a rear waistlock, but before he can do anything to escape, Thoth shoves him forward…and Wilson’s nose impacts right against the exposed steel of the turnbuckle!

“Wilson’s plan backfired!” announces Stevens as Wilson jerks back and starts to spin around, “and now Thoth-

CRACK!

-JUST FIRED A SAVATE KICK INTO WILSON’S FACE THAT DAMN WELL MAY OF BROKEN HIS NOSE!”

The crowd lets out a “Oooo”, hearing and seeing the sickening impact of Thoth’s kick, Wilson just dropping to the mat, dead weight, clutching his nose as blood starts to escape through his fingers. He looks up at Thoth, and voice muffled begins to curse at him.

“That was my nose, you sonovabitch!”

Thoth isn’t phased as he bounces off the ropes behind Wilson and drives his knee into the back of the reeling man’s head. He flops forward, motionless, and Thoth decides to break him in half right then and there. He wraps Wilson in a toehold and kneels on his back before reaching up and grabbing onto his arms. He rolls back, knees driving into Wilson’s back and yanking the rest of him down…

“Bow and arrow lock on Wilson’s chronically bad back!” calls Stevens as the crowd reaches its feet, waiting for a quick submission. “Wilson’s being stretched as far as he can go! Thoth’s knees are rising up higher and higher into his spine!”

“Wilson’s really in a bad way,” mourns Riley. “Blood’s flowing from his freshly broken, or at least really hurting nose, and he’s screaming in agony. Thoth is pulling back even harder, putting as pressure as he can as the referee gets right in Wilson’s now-grotesque face, asking if he wants to give in.”

Wilson vehemently shakes his head no, much to the disappointment of Thoth and the crowd, who continue to urge on some kind of tapping. You can almost hear Wilson’s back tearing apart as he struggles to free one of his arms, but Thoth holds onto both of his wrists tightly. Wilson wiggles uncontrollably, trying to take his mind off of the increasing pain and working on freeing an arm. The referee asks him again, and this time Wilson is far less confident, but he still doesn’t accept his proposal to the end the pain.

“Wilson needs to get out of this hold, and quickly,” notifies Stevens as they duo of men in the ring slowly begin to teeter, “and this may be what it takes! Wilson slowly starts to topple over to his left, and he goes crashing into the mat, jamming Thoth’s arm into the mat. He lets out a quick cry of pain and releases the hold, Wilson unfolding and grabbing onto the ropes as some way of freeing himself from the toehold and any reminder of the bow and arrow lock.”

“I’m don’t know how much longer Wilson can go on,” admits Riley, “and if there’s another bow and arrow lock, or a Boston crab, or anything to that effect in the future, Wilson’s chances at a title shot on Friday are over.”

Wilson holds onto his back, the pain growing greater and greater with everyone of Thoth’s attacks. He holds himself steady on the ropes, but its only a moment of rest before Thoth grabs him and spins him around, lifting him up onto his shoulder…

“Riot of the Blood!” roars Stevens over the crowd, also expecting Thoth’s finisher. “Wait! Wilson slips off his back! Full nelson, Wilson steps around, looking for the Platinum Nightmare, but Thoth spins out of that, standing side by side Wilson with their arms interlocked. He yanks the Miami native back towards him into a waistlock. Wilson’s arms slip free and he raises them into the air before bringing them back down, a hard elbow shot to the side of Thoth’s neck!”

“Thoth releases Wilson in the pain of the moment, dropping to one knee,” notifies a relieved Riley, “and now Wilson shoves Thoth into a standing headscissors. He grabs him around the waist and lifts up, hops off the ground…AND DRIVES THOTH DOWN WITH A JUMPING PILEDRVIER! Thoth springs off his neck and lands a few feet from Wilson, who covers after the series of intense reversals, hooking the leg waaaaaaaaaaaaay back. ONE!

TWO!

THRE..and Thoth kicks out, the fabled Garden rocking as Wilson falls short by half a count, maybe less! But, he succeeds in further damaging Thoth’s neck!”

Wilson looks up at the referee in sheer disbelief, blood either flowing or caked all over his face, eyes already starting to blacken with the broken nose. He grabs Thoth by the scruff of his red hair and drags him up to his feet. The crowd waits in fearful anticipation as Wilson shoves Thoth into another standing headscissors. He reaches down around his stomach again, trying to pull him up. This time Thoth kicks wildly in the air, as if treading water, and Wilson can’t quite pull him up with his back offering little support. He tries it again, this time getting a feisty Thoth nearly perpendicular to the ground, but he can’t finish it off and Thoth drops back down, pushing his hands off of his thighs and leaning back up quickly enough to send Wilson cascading over top of him with a back body drop! Wilson comes crashing down hard and Thoth collapses near him.

“The sold out MSG crowd is on their feet, not a person remains seated!” shouts Stevens as Wilson rolls over and gets up to his hands and knees. “Thoth slowly gets up, and he sees Wilson in that position. He bounces off the ropes, gets as much speed as he can muster and leaps into the air and drops his leg down, jamming Chris’s bloodied face into the mat with a guillotine face driver!”

The crowd explodes as the move connects, crushing Wilson to the canvas. Thoth rolls him over, leaving a bloodstain where the evil genius’s face had impacted, and covers, the crowd chanting along. ONE!

TWO!

THRE..and Wilson barely twists a shoulder off the mat! Thoth’s disappointed but not going to waste any time.

“Thoth is to his feet already,” declares Riley as the Clansman grabs Wilson and drags him up. “And right now he’s pulling Wilson up with him. He starts to lift him up over his shoulder, and the rabid New York crowd is somehow getting louder!”

“That’s because he’s looking for the Riot of the Blood again!” exclaims Stevens as Thoth positions Wilson for a cradle tombstone. “Wilson knows what this move feels like, having suffered it on Storm, and he starts to kick wildly, trying to work his way back. Thoth slowly starts to fall over, unable to support the weight…and now Wilson has Thoth in position for a tombstone!”

“A tombstone on that neck of Thoth’s, which Wilson has worked over so much during this match, would be the end for the Balancer,” assures Riley as Wilson struggles to get Thoth into a perfect position. “But Wilson’s bad back can’t support weight like this late in the match and now he’s the one that slowly starts to tip, Thoth’s feet planting firmly back onto the mat and Wilson is back where he started!”

“Wilson’s bad back flares up once more and costs him,” cites Stevens, “and now Thoth wraps both of his arms around Wilson’s leg, cradling him…AND HE DROPS TO HIS KNEES, SPIKING WILSON WITH THE RIOT OF THE BLOOD! HE HIT IT! HE HIT IT!”

Wilson’s spinal column compresses on impact and the recoil sends him skidding towards the ropes and nearly out of the ring. Thoth rises from his kneeling position and heads over to his fallen prey.

“This has to be it for Wilson!” moans Riley in agony as Thoth drops back down. “Thoth covers, the referee getting into position once more…ONE!”

Wilson strains to slowly lift his foot up…

“TWO!”

…he reaches for the bottom rope at the very last moment…

“THREE! It’s over, and its Thoth and Edw---Wait a second! Wilson’s foot is on the rope! Rope break, rope break! THE MATCH CONTINUES!” Riley screams.

“Wilson was extremely lucky he landed where he was,” acknowledges Stevens as Thoth uses the ropes to pull himself up, “because he had absolutely no shot at kicking out after that cradle tombstone. Thoth isn’t looking for another cover; instead he’s dragging Wilson to the middle of the ring. The former ICTV and US champion now heads to the turnbuckle away from us, the one Wilson exposed the bolt on earlier before having his faced smashed off of it. He climbs up, facing away from his adversary.”

“Thoth’s looking for the Scum Gale,” assumes Riley as he waits patiently for Wilson to get up so he can hit his flipping face buster. Suddenly, another robed figure, his hood down, walks out onto the stage and the crowd begins to boo loudly. They are quiet at first, but rise slowly with a hateful crescendo. “That’s Silent! He must be coming out here to watch his Clan brother finish off Wilson.”

“I don’t think these two are like brothers anymore,” corrects Stevens as Wilson slowly starts to work his way up to his feet, struggling as the pain shoots up and down his body. “Thoth is staring up at Silent, cold eyes locked on those of the Slaughterer, and he doesn’t see that Wilson’s up to his feet! Wilson staggers over to Thoth, who glances back over his shoulder, but it’s too late as Wilson grabs him around the ankles and yanks back-

CRUNCH!

-dropping Thoth jaw-first onto the exposed turnbuckle! I think Wilson just broke his jaw!”

“That serves Thoth right for busting up Wilson’s nose,” defends Riley. “Wilson drags a listless Thoth to the center of the ring, still on his stomach, and laces his legs around in a double toehold before threading his arms around in a full nelson…FINISHING TOUCHES! It’s locked in on Thoth!”

BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

The white-hot sensation of pain rippling through Thoth’s neck is enough to jar him back to his senses, rearing back as Wilson keeps holding on with the deadly full nelson trying to snap the Balancer’s neck. Blood starts to trickle down from the side of Thoth’s mouth, permeating from whatever damage was caused by being dropped on the exposed steel of the turnbuckle.

“Whether it was inadvertent or not doesn’t matter at the moment,” states Stevens as Thoth tries to work his way towards the ropes, neck screaming out in pain, “but Silent distracted Thoth enough that Wilson was able to capitalize and lock his opponent into his lethal submission maneuver.”

“A golden opportunity was missed by Thoth,” criticizes Riley as Wilson wrenches back even farther, Thoth letting out a short cry of pain before straining for the ropes again, “when he didn’t hit the Scum Gale and win it. The Silent/Thoth relationship is not getting any better.”

Silent continues to stand on the stage, watching thoughtfully as Thoth slides himself closer and closer to the ropes, digging in with his elbows and dragging all of Wilson along with him. But the nearer to the glorious salvation he gets, the more the pain takes its toll. The evil genius’ constant abuse of his neck appears to have worked, because the mixture of fatigue and pain wear down Thoth, and he starts to droop, the referee dropping down to check on him.

“I think Thoth is out…” sighs Stevens, his voice barely a whisper as the crowd quiets and fears the worst. “The official grabs his limp arm and lifts it into the air, releasing it.

ONE!

Thoth isn’t showing any signs of recovering, and the referee raises the same arm again, holding in the air a moment before releasing it.

TWO!

This looks to be the end for Thoth, as the official raises his hand one last time and releases it…

And it falls…

Falls…

But Thoth stops it, right before it goes flopping onto the mat and the crowd is awakened as Thoth receives a burst of energy reaching back and clawing at the eyes of Wilson.”

Wilson jerks back again, blood still trickling slightly from his nose, applying as much pressure as his limiting back will allow. Thoth gives up on his attacking the eye technique, instead concentrating on getting to the ropes again, the bottom one a foot away from his straining, outstretched fingers.

“Thoth has to be ready to give in,” promises Riley. “He starts to drift away again, the crowd loudly chanting ‘Thoth’ over and over and over. They may not of been sure about cheering for Thoth completely, but now he has these fans in the palm of his hand. Too bad he’d trade all of them to have one of those ropes in his hand right now.”

“The lights are slowly fading for Thoth,” declares Stevens as Thoth starts to go limp again, not struggling against the hold, “but he jerks back to life, hand only a few inches away. He readies himself and using all of his remaining energy, lunges for the ropes, hand outstretched…

…and he misses it! No!”

“If anything Thoth is earning himself further adoration of this crowd by not giving in,” states Riley. “The rope’s right there, and he’s not giving up to Wilson and his hold, but he can only hang on so much longer. Thoth seems to die in Wilson’s grasp once more, but the pressure is never lowered or the M7’s leader guard let down. The referee drops down, talking to Thoth and trying to get some response. I don’t think he’s getting any, Mark.”

“Me neither,” agrees Stevens. “The crowd hasn’t stopped cheering since Thoth avoided the bell a few moments ago, and they aren’t about to give out now as the referee grabs Thoth usually honed arm, but its now limp as a wet noodle, and he releases it. It flops down to the canvas.

ONE!

He raises it a second time, the same height, holding it there as if giving Thoth a chance to awake before allowing it to slip from his grasp and fall, fall, fall down.

TWO!

The referee holds up two fingers before grabbing the arm, raising it high in the air and letting it go. And it falls..

..falls…

..falls to the mat. Thoth is out and the referee calls for the bell.”

DING DING DING!

BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

“The winner of this-“

BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

The crowd’s disgust and hate of Wilson drowns out even their beloved ring announcer as “Summer in the City” begins to play.

“We expected nothing less than a classic from these two in Madison Square Garden,” reminds Stevens, “and that’s exactly what we got! Even with his neck nearly broken, Thoth would not tap out to the Finishing Touches, and I think it may have earned him the total respect of these fickle WF fans.”

Wilson rolls off of Thoth, looking up at the stage where Silent still stands, statue like, as Riley follows up Stevens. “It wasn’t pretty, and it probably wasn’t what you’d call ‘fair’, but Wilson picked up the win, and on Storm we’re going to see Edwin defending against both of these guys in what’s sure to be a barnburner of a match.”

Wilson doesn’t have the energy to stand, so he leans over the middle rope and looks up at Silent, smiling. The Clansman lets some obvious confusion slip through, and then Wilson points behind him, and everything is cleared up as “Summer in the City” cuts out, never a good sign after a match.

“It’s the Magnificent Seven!” shouts Stevens as Silent turns around, face turning into a classic ‘Oh shit’ expression, to take a chair shot from Frost as six men prepare for an assault. “Silent is being ambushed on the stage, with no chance of fighting off numbers like this! Mercury and Tyler McClelland hold him up while TNT jams the barrel of the bat deep into his abdomen. Strangler pulls back and lets lose a chain-wrapped first right into his face as the battery continues. This is a six on one travesty! Even Silent doesn’t deserve that.”

“Well,” chuckles Riley, “I think this is the Magnificent Seven’s way of christening Silent and welcoming him to the WF. I think it’s a great idea.”

Wilson pulls himself out of the ring and starts to hobble up the ramp, clutching his back as if he’d aged fifty years in the ring as M7 halts their attack, Deathwish getting one last good kick to the kidneys in as “Toxicity” begins to filter through the Garden. The copyright appears in the corner of the screen, signifying the end of Smarkdown.

“Well, we are most definitely out of time,” apologizes Stevens. “For Bobby Riley, I’m ‘Grand Slam’ Mark Stevens. We’ll see you on Storm!”

With the last call of the announcer, we fade to darkness with a final shot of Thoth pulling himself up to his feet, exhausted, and getting a rousing ovation from the fans…

August 6, 2002

Tag Team Match

X Force 9 (Annie E./Renegade) vs. Creative Control (Lerrin Breggan/Sacred)

- Damn you XF9...DAMN YOU!

Ladder Match for the US Title

- TNT with the upset!

Tag Team Match

Midnight Carnival (Edwin MacPhisto & El Luchadore Magnifico) vs. Magnificent 7 (The Boston Strangler & Frost)

- The Carnies carny-ize the competition...

Hardcore Match

Z vs. Silent

- So far the mightly Silent is 0 - 1. Good thing Z was generous enough to put the guy over.

ICTV Title Match

Special Commentator: The Boston Strangler

- 3-time, 3-time, 3-time! Shockingly Strangler got involved in the match...

MAIN EVENT

Singles Match

Thoth vs. Chris Wilson

- Wilson wins...and we've got a 3-way for Storm!

SWF Smarkdown (August 5/2002)

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Guest BA_Baracus

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