SJL METAL - February 18, 2003

February 19, 2003

SJL Metal Card for Tuesday, February 18th, 2003!

Location: Le Stade de France in Paris, France (note: This stadium is a soccer-style stadium that happens to be OUTDOORS, and that holds up to 100,000 people when full! Up to you how full this place is gonna be.)

SINGLES MATCH

Tryst vs. “Dark Rebel” Terry Wayne

Tryst, everyone’s favorite SJL wrestler who thinks he’s a 12th century English bandit, is back in action after a tough loss in the Prism Match on Crimson to Aecas. Tryst will take on SJL newcomer (damn, sure are a lot of ‘em these days) Terry Wayne, who appears to be a rebel not of a light nature, but rather of darkness. Hey, he’s a n00b, I got nothing to work with here. Let’s see how good this guy is, or whether Tryst can steal a win from the n00b.

Rules: Straight singles match. DQ/countout in effect

SINGLES MATCH

Omega Storm vs. Fosta

Fosta, the guy who just doesn’t give a fuck about you or anyone else (except me, since EVERYONE cares about me), was another man who took a hard loss to Aecas on Crimson. Omega Storm was yet another man who lost that match, in a string of losses for Storm. Can Fosta pick up his first win in the SJL, or will Omega Storm snap the streak and start to move up the card?

Rules: Straight singles match. DQ/countout in effect

SINGLES MATCH

Crow vs. Christian Blackwell

Crow was in an….interesting match on Crimson, where he was in a glorified Hide ‘n’ Seek Match/drinking contest. The Aussie was stung when Janus, his fellow countryman, proved more adept at swilling down some Smirnoff’s. Meanwhile, Blackwell was the 4th and final loser in that Prism Match from Crimson (I can finally stop mentioning it! (Y)!), and the Irishman is in desperate need of the win. These two will tangle under the open air in ol’ Paris….

Rules: Straight singles match. DQ/countout in effect

FALLS COUNT ANYWHERE MATCH

Janus vs. “Hollywood” Spike Jenkins

After outlasting his fellow Aussie in a drinking contest on Crimson, Janus is looking to keep his momentum going in this upcoming match. However, “Hollywood” Spike Jenkins has been well-rested, having skipped the trip to Russia. Will Janus, the Australian working in an American federation and wrestling in Russia and France, even remember where he’s supposed to be for this match? He’ll have a much bigger yard to play around in, however, as this match can spill outside the ring legally at any time.

Rules: Falls count anywhere inside the stadium. DQ is in effect, however.

SINGLES MATCH

SJL EUROPEAN TITLE MATCH

Sean Atlas© vs. Aecas

Sean Atlas came up big on Crimson, picking up the win in only his THIRD MATCH in the SJL. Look out for this guy in the WF, folks. But right now, his eyes are focuses firmly on spreading the truth about “God” and defending his European Title. He squares off tonight against Aecas, who has been a rival of sorts during their time in the SJL. Aecas scored an equally impressed victory on Crimson, defeating four other men to become the #1 Contender to the suddenly-packed European Title division. Will Atlas be a one-hit wonder and quickly drop the title to Aecas, or can Aecas finally get that win over Atlas?

Rules: Singles match. DQ/countout in effect.

BASTILLE BRAWL

Insane Luchadore vs. Thor vs. Matt Myers

Thor and Insane Luchadore squared off recently on Crimson, with Thor defeating the luchadore via a massive Crack of Thunder across the ring. IL didn’t take that sitting down however, and wants another shot at Thor on Metal. However, CC has thrown Matt Myers into the mix, just to make things a little more interesting. Myers suffered a tough loss to Dace Night, who is in tonight’s main event. However, just a simple triple threat match isn’t enough. No no! The SJL has sent these men to the Bastille, the famous French prison where the French Revolution exploded in 1789. Will a new revolution take place in the SJL? Only one way to find out!

Rules: The men will start out on the first floor of the Bastille, with each man in a different cell somewhere in the first cell block. To win, one must make it to the roof of the prison, remove the French flag, and instead raise a flag with a picture of everyone’s favorite JL booker (no, not Z!), TBS.

MAIN EVENT

SJL WORLD TITLE MATCH

TWO REFEREE MATCH

Mike Van Siclen© vs. Dace Night

Mike Van Siclen is the newest member of the SJL World Champions club (I happen to be a two-time member, BTW), and he’s reveling in his success after years of hard work. However, Dace Night doesn’t give a crap about MVS’ hard work, and he’s coming with his eyes on the biggest prize in the game: The SJL World Title. MVS most certainly won’t let it go without a fight, but there aren’t gonna be any mistakes in this one: There will be TWO referees in the ring at once just to make sure that no one gets away with any monkey business. So who’s gonna walk out of Paris, the City of Lights, the jewel of France, with the SJL World Title? Probably the Germans, but MVS and Dace are gonna do their damndest to win this one!

Rules: Normal DQ/countout. Both refs are in the ring at once, and can count for either man.

February 19, 2003

The camera pans across the backstage area. Technicians walk back and forth shifting large boxes of electrical equipment. Far in the distance a couple of the wrestlers are discussing tactics, indistinct shapes in the background. Across the shot a tall, built Pacific Islander figure walks purposefully, not even stopping to acknowledge the camera.

Axis: Could that be?

Suicide King: Who, Axis?

Axis: I heard rumors that one of wrestling’s hottest free agents is signing tonight!

February 19, 2003

Axis: “Paris is known to many people as the “City of Light”. Well tonight in our opening contest we are going to see if Tryst can keep that nickname alive as he faces a man making his SJL debut, “The Dark Rebel” Terry Wayne.”

The Suicide King: “As much as I can’t stand that pretty boy punk Tryst, he’s proven that he can go with the best of the SJL. I’ve heard a lot about this newcomer, tonight we shall see if he has the goods to make a name for himself, or if he falls flat on his ass at the hands of the goofy Brit.”

The lights go out as we travel through the forest via the Smarktron. Tryst makes his grand entrance to the top of the stage to the tune of “Forest” by SoaD and the crowd goes insane.

Funyon: ”From Bairnsdale, England! Weighing 218 pounds! Trrrrrrrrrystttttttttt!”

All of the 100,000 fans packed into Le Stade De France are on their feet.

Axis: “I can’t even hear myself speak”

King: “I can’t hear you speak either, it’s great!”

Tryst makes his way down to the ring after handing his bow and quiver of arrows to the timekeeper, confident, but still curious as to what to expect from Terry Wayne. The lights begin to dim slightly as the opening of “Hurt” by Johnny Cash begins to play. On the Smarktron, a gruesome image of a snake eating a rabbit alive is shown. Terry makes his way down to ramp slowly, wearing a stone face as the onlookers stand in stunned silence. He casually steps between the ropes…

Funyon: “From Norfolk, Virg….”

Terry snatches the microphone from Funyon’s hand

Terry: “Pleased to meet you sir, my name is Terry Wayne.”

Terry extends his hand to Tryst, but Tryst declines his offer for a handshake.

Terry: “Am I diseased or something? You can’t just shake my hand, son?”

Tryst stands his ground and still refuses.

Terry: “I don’t know how you guys conduct yourselves where you come from, but where I come from, what you just did was disrespectful. You claim to stand for what’s right and wrong, but I look into your eyes and I can tell that you’re nothing but a sham. I’ve dealt with fake people my entire life, and you sir, are the fakest of them all. Look at this woman right here…”

Terry points to a lovely woman in the front row.

Terry: “Right now she is wearing a pound of makeup. Do you think that is her natural hair color? She is trying to hide that little voice of truth deep inside her mind that tells her that she is ugly. What are you trying to hide Tryst? What is it that you’re afraid to let the people know? I’ve watched you from afar, and you would like us to believe that you’re in Sherwood Forest finding a damsel in distress. I don’t see any trees or damsels. All I see are 4 corners and a mat. There is nowhere to hide, my friend. Right now it’s just you, me, and….”

Before he can finish his last sentence, he gets a swift slap to the face from the crazed Englishman. Terry is visibly angry, but the ref separates them so they can get this opening match underway. The bell rings and they begin to circle each other, waiting for the other guy to make a false move so they can hit that all important opening attack. Terry dives for a single leg takedown, but Tryst quickly dodges out of the way and dances around Terry as the crowd comes alive. Terry rolls up and appears to be trying to initiate a test of strength. Tryst carefully inches his hand towards Terry’s, but fakes him out and hits a single leg takedown. He floats over into a front face lock as Terry tries desperately to counter Tryst’s strong grip around his neck. Terry powers his way up and shoots Tryst into the ropes, attempting a back body drop, but Tryst leapfrogs him and hits a lightning quick arm drag takedown to a pop from the fans in attendance.

Axis: “Tryst has certainly shown who has the speed advantage, controlling the opening moments of this match”

King: “He’s not trying to hit anything too crazy, too early like a lot of high flyers. He’s just using his incredible speed to counter and attack, while still saving his energy. As much as I hate the punk, that’s smart wrestling.”

After hitting the arm drag, he immediately applies an armbar, locking tightly on the arm of Terry. Terry tries to find a quick counter, but Tryst refuses to let up. Terry finally backs him into the corner and gives him what appears to be a clean break until he nails a loud slap to the face of Tryst. The crowd “Oooh”s, and Tryst goes charging after Terry. Terry rolls outside of the ring, and the chase continues around the ringside area. Terry ducks behind a ringpost, awaiting the angry Tryst, and plows him with a lariat when he sees him charging near. He lifts him up by his hair and picks him up into a bodyslam position, dropping him neck first on the barricade.

Axis: “The Dark Rebel is laughing at Tryst while he’s on the ground choking! What kind of sick man would do such a thing king?!”

Axis turns to see the King laughing too.

Axis: “I guess that answers my question”

Terry finally rolls Tryst back into the ring, as Tryst gasps for air. Wayne follows him back into the ring and drops a hard elbow across Tryst’s windpipe. He goes for an early cover, but only gets 1 and a half. Tryst is feeding off the support from the audience to get back on his feet, but Terry stops him dead in his tracks and locks in a neck vice. The referee asks him if he gives up, but Tryst refuses to quit. He’s still feeding off the 100,000 in attendance and fighting his way up until they are both on their feet. Tryst fires off a few deep elbows to the abdomen of Terry, and breaks the hold. He then bounces off of the ropes, hitting Terry with a spinning heel kick. Tryst is still fired up, heading up to the top rope for a missile dropkick, but Terry moves out of the way in the nick of time, and Tryst crashes hard into the canvas. Terry waits for him to slowly get up, and executes a crisp DDT. He goes for the cover, but Tryst kicks out right before the 3 count as Terry protests the referee.

King: “That was 3, I saw it, you saw it, and these people saw it. If it wasn’t for this biased officiating…”

Axis: “Give it a rest King!”

Tryst is still trying to claw his way up to attack Terry. Terry rolls him over to his back and drops a knee across his throat. Tryst is now clutching his throat and the referee looks concerned. Terry heads up to the second rope and appears to be going for a diving elbow, but Terry collides with the canvas as Tryst quickly rolls out of the way. The crowd is now getting even louder, starting a chant of Tryst’s name. Tryst rolls under the ropes to the apron and waits for Terry to stand up. He leaps onto the rope and hits a picture perfect springboard clothesline, sending Terry rolling under the bottom rope, outside of the ring.

Axis: “This is where Tryst is the most dangerous this late in the match. If he nails a high impact move to the outside, it could be curtains for The Dark Rebel”

Tryst waits for him to stand again and runs to the opposite ropes. From midring, he leaps to the ropes with catlike quickness and hits a beautiful springboard plancha, knocking the Rebel over the barricade, into the front row. He continues the assault, striking him with stiff kicks to the chest and legs. He then grabs Terry in a full nelson and bring him over to the woman he insulted earlier in the evening and lets her get a slap in before he throws Terry over the guardrail and finally back into the ring. Tryst goes for a cover, but Terry kicks out at the last millisecond, visibly affected by getting hit with that huge springboard plancha to the outside. He lifts Terry up and locks him in the position for his patented Northern Lights Suplex, but that gets a close 2 count as well. After an Oklahoma Roll gets a 2 count, it seems like Tryst is ready to bring out the big guns. He backs off into the corner and begins measuring him for a superkick. Terry slowly rises as Tryst charges in. He throws his foot out, but Terry catches it. Terry spins him around and tries for a clothesline, but Tryst ducks that and locks his arms behind Terry’s. They struggle for a few seconds over a backslide, but Tryst wins out and comes a hair away from getting a 3 count. As Terry rises again, Tryst tries to shoot him into the turnbuckle, but Terry reverses it. Tryst catches himself and hits the corner backflip kick! Terry looks like he’s out cold. Tryst signals for the Arrow’s Path and the crowd explodes!

Axis: “This is it King! Once he hits the Arrow’s path, this match is over!”

King: “I’m sick of all of these fancy moves with their fruity names. Back in my day, an Irish whip was considered a finisher because that was all we needed to get the job done.”

Tryst begins scaling the ropes and motions Terry to get up. Terry gets up for a brief second and stumbles into the ropes, crotching Tryst in the process. Terry then climbs the ropes after Tryst, double underhooks his arms, and suplexes him off of the top rope. Tryst begins crawling over to Terry on his hands and knees. Terry grabs him by the neck and spins him around into a hangman’s neck breaker. He goes for the cover, but Tryst gets his foot on the ropes. The Dark Rebel drags Tryst over to the middle of the ring by his arms and climbs to the second rope.

Axis: “He’s going for the second rope elbow again. Tryst is much weaker now than he was when he tried it the first time, but I have a feeling he still has some fight left in him.”

King: “A wise man once said, if at first you don’t succeed, suplex the guy off the top rope and try again.”

Axis: “What wise man said that?”

King: “I think it was my uncle Mel”

Axis: “Go figure”

Terry launches himself off of the second rope and drops his exposed elbow across Tryst’s windpipe. He goes for the cover again, but gets 2 and ¾. He’s had enough, and is calling for the Fatal Flaw. Terry locks his hands around Tryst’s waist, but Tryst hits a surprise back body drop. Both men are down and the referee begins to count. Tryst makes it up at the 8 count and charges toward Terry Wayne. He tries for the kick to the chest that usually leads to “The Crusade”, but Terry ducks. Once Terry turns around though, he eats a superkick. Tryst goes for a quick dramatic cover. The Ref counts 1….2……Noooooo! Terry barely kicks out. Tryst is flustered, and begins to make a bow and arrow motion.

Axis: “I believe that Tryst is about ready to break out the weaponry, 12th century England style!”

Tryst rolls under the bottom rope and has a tug of war with the timekeeper over his quiver of arrows and his bow. In the meantime, Terry makes his way to the apron and appears to be measuring Tryst for a big move. Tryst finally wins his battle with the timekeeper over his weapons, but the moment he turns around, Terry begins running along the apron and jumps off, hitting a vicious lariat, knocking Tryst inside out. As he takes a drink from the commentator’s table, the woman that slapped him earlier begins screaming at him. Terry spits his water right in her face and gives her a 1 finger salute. She becomes incensed and must be removed from ringside by security. Terry puts his focus back on Tryst, suplexing him stomach-first on the barricade, leaving him dangling. He then scales the second rope and flies off with a brutal elbow to the back of Tryst’s neck.

King: “Tryst was 28 years old, my condolences go out to his merry men”

Axis: “He’s 26 King!”

King: “Why must you worry about such petty things at a time like this? Have you no shame?”

Terry rolls into the ring and seems to be taking a countout victory. The referee makes it to 8 as Tryst battles his way to the ropes. Terry grabs his head and pulls him down neck first on the top rope, sending Tryst back to the floor. Terry goes back to the middle of the ring and tries to take a countout victory again, but Tryst makes it to the ropes again at 9. Terry, having had enough, locks him in a front facelock and throws Tryst’s arm over his neck in an attempt to suplex him back into the ring. Tryst somehow floats over, and hits the opposite ropes, charging towards Terry. The Dark Rebel sees him coming and locks in a sleeper out of nowhere.

King: “Someone is going to bed a few hours early tonight”

Axis: “Terry gave him ample time to get his wind back, trying to get a countout victory. Now he is trying to sap that wind back away with a sleeperhold. Only time will tell if Tryst has enough left to continue.”

Tryst is desperately trying to fight the affects of the sleeper, but Terry persists, and Tryst slowly sinks down. The crowd doesn’t give up hope though, and began chanting Tryst’s name to try and get some life back into him. The referee lifts his arm once to no response. He tries a second time, but it still appears that Tryst is lifeless. He finally lifts the arm up for one last time, and it drops to about an inch off of the ground and Tryst begins shaking. The crowd begins to go wild cheering one of their favorites on. Terry holds onto the sleeper with all of his might, but it’s in vain as Tryst is running on pure adrenaline. Tryst powers his way up and drops Terry Wayne down with a jawbreaker. Both men are down and out again, but Terry is showing signs of life. He shoots in for another quick DDT as Tryst rises up, but it’s reversed into a Reverse Atomic Drop. Terry hops around, holding his sprained family jewels, and walks into a Tryst clothesline. The electricity builds to a crescendo, as the fans are sure that nothing can stop Tryst now. He pulls Terry up and fires a pair of kicks to his chest and a final spinning one to his jaw, knocking him into the corner. Tryst places Terry on the top rope and hits a top rope Hurricanrana! He hooks the leg for a pin, but somehow, Terry’s foot makes it to the bottom rope. Tryst now drags Terry to the center of the ring and scales the top rope for a moonsault. Tryst goes up and flies, in a graceful yet punishing fashion, crashing across Terry Wayne. He hooks the leg for another cover, but Terry just BARELY raises his shoulder. Tryst lifts him up and locks in a full nelson before driving Terry headfirst into the mat with a dragon suplex. He gets 2 and 9/10 before Terry somehow rolls out of it. It looks like the beginning of the end for Terry as Tryst slowly drags his finger across his throat, signaling his finisher. The crowd is incensed, screaming at the top of their lungs for their hero. Tryst scales the ropes one last time for the Arrow’s path. Terry stumbles to his feet, with his eyes glazed over, sees Tryst out of the corner of his eyes perched atop the ropes, staring down at him from the heavens. Tryst flips forward toward Terry. Terry somehow manages to catch him in mid air and reverses it into a sit-out powerbomb, folding him into a crumpled heap on the canvas.

King: “You can bet your ass that whoever makes the next move will win this all important opening match”

Terry makes it to his feet, using the ropes to lean on, waiting for Tryst to make some kind of move. Tryst makes it to his stomach and inches his way over to Terry. Terry, in one quick final motion, locks his arms around Tryst’s waist, lifts him up with his last ounce of strength, and drops him on his skull with “The Fatal Flaw”. The Dark Rebel slowly rolls Tryst over, and covers him for the 1…2…3. The first few chords of “Hurt” begin to play as Terry kneels alongside Tryst staring coldly into his face. The referee checks on Tryst, but Terry continues staring, almost emotionless as the fans cry for their fallen hero. Security finally enters the ring, dragging Terry from the ring. Terry face remains unchanged until he reaches the base of the Smarktron and begins to watch the snake eating the rabbit. A smile slowly grows on Terry’s face as he makes that final step backstage to revel in a job well done.

Axis: “What is the reasoning behind this man’s actions? Tryst may have to go to the emergency room and Terry Wayne seems to quietly enjoy it. Does this man have some kind of sick plan for all of the hard working heroes of SJL? And what is the significance of the snake eating the rabbit? So many question and so few answers. This is one of the most morbid and mysterious characters that I’ve seen in my many years of announcing for SJL.”

King: “I guess all we can do is sit and watch in the weeks to come to see what he does next. I’m baffled myself.”

February 19, 2003

*COUGH, COUGH!*

We return from the commercial break to the French stadium, (COUGH, COUGH!) and to the restless outdoor audience.

“(COUGH, COUGH!) Welcome back ladies and gentlemen,” King says with a struggle. He tries to clear his dried out throat, “To SJL Metal from Paris, France.”

“King, put that thing away already, please.” Begs Axis.

Sitting in King’s reluctant hand is a twelve-inch long cigarette holder, with smoke drifting slowly from it into the open air. His eyes water slightly as he finally agrees to get rid of it.

“(Fool) Up next is a singles match involving two winless competitors, in Fosta and Omega Storm.” States Axis, as he prepares to call the match.

“But this isn’t just any singles match.” Suggests King.

“Yes it-“

“It’s a sympathy match.” He chuckles.

“What are you talking about King?”

“Neither of these imbeciles have managed to win a match yet, so our bookers put them in a one-on-one match. One of them has to finally get a win now.”

“Well I don-“

“Actually, we’ll probably get a double count out when they both forget where the ring is.” Chuckles King.

The lights dim out, and the breezy stadium is only lighted by the stars and moon. Strobes begin to flash, covering the area in a chaos of random green, blue and white.

“Introducing first; weighing in at two hundred, forty-five poouunds, Omega… Stoooorrrrm!” Calls Funyon, as Storm comes out from behind the curtain.

“It will be intelligence versus Strength tonight King.”

He walks down the rampway with his tazer in hand, and threatens to shock one of the many rabid fans. Jumping through the ropes, he climbs the turnbuckle at his far side, and appeals to the booing crowd. The referee wrestles the tazer from his reluctant grip after he is threatened with it, and Storm prepares for his opponent.

The lights stay dimmed, and a spotlight shines onto the top of the entrance as an eerie guitar riff is backed up with short bursts of drums and bass… and a long drone of boos.

“And his opponent; From Chicago Illinois, Fostaaaaa!”

He makes his way down the ramp, staring right into Storm’s distant eyes the entire time.

“I can’t wait to see how Fosta tries to tackle this, King. Although having only seen him wrestle twice, he has come across as quite the technician.”

“That may be, but it takes more than a technician to derail two hundred and forty-five pounds of pissed-off.”

He rolls into the ring, and locks his eyes with Storm as soon as he gets the chance. But Storm isn’t intimidated. He rolls his shoulder and his neck, letting a smile slip out the corner of his tightened mouth. An impatient murmur drifts out of the arena as the bell is rung and the match is underway.

DING DING DING!

“Here we go King, Storm versus Fosta!”

Both men walk straight to the middle of the ring without any hesitation, and forward all their concentration to the movements of their opponent. The two lunge towards each other simultaneously, and clash in a tie up. Both men push against each other, the muscles in their entire body contracting, and their teeth gritting. Fosta falls to one knee for a second, but finds himself being back into the ropes uncontrollably. Soon Fosta is backed into a turnbuckle, and he begins to let go. But Storm keeps pushing, forcing Fosta against the buckles. He begins to be pushed over the top rope as the referee pulls Storm from him.

“What power, King.” Scoffs Axis, “Storm could have pushed Fosta over the top rope and to the outside if the referee didn’t break that up!”

Storm has a satisfied smirk on his face as he gives Fosta his room. The audience’s murmur grows. The electricity in the massive arena could make your hair stand up.

Fosta stays in the corner, a look of concern on his face after feeling the power of Storm first hand. Slightly embarrassed from being so easily overpowered, he rolls both shoulders, and jumps a little before crouching down to begin again. The two lock up again, and this time Storm explodes, sending Fosta backwards and onto his rear. Fosta jumps instantly to his feet, and looks across the ring to a livid Storm. He yells across the ring at Fosta at a spirited volume, and walks back and forth throwing his arms into the air.

“That is scary strength, Axis. You can see the fear in Fosta’s eyes!”

Storm actually gets a cheer from the crowd as he big mouths in the ring, and Fosta stays far back from him. Now Storm holds an open hand in the air, and again the fans pop unusually for him. The hand challenges Fosta to another test of strength, and a restless murmur comes from the crowd again. Fosta stares up at it, hesitantly.

“Storm wants another test of strength, King.”

“Fosta would be an idiot to accept another.”

The murmur grows into a small cheer, and Fosta knows it is for him to accept the test… so he doesn’t. Fosta flips Storm off and the crowd turns, throwing boos towards Fosta as he sneers momentarily at his hecklers. Instead he opts for another tie up. They meets, but after a second Fosta pushes out of it into a standing armbar. He applies pressure to the shoulder of Storm, and excitedly forces him against the ropes, where the referee breaks the hold.

“Fosta able to use leverage to force Storm against the ropes.”

“Look at him!”

Fosta walks back with a huge grin on his face, and eyes wide open. He starts posing like a body builder in front of Storm, extremely proud of forcing him into the ropes, and then climbs the turnbuckle as he’s showered with boos from the mocking audience. But while he’s up there Storm attacks.

“Storm just pulled Fosta off the turnbuckle!”

“He’s finished playing, Axis!”

Fosta comes crashing to the mat BUTT first, and rolls over backwards to his feet, where he is met with a huge clothesline that sends him back to the mat. Storm encourages him to stand back up with a wave of the arms, and Fosta does in a daze. He’s pushed hard against the ropes, and then whipped across the ring. Storm sizes him up on his return, and sends him airborne with a back body drop. Fosta’s arms flail helplessly in the air as he flips over, and crashes awkwardly to the mat.

“What elevation!”

“Fosta had to be eight feet high then!”

The cheers erupt from the audience as soon as Fosta hits the mat, but Fosta still climbs instinctively to his feet. He stumbles, and runs into the ropes, then finds himself clotheslined over them, and tumbling off the apron to the outside.

“And Storm doesn’t waste any time, King. He’s out there to brawl with Fosta already.”

The fans nearby stretch their hands out to try and touch Fosta, while others make fools of themselves towards the camera. Storm lands a forearm over his back, then grabs a side headlock, and begins guiding him towards the commentators desk.

“Look out King, Storm’s bringing Fosta this way!”

“Get back in the ring you moron!”

But before he gets there, Fosta pushes on the back of Storm, and sends him hard into the ring post. Storm’s left shoulder hits the post with a thud, and he is spun off the post to the mat. The fans nearby let out a sympathetic “awwhh!” while Fosta falls to one knee for a moment, trying to relive the pain by arching his back.

“That was sickening impact, King.” Says Axis in a worried tone “Storm’s shoulder must be throbbing!”

Fosta finds his feet as the fans urge Storm to get back up. He pulls Storm from the mat, and wrestles him roughly into a standing armbar. He turns him to the post, and from the armbar position, sends his shoulder crashing into it again. Storm lets out a deep cry from the back of his throat as his face twists in pain. Fosta grins evilly as he brushes his matted hair from his face. He rolls Storm back into the ring, and pops up onto the apron.

“What’s Fosta looking for now?”

“A springboard lose-the-match?”

Storm finds his feet as Fosta is already in mid-air. He comes off the top rope, and sends both feet into the left shoulder of Storm like guided missiles, finding his target with pinpoint accuracy.

“Textbook springboard dropkick by Fosta, right into the shoulder of Storm, but Storm stays on his feet!”

Fosta climbs to his feet cockily. Unbeknownst to him, Storm has absorbed the dropkick, and is waiting for him to turn around.

WHAM!

“A heavy, heavy clotheline b-“

“He’s going for the pin!”

1…

Fosta tries to free his arm from underneath Storm…

2…

He does, and plants it on the mat…

Kickout!

“Fosta able to kick out early in the two count.”

“He’s breathing heavily now Axis.”

Storm brings Fosta to his feet, and loads him up for a jackhammer. The fans stand, eager to see the move, and Storm tries to hoist him up. But Fosta locks his leg around Storm’s and stays planted on the mat. He then pushes against the underarm of Storm, and pulls out of the suplex, forcing Storm to crash to the mat.

“An armbar by Fosta,” cries Axis “and Storm is in the middle of the ring!”

The Wakigatame armbar is taking it’s toll on Storm’s injured arm as he wriggles helplessly on the mat, crawling slowly towards the ropes. Fosta’s face shows the strain, and the fans are lit up, a nervous buzz filling the arena.

“Storm may not be able to last, King! Fosta could pick up his first win right now!”

“He’s nearly there!”

Storm is inches away from the ropes, and with one last surge forward, he desperately grabs onto it. The fans let out a relieving cheer, but Fosta doesn’t let go. He waits for the referee to reach four in his five count before releasing the agonizing pressure from Storm’s arm. He takes Storm to the middle of the ring, and hoists him up onto his shoulder. The strain can be seen on Fosta’s face, and he soon has to drop Storm shoulder first onto his knee.

“A shoulder breaker by Fosta. He’s really making a mess of that shoulder, King.”

“Kind of like you with the pronunciation of the English language, right Axis?”

Fosta quickly scales the turnbuckle.

“Here it comes! Fosta wants the moonsault!”

He hastily leaps off the turnbuckle, and comes crashing to the mat… but Storm has rolled out of the way.

“Storm rolled out of the way! Fosta’s down!”

The fans create an anxious buzz as the two men lie on the mat. Fosta clutches his legs, after creating so much leverage by spinning them around his body. The power created was supposed to land on Storm’s chest, but it hit nothing but canvas.

The two begin to find their feet, but Storm is first up, and he moves to the opposite turnbuckle to Fosta. Fosta climbs up slowly, using the turnbuckle for support. Before he is properly to his feet, Storm rushes out of the turnbuckle towards him, gaining a scary amount of momentum. He throws his foot high into the air, and it comes smashing into Fosta, bouncing off his face.

“Oh my God! Storm just absolutely dismantled Fosta with a Yakuza kick!”

“Right in the face! He nearly knocked Fosta out of the ring!”

Fosta’s head is sent back violently, before the whiplash sends him to the mat. The fans give a mixed reaction; some in awe at such a violent move, others on their feet, cheering for the brutal maneuver.

“What an equalizer.” Says Axis, eagerly “Storm needs to make a pin!”

Storm pulls his leg off the top turnbuckle, and grabs Fosta by an arm, pulling him out from the turnbuckle. He drops on top of Fosta, exhausted.

1…

Fosta’s face has been made numb from such a move…

2…

He can barely stay conscious, which was probably why he though it was a good idea to…

Kickout!

“Fosta kicked out! He kicked out of the Yakuza kick!”

The fans erupt in cheers for neither man, but because the match is going to continue. Storm rolls off Fosta in disbelief that the match is continuing. He sits for a moment, gathering his thoughts. He adjusts his kneepad while the buzz from the fans continues. Storm pulls Fosta and himself to their feet, and throws Fosta under his legs. Worn out, Fosta falls to one knee and the fans cheer, wanting to see the powerbomb. Storm wearily locks his hand around Fosta’s torso, and starts to prepare for the lift. The uneasy murmur continues to drown out the commentators, and Storm takes one last breath.

“This will end the match! If Storm gets this powerbomb, there is no way Fosta can kick out!”

Storm heaves, trying to pull Fosta from the mat, but Fosta holds himself on by Storm’s knees. Storm sends a forearm into his back, and relocks, again trying to hoist him into the air, but again, Fosta holds himself down.

“He can’t get him, Axis! Fosta’s holding on for dear life!”

Now it’s Fosta’s turn. He pushes with his arms on his knees, and his face starts turning red as he lifts Storm from the mat. His hands move from his knees, to Storm, and he drops Storm over his shoulders.

“But Storm is straight to his feet!”

Fosta turns to see Storm fire a hard forearm across his jaw, and Fosta once again hits the mat. The fans erupt, and count along with the referee as he drops to the mat.

1…

Fosta, in a bruised and battered haze, tries to find which way is up…

2…

He plants his hands on Storm’s back, and lifts a leg, even that taking his energy from him.

THREENOOO!

“He kicked out again! Fosta kicked out again!”

“Look at Storm! He can’t believe it!”

Storm slams the mat with his hand in frustration. He yells, but not much more than a dry wheeze comes from him. Again, he hoists Fosta up to his feet, but Fosta goes low. The referee is in Fosta’s face, but stops when Fosta falls back to his hands and knees. Now Fosta slams the mat, and climbs angrily to his feet, grabbing Storm by his tights, and hurling him shoulder first into the ring post, through the turnbuckles. Storm hits with a thud, and the fans let out a tired sigh. Storm doesn’t pull himself out of the turnbuckle; he just wraps his hands around his shoulder in agony.

“Fosta has bought himself some time!”

“Even when he’s nearly knocked out, he still manages to stay on the shoulder.”

He stands - barely - for a few seconds, exhausted. In a last ditch effort, he throws himself into the air and dropkicks Storm right in the ass. It sends Storm’s shoulder into the post a second time. This time Storm falls out of the ropes, and the fans cheer for Fosta’s innovation.

“What a move!”

“What a technician. Fosta has been very impressive this match.”

But Storm is just too tough. He is making his way to his feet after a short amount of time. Fosta also climbs to his feet, and rests against the ropes momentarily. He tries to formulate a plan, but the throbbing in his head and jaw makes it hard to concentrate. He shakes his head trying to clear the cobwebs. Still perfectly aware, but with a hot throbbing pain in his left shoulder, Storm pulls himself from the mat in agony.

“Both men have gave it their all in this match, King.” Says Axis in all seriousness “Despite the finish, both men will have to be happy with their effort tonight, and I think the fans will be as well.”

Fosta lines Storm up as he stands, and throws a forearm which catches Storm high on the chest. It is absorbed, and Storm throws one of his own. Fosta sends another crashing into the chest of Storm, but again, Storm absorbs it.

“He’s barely wincing from these shots!”

This time Storm swings a clothesline, but Fosta manages to duck it to the surprise of the fans. Fosta finds himself behind Storm, and as soon as Storm turns around he catches a forearm under the jaw. Storm falls backwards, and hits the mat.

“He dropped him that time!”

“But Storm bounced straight back up!”

Storm stands to the surprise of the fans and Fosta. Fosta’s face squeezes closed as three forearms are thrown at him. Each one would have knocked Fosta to the mat, but in a burst of adrenaline, Storm holds him from hitting the mat after each one. In a daze Fosta’s thrown against the ropes. He comes back after bouncing off them to duck a clothesline, but on passing a second time he isn’t so lucky. Storm has plenty of time to line him up, and he sends Fosta into the air with another forearm to the head.

“Another forearm! Fosta won’t be able to stand!”

“I think Storm would have killed all Fosta’s brain cells by the third forearm this match.”

Fosta is stopped in his tracks, and his feet are lifted off the ground from the impact. Storm rolls him onto his back and covers, hooking a leg.

1…

He isn’t going to let Fosta kick out this time…

2…

The fans are on their feet, counting along with the referee. It has to be over.

THREENOO!

“HE GOT HIS FOOT ON THE ROPES!”

Storm is livid! He climbs to his feet, and stomps several times in an uncontrollable frustration. He takes a deep breath and signals for the powerbomb, yelling for the move but being drowned out by the crowd.

“Powerbomb time!”

“Fosta won’t have a choice in kicking out of this. This is gonna knock his head off!”

Storm quickly throws Fosta from the ground into the position. He hoists him into the air, and Fosta wavers on Storm’s shoulders momentarily.

“This is it!”

But Fosta reverses! He rolls back, and huriccanranas Storm, then instantly flips around and locks a crucifix armbar in on Storm’s shoulder!

“The crucifix armbar! Fosta’s locked in the crucifix armbar!”

Storm’s shoulder has been turned to jelly throughout this match. He writhes on the mat, lifting all but Fosta from it when looking for a rope. But he’s in the middle of the ring.

Storm’s tapping! He’s tapping!”

DING DING DING!

“Fosta got him!”

Fosta lets go of the hold, and barely has the energy to roll away from Storm. The both of them stay on the mat, exhausted, and in an agony beyond pain.

“Your winner, via submission… Fostaaaaa!” Booms the voice of Funyon over the top of the intense ovation from the French audience.

“What an incredible comeback!” Yells Axis “Storm was on fire tonight, and Fosta was at the best we have seen him.”

Fosta and Storm both find their feet, and Storm rolls out of this ring, as Fosta rests against the ropes, and holds an icepack against his jaw.

“We have to go to a break, fans. Make sure your back for the rest of SJL”s Metal. We have a tremendous card for you tonight, from Le Stade de France in Paris!”

February 19, 2003

The camera cuts to the backstage area, or more precisely to the ever lovable tool that is Ben Hardy and his not-so-toolish camerman Gus. They walk down the hallways, past various locker rooms like that of Tryst - marked with a funky looking tree-shaped nameplate, and the SJL champion Mike Van Siclen. However, in their trip they spot a large, white-haired figure coming in from the parking lot with a bag over his shoulder - Janus. The crowd hushes at the sight as Hardy scuttles up to the giant.

Ben: "Janus! Big man! Would you mind if we asked you a few questions?"

The giant looked down ominously at Hardy for several moments, then looked at the camera. His tone was cold and clipped.

Janus: "Talk."

Ben: "I'd just like to ask your opinion of the wrestlers you've fought so far...like, say....Spike Jenkins?"

Janus snorts with an almost-smile coming onto his face, but it quickly fades as he shifts his bag on his shoulder, flipping his hair back from his face and looking into the camera as he replies.

Janus: "Spike is a pathetic six foot excuse of a man...he hasn't beaten me cleanly before, and he won't manage it tonight. Falls count anywhere...but no weapons involved...."

Hardy: "And...say...Mike Van Siclen?"

Janus: "......................"

The malevolent glare Janus gives Hardy is enough to make the reporter quail back in fear, and he doesn't press the question. He backs away a little more, trying to remember who else he was going to mention...and finally speaks up again!

Ben: "What about Crow?"

The giant's malevolent glare lessens, but only slightly at the mention of his fellow countryman's name. He recalled beating Crow in that vodka match and requiring a few detox hours himself to get every last bit of it out of his system. He opens his mouth to speak, but turns his head when he hears the parking lot door open behind him...

...and none other than Crow saunters in! The crowd lets out a small pop as the two superstars stare at each other for several long moments. The Antichrist Superstar takes a puff of his cigarette and looks up at the giant, who just stares at him bleakly. Another puff, and Crow takes the ciggie from his mouth and offers a hand.

Crow: "Yo, Janus! No hard feelings about that vodka match?"

The giant looked silently at Crow's proferred hand. After a pause, said superstar takes his hand back, exhaling a cloud of smoke into the air for a moment and nudging the giant's chest with a friendly forearm.

Crow: "Come on, mang! We're buddies! Pals! Remember?"

The giant lifts one great hand as if planning to punch Crow, but claps it down firmly on the Adelaidian's shoulder, making Crow wince a little. The giant's expression is as calm and bleak as ever as he speaks.

Janus: "....Crow...don't bother me. Now is not the time. If you keep this up, I'm going to hurt you."

Crow took a step back, breaking free of the giant's grip and taking another puff of his cigarette before exhaling the smoke right into the giant's face. Janus frowned faintly and waved a hand in front of his face as Crow spoke, sounding bitter and somewhat angry.

Crow: "Like how you hurt me in that vodka match?? Hey mang, I thought we were pals!!"

Janus: ".....Crow......getting all palsy with you..."

The giant shifted his bag off his shoulder and dropped it to the floor, meaty fists clenching as he glared at the Antichrist Superstar.

Janus: "....COST ME MY TITLE SHOT!"

The giant's thick right hand came around, and Crow's eyes widened - the Adelaidian ducked the swing and stood up straight, delivering a knife-edged chop to Janus' chest. The giant stumbles slightly, and then clamps both hands around Crow's throat, physically lifting him off the ground and choking him out. A stiff kick to the stomach stopped that, and Crow dropped to the ground, holding his throat.

Crow: "F....fuck...you, dude..."

He rears back and drives a stiff punch that hits Janus' jaw full on, before storming off down the hallway. Ben Hardy is silent as Janus straightens up and picks up his bag, rubbing his jaw with one hand and looking down at the announcer with an ominous, almost creepy half-smile.

Janus: "...Crow? ....A fighter who bleeds more than he wrestles...barely an adequate opponent."

With that comment - Janus pushes past Ben Hardy and continues on down the hallway as the camera cuts back to the ring area..

February 19, 2003

Fade in from commercial.

A long shot of the Le Stade de France in the city of Paris in the country of France appears on screen, the sensational soccer stadium in all its glory. The camera cuts to an inside view of the open stadium; revealing thousands upon thousands of beret-wearing fans with mouths wide open and loud screams emanating from them. The SJL providing a great show full of wrestling entertainment thus far and it’s only going to get better. The camera swivels around show casing the arena’s large capacity, and how much it has been filled by the SJL. A cut to a shot of the ring, pans right to where Axis and King sit sipping on fine champagne.

“And welcome back fans to SJL METAL! What a show it has been so far, previously we saw a great match between recent newcomer Fosta and The Omega Storm. King, what did you think of that match?” asks Axis, not particularly curious but is just creating conversation.

“Eh, same old, same old... I’d rather just drink more of this champagne, and put on this beret,” replies King, placing a black beret on his head. “The Ladies Man” can be read in golden stitching on the front of the beret.

“That’s... great, King,” remarks Axis, looking at King with a “You idiot” expression.

“Look I have one for you too!” shouts King.

King proceeds to throw his hand under the desk and pull out a beret, in which he places on Axis’ head. In golden stitching...

“Shed”

...Can be read.

“Now ain’t you just a lovely little Frenchy now?” remarks King, laughing.

But before Axis can comment... a mellow tune can be heard softly exiting through the Le Stade de France’s audio system as the lights dim down to darkness. The tune is that of “3 Libras”, A Perfect Circle’s beautiful sweet sound echoes throughout and fans stand up on their feet beginning to cheer their little hearts out.

“Threw you the obvious... and you fflllleeeewwww with it on your back... a name in your recollection, thrown down among a million same...”

Christian Blackwell appears from behind the entrance curtain and walks out onto the stage, a few strands of black hair falling over his dark green eyes. Christian walks down the ramp way, bursts of fire shoot up from beside the ramp and stay lit as he walks down to the ring.

“Christian Blackwell, the fourth and final loser of the Prism Match that we saw on SJL Crimson. Looking for a win here tonight against Crow...” reports Axis, throwing everyone the obvious.

Blackwell slowly but surely makes his way up the steel steps and climbs under the second rope into the ring. The lights in the arena fade back on, revealing couples in the crowd French kissing... taking the opportunity of darkness to get closer to their loved ones.

“WAIT FOR CHAOS! WAIT FOR WARFARE! AT THE POINT OF NO RETURN! BLEED FOR MONEY! BLEED FOR JUSTICE! GOING STRAIGHT TO HELL WITH A WOUNDED SSSOOOOUUUUULLLL!!!!”

The snarling opening vocal line of Soilwork’s metal hit “Natural Born Chaos” explodes out of the arena speakers, almost blowing them to pieces. A huge boo emanates from the crowded Le Stade de France, for when this music begins, the appearance of Crow is soon to follow. Christian Blackwell quietly paces around the ring, awaiting the arrival of The Antichrist Superstar. Crow walk through the entrance curtain to lots of boos, lit Dunhill cigarette in his left hand...

“The Antichrist Superstar Crow in among us! Coming off a hard loss against Janus in the very interesting Smirnoff Match, and King, you’ve got to wonder about the relationship between Crow and Janus,” states Axis, looking to King for a response.

“I’ve GOT to wonder about the relationship!? Since when do I care...” replies King, sticking it to Axis.

Crow walks down the ramp way, peering into all the sections of the crowd. He ascends the steel steps, puts his cigarette out of the ring post and climbs through the ropes into the ring - where Christian Blackwell stands and waits. The referee in the ring checks both men for weapons; he removes Crow’s lighter from his pocket, knowing that Crow may use it to gain an advantage.

*DING! DING!*

“And this match is now under way! Blackwell is an experienced technician in the ring and I look forward to seeing how Crow will compete against such a style,” says Axis intelligently.

“Crow can wrestle Axis, he just, ya know... prefers to cheat and bleed and stuff...” responds King.

The two wrestlers Crow and Blackwell circle around the ring, peering into the eyes of one another. Crow and Blackwell rush towards each other and bully each other with a strong palm and elbow tie up! Crow and Blackwell push each other around the ring in circles, neither of the two wrestlers gaining any advantage. Blackwell pushes Crow into the turnbuckle and pushes back further; the referee breaks it up.

“Referee Ced Ordonez ordering Christian Blackwell to let go Crow move out of the corner,” reports Axis.

“And so he bloody should, cramping Crow up like that, he should be ashamed of himself!” comments King.

Blackwell backs off but quickly charges at Crow in the corner, but Crow moves out the way and helps Blackwell into the turnbuckles! Blackwell bounces off and stumbles back off; Crow jumps up on the top rope and launches off, hitting Blackwell with a dropkick!

“HARDCORE!! HARDCORE!!” screams King at the top of his lungs.

“That wasn’t hardcore you idiot...” replies Axis.

“Oh... maybe it’s DA ALCHY HOLE!” exclaims King... a slight drunken can be detected.

Blackwell falls back and onto the mat, but is quickly up and counters the charging Crow with an arm drag! Both men back on the feet but Crow hits an arm drag this time! Blackwell with a returning arm drag, but this time he holds onto Crow’s arm, twists into position and applies a cross arm breaker.

“Cross arm breaker on Crow! Blackwell applies pressure on Crow’s elbow, trying to pull it back the way it’s not supposed to go!” reports Axis.

Crow pulling his arm up, trying to avoid his elbow being broken; he punches at the inner side of Christian’s left knee, and keeps punching until Blackwell breaks the hold. Blackwell breaks the hold, but continues working on the arm - jumping on it with his feet with some vicious stomps. He rakes his boot across Crow’s eyes just to add injury to insult. He applies a wristlock to Crow’s hand, and handstands on the mat; Blackwell drops his knee on Crow’s elbow! He does it again and again! Crow cries out as his arm is being wrecked, an injury that could slow him down even more so than his back.

“Blackwell is dismantling Crow’s arm right now, cross arm breaker, stomps and some knees. Good strategy... I thought you said Crow was a good wrestler, King?” queries Axis.

“He is... but as I said, he prefers to cheat! “Cooome on, Crow! Get that dumb Irishman!” responds King.

Christian Blackwell – a man who isn’t going to let up on his assault, picks up Crow, who is clutching and grasping at his arm. Blackwell grabs hold of Crow’s wrist; he twists Crow’s arm over his head and spins it around. Blackwell pulls down hard on Crow’s arm, trying to pull Crow’s shoulder out! Crow is almost taken to the mat by this move, but recovers and twists out of the move! He kicks Blackwell in the stomach with a lightning quick roundhouse kick, Christian doubles over; Crow backs up into the ropes and bounces off!

“What’s the Antichrist Superstar going to pull out of his bag here!?” queries Axis, though I’m sure King isn’t going to answer.

Crow smashes Christian Blackwell in the face with a big forearm, Blackwell stumbles back; but Crow pulls him forward, grabs hold of Blackwell’s head and drops to his knees! Chin Breaker by Crow! Christian flies back into the ropes and right off, Crow drops down to the mat and captures Blackwell legs with his own! Crow takes Christian Blackwell’s down with a drop toe hold; Christian’s face cracking into the ground with a tremendous slap. Crow is quickly to his feet, and grabs onto Blackwell’s foot; he lifts Christian’s leg up into the heavens... and slams it down into the mat, knee first! Crow lifts it up into the heavens... and throws it down one more time! Crow does it another time for good measure.

“See this, Axis!? Crow coming back with some body part isolation of his own! Told ya he could wrestle!” exclaims King.

Crow grabs the leg he’s isolating on the body of Christian Blackwell and applies a scissor lock around Blackwell’s leg. Crow falls to the mat, trapping Christians’ heel in his armpit! Crow pushes down, trying to hyperextend Blackwell’s knee! Christian Blackwell writhes and wretches in pain, the amount of pressure on his knee excruciating. He struggles and struggles his way closer to the ropes, and clutches around them. Crow keeps the hold locked on, gaining boos from around the open arena. The referee demands Crow break up the submission hold and uses force to make sure Crow does.

“Both men in this match isolating a body part of their opponent, Blackwell after Crow’s arm and Crow after Blackwell’s leg,” reports Axis.

“I tell ya, this French crowd loves Crow! Everytime he gains the advantage, a great deep WOOOOO echoes through out the arena. Finally, people other than Australians giving Crow the cheers he deserves,” remarks King.

“I’m pretty sure they’re booing him, King,” replies Axis... almost laughing at King’s idiocy.

Crow pulls Blackwell back to the middle of the ring and beats down more on Christian’s leg. Crow grabs Christian Blackwell’s leg and extends it outwards; he drops an elbow in the back of the kneecap! One more time for good measure! Crow crosses his legs around Blackwell’s and applies more pressure to Christian’s legs – Crow punches at the kneecap, Blackwell crying out in pain with each shot. Christian Blackwell desperately leans forward clawing at Crow’s eyes, attempting to make him break the hold. Blackwell succeeds as Crow stops the hold, but Crow is quickly back to his feet and spins his finger in the air.

“Crow calling for the figure four leg lock! If he locks this on, it could be good bye Christian Blackwell!” says Axis.

Spinning his finger around in the air, Crow grabs the leg of Blackwell that he hasn’t been working on and steps around it to bend it down on to the kneecap of the worked leg. NO! Blackwell uses his free leg to push Crow in the behind and into the ropes! The crowd starts cheering, seeing a possible come back from the Irishman Christian Blackwell.

“NOOO! Quiet you morons, you’re distracting Crow!” shouts King angrily.

Crow flies into the ropes and his jaw comes right down onto the top rope; Blackwell rises to his feet favouring his left leg catches the arm of stunned Crow, a man who just bounced back off the ropes. Blackwell swings under the arm of Crow and applies a hammerlock; Christian Blackwell holds onto the hammerlock with his right arm and swings around to the front of Crow’s body. He wraps his left arm around Crow and applies extra strength to the hammerlock in a belly to belly position.

“OVERHEAD BELLY TO BELLY SUPLEX! THIS COULD BE IT RIGHT HERE!” exclaims Axis.

“NOOOOOOO! Come on Crow, kick out, you know you want to!!” yells King, cheering Crow on.

Crow screams out a loud squeal as his back plummets onto the mat, crushing his arm underneath! Crow pulls his arm out from underneath his back and claws at his arm, as if he was trying to protect from any further punishment. Christian Blackwell hooks the leg and covers Crow.

1!!

.

..

...

2!!

.

KICK OUT!!!

“And the referee raises two fingers indicating it was a two. Even though it was a fantastic move and Crow is obviously hurting, it’s going to take more than that to put him down for the three count,” reports Axis intelligently, an uncharacteristic performance being displayed for this match up tonight by the Lord Of The Shed.

“I wonder if Crow has a beret...” wonders King, not really paying that much attention to the wrestling occurring in the ring.

Christian Blackwell slaps his hands together indicating to the ref that it was a slow count and that pin should have been a 3 count. Nevertheless he continues hitting Crow’s arm with a barrage of moves – he stomps down on Crow’s arm, and places all his weight on the elbow and shoulder by stepping on Crow’s arm with his feet. Blackwell steps off behind Crow’s head; he lifts Crow’s arm up and places one of his legs around the side of Crow’s head (thus Blackwell’s calf in under Crow’s chin).

“This looks interesting, King...” says Axis.

Christian Blackwell locks his leg in place with his other leg, his legs forming a position much like a “4” around Crow’s head. Christian pulls back on Crow’s arm, much like the cross arm breaker he performed earlier in the match – but he also applies pressure with his legs, cutting off the blood supply to Crow’s brain.

“It’s a Triangle Scissor Lock, Axis! Bet you wouldn’t have known that if I wasn’t here!” remarks King cheekily.

Crow’s face becomes bright pink while the face on Blackwell’s face tightens, obviously feeling discomfort his left leg as he applies pressure on the leg lock sleeper hold. Crow’s eyes hastily become closed... the pain in his arm and lack of blood supply to the brain causing him to black out. Blackwell holds onto the cross arm breaker, continually applying pressure; he screams at the ref to check Crow for life. The crowd cheers and cheers, shouting out French words of all kinds.

“The referee lifts up Crow’s free arm...” reports Axis.

...

“ONE!”

It drops to the ground. The referee lifts up Crow’s arm again...

...

“NOO! Crow lifts the arm up!” shouts Axis.

Crow lifts his arm up before it drops to the ground for a second time, the crowd boooooing this and when I say booooing, I mean BOOOOING! Crow seems revived and Blackwell can do nothing about it; Crow tries to slide upward on the match, he does so and bites Christian’s left leg! Christian Blackwell lets go of the leg lock sleeper and cross arm breaker in an instance. The referee saw the bite, Crow sliding upwards and turning his head back and clenching his teeth in Blackwell’s calf muscle!

“Dirty tactics from Crow, biting at Blackwell’s leg!” says Axis, almost disgustingly.

“I told ya he prefers to cheat than wrestle... Crow must be flexible to his head that way though,” replies King.

The referee yells at Crow and throws his finger in Crow’s face... Crow just laughs in the ref’s face, telling him to fuck off.

“You do any of that shit again and I’ll DQ ya!” screams the referee.

Christian Blackwell uses the ropes of the SJL ring to regain his standing position, favouring his left leg. Crow runs over to the hobbling Blackwell who is supporting himself on the ropes; Crow drops horizontal to the mat – driving a dropkick into Blackwell’s left knee. Christian cries out and grabs at his knee, he almost falls down but manages to stay standing with the help of the ropes. Crow back on his feet post haste and lines up Christian Blackwell’s leg, he delivers a swift kick to Blackwell’s leg!

“Crow is really knocking around that knee, working on it a lot,” reports Axis.

Another big kick and Christian falls to the ground clutching at his knee – Crow isn’t stopping, he pulls the short hair of Blackwell and forces him to rise to his feet. Crow applies a waist lock on Blackwell with his right hand and bends Blackwell’s leg up with his left hand. Crow heaves Christian Blackwell up into the air and drops to one knee! Crow drops Blackwell’s bent left leg down on his knee!

“Shin breaker! What a move, what a play, what a wrestler!” exclaims King, seemingly over-exaggerating.

“Why you so pro-Crow tonight? He pay you off or something?” asks Axis.

“He said he’d hook me up with Natasha if I was nice on commentary...” whispers King to Axis.

“Figures,” simply replies Axis.

Christian Blackwell falls to the ground clutching at his knee and shin with both his arms; Crow pulls him up once again, Blackwell being forced to unwillingly follow. Crow whips Christian Blackwell into the ropes, he comes off... and into a front face lock!

“NNATUUURRRAAALLL BBBOORRRRNNN CCCCHHHAAAOOOSSSS!” yells King!

Crow grabs hold of Christian’s belt and heaves him up high into the air! BUT WAIT! CROW CRIES OUT IN PAIN AND DROPS BLACKWELL! CROW’S ARM GAVE UP BECAUSE OF BLACKWELL’S WEIGHT! Christian Blackwell manages to land on his feet, hobbling he quickly jumps into a waistlock on Crow!

“And Blackwell hits Crow with a HUGE german suplex after getting out of the deadly Natural Born Chaos! He goes for the cover!” screams Axis.

1!

.

..

...

2!!

.

..

...

.KICK OUT!!!

“OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!” emanates from all the open mouths in Le Stade de France, including those of Axis and King.

Crow kicks out of the german suplex, and is trembling in pain in two sections of his body – his neck and his arm. Christian Blackwell needs to finish this match and finish it off quick! He drops down onto the mat beside Crow; Blackwell locks his arms around Crow’s worked arm so that the elbow is locked. Christian Blackwell applies pressure to the arm and also pulls backwards, putting pressure on Crow’s shoulder as well.

“FUJIWARA ARMBAR! Blackwell looking to end it!” exclaims Axis.

“Pfft... It’s a Wakigatame Armbar... idiot,” remarks King.

Crow’s screams of agony pulse in Blackwell’s ear, and it seems a finish is near – the crowd cheers for the finish right here, right now! The referee asks Crow if he wants to give it up, but Crow says no and keeps saying no every time the referee asks him! Crow is working his way closer to the ropes, Christian Blackwell is furiously trying to stop Crow but cannot! Crow grabs hold of the ropes and Christian is forced to let go of the hold unwillingly.

“. Frustration IS Christian Blackwell now, he thinks Crow should be down for the three now!” reports Axis.

The stumbling Christian Blackwell picks up Crow and scoops slams him down on the mat adjacent to the turnbuckle, perfect set up for a top rope move! He kicks Crow over onto his stomach, and stomps on Crow’s neck. Looking to work it a little to set up his finisher, the 404! Christian Blackwell slowly and carefully ascends to the second rope; the crowd going nuts upon seeing the Irishman take it to the air! Blackwell plays to the crowd, getting them to cheer him more!

“Christian Blackwell looking for a knee drop maybe... BUT WAIT! LOOK! CROW IS UP!” exclaims King.

The Antichrist Superstar is on his feet and pulls Christian Blackwell’s leg left from under him and falls back to the mat – twisting Blackwell’s leg!

“DRAGON SCREW LEG WHIP OFF THE SECOND ROPE!” shouts Axis!

Crow doesn’t stop, adrenaline pumping through his veins – he quickly applies the figure four leg lock!

“Figure Four Leg Lock by Crow! Not trying for the Sharpshooter it seems because that requires a lot of pressure on the arm to hold the opponent’s legs up!” reports Axis, showing remarkable understanding of wrestling psychology.

Christian Blackwell screams and tries desperately to turn over, to turn the lock in his favour and to bring the hurt on Crow!

He’s turning it...

.

..

...

He’s almost there...

.

..

...

..

.

NO! CROW REGAINS THE HOLD IN HIS FAVOUR! Blackwell’s arms flail around, and screams of pain exit from his mouth.

.

..

...

*DING! DING! DING!*

“CHRISTIAN BLACKWELL TAPS! CROW WINS! CROW WINS!” exclaims King.

“Weeel yes Crow gets Christian Blackwell to tap, the pain just too much for the Irishman! Great wrestling, great isolation and a great match, well done to both competitors” says Axis summing up the match.

Crow exits the ring and approaches the timekeeper’s table – he grabs his deck of smokes, pulls one out and sticks it in his mouth. He regains his lighter from the referee and lights the sucker up. He walks to the back while the French boo him constantly.

Fade out to a commercial break, featuring the one and only Dace Night RYOBI Weedwhacker commercial.

February 19, 2003

The not-so-loud cheering of the fans permeates the speakers of the camera as SJL Metal comes back from commercial, airing - on a rather rare occasion - their show in an outdoor arena! The camera pans over the seats of the fans as they wave their signs madly in the air, mostly in French but several in English for the benefit of the superstars. "Mikey Sucks!" followed by a "Metal...Is...JENKINS!" sign, for example, and when the camera panned over to the other side, it picked up such favourites as "Australia Sucks" and "Dace is Justice. Dace is Rule". Finally, the camera swings down to ringside, Axis and the Suicide King shielding their eyes from the glare on the lens for a moment.

Axis: "Welcome back to SJL Metal, folks! We're here in France in the....the..."

Suicide King: "It's the 'Le Stade de France', you dumb Aussie!"

Axis: "First place we've been in that's been open-slash-outdoors like this. Anyway, onto our next match.....Janus, who proved that he could hold his vodka much better than Crow could....."

The Smarktron - or should that be the video screen on the arena wall, whatever - lights up to show a clip of Janus and Crow beating each other senseless, followed by short pictures of Janus sculling a vodka bottle in two seperate locations. Finally, the camera pans back to the announcers, who continue.

Suicide King: "Has to go up against the KING OF THE WORLD~!"

Axis: "Against Spike, yes. The big man recovered from intoxication at record time and is probably going to squash Spike flat"

Suicide King: "Spike pinned Janus in a gauntlet match before the most recent bump! Don't be such a dick, Axis!"

Axis: "Me? A dick? No, you enjoy those too much."

The sudden look of apopletic rage on the Suicide King's face brings a wide grin to the mouth of his Australian counterpart. Before any harsh words can be exchanged, Funyon steps into the ring, lifting up his microphone.

Funyon: "The following contest is scheduled for one fall....and is a Falls...Count....Anywhere match!! The pinfall can take place anywhere in the arena, however, disqualification rules are STILL in effect!"

the sound of Smugface's "King of Your Own World" blare out over the set-up speakers, and around the entrance ramp, gold pyros begin to shoot upwards into the air. After a long pause, a small, dirty-blonded-haired form pushes aside the entrance curtain, and steps directly into the sparks, inhaling and blowing the smoke out of his nose as the sparks die down. In the ring, Funyon once more raises his microphone to his lips.

Funyon: "Introducting first....hailing from Hollywood California and weighing two hundred and twenty pounds! I give you "Hollywood" Spike JEEEEEEENKINS!"

Spike walks slowly through the dying sparks and towards the ring, looking up at the soccer-style seating arrangements and smirking at the hearty boos of almost all the arena, mouthing off at the fans and waving his arms, shouting out "I'm King of the World!". The cocky six footer climbs up on the ring apron and leans on the ropes, hooking them with his arms and stretching as he eyes the crowd with a confident smirk before ducking into the ring proper. Heading to the corner, he perches himself on the turnbuckle and eyes the entrance with his usual cockiness.

Axis: "Spike looking mightily confident even though he's fought Janus before."

Suicide King: "Hey, the man is King of the World! And not to mention he wasn't on the Russia trip, so he won't be jet-lagged!"

Axis: "And you're saying Janus will."

Suicide King: "Yeah! Not to mention he'll still suffer from some alcoholic tipsiness!"

Axis shakes his head at the Gambling Man's blatant ignorance of Janus' ability to metabolise alcohol. The faint strains of Fear Factory's "Resurrection" begin to beat out over the speakers. Considering the outdoor arena, there are no lights to go off, and no spotlight to focus on the entrance. But the blue pyros fountain up into the air on either side of the entrance path, and brushing the entrance curtain aside with one meaty arm, Janus steps through the curtain and lifts an arm to his head to shield his eyes from the bright light, almost as if he were nocturnal. The booing of the fans resounds through the arena as the giant lowers his arm and stalks towards the ring, each set of pyros ceasing their fountaining as he steps past them. Finally, Fuyon raises his micropone yet again.

Funyon: "And his opponent! Hailing from Sydney Australia....he is the sole member of the SJL Magnificent Seven and weighs three hundred and fifty pounds...he is the Hell Machine....JAAAAAAAAANUS!"

Axis: "Janus looking as taut and cold as ever."

Suicide King: "He's still pissed about Mike taking the title! And that alcoholic match last show probably has left him even more furious!"

Seeing Janus climbing onto the apron, Spike remembers just what the giant does for his intro and hops hurriedly off the turnbuckles and slides out of the ring. Staring a hole through little Jenkins, the giant climbs into the ring and stalks towards the center, tossing his hair back to get it out of his face. He scans the open arena, and with a small frown on his face, he lifts his arms into the air, and with a thunderous BOOM, four blue jets of flame burst from the turnbuckles. And Fear Factory's "Resurrection" begins to slowly fade out of existence. Rather then enter the ring, Spike circles around the outside, as Janus tracks him, green eyes moving with the accuracy of a computer targeting system to keep Spike in his line of sight. Apparently intimidated, Spike circles around to the entrance path and begins to back down it.

Axis: "What's this? Spike's running away!"

Suicide King: "Don't be ridiculous! He's King of the World, and this is falls count anywhere! He's luring the giant out!"

Axis: "It doesn't look like.......never mind."

With a bleak expression on his face, Janus steps over the top rope and drops to the floor, stretching before walking towards Spike as he backs off down the entranceway. Referee Eddy Long jumps out of the ring as well, keeping the two superstars in sight, stalker and stalkee staring fixedly at each other as they head down the entrance towards the back. Or at least, this is what would have happened...

..had Janus not decided to pick up the pace and charge forward! Blinking once, Spike lets out a girlish shriek and turns to run away, and for his troubles, receives Janus' shoulder in the small of his back as the giant crashes into him with a Gore, picking him up and charging him down the entranceway and into the wall next to the entrance curtain! Spike arghs and falls to the ground as Janus pauses, rubbing his shoulder. He looks around at the crowd, before looking down at Spike who is already on hands and knees gasping for air. Eddy Long grabs Janus by the arm, and the giant turns to listen to a warning from the referee about using the terrain as a weapon. After a pause in which the giant stares at him, Long quiets down and the giant turns back to Spike.

Suicide King: "And the King of the World gets some offense in!"

Axis: "I'd hardly call....that.....offense."

Spike, having climbed back to his feet, leaps up and rakes his fingers across Janus' eyes, causing the giant to stumble backwards in surprise, and attempting to take advantage early, Spike shifts his body weight and shoots his left leg up in a superkick! Janus however blocks it, holding the leg high in the air with one hand. Hopping awkwardly on his leg, Spike finds himself tumbling off his feet as Janus kicks his free leg out from under him. Jenkins finds himself hanging upside down as Janus fastens his grip around the six footer's legs, and turns slightly so his back is to the entranceway...and begins to fall backwards! His opponent shrieks as the giant's falling back lifts the six-footer up into the air, and "Hollywood" Spike Jenkins is catapulted backwards through the entrance curtain, crashing into a flimsy metal railing chest first and falling to the ground in a heap.

Axis: "Sounded like Spike hit something back there, but Eddy Long didn't see a thing!"

Suicide King: "Bah! Janus should be disqualified for hurting the King of the World like that!"

Axis: "Get a new line, King. You've called Spike that three or four times already!"

Climbing back to his feet, Janus parts the entrance curtain, and with Eddy Long in tow, moves into the backstage area. Sprawled on the metal railing that rests on the ground, Spike rises to his knees just in time for a swift boot from Janus to roll him onto his back, and the giant drops down across the so-called 'greatest wrestler in the world' in a pin attempt!

ONE!

TWO!

Spike kicks out at two, holding his chest as Janus grabs a fistful of dirty blonde hair, a grim expression on his face. Said expression turns funny when, since he's shielded from Long's view by Janus' bulk, Spike drives his fist straight into Janus' family jewels! The giant gasps, bending over a bit, and Spike drives a boot into his gut which Janus instinctively catches - his expression going almost starry-eyed when the King of the World's other foot crashes into the back of his head! Having hit the enzugiri, Spike steps back as Janus drops to his knees, holding the back of his head. Instead of going for a high impact move, Spike bends the giant over and rests a leg across the back of his neck, and then leaps up, driving Janus facefirst into the ground with a rocker dropper! There's a *crack* as Janus eats concrete, and Jenkins rolls him over for a pin attempt!

ONE!

TW....

Janus benchpresses Spike off him, then clutches Jenkins to his chest with firm arms as he sits up. Blood runs down his forehead, as seems to be the habit when he eats the ground hard, and he climbs up, still holding Spike laterally across his chest. Slowly, he extends his arms, and lifts Spike hiiigh above his head in a gorilla press. Janus steps towards a packing crate, and prepares to throw Spike onto it, when a zebra-coloured shirt gets in his line of sight!

Suicide King: "Eddy Long's keeping the order! Exceeellent!"

Axis: "He's stopping Janus from throwing Spike onto that packing crate. The giant CAN be disqualified if he uses something as a weapon."

Suicide King: "That's what I like about this. They can slap each other silly ANYWHERE, but they're not allowed to use weapons!"

Staring down at Long, Janus doesn't sense Spike's movement till it's too last - the wily six footer slides out of Janus' grip and down his back, hooking the giant's head as he passes and dropping him to the ground with a stunning reverse DDT! Janus arghs in pain and stars fill his eyes for a moment as he hits the concrete again, but before Spike can cover...the giant sits up again, holding the back of his head and staring a hole straight through "Hollywood" Spike Jenkins. Seeing the steady glare of the giant's eyes, Spike backs off before turning and doing a runner, pushing a great pair of double doors aside and running down a hallway! Eddy Long races after him since the match requires both superstars, leaving the giant by himself - but this is rectified as Janus climbs to his feet and stalks through the double doors and heads off down the hallway at a slow, I-am-going-to-destroy-things pace.....while the camera switches to Spike Jenkins, who's hurrying down the corridor and looking over his shoulder!

Axis: "Looks like the King of the World is on the run!"

Suicide King: "He's not running! It's a....strategic retreat!"

Spike runs around the corner, and the camera switches back to Janus stalking down the corridor, quickly catching up with Eddy Long, who lost track of Spike, and the two continue their trek for his opponent. The crowd hushes up tensely as Janus directs Eddy to wait back down the hallway. The referee objects, but Janus just glares at him as if to say 'go and stand there, or ELSE'. With Long out of the way, he approaches the same corner they saw Spike go around earlier...and the camera changes angle to show Spike balanced on top of a stack of tables, and he flings himself at Janus, locking legs around his neck and balancing on his shoulders for a hurricanrana! Janus's eyes travel upwards to look at Spike's body, and then the giant's arms grab Jenkins and the monster hoss abruptly sits out, absolutely pulverising Spike's upper back into the concrete! Not to mention the giant holding it for a pin attempt...

ONE!

TWO!

TH...

Spike kicks out, face contorted in pain as he clutches his upper back. Indomitable, Janus rises to his feet, rubbing the back of his sore head as he drags Spike upright and presses him against the wall. Holding Spike to the wall by the throat, the giant rears one great fist back and smashes it into Spike's abdomen! The smaller superstar gasps as the air is driven out of him, writhing in the chokehold Janus has on him - and the second punch crashes into his ribcage. Jenkins' face is a mask of pain as Janus holds him him against the wall, and rears his great right hand back, before letting loose with a punch that would absolutely pulverise the face of Spike Jenkins into bloody mush...

..and Spike screams as the punch crashes into his face, and Janus releases the chokehold to let Jenkins sink to the floor. Whimpering in pain, Spike takes his hands from his face to reveal what looks like a busted nose and a bloodied mouth. The crowd oooooos in sympathy as Janus flexes his right hand. Back at the announce desk, the Suicide King is almost apopletic.

Suicide King: "He nearly murdered Spike with a single punch! He should be disqualified!"

Axis: "Ugh...it was a brutal hit, true....but totally legal..."

Suicide King: "Closed fist punches aren't legal!!"

Eddy Long comes around the corner, having heard Spike's cry of pain. He looks down at the busted face of Spike, and then up at the grim face of Janus, with fist still clenched. Before the giant can cause any more damage, Eddy interposes himself between the two once more, yelling something at Janus about punching his opponent. The giant seems totally oblivious to what Long is saying, but when the referee slaps Janus' chest to tell him he's been warned, the giant reacts by planting his hand on Long's chest as if ready to push him - but whatever he was going to do is postponed as he sees Spike scramble to his feet and do another runner down the corridor! Janus growls and storms off in pursuit, but Eddy Long overtakes him, trying to keep both superstars in view to make sure they're not doing anything illegal.

Axis: "Long trying to keep some control in this match."

Suicide King: "Janus is a HOSS, and Australian too, and I respect his European title reign and all, but he's trying to KILL SPIKE JENKINS!"

Axis: "You know as well as I do you're over-exaggerating. Hey, look in the crowd!"

The Suicide King looks in the crowd where Axis points, and spots a beautiful blonde female sitting there, waving a sign above her head that reads "Sleep With Me Again, Brian!". The Gambling Man's face goes dark as he stares at Axis for a moment, putting two and two together. The Australian commentator smirks.

Axis: "She really wanted to see you again, so I sprung for the trip."

King looks like he wants to wrap his hands around Axis' throat and squeeze, but luckily the action cuts back to the backstage area, where the camera catches Eddy Long running down the corridor, and as he ducks out of sight, Janus comes stalking into view. The giant storms down the corridor with the cold precision of a machine, and after looking at him for several moments, walking like that, the camera cuts away yet again...

...to once more reveal "Hollywood" Spike Jenkins, hiding in a locker room with a chair, a nervous gleam in his eyes as he pauses to brush the blood from his nose and mouth before reasserting his grip on the chair and glancing around the room for a moment, noticing the clothing that's been strewn about, as well as a half-empty packet of cigarettes on one of the tables, surrounded by empty packets. He also sees a small fridge of beer in the corner, and atop it every stoner's favourite tool, the bong! He wonders just who the hell would leave their locker room in this mess, as the announcers finally comment on what he's got.

Axis: "Hey! He's got a chair! He'll get disqualified if he hits Janus with that!"

Suicide King (recovering his composure): "It's only cheating if you get caught, remember that Axis!"

Spike twitches nervously as the door opens, and instinctively, he swings the chair....and Eddy Long, who'd been poking his nose into the locker rooms to see if Spike was in them, goes down from the thunderous chairshot, crumpling to the ground in a heap. The chair clangs as it hits the wall, and Spike drops it and swears to himself, looking at the fallen referee. He sticks his bloodied face out the door and looks around - and gasps in surprise as the ominous form of Janus looms further down the corridor, and the sudden quickening of the giant's pace told six foot King of the World one thing...Janus had seen him. Holding his jaw a moment, Spike ducks back into the locker room and looks around, before just picking up another chair and waiting.as Janus pauses by Eddy Long, looking down at the unconscious referee and noting that what the referee doesn't see doesn't count as illegal - and steps into the room to meet a chairshot to the ribs! The giant arghs in pain and drops to one knee, and Spike clobbers the giant's back this time, making him drop onto both knees before Jenkins drops the chair and pulls Janus' head back by the hair.

Spike: "Think you can fuck with me!? I'm the KING of the WORLD!"

Stepping back a short way, Spike drives a stiff kick into the giant's ribcage, making him shudder in pain. A second stiff kick follows the first, and the giant clutches his chest and wheezes a little, looking up as Spike backs up to measure the distance and let loose with a kick towards the giant's face...

...and Janus catches the boot with both hands! Hopping on one foot, Spike can do nothing as Janus throws the leg aside and springs out of his crouched position - off balance, Jenkins can do nothing as Janus hoists him up onto one shoulder, with a grim smile on his bloodied face, before stepping over to the table and swinging the six footer off his shoulder with a thunderous high-angle spinebuster THROUGH the table! The crowd 'ooooh's in sympathetic pain as Spike screams, clutching his back and rolling around on the ground. Rather than go for a pin attempt - since he knows Eddy Long is out cold, Janus gets a handful of dirty blonde hair in his hand, and begins to drag Spike back to his feet.

Or would have if Jenkins hadn't violated the giant with another punch to the family jewels. Janus arghs in pain and doubles over, and Spike clutches his back with a curse before grabbing Janus' head and forcing him to bend over backwards. Applying an inverted facelock, Spike lifts his other hand into the air and screams out that he's the King of the World yet again, before driving Janus into the concrete with a Roll the Joint! The giant cries out and clutches his neck in pain, grimacing and trying to get back up, but unable to. He sprawls on the ground and tries to recover as Spike divides his thoughts between resusciatating Eddy Long or inflicting more illegal pain on Janus. A cocky grin slides onto his face as he stops looking at the referee and picks up a steel chair again.

Axis: "Oh, come on! Enough with the chair already for crying out loud!"

Suicide King: "Janus began the illegal stuff first! He was going to throw Spike into a packing crate!"

Axis: "But he didn't! Spike started it by hitting Eddy Long and then Janus with a chair!"

Suicide King: "Nonsense. When in doubt with two bad guys, ALWAYS blame the Australian."

Spike leans over the giant, and hoists the steel chair above his head with a grin...when it's pulled out of his hand! Infuriated, the bloodied Spike Jenkins turns around and stares right into a black shirt. He pauses and looks up, a bloody half-grin on his face as he sees the face of Crow looking down at him. The Adelaidian shrugs off his jacket and looks first at Spike, then at the fallen Janus.

Crow: "....you're fighting in my locker room, wankstains."

Axis: "It's CROW! He lost to Janus in the vodka match last show!"

Suicide King: "And now we have another Australian who will fall before the King of the World!"

Axis: ".....It doesn't look like that to Me...."

Indeed, Crow grabs Spike by the hair, driving a stiff knee into his stomach, before straightening him up and rocking his torso with punches! The crowd 'ooohh's and laughs at this development as Spike tries to get away, but there's nowhere to go as Crow is blocking the door. The Adelaidian hooks Spike's head and drops him with a DDT, and then picks up the steel chair with a smirk as he looks between the fallen twosome. He lifts the chair, and slams it down hard over Spike's spine with a grin on his face as Spike cries out and twists like a fish on a hook.

Crow: "That's for being in my locker room..."

And as Janus slowly sits up over to his side, Crow whirls and pastes the giant in the face with the chair!

Crow: "And that's for holding your bloody vodka better than me, mate."

Whimpering in pain, Spike crawls towards the door, slowly using the wall to get back to his feet. However, the Antichrist Superstar still wants to exact vengeance for finding them in his locker room, and drags Spike to his feet, hooking in a facelock and driving a knee into his stomach again to stop Jenkins' wriggling. He flashes a grin at the camera as he hooks Hollywood's pants, attempting to hoist him up into brainbuster position. Spike proves wilier at the moment however, kicking his legs to land on the ground once more. Behind Crow, neither notices Janus slowly bring himself back up to a seated position, face covered in blood. Finally, Crow drives another knee into Jenkins' gut, and hoists him up into the air, in perfect position for...

Axis: "He's going for the Natural Born Chaos!!"

Suicide King: "SPIKE! Someone HELP HIM! That fucking BIRD is gonna KILL him!"

Axis: "Does....uh.....that count as help?"

What Axis is referring to is the fact Janus is back on his feet, looming up behind Crow like an ominous visage of death. As the Adelaidian tenses his legs and leaps to perform the Natural Born Chaos jumping brainbuster-suplex, Janus' great arms shoot out and close like vises around Spike's legs, and Crow falls to the ground Jenkins-less as the seven footer hoists Spike high up into the air in powerbomb position...then spins around and absolutely craters the head and neck of "Hollywood" Spike Jenkins into the concrete! Tossing his hair back out of his bloody face, Janus slashes both thumbs across his throat to signify the move he just pulled off and the crowd cheers at the sheer brutality. The Suicide King is nearly speechless with shock, and Axis takes a moment to recover.

Axis: "Janus just pulled Spike OUT of the Natural Born Chaos, and probably just KILLED Spike Jenkins with that Dark Bomb!"

Suicide King: "...."

Axis: "Breath, King. He looks like he's going after Crow too!"

As the Adelaidian interloper climbs back to his feet, he finds seven feet of pure muscle standing right in front of him, looking down at him with a scowl. Without the chair in his hand, and seeing that expression, Crow backs off, nearly tripping over Eddy Long, who's finally beginning to recover and shakes his head woozily. Janus follows Crow with murderous intent, snapping the Adelaidan's head nearly off his shoulders with a stiff lariat, then grabbing his head and hoisting Crow into the air in a mighty hanging vertical suplex! He grits his teeth as the Antichrist Superstar tries to kick free, but Janus will not be denied. With a growl, he shifts Crow into position...

...begins to drop him...

...and sits out, and Crow eats concrete head first as Janus successfully executes the Rage Unleashed! The crowd shrieks in surprise and begins cheering for the brutality once more, a classic chant roaring through the arena - in English, probably translated by the people in the production van. Those in the arena hear it in French though.

"HOLY SHIT!"

Climbing back to his feet, Janus helps the groggy Eddy Long to his feet with a firm yank of his referee shirt, and steps back into the locker room to drape his form over that of Spike Jenkins. Dropping woozily to his knees next to the giant to make sure Spike's shoulders are on the ground. The Suicide King stands from his announcing position, shrieking for Jenkins to kick out as Long slaps the concrete with his hand, wincing each time.

ONE!

TWO!

THREEEE!!!

*DINGDINGDING*

The strains of Fear Factory's "Resurrection" belt through the open-air arena as Janus climbs to his feet, along with Eddy Long who lifts the giant's hand in victory. Janus pulls his hand free of Long's grip and storms out of the locker room as Funyon makes the announcement.

Funyon: "The winner of this bout....the HELL MACHINE.......JAAAAAAAAAANUS!"

The camera cuts away from the storming-off Janus and back to the announce table where Axis and the Suicide King both struggle to find the words to describe the painful finish they'd just seen.

Axis: "Janus craters Spike AND the interfering Crow with his finishers to win the match..."

Suicide King: "Spike had enough time to recover from that finisher! He should've gotten up and won!"

Axis: "I don't think Spike or Crow will be getting up very quickly..."

As the two announcers debate this fact, SJL Metal fades out to commercial as the camera switches again to show the prone forms of Crow and Spike Jenkins....

February 19, 2003

A camera backstage Janus is recovering form his match against Spike Jenkins, leaning up against a wall, chilling out. Janus casually observes the backstage goings on when into the shot walks a massive Maori frame!

Axis: My God, King! That’s Va’aiga! The big Maori is here tonight in Paris, France.

Despite giving up a few inches of height and a good 65lbs of weight Va'aiga faces up to Janus and stares him right in the eyes. Janus stands up to the fullness of his height and stares right back at Va'aiga and the pair apause for a second, neither willing to budge an inch, both staring a hole through each other.

Axis: Folks, we have to cut to commericial, but the shocking news is Va'aiga is here tonight! I don’t know why King, but I’m sure we’ll find out.

Suicide King: I can’t wait, I just can’t wait!

February 19, 2003

"Non Guerre! Oui Lutte! Non Guerre! Oui Lutte! Non Guerre! Oui Lutte!"

The view from a corner of the enormous Stade de France is shown as the fans chant "No War! Yes Wrestling!" in French. The crowd is hot after witnessing the previous match between Janus and Spike Jenkins, starving for more wrestling from the SJL. They came in droves tonight, nearly filling the stadium to capacity. Luckily, the weather complied, and the wintry air of the night can be felt by everyone in attendance.

Suddenly, the arena lights darken and the opening strains of Rob Zombie's "Superbeast" play to the view of the starry sky and nearly full moon. The enormous SmarkTron at one end of the ground level displays "AECAS" with blood dripping onto, through, and down from the word. On his way to the ring, Aecas spits out his gum and swats it to the side. The few fans that saw the gesture cheer him for it while at ringside the loyal Funyon goes to work...

"The following contest is set for one fall, and is for the SJL Unified European Championship! Introducing first, the challenger, from Shrewsbury, England, weighing in at 120 kilograms... AECAS!"

After completing the long walk down the aisle, Aecas jumps into the ring. He looks at the massive crowd while walking around the ring, marking his territory. He awaits his opponent, the man who has already recorded two decisive wins against him, and current champion, Sean Atlas. Fittingly, "Polyamorous" begins to play and the arena lights flash accordingly. Just as the drums kick in, a pyrotechnic explosion goes off near the SmarkTron and Sean Atlas can be seen standing behind it. He proudly wears the European Title around his waist as he begins walking towards the ring.

"And his opponent, making his way to the ring, from Chicago, Illinois, weighing in at 105 kilograms, he is your Unified European Champion... SEAN ATLAS!"

Sean arrives at ringside, taking in the atmosphere and fan presence here tonight. Though he is their champion, the fans know what Atlas is about and what he stands for, which opposes the general religious tolerance in France. Thus, they boo him and support Aecas, who happens to be from a neighboring country. Sean steps into the ring and removes the title belt from his waist. He hands to it the referee, once again Ced Ordoñez, who holds the title up showing it to the crowd. Atlas points to the belt, showing Aecas the difference between each of their accomplishments during their short SJL tenures. Aecas laughs it off however, and awaits the start of the match...

Axis: These two met only nine days ago, back in Sydney, Australia, when Sean defeated Aecas for a shot at the European Title. Now, they face off against each other yet again for that same title belt, which Aecas removed from the waist of Chris Card several days ago.

King: I would think that Aecas would rather face Card here, as he cost him contendership in the first place, making him have to fight four other men just to get a shot.

Axis: You would think so, yes. But Chris Card has apparently quit the League.

King: Ah, right. Poor guy. Guess he couldn't handle the beating Atlas gave him.

*Ding Ding*

Axis: And the match is on!

Atlas and Aecas circle each other around the ring. They come to tie up in the center, and Aecas' slightly higher weight gives him a small advantage. To prevent getting backed up, Sean slips around and puts on a waistlock. He quickly shifts down and grabs Aecas' feet, pulling them out from under him. Aecas falls, but quickly get up again, only to have his arm grabbed and pulled by Atlas. He's whipped into the ropes and on his return, Atlas throws a clothesline in front of him. Aecas ducks it and runs past, bouncing off the other rope. Coming back again, Aecas throws his leg in the air, going for the Big Boot, which Atlas sneaks under. Facing back to back, both men simultaneously turn around and before Aecas can read the situation, he finds Atlas' boot firmly thrust into his jaw, and falls down hard on the mat.

Sean lifts Aecas back to his feet before he was fully recovered. He wrenches the challenger's arm and gets him to double over. To prevent Atlas from executing whatever move he had in mind, Aecas shifts his weight and uses his far leg to sweep Atlas off his feet, knocking him down. Sean quickly stands up again, but is met with an Arm Drag, swinging him over and down again. Sean stands back up, charges at Aecas yet another time, and again, Aecas goes for an Arm Drag, but Atlas reads it and instead, holds on to Aecas' hand and slides down under him. Still holding Aecas' hand, trapping his arm between his legs, Sean hooks his other arm and pulls back, slamming him down on his back with a Stretch Suplex!

Axis: Fast paced action here in this title match.

King: And some innovative chain wrestling from both men.

Sean gets to his feet first, early enough to pull Aecas up forcefully. Holding his arm, he pushes Aecas against the ropes to send him running the other way, but Aecas reverses it and Sean is whipped across the ring. He bounces off and as he returns, Aecas catches him, then drops him to the side for a Sidewalk Slam. Standing back up, he gets Atlas in a front face lock and lifts him in the air, holding him vertically. Atlas starts to force his weight forward though, sensing that Aecas may be trying to hit a Brainbuster. He manages to force Aecas to hit a standard vertical suplex though, as his body comes back down to the mat. Standing back up, Aecas lifts the champion to his feet then pushes his back against the ropes. Sean bounces off and just as he starts to run, Aecas puts on a half nelson and leaps up, trying to hit the Facebuster... but Atlas rolls through it, somersaulting to prevent Aecas from executing the move.

They both stand up quickly, and Sean runs up next to his opponent, sneaking his leg in between Aecas'. He does, then falls back hitting a Russian Leg Sweep. Even faster than last time, Atlas comes to his feet and runs towards the ropes. He bounces just as Aecas starts to get up, but then falls back to the mat allowing Sean to jump over him. He bounces again, and as he returns, Aecas is already standing, but still doubled over. Sean runs up to him and tries a Swinging Neckbreaker... but Aecas is alert enough to read it and catches Atlas in mid move. He reaches around Sean's neck, hoping to execute a Reverse DDT... but Sean swings him back around, setting up a Reverse DDT of his own... but even that doesn't work, as Aecas still has his arm around Atlas' neck and slams him down with a Neckbreaker!! Quickly, Aecas covers...

...One...

...Two.. NO!

Axis: Seems like these two have a good feel for each other, King.

King: Well you would think so, considering they're wrestled each other twice in the last three shows.

Up again, Aecas comes to his feet, kicking Sean several times before bringing him up as well. He sends Atlas to the ropes yet again, and on his return, Aecas lifts him up, spins him around and drives the champion's back into his knee! Without allowing Atlas to land firmly on the mat after the backbreaker, Aecas brings him up again and walks him into the corner. He grabs Sean by his arm and tugs on it, then turns him around to face the turnbuckle. With Sean's back exposed to him, Aecas kneels down and drives his shoulder into Atlas' back, slamming him against the pads and forcing Atlas to arch his back with every thrust.

Axis: Looks like Aecas is going after Sean's back, much like Chris Card did on Crimson.

King: Yeah, and look how well that turned out for him.

Once Aecas feels he's done enough, he stops thrusting his shoulder and lifts Atlas up by his hips, placing him onto the top turnbuckle. The French crowd cheers the Englishman on as he places himself onto the bottom rope, placing his arms under and around Sean Atlas. After taking one more step to place his foot onto the middle rope, Aecas lifts himself and Sean, trying to his what seems like a Side Slam from the top rope... however, Atlas uses his higher position to flip himself over and turn over face down, while placing his arm around the neck of his opponent... and as they reach the surface of the ring, Atlas uses his momentum to drive the back of Aecas' head directly into the mat!

King: What in the world was that supposed to be?

Axis: It looks like Atlas reversed whatever Aecas was attempting into a Reverse DDT from the top rope!

King: Ahh. Innovative, that.

Both men lie in the ring as that maneuver took a lot out of each of them. Aecas, the less hurt of the two thus far, sits up first. He just about gets up to his knees when Atlas notices him, and rushes to stand faster that his opponent. Doing so, he runs at Aecas, attacking him with the back of his wrist. As flesh impacts flesh, Aecas is forced further into the corner, the red spot on his chest becoming larger and closer to a shade of crimson red. Sean lays a good half a dozen smacks on him before laying off. He then pulls on Aecas' arm and tries Irish whipping him across the ring, but Aecas somehow reverses and sends Sean running... But as he often does, Atlas slides down in a baseball slide before reaching the other corner. He turns around and runs back in Aecas' direction, only to be lifted off his feet and slammed back down into the mat with a Spinebuster! Aecas floats over to cover him...

...One...

...Two... NO!!

King: Those chops did next to nothing against Aecas. He actually seems like a formidable opponent here!

Axis: Well, that reversal and Spinebuster probably had something to do with the height and weight difference between the two. Aecas has around 15 kilograms on the champ. (That's 35 pounds for you yanks.)

The crowd got excited just a little too early there, falsely hoping for an Aecas win. He stands up and grabs the woozy and vulnerable Atlas lifting him up onto his shoulder in position for a Powerslam. Instead of using that on the champ though, Aecas charges at the turnbuckle and drives Atlas' upper back into the pads! He turns around and runs at the opposite corner... slamming Atlas' back into the pads again! The fans cheer him on as he comes back to the center of the ring and makes a half turn to charge into a third corner... to bang Sean's back into yet another turnbuckle! Enjoying himself almost as much as the fans are, Aecas makes another 180 and charges into the fourth corner of the ring to jam Atlas the fourth and, for his sake, final time. He returns to the middle of the ring again and with a wicked smile, finally hits the Powerslam on Atlas! But instead of going for the easy pin, Aecas stands back up and heads for one of the corners...

Axis: Why doesn't he cover him? Aecas is being way too easygoing in this match.

King: Yeah, you could say he's got a laissez-faire attitude...::snicker::

Axis: Mate, I'm surprised you know the meaning of the phrase.

A relatively quieter crowd gives Aecas a small cheer as he walks out to the apron and starts climbing the corner, which has already been quite useful to him in this matchup. As he places his size 14 combat boot onto the bottom rope, the inexorable Atlas starts to sit up. Aecas climb into the second rope, and quickly up to the third while Atlas just gets to his knees. Aecas sits atop the corner, waiting while Sean finds his feet and balances himself to a standing position. Once he does, Aecas prepares to leap off... and the moment their eyes meet each other, Aecas jumps off! He turns himself in mid-air, clearly trying a cross-body on Sean Atlas and hits... the flat surface of the ring! Sean ducked to the side and out of the way, possibly saving the entire match!

Aecas rolls around on the mat while Atlas finds he also has to stand up again. He manages to do so before his opponent, however, and walks over to him to apply some stiff kicks to the back. The fans jeer him while he backs off for a while to catch his breath, waiting for Aecas to get up. Standing behind him, Sean is out of Aecas' view when he finally comes to his feet, and conveniently uses his position to grab Aecas' arms and locks his hands behind his neck. With a strong lift, Sean slams Aecas' posterior into the mat with a Full Nelson Drop. From a sitting position, Aecas doesn't even have enough time to recover before Sean pulls him up again from behind, locks his hands around the challenger's waist and, popping his hips, throws Aecas' body over him with a Release German Suplex!

Aecas stands up and arrogantly struts around the ring to a chorus of boos from the fans. He checks on Aecas to see that he's still down on the mat and sure enough, he is. Sean then flips the fans off, then brings the hand with the middle finger up to his head, to his chest, his left shoulder, and finally, his right. The gesture infuriates the crowd more than any other in-ring occurrence tonight, and the arrogant European Champion just finds it hilarious.

Axis: How can he do that? Does he have absolutely no respect for the catholic faith?

King: Guess not. And the same goes for every other faith.

Axis: Who hired this guy?? We don't need pricks like him in the company.

King: Hey, if we got rid of all the jerks we have the roster would be down to four guys. But hey, I agree. I like Atlas, but even I can't stand for what he says and does sometimes.

Sean brings his attention back to his opponent and forces Aecas back up faster than he expected. He hits another *smack* chop the chest, then a blatant smack right to the face, really getting Aecas' attention. Just as Aecas tries to grab Sean, the champ spins around and ducks behind Aecas, pulling his feet out from under him. Aecas falls flat on his face after Atlas' signature Rear Leg Takedown. Aecas, his temper flaring, tries to stand up faster, but he finds Atlas forcing him up and tugging on his arm. He's whipped towards the ropes, and expects to run at them but Atlas holds on to his hand, snapping him back. They meet facing each other and as he usually does, Atlas throws his arms around Aecas and goes for a Belly-to-Belly Suplex... Aecas prevents it though, and Sean does nothing more than snap his hips in vain. Aecas picks Atlas up to the side, hoping to perform a Side Belly-to- Belly... But again, it's reversed and Atlas is simply carried over to the side, his hands still locked around Aecas. Sean uses the Aecas' momentum to try his move again... and hits it, executing a perfect Overhead Belly-to-Belly Suplex!! Atlas covers...

...One...

...Two...

NO!

Aecas kicks out at two-and-a-half to a burst of cheers from the fans. Sean begins to grow more frustrated and quickly jumps to his feet. He grabs Aecas by the neck and forces him up as well. By his arm, Atlas swings Aecas around and catapults him through the ropes, and out of the ring! Aecas lands in a heap on the protective mat outside, letting out a loud grunt as his body hit the ground. Atlas ducks down and gets through the ropes, joining his opponent on the outside. Meanwhile, Ced Ordoñez begins the count out ("One!") He grabs Aecas hand and without even allowing the man to stand up, Sean whips him directly into the metal ring steps! The top two steps fly off as Aecas' shoulder collides with the steel, causing him to let out another painful scream. ("Two!") While he recovers, Sean begins to tear away at the protective mat on the ground, trying to reveal the concrete underneath...

Axis: Oh no, this AGAIN? Are we going to see this happen in every match between these two?

King: Sure will. Seems like Sean was happy with the results of driving Aecas' head into the concrete in his first match. I guess he's just like to finish this up faster.

Just as he had done in Japan during their Debut match, Sean Atlas has stripped one mat from the floor, in hopes of using the concrete surface to his advantage. He walks back over to Aecas, eager to inflict some punishment on him. ("Three!") Atlas lifts Aecas up to his feet and walks him over to the exposed spot at ringside. Aecas is visibly groggy as Sean's foot thrusts itself into his gut. ("Four!") He emits another cry of pain while Atlas hoists him up on his shoulders, holding him in a fireman's carry. As the noise in the massive stadium grows louder, Atlas turns, preparing to execute the Saint's Demise on Aecas directly onto the concrete, when Ced Ordoñez leans through the ropes, warning the champion that if he does this he will get himself disqualified… Sean disregards the warning though, knowing that he won't lose his title if that happens. He starts to lean in to his finisher when Aecas begins fidgeting atop his shoulders... and as Atlas' body drops to execute the Saint's Demise... Aecas reverses it in motion and slides through, shifting his position to turn it into a DDT!!!

Axis: Did you see that, King? Aecas managed to reverse the Demise at the last moment, riving Atlas' head into the floor!

King: I don't know where he found the strength in him to pull that off, but it looks like Aecas may have a chance yet to win this. That is, if he doesn't get disqualified for it...

Axis: Doesn't look like it, King. He was only trying to protect himself, and I think our fair referee understands that. In fact, he's still counting the ringout...

("Five!"), counts Ced, as the limp bodies of both men lie on the ringside floor. The front row fans yell obscenities such as "Tu me fais chier!", "Trou de cul!" and the like at Sean Atlas, while the majority of the crowd cheer Aecas for his reversal. ("Six!") On the floor, Aecas is able to head the ref's counting, and realizes that if the match ends in any sort of ringout, he won't walk away as a champion. So, thinking quickly, he holds on to the ring apron as he comes to his feet. ("Seven!") He grabs Sean Atlas' head, desperately trying to get both of them inside the ring in time. He suddenly realizes that Sean is bleeding from the top of his head, clearly the point of impact with the ground. ("Eight") The white color of his mask contrasts with the dark crimson of the blood that oozes down his face like rivers down a mountain.

Using the bottom rope for leverage, he swings Sean's body up and forces it onto the apron. He pushes it until Atlas is fully in the ring, then climbs onto the apron himself, rolling under the bottom rope. With that bit of his strength spent, he finds no other alternative than to throw his arms over the champion, desperately hoping that the match can end now...

...ONE...

...TWO...

...THNNNOO!

Axis: Atlas gets his foot on the rope, screwing Aecas out of another win! He did the same damn thing in Australia, where Aecas blamed special referee Chris Card for his loss.

King; Well Aecas is a crybaby, and Atlas is clever, what can you do.

As Ced informs Aecas about Sean's foot being on the rope, Aecas doesn't even bother looking, knowing fully well that he went for the cover too early. He removes his arms from Sean's chest and shoulders and begins to stand up. Using the ring ropes for leverage, he notices Atlas' blood is smeared, and wipes some of it off his triceps, after coming in contact with it during the pin. He forcefully kicks Sean's foot off the rope and drags his body away from the ropes altogether. Sean pulls his foot away, weakly kicking randomly in hopes of preventing Aecas from locking on a submission. His efforts are fruitless however, as Aecas flips Sean over onto his belly and hooks both of his legs in a Boston Crab!

Unlike the one Chris Card applied to Atlas last week, this one doesn't have a ladder adding to the force of the hold. But Sean is still weakened, now bleeding, and his back is being arched in a rather awkward way. Aecas tugs on the champion's legs, hoping to force a submission, but despite the referee's constant inquiries, Atlas refuses to give up...The blood pours down his mask as he relentlessly tries to reach the ropes, which aren't that far off considering Aecas didn't bother pulling him out all the way... He inches closer while the fans cheer his opponent, hoping for a title change as well... Aecas tries to put more torque on the hold, but even he is drained so much that he can only be so strong at this point... Finally, with less than a foot away from the ropes, Aecas tries to move Sean back out to the middle of the ring... But it backfires, and the momentary lapse in force allows Sean to dive to the bottom rope in a desperate attempt at safety... and he grabs it! Atlas' hand made it to the rope, which comes in useful yet again in this match!

King: Look at that guy, so persistent, so resolute...

Axis: So lucky, maybe? Aecas is wearing him down here, King. I think this champ's reign will be even shorter than that of the last one.

Aecas throws Sean's legs down in frustration, realizing that it's going to take just so much more to finish Atlas off. He staggers up, looking at Atlas' hand still clutching the bottom rope. He slowly walks over and picks him up by that very hand. Pulling him to his feet, Aecas throws a forearm at Sean, causing him to lean up against the ropes for balance. Another forearm, then a third, and finally, Aecas backs off and whips Sean across the ring. Clumsily, the dazed Atlas runs to the other side and routinely bounces off the rope. As Sean returns to his opponent, Aecas tries the Big Boot again... but this time, Atlas doesn't duck it but catches it with his hands and holds on to Aecas' leg! He tries to wrap his arm around Aecas' neck in hopes of using a Leg Capture Suplex, but Aecas, the less fatigued of the two, pulls away and throws his other leg up for an Enziguri! Atlas is sent falling to the mat again!

Getting back to his feet, Aecas tries to build up form momentum and bring Sean up as well. For the umpteenth time in this match, he whips Atlas into the ropes again. Atlas hits the ropes with his back and grabs on, stopping himself from bouncing off. As he opens his eyes trying to see through the mask, blood and hair in front of him, he feels the ring shaking heavily under him. Suspecting that Aecas is trying to hit the Gore, Atlas snaps to attention and just before Aecas' shoulder drives itself into Sean's gut, he jumps... and leapfrogs over the charging Aecas! He hits nothing but the ropes as Atlas jumps over him, then turns around, looking for Sean. Meanwhile, Atlas happens to be standing directly behind him and latches on with the Katahajime!

Aecas tries to struggle away, not allowing Atlas to latch on completely... He gets one arm free, the uses the other to pry Sean's hand off... Not being able to completely do so, Aecas uses the convenient position to grab on to Atlas' head and snap it down, falling onto his back, driving Sean's face into the ground with the DIAMOND CUTTER!

Axis: Diamond Cutter! Aecas hits his finishing maneuver to get out of Atlas' submission hold, and he may have the win here!

As Atlas' body hits the canvas, the crowd erupts, sensing the end of the match. Aecas gets to his knees, rubbing his neck after the minimal damage done to it by the Katahajime Choke. He flips Atlas over, revealing the crimson mask painted atop his white one, then hooks Atlas leg for the pin.....

...ONE...

...TWO...

...THRRRNNNNNOOOOOO!!!!!.....

King: Somehow, someway, Sean Atlas kicked out!

Axis: Unbelievable... I thought he was done for!

An incredibly pissed off Aecas bangs his fist against the ring, yelling at the referee for not counting fast enough. The fans jeer at Ced for the same reason, with one fan even throwing something into the ring - a Mickey Mouse doll, probably from a boring visit to Disney Europe. Aecas stammers up and nearly gets into the referee's face, but he stops himself, remembering what happened last time he had a confrontation with a ref. He lifts Atlas by his neck and yells something obscene into his face. The expression barely seen through the mask and blood signifies that Atlas probably didn't hear him. Still holding the champion by his head and neck, Aecas swings him over, throwing Sean into the corner of the ring. He takes a step back and charges at his gut, finally hitting the GORE!!!

And yet, he doesn't try to cover him. Seemingly aware of the amount of punishment he must inflict on Atlas to win the match, Aecas puts on a front face lock and places Sean atop the turnbuckle. Running only on adrenaline now, Aecas climbs up the ropes quite quickly, seemingly with an idea in mind. Once up, he puts on another front face lock, and lifts Atlas up... but he can't get him up all the way due to the sudden pain in his crotch area! Using his other hand, Atlas managed to somehow low blow Aecas, carelessly risking the cheap DQ, hoping the referee doesn't see.

Successfully doing so, he thwarts Aecas' plan and desperately comes up with one of his own. Sean sneaks his head under Aecas' arm, then grabs his leg hoists him up on his shoulders... the fans come to their feet at the right of the champion holding Aecas in a fireman's carry, standing atop the turnbuckle. The noise level grows to a peak as Atlas lets out a cry of pain and bends at the knees, leaping off the ropes towards the ring... and drives Aecas' head into the mat with THE SAINT'S DEMISE FROM THE TOP ROPE!!! He falls over Aecas' shoulders!

...ONE...

...TWO...

...THREE!!!!!

*DING DING*

Polyamorous blasts on the stadium speakers...

Atlas rolls off the body of Aecas...

Ced Ordoñez receives the title belt from the timekeeper...

Funyon picks up the microphone...

"Your winner and STILL the UNIFIED EUROPEAN CHAMPION... SEAN ATLAS!!!"

Axis: How did he...

King: I don't know...

Axis: Why wasn't he...

King: Don't know...

Axis: What will he...

King: Doesn't matter.

Axis: Why would... (muffled)

King: Just be quiet.

Ced lifts Sean Atlas' hand in victory, allowing the man to bask in the glory of retaining the European title in front of the enormous crowd on European soil. Atlas triumphed over Aecas yet again in this matchup, proving his win over the established Chris Card wasn't a fluke. In a significant amount of pain, he clutches the title across his chest, blood pouring down the sides of his head and neck. Still lying in the ring next to his opponent, Atlas sees nothing but the lights, stars and moon above in the open-roof stadium. The view of the two men, one the victor, the other a worthy but defeated challenger, fades away into darkness...

February 19, 2003

Axis: Folks we’re gonna go backstage, where I hear Ben Hardy has caught up with tonight’s surprise appearance, Va’aiga!

Ben Hardy: Thanks Axis. I have with me here the I presume free agent, the Maori Badass Va’aiga. And Va’aiga, I’d like to ask you if I may, why are you here tonight?

Va’aiga: Free agent no more Ben Hardy. See I came here tonight to walk into senior management of the SJL’s offices and sign myself a contract they offered me. As from right now the Maori Badass is an SJL Badass. As from right now the ring out there is my ring. As from right god damn now this house is MY HOUSE!

Ben Hardy: And what business do you have with Janus?

Va’aiga: What business do I have? I went out into that ring to make a statement. And when you can walk right up to the biggest, meanest, baddest hombre in the whole damn federation, when you can have him look you right in the face and still not flinch, That my friend is a statement.

Ben Hardy: So is that a challenge to Janus?

Va’aiga: That’s not a challenge to Janus. That’s a challenge to anyone. I live by this creed - Turn up, KICK ASS! Anyone in this federation who wants to see violence at its finest up close and damn personal can come challenge me, cos next week I’m gonna turn up, and I’m gonna kick anyone’s ass I feel like. Tell the good viewers at home to tune their asses in, cos it’s gonna be a mad, bad, and damn violent ride. Kia ora.

With that Va'aiga turns and walks away from the interview, leaving Hardy looking slightly stunned.

Ben Hardy: Well back to you Axis.

Axis: Thanks Ben.

February 19, 2003

Axis: All right, for our next match we’re moving outside the arena to our live cameramen on the scene in Paris, France for our first ever Bastille Brawl. This match is to take place inside the legendary French prison where Cardinal Richelieu locked people up for no reason under indirect orders from King Louis XIII.

King: You know, I hate to burst the bubble created by your obvious flaunting of your “knowledge” of French history, but if our wrestlers were planning on fighting inside the Bastille, they’ve got a surprise waiting for them. A BIG surprise.

Axis: Oh, is that so? Well I guess we’ll just have to find out what that is as our three competitors, “Punk Rockstar” Matt Myers, God of Thunder Thor, and Insane Luchador Andrew Rickmen arrive on the scene.

The camera switches from the two SJL commentators to a shot of a bus stop in the bustling City of Lights. After a few moments, a bus screeches to a halt and pulls up next to the “Bus Stop” sign and bench. The diesel fumes create a sort of smoke around the door of the bus as it opens with a squeal. First off the bus is Matt Myers, who has a rather pleasant look on his face as he steps off the bus and removes his earphones and rests them on his neck. He looks around in wonder at the bright lights and beautiful foreign women around him.

Off the bus Thor steps off slowly, the bus visibly raising as his feet hit the cement. Thor attempts to take a good full breath of the night air but chokes on the fumes rolling out of the back of the bus. After clearing his lungs of the toxic gas, Thor looks around and also admires some of the scenery (i.e. women). People stop and stare at these two rather odd-looking fellows standing in front of a massive bus. The French people stop and stare at the humongous frame of Thor, having not scene anyone the size of him since Andre last hit the town for a night of drinking and eating.

Several young girls stop and approach Myers, they are dressed relatively similar to the “Punk Rockstar”, both of the girls wearing shirts of what appears to be a local punk band (evident by the young man with many piercing yelling into a microphone). Both girls have Mohawk hairstyles, dyed many, many colors. The girls speak only French and are laying on the famous French charm as Myers begins to melt in their hands. They walk away backwards, with their fingers curling back seductively, trying to lure the American away. Matt gets a devilish grin on his face and is about to follow them when Thor’s massive hand grasps his shoulder and his scolding voice speaks low “Nay Matt, we have a match to fight this eve.”

Myers face hangs low with his eyes as big as saucers as the cute French girls walk away, their backsides swaying seductively. The sad ambience is broken by the bus driver yelling to the back of the bus in an angry voice. His French tongue is undecipherable but his tone makes his purpose evident. Finally, the Insane Luchador walks to the front of the bus and slowly steps off, a withdrawn look on his face. The uncaring Rickmen gets off the bus and slumps himself on the bench, waiting for his opponents to get in gear for the match as he pulls the hood of his sweatshirt over his head, shadowing his face. Myers suddenly realizes something is amiss and he yells to the bus driver. “Hey, this ain’t the Bastille! You took us to the wrong place pal!” The bus driver yells back in a heavy French accent extremely fast with the only half intelligible word being “Bastille”. Matt Myers holds his head in frustration and yells desperately back “Whoa, whoa man. Slow down! One second!” Myers searches himself for his French/English Translator book frantically but the bus driver slams his door shut and speeds away, not waiting for tourists.

“That prick! He left before I could understand what the hell he was saying!” Myers whines to Thor, being the only other social contender in the match. “Aye, the French are indeed known for their lack of manners. I ask thee though, where are we if not at the Bastille? I see no ancient prison before us. Methinks the bus driver was misinformed.” Indeed Thor is correct, as there is no seventeenth century French prison to be seen. Myers attempts to question an old lady as to the whereabouts of the Bastille but apparently Matt’s rough French rubs the old woman the wrong way as he receives only a purse to the side of the head for his efforts.

Axis: What’s going on here? That bus driver was given -specific- instructions to take those three to the Bastille.

King chuckles to himself and sits back in his chair smugly.

Myers and Thor look at each other and shrug. They then attempt to read the sign of the building in front of them. “Louis XIV Park” Once again they shrug. Myers suddenly realizes he has only a t-shirt on in the middle of February and grabs his arms and says “Man, why is it so freakin’ COLD!?” IL looks up from beneath his hoodie and smirks. “Was I the only one who thought ahead enough to wear something warm?” he mumbles low. Myers takes immediate exception to this and moves to the bench where IL sits.

“Hey man, what’s wrong with you lately?” asks the inquisitive and slightly offended Matt Myers. There is a long pause before IL decides to answer “Wrong? My friend, I’ve been around this fed for a long time, and I’ve seen way to many people come and go. I’ve become the enlightened.” IL suddenly springs to his feet, right in Myers’ face “I now realize just what kind of moronic scum this place is filled with!” Thor apparently hasn’t been listening to IL ramble and butts in “Doth thou mean France?” Both Myers and IL shrug off Thor’s offhanded comment and stare each other dead in the eye.

Axis: Well our competitors aren’t at the Bastille yet but they look like they’re getting ready to fight now!

King: You knucklehead! Haven’t you picked up on this YET?!

Axis just stares blankly as the Suicide King’s shocked face twists to disgust as he leans back in his chair.

Matt Myers’ mood changes from happy-go-lucky to intensity as he shouts back at IL, though he is but inches away. “I’d call you a punk right now but that’d be degrading myself. How about I just stop talking and beat your ass?” Myers’ last statement was rhetorical as he pushes IL back hard, hard enough to cause him to trip over the bench he was sitting on. Several passers by laugh at IL’s misfortune, only further pissing off the Insane Luchador. IL gets up as quickly as he can manage as Matt Myers moves swiftly around the bench to attack him.

For his part, Thor simply stares at the fight. “This is not the Bastille. Why are these young men fighting already without major provocation?” the Thunder God thinks to himself. “’Tis not fitting to do battle lest it be in the designated area.” After Thor finishes his thought he fells slightly obligated to inform the others of his plans. “Rickmen! Myers! I am going to go and find the Bastille so that we may start the match!” IL and the Punk Rockstar trade punches and probably do not hear Thor before he simply walks off in the general direction of the Louis XIV park, leaving the two cruisers to fight amongst themselves.

King: Zuh? Thor just left Myers and IL to fight each other! Isn’t that some form of cheating?

Axis: Well I don’t know King. They aren’t -actually- in the Bastille, so I guess the match hasn’t -really- started yet.

King: There’s GOT to be some rule against that...

As Thor lumbers off, gathering many strange looks, the fight at the bus stop has drawn a rather large crowd of onlookers itself. IL feels right at home in this street fight atmosphere and takes the early advantage by catching Myers off guard and tripping him, then pushing him to the ground. IL ascends the bench and quickly leaps off and drops a leg on Myers, not a good situation for either man though, as Rickmen’s backside literally collides with the concrete. IL stands slowly, rubbing his backside in pain. Myers is not taken completely out though as he grabs IL’s leg out from under him and pulls it forward, flipping IL backwards allowing him to land sitting on the park bench.

IL cringes in pain as his rear collides hard with the bench. Myers is quick to get up and to capitalize on IL’s distraction. He presses his lower leg against IL’s throat and chokes him on the park bench as bystanders cheer and gasp at the brutality the likes of which has never been seen since the last time France got invaded. Myers stops and looks around him at the multitude gathered, realizes that he is supposed to be “on” and puts one arm in the air, flashing the metal sign \m/. IL coughs and gasps for breath as he sits up, Myers distracted by mingling with the fans. As Rickmen slowly recovers he gets sinister and approaches Matt Myers.

King: Hehe, IL knows how to conduct business. Take their best shot, let them bask in it and then jump him when he’s not looking!

Axis: You are one pathetic little man, you know that?

King: Yeah that’s right, and what were YOU doing this Saturday night? Thought so.

The French fans back up as they see IL creep up behind Myers as he tries to figure out why they’re moving by sniffing his armpits. IL suddenly grabs Myers’ headphones and wraps them around his throat, choking the life out of him like a python. An odd gleam appears in the eye of the Insane Luchador as he strangles the Punk Rockstar. Myers’ eyes glaze over as he suddenly goes limp and IL releases him to fall to the ground. IL rises, but not feeling his job done, delivers a stiff boot to the side of Matt’s head. The French fans wince as the skate shoe collides with Myers’ skull. To add insult to injury, IL reaches down and open’s up Matt’s CD player and removes the disk. “Blink 182? They are sooo overplayed!” quoth the Insane Luchador in a highly sarcastic tone.

Axis: IL is just sadistic! Choking someone out with the cord to his own CD player. IL seems like he enjoys new music, why’d he just rip on Blink 182?

King: Its quite obvious Axis, IL must have taste. As for me, its Ozzy or bust.

Now the scene changes to Thor’s quest for the Bastille. The giant sticks out like a sore thumb amongst the small Western European people. Thor walks the streets of Gay Paris with a quick stride. Passing store after store and cafe after cafe, Thor decides to stop and try to ask where the Bastille is. Thor enters a toy store and looks around, amazed by all the displays and bright colors of the store. A man pops up from behind the desk and exclaims “Sacre-Bleu!!” at the sight of the mammoth shopper. The clerk then literally hops over the counter and escorts Thor around the store, speaking extremely rapidly in French, completely befuddling the Thunder God.

Thor tries to stop the man from giving Thor the tour politely but will not be averted from a potential sale. The man walks with his arm around Thor’s back, trying to get him interested in this or that, but the salesman’s spirit of the Frenchman will die hard. Finally they stop and the little man slaps his forehead and then clutches at his heart while yelling joyfully in French. The store clerk points to a remote control airplane on the top shelf and keeps pointing back at Thor. After a moment or two of trying to decipher what the man is signaling, Thor finally gets the hint and lifts the man up by his belt up to reach the airplane. The little frog is quite terrified at the strength of the God of Thunder and as he is lowered down, he shoves the plane into Thor’s arms and quite seriously pushes Thor out the door and slams it behind him, flipping the sign around so it says “CLOSED”. For his part, Thor simply looks at the box and mumbles to himself “What an eccentric performance.”

Axis: Well, it seems Thor is having NO luck in finding the location to the Bastille. Hopefully someone will find out the location to the ancient prison soon, so we can actually start the match.

King: Thor just STOLE that remote-controlled airplane from the store! He’s nothing but a low-down dirty thief! Disqualify that man at once!

No one responds to King’s cry for justice.

After choking out Myers, IL decides that he will also try to find the location of the Bastille. IL walks away, leaving the crowd around Myers stunned, and walks across the street, moving through the large and imposing gates to the Louis XIV park. The park is relatively busy given the time at night, there is apparently some sort of a festival occurring tonight. IL half groans in disgust for the masses of humanity inside the park. After taking a brief moment to look around, the Luchador sweeps through the crowd like a plague, people stepping out of this angry looking man’s way like mad. It is very clear that IL is on a mission. IL pushes people out of his way in looking for either Thor or the Bastille.

Having no success in finding either, IL gets discouraged and stops to get something to eat at a nearby vending cart. The vendor does not entirely trust or appear to like IL’s look so he gives him something unrecognizable but extremely deep-fried. IL flips the man a quarter and turns around to continue his search. Rickmen takes a bite of what is assuredly a French delicacy and grimaces. He tosses the crappy food aside and continues walking but is taken down hard and suddenly. IL collapses to the ground in a heap as part of the weapon that brought him down lands next to him. The Insane Luchador manages to open his eyes momentarily to see just what took him down. It is a stale baguette.

Axis: No WAY!! I don’t believe it, the Insane Luchador just got annihilated by a loaf of French bread!

King: Who does he think he is? Cutthroat?

Axis and King: ... BAHAHAHAHAHAHAA!!

The wielder of the loaf smiles down and chuckles at his fallen opponent. “That’s for ruining my headphones bitch.”

We now see Thor walking back down the street, carrying the toy airplane in his arms. People mutter to themselves before pointing and gasping at Thor, but he either cannot hear them or he is too focused on finding the Bastille. The Thunder God suddenly trips over a small chair and falls almost face first to the ground. He slows himself down though, by grabbing onto the edge of the table in the outdoor cafe to which the chair belonged. His attempt to slow himself down was not as successful as he would have hoped, as all it did was dump the entire dinner of the young couple sitting at the table onto Thor with a loud crash. The extreme amount of red wine and chocolate mouse spilled on Thor makes him look like he was in a food fight.

Thor kneels and tries to brush himself off as the man whose dinner Thor just spoiled begins to scold the Thunder God. The young man wears a beret and yells in a high pitched, whiny French accent. The man is absolutely furious with the despoiler of his dinner and looks as though he is ready to throw a few punches as Thor stands up. The smaller man does not realize Thor’s gargantuan proportions until he finds himself yelling into the Thunder God’s chest. The dining man suddenly realizes what a potentially deadly mistake he’s made as he looks up to see the frowning face of Thor. Immediately backtracking, the man’s tone changes pitch to a fearful apologetic tone as he brushes some of the mouse off Thor’s chest with his own beret before backing up and running away frantically.

Axis: Wow, that man really made a mouse-stake!

King: Gah, do you realize when you talk or does it just sort of slip out?

Axis: No, you just get used to saying things like that when you actually -try- and call the match.

King: Hmmmm... Well you aren’t doing you job well now are you?

Matt Myers walks away quickly after bashing the Insane Luchador with a baguette, to avoid a scene. He walks through the crowd, until he reaches a sign that says very clearly (well... aside from the other French gibberish on it) “BASTILLE ---->”. Myers is overjoyed and he vocally screams “YEAH!!”, so excited is he that he begins to sprint to the sign. He takes about three steps until he is stopped dead in his tracks. The Punk Rockstar's eyes spring open wide as he sees a wonderful sight: the two multi-colored Mohawked, punk band shirt-wearing, attractive French punk girls.

They too are happy to see the Punk Rockstar as they squeal in an unintelligible French purr. They each grab an arm and escort him off, Myers forgetting he ever had a match to fight. The girls walk with Matt, each taking turns cooing in his ears as they stroll through the busy park to an area of relatively open grassy field (except for a large monument in the middle of it) where many other people are sitting. This being the City of Love, almost everyone in the field is making out with someone else. For some odd reason, Matt questions the reason for the gathering and celebration in what few French terms and hand gestures as he can. Both the girls raise their hands up together and then separate them violently, wiggling their fingers as they allow their hands to fall. Apparently there are to be fireworks and this is the best spot to see them.

Axis: Well, it looks as though Matt Myers has found his evenings’ entertainment. I wonder how IL and Thor are doing.

King: Wait a minute... Are there girls that look like that all over this city?

Axis: Yeah King, from what I’ve seen there are a bunch of nice looking shelias around Paris.

King: Looks like I’ve found MY evenings’ entertainment as well!

IL realizes where he is and gets up quickly out of instinct. The baguette still lies on the ground, next to a puddle of IL’s drool. He holds his head to regain his wits and then kicks the broken loaf violently into a crowd of people. There are a few female screams and a few muffled French cries until out of the crowd steps two French police officers. One of them has a big red mark on the side of their forehead and the other holds the loaf. IL’s usual calm and wicked demeanor is suddenly replaced by an unsteady fear, and a lack of want to be locked up in a foreign jail without a keen grasp of the French language.

IL knows not what else to do but run and run he does. Clear into a huge crowd of people gathered for some sort of a public exhibition pertaining to the festival. IL brushes up against several onlookers, perturbing them and not apologizing for it. He moves up to the front of the crowd as the demonstration begins on the stage. There is a tall thin man on stage, bearing a top hat and wearing a tuxedo. He rambles on in French as he paces the stage. He then stops suddenly as a rose appears from his sleeve, which he tosses to the crowd. It is obvious that this man is a magician of sorts.

Axis: It appears we’re going to see a bit of unscheduled magic tonight!

King: The only magic we’re gonna see is IL win this damn match. Hopefully the show will involve rabbits and a showgirl.

The Magician then says something with rising inflection in his voice, signifying a question, and suddenly many hands in the crowd shoot up. IL looks nervously about himself, and behind him he sees the two policemen asking a young couple a question in the distance, the young couple points to the magic show and the police head towards the crowd. IL panics and, not knowing what else to do, jumps onstage, looking for a quick getaway. The Insane Luchador dives to the back of the stage to try and get to the door, but he is grabbed in mid-air by The Magician, who flings him into a nearby chair on the stage. The Magician straps in his arms and legs and then asks him several questions to which he cannot answer, allowing the crowd to laugh at the expense of this American.

Rickmen looks from side to side frantically as he sees the policemen draw nearer. The Magician begins to wave his gloved fingers around IL’s head while saying what is either a magic phrase or some sort of French saying (both are nonsense). The policemen draw nearer and nearer the stage as the voice of The Magician grows louder and louder. The police finally reach the stage and point up to IL as The Magician blares out one last word and then...

POOF~!!

In a cloud of smoke, IL disappears from the stage, much to the delight of the crowd. They applaud wildly as IL tries to figure out if he is dead or not. Much to his delight he is very much alive but much to his chagrin, he is now wearing a French maid’s outfit. He stumbles out from what is the back of the stage and the entire crowd sees the man now wearing a frilly dress and wielding a feather duster. They roar with laughter as the policemen suddenly realize that Rickmen has escaped and they give chase to the Luchador who finds it difficult to run with high heels on as he moves into the large grassy field of the park.

King: Axis, tell me I didn’t just see what I thought I saw. I need to hear it.

Axis: Ok King, you did NOT just see the Insane Luchador wearing a French maid’s outfit whilst running from some French police officers.

King: ... Dammit...

Thor walks away from the scene of his accident, covered in chocolate mouse, red wine, and carrying a remote-controlled toy airplane. Obviously, this is not what Thor had in mind when he agreed to the Bastille Brawl. Rather disgruntled and rather sticky, the Thunder God storms off from the cafe and crosses the street, not realizing that cars are also using it. several cars brake suddenly and beep loudly at Thor as he marches on his way. Across the street, he reaches a break in the bushes, grown in like a small archway. Thor, not knowing where else to go, crouches down and crawls through the small gateway.

His mind preoccupied, Thor does not see the oncoming danger of some French youths playing glow-in-the-dark football (soccer). The phosphorescent ball smacks Thor directly in the face and its glow-in-the-dark paint flakes off on Thor’s face, giving his eyebrows, mustache, and beard a freaky glow. Thor takes a step back as a result of the foot(soccer)ball smacking him in the face, causing him to grunt loudly and storm off. The youngsters are quite frightened by this giant intruder in their game. Thor hits uneven ground and stumbles into some sort of digital display which activates itself immediately after Thor bumps into it.

It repeats in French, English, and Cockney the following phrase.

“This is the monument which marks the place where the Bastille once stood. All that remains of the ancient French prison that was a symbol of the King’s iron grip during the seventeenth century. It was destroyed shortly after the siege of the Bastille which we now celebrate as Bastille Day. Thousands of relatively innocent men died in this spot on because of a malevolent man: Cardinal Richelieu. Now the French flag flies high atop this monument as a tribute to those who met their ends too soon.”

As soon as this starts to play in English, the competitors, all of whom happen to be within earshot, realize what they have to do. Even IL, who tries to blend into his surroundings despite wearing a French maid’s costume.

Axis: HOLY COW!! So THIS is what you’ve been hinting at all night King! The Bastille isn’t here at all! All that remains is a monument and a digital history readout.

King: That’s right my Aussie friend! There is no Bastille so no one can actually win this match!

Axis: Not quite true King! The match says that the winning flag must be raised after the French one lowered on top of the Bastille. There’s the flag, and there is the monument representing the Bastille, so someone CAN still win this match!

After a pause, all three men scramble to the monument. Matt Myers leaps up with lipstick covering his face and runs away from his two new “friends”. Thor throws down his toy airplane and moves to the base of the monument. IL takes off his high-heels and throws them to the ground and begins to sprint towards the monument. Thor is there first and it is he who rips off the flag tapped to the side of the monument and holds it in his teeth to let him climb. He begins to climb up the side of the monolith, a task made slightly easier by the intricate carvings in it, providing foot and hand holds. Matt Myers reaches it next and he tries to climb up as well, making faster progress than Thor.

IL sees an alternate method, however and runs to Thor’s remote-controlled toy airplane. Apparently proficient with electronics, and having played with these as a kid, Rickmen assembles the plane and searches frantically for the batteries to make the plane go. Finally he finds them and inserts the batteries into the controller and into the plane itself, preparing it for a quick launch. By now most of the couples have stopped making out and are watching and cheering intently the impromptu wrestling match occurring at their celebration.

Thor and Myers are wrapped around the monument and are trying to trade punches in order to regain some semblance of control. After several uneasy shots, Thor delivers a powerful boot to Myers’ chest, causing him to instantly lose control and fall at least twenty feet...

Axis: GOOD GOD!! MYERS WILL BE BROKEN IN HALF!!

ten feet...

Axis: THERE IS NO WAY HE’LL SURVIVE THIS FALL!!

five feet...

Axis: HE’LL NEVER BE ABLE TO COMPETE AGAIN~!!

one foot...

into an inflatable “Moon Room” for the youngsters. The five and six year olds flee in terror as a man comes crashing down into their happy inflated bouncy world.

King: You were saying?

Axis: *cough* Well... umm... it seems that Matt Myers is OK ladies and gentlemen!

King: You’re such a tool.

Matt Myers is indeed fine but struggles to turn himself over to look at the stars. He instead gets a much better view as his two new “friends” are now in the “Moon Room” with him to help him to heal as they zip up the door so as to not allow any of the kiddies to witness their miraculous healing powers.

Thor holds on as tight as he can after kicking Myers off, unsure of his footing. He eventually regains his composure and continues to climb upward, eventually reaching the top where there is a platform of sorts with the flag pole ascending from the center of that. Thor holds onto the pole with one hand as the platform is not big enough to stand on assuredly. Thor then tries to undo the French flag from its attachment to the flag pole but has a bit of difficulty doing so. Suddenly Thor hears a buzzing and swats at his ear, thinking it a fly or some other airborne pest.

Axis: Oh... my... god...

King: What the hell is he thinking? What’s with the look in his eye?

The puzzled statements of the commentators are based on the Insane Luchador, and insane he does look. Still wearing the maid outfit, he now pilots Thor’s remote-control airplane. A mad gleam in his eye, he steers the joystick right and left, moving the plane around and around Thor’s head, trying to dislodge him by any means necessary.

Axis: He’s gone bonkers...

Axis appears to be correct as IL laughs maniacally as he wiggles the joystick back and forth. Thor is having a hell of a time fighting off the airplane, roaring and swatting as it flies past, until the plane comes flying full force straight at his head. Thinking on his feet Thor ducks and the plane crashes into the flag pole. The fans cheer below as Thor recovers and attaches the flag bearing the face of...

THE BOSTON STRANGLER~!!

--to the flag pole and declares victory as the evening’s scheduled fireworks go off in the background as Thor yells “HOOOOOOOOOO!!” in victory while still standing on top of the monument, his face still glowing and his body still covered in red wine and chocolate mouse.

Axis: That’s it! Its all over! Thor has done it! Despite overwhelming and ridiculous odds, Thor has won the first ever Bastille Brawl! Stay tuned for our main event!

Suicide King grumbles.

February 19, 2003

The camera fades back in on the commentary table, where Axis and the Suicide King sit, patiently waiting for the cue from Gus. He gives them the countdown… 3, 2…

“Welcome back, ladies and gentlemen!” Axis yells into his headset a bit louder than necessary. “We are coming to you LIVE from Le Stade de France, and coming up next is our Main Event, a double referee match pitting the King of Horrorcore, Dace Night, against the ‘Spectacular’ Heavyweight champion, Mike Van Siclen!”

“Indeed he is Spectacular, Axis,” King interjects. “Van Siclen defeated Janus nine days ago with a brutal Russian Roulette onto a chair, and ever since then he has been proving just how dominant he really is. Tonight, he’s going to face a mild challenge in the form of Dace Night, but with two referees in the ring Night won’t be able to use a weedwhacker or anything like that.”

“This is true, King, but Night was a superior technical wrestler before that…”

“Just because he had skills once doesn’t mean he’ll have them eternally, Axis.”

“You have a point. Now, to send it over to Funyon for the introductions.”

“LADIES… and GENTLEMEN!” Funyon’s voice coming over the P.A. fires up the 100,000 strong French crowd as he continues to speak. “The following contest is a Double Referee match scheduled for ONE fall, and it is for the Smarks Junior Leagues… HEA-VY-WEIGHT CHAMPIONSHIP!”

“Introducing first, the challenger!”

“Winds of Creation” by Decapitated begins to blare throughout the arena as the Parisian crowd goes wild! The lights that illuminate the stadium in the night become red and purple and begin to flash as Dace Night steps out of the locker room and onto the stage! The crowd ERUPTS for Night as he begins to walk down the ramp, stopping about halfway down to take off his trenchcoat and throw it into the crowd. From there, he charges down the ramp and slides into the ring, standing up and raising one arm in a no-nonsense manner as the crowd pops like a cherry! Night goes to his corner, ignoring twin referees Nick and Jack Soapdish as he begins to stretch out.

“Ladies and gentlemen, weighing in at two-hundred, fifty-four pounds! He hails from Birmingham, England, the King of Horrorcore himself… DAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAACE NIIIIIIGHT!”

The crowd roars again as we switch to a full-stadium shot, the words “TALE OF THE TAPE™” flashing across the screen and then the familiar yellow bars pop across the screen. Mike Van Siclen’s face appears in the upper left hand corner of the screen, while Dace Night’s is in the lower right. Across the middle is each man’s respective stats.

“As you can see from the numbers, King,” Axis says, “Dace Night outweighs Van Siclen by seventeen pounds and has one inch on our champion. Dace can outbench Van Siclen by 200 pounds, as well, while Van Siclen’s reach is a slight bit bigger than Night’s, by two inches.”

“Ah, but Axis, how quickly we forget Mike’s upset of Janus,” King says, trying to rebut Axis’ points. “This match is like the Janus match on a smaller scale, and once again Mike can outrun Dace in the forty, although admittedly Dace is a bit faster than Janus. Mike will, again, have to use this to his advantage if he is going to walk out of the arena with the gold around his waist tonight.”

“If, King? Not so much faith in our champion?”

”I have the faith, Axis, I just don’t want it to show.”

“And the Heavyweight Champion!”

The four quick cymbals and even quicker guitar riff that begins “Damage Done” by Dark Tranquility blasts throughout the arena, as the lights go out and blue strobes begins to flash in time with the music. Mike Van Siclen steps onto the ramp, his arms extending in a bent crucifix and the SJL Heavyweight championship strapped around his waist, under his acid-green jacket. He spins around the on the ramp, grinning like a madman as he breaks out of his spin cycle and steps cockily down the entrance ramp, sliding into the ring and extending his arms to the side, dropping his arms and letting his jacket slide off and to the mat. Nick Soapdish, hassled, picks it up, as Mike motions with his hands for the crowd to give him more boos.

“Weighing in at two-hundred, thirty-seven pounds, he hails from Harrison, Illinois! Ladies and gentlemen, the Harrison Hitman, the man who is Spectacular and is YOUR Heavyweight Champion… MIIIIIIIIIKE VA-AN SIIIIIIIIIIC-LEEEEEEEN!”

The crowd again boos Van Siclen as the Spectacular individual waves them off, going to his corner and stretching his legs a little bit on the ropes before turning around, the title still strapped around his waist. Jack Soapdish walks over to him, his hand extended, and Mike unstraps the title from around his waist and hands it to the younger Soapdish. Mike holds the title up, and the crowd roars for a look at the gold. Mike hands it to the ring attendant, who hands the title to the timekeeper. Nick Soapdish, taking a stance in the middle of the ring, signals for the bell.

-=: Ding Ding Ding :=-

Van Siclen and Night step out of their respective corners, both beginning to circle each other like prizefighters, feeling each other out a little bit. Neither man wants to make the first move so they simply circle one another, none of them breaking from the circle… until Night charges at Van Siclen! Mike charges right back and the two lock up collar-and-elbow style, Night gaining the advantage as he forces Mike back and into the corner. Night backs up a little bit and then charges into the corner, looking to avalanche Van Siclen but the Spectacular one rolls out of the corner and Dace hits the top turnbuckle, stumbling out of the corner. Quickly, Van Siclen turns and runs to the ropes, leaping onto the second one and springboarding off of it, catching Dace with a smooth springboard dropkick that sends Dace over the top rope! Jack Soapdish rolls out of the ring, checking on Night, while in the ring Nick Soapdish begins to count Dace out.

“Van Siclen using his speed to his advantage early, rolling away from a Night avalanche and springboard dropkicking Dace right over the top rope!”

“Well, here’s where the double referee stipulation is going to come into play. Van Siclen and Night aren’t going to be able to stay outside for too long because in the ring Nicholas Soapdish is counting them out, but at the same time they can’t use any weapons on the outside because Jack Soapdish is there and will disqualify them for it.”

King smiles smugly at his point as Van Siclen rolls outside the ring, grabbing Night by the top of his black jeans and rolling him back into the ring. Mike follows him, followed by the second referee as Van Siclen grabs Dace by his short hair and lifts him up. Mike whips Dace into the ropes, catching Night on the way back with a swift drop toe hold. Mike rolls through, winding up on his feet at about Night’s ribs, facing away from the challenger. Van Siclen turns around, bouncing off the ropes for momentum and running back towards Dace… and dropping a knee right across the back of Night’s neck! Dace rolls over, grabbing the back of his neck in pain as Mike smiles, even through the severe reprimand that Jack Soapdish gives him. Van Siclen walks over to Night again, lifting Dace to his feet once more. Van Siclen grabs Dace by the arm, whipping him but keeping hold of Dace’s arm. Van Siclen moves Dace’s arm over so that Night should run into it, wrapping it around his neck and setting up a Blackjack Neckbreaker, but Dace ducks underneath his own arm and straightens out! Mike looks at Dace nervously as Night charges him, powerfully striking him to the mat with a Lariat right across the shoulders! Mike falls back hard, and Dace falls on top of him for the cover, which Nick Soapdish counts.

“ONE!”

”TWO!”

“TH – TWO COUNT!” Mike gets the shoulder up, and Night lifts the Heavyweight champion to his feet, setting up for the next sequence.

“Van Siclen drops the killer knee across Night’s neck, but his attempt at a Blackjack Neckbreaker backfires, as Dace catches him with a shortarm lariat and very nearly gets the three.”

“Indeed he does, Axis, but Mike has proven time and time again that he can take punishment from a big man. From Big Danny to Jacob Helmsley to Janus, Mike has beaten them all, even though all of them have brutalized him.”

Axis makes a gagging sound as King again smiles smugly. Dace, in-ring, grabs Van Siclen by the arm and whips him into the corner, following Mike all the way in and catching him with a huge Avalanche! Dace backs up from the momentum and Mike stumbles out of the corner, but Dace takes one large left hand and shoves him back into the corner! Holding Mike there with his left hand, Dace rears back with the right and brings it down with a hard chop across Van Siclen’s chest!

“WHOOOOOO!”

Dace turns, grabbing Mike by the chin with his right hand and lifting it up a bit. Dace rears back, this time with the left…

“WHOOOOOO!”

Van Siclen stumbles forward a bit, and Dace takes the opportunity to whip him into the opposite corner… but Night holds onto the whip, bringing Van Siclen back and right into a side facelock, which Dace lifts up into a snap Suplex! Dace floats over, looking for the fall again!

“ONE!”

“TWO!”

“TH – TWO COUNT!” Van Siclen makes the kickout, and Dace angrily gets to his feet, grabbing Van Siclen by the hair and lifting Mike, too, to his feet.

“Dace with some chops and a snap Suplex, but once again it’s not enough for the three.”

“Well, Axis, I don’t think you can really be surprised with that. We’re barely five minutes in, if we are, and you just can’t wear down your opponent enough for the pin in that span of time.”

“Unless you’re raw like meat.”

“Or like our competition, who are currently taping their SmackDown! show.”

King and Axis both chuckle as Dace Night grabs Van Siclen by the arm and dances to the side of him, putting the Spectacular champion into a wristlock. Dace lifts his big boot up, looking to Yakuza kick Van Siclen… but Mike ducks it, walking underneath the boot and around so that he and Dace are stomach to stomach. Mike, having caught Dace off balance, gives Dace a quick knee to the gut, causing the big man to double over. Mike proceeds to grab Dace in a side facelock with his right arm, holding his left one up and holding up three fingers to signal for the Code Red! The Parisian crowd boos Van Siclen heavily as the Harrison Hitman whirls around, grabbing Dace in a bulldog with his left arm as he spins and runs forward a bit, jumping up and sitting out, driving Dace’s head into the mat with a Code Red! Dace bounces onto his back from the impact, and Mike, knowing Dace sees lights, jumps on top for the cover.

“ONE!”

“TWO!”

“THR – TWO COUNT!”

“The Code Red only gets Van Siclen two…”

“But it’s a long two, Axis, and the Code Red is always a momentum builder!”

And again King smugly smiles as Van Siclen stands up, brushing his long hair out of his eyes and preparing for his next move. He climbs to the top rope, facing the crowd as he stands atop the turnbuckle. His eyes gaze out at the hundred of thousands of fans packing le Stade de France, and he lifts his right hand, extending his fingers so they make the shape of a gun. He points it to his temple, just like against Janus…

And pulls the trigger.

Van Siclen leaps off the turnbuckle, backflipping high into the air and looking to land, stomach-first, right on Dace Night…

Who has rolled out of the way! Van Siclen lands flat on his stomach as the Parisian crowd basks in Van Siclen’s agony, the Spectacular young champion holding his gut in pain as Dace Night stands up over Mike, looking down at the champion’s body. Dace drops to his knees, hooking Mike’s leg for the cover.

“ONE!”

“TWO!”

“T – TWO COUNT!”

“Van Siclen gets the shoulder up, out of the cover, but that doesn’t change the fact that Dace Night has changed the momentum in this matchup.”

“This is true, Axis, but by the same token Mike Van Siclen has spent the last few minutes dominating Dace Night, and that’s going to start to affect our horrific challenger very shortly.”

Night stands up, staring down at Van Siclen with a look of utter disgust as he grabs the star by the hair and lifts him to his feet. Dace grabs Van Siclen and whips him into the ropes, catching him on the way back with a hard Powerslam! Van Siclen lets out a moan of pain, lifting up his back and grabbing at it before rolling over onto his stomach. Dace, remorseless, lifts Van Siclen to his feet and grabs him in position for a Rock Bottom! The crowd roars as Dace lifts Mike way up high, then brings him down and into a knee to the back! Van Siclen flops over, again, onto his stomach, and Dace stands up, only to quickly drop a knee across Van Siclen’s back! Dace again stands up and proceeds to drop another swift knee right into the Spectacular one’s back! And a third time! And finally, Dace lays off, allowing Van Siclen to struggle to his feet before attacking him again.

“Dace getting in a lot of offense there, and I don’t know how much longer Van Siclen can hold on!”

“Van Siclen can hold on for as long as he wants to, Axis, and I know he wants this match. Dace is history.”

“Dace is kicking the s**t out of Van Siclen, too.”

“Minor detail.”

Mike slowly lifts himself to his feet, grabbing at his back in pain a couple of times as he stands completely up. Dace Night, of course, is right there to continue the onslaught, kneeing Mike in the stomach. Van Siclen doubles over, and Night raises one elbow up high, bringing it down hard across the back of Van Siclen. Mike hits the mat stomach-first, but Dace picks him right back up, taking Van Siclen’s arm and placing it around his neck. Dace lifts Van Siclen’s knees up with his left arm, raising Mike way up high before dropping him, back-first, to the mat. Mike again grabs his back in pain, and Dace again lifts Van Siclen right back up, kneeing Mike in the gut and putting him into a standing headscissors!

“We’re gonna see a Black Nova right here!”

“Dear God, no…”

Night grabs Van Siclen around the waist, lifting Mike up and into powerbomb position! Dace lets Mike slide down his back a bit, catching him at the elbows and extending his arms into a crucifix! The champion, nearly oblivious to what is happening, can’t do anything about it anyway as Night lifts Mike up and then slams him down, sitting out himself with a brutal sitout crucifix powerbomb! Night puts his legs on top of Van Siclen’s shoulders, rolling Mike’s legs up so that they are around his head and Van Siclen is in cradle pinfall position!

“ONE!”

“TWO!”

“THRE – TWO COUNT!” Van Siclen barely manages to get his right shoulder off the mat, but Dace forces it back down, causing another pinning predicament!

“ONE!”

“TWO!”

“THR – TWO COUNT!” Again, the cradle only gets two, and a frustrated Dace Night takes his legs off of Van Siclen’s shoulders and stands up, allowing Mike to lay motionless on the mat.

“Night making two quick pinfalls there, but neither one of them can get the three on Van Siclen!”

“So sad too bad, baby. See you on death row, you crazy motherf**ker.”

Night lifts Mike to his feet, grabbing the champion in a side headlock as the crowd roars, thinking they know what comes next! The King of Horrorcore lifts Van Siclen up, putting the champion across his shoulder in a torture rack! The crowd, now knowing what comes next, roars even louder… but Van Siclen manages to slide through Dace’s grip, falling straight down Night’s back! The two end up back-to-back, and Mike grabs Dace by the neck, bringing Night down with a quick neckbreaker! The challenger rolls off of Mike’s shoulder, grabbing his neck in pain as Van Siclen reaches for his back, then realizes it’s fine. He goes over to Night, placing one forearm across Dace’s jaw and draping the rest of his body over Night to make the cover.

“ONE!”

“TWO!”

“THR – TWO COUNT!”

“Van Siclen nearly gets three out of the neckbreaker, and both referees are doing an excellent job tonight. I’ve barely noticed either of them!”

“The refs have been doing excellent, but what’s confused me is Dace Night’s strategy. He’s targeting Van Siclen’s back, which isn’t necessarily a bad move… until you take into account that Dace’s preferred submission is the Code Black, which works the neck. It all leaves a very confusing picture in my mind, and I don’t know if Dace altering his strategy was the best thing he could’ve done entering this match.”

King smiles smugly as in the ring, Van Siclen grabs Dace by the shoulder and lifts him to his feet. Night, still a bit out of it, stumbles around, and Mike takes advantage of this as he goes behind Night, grabbing Dace in a waistlock and lifting him high overhead, driving his neck into the mat with a brutal German Suplex! Mike keeps the waistlock on, bridging into a pinning predicament.

“ONE!”

“TWO!”

“THRE – TWO COUNT!” Dace rolls backwards to get out of the maneuver, landing near the ropes and grabbing onto the bottom one, using it as leverage to lift himself up. He gets to his feet as Van Siclen springs up, dancing around a bit, bouncing on his toes and yelling at Dace to “COME ON!” Night stands up fully, though still leaning on the ropes, and angrily stares at Van Siclen as the champion dances around some more, gesturing at Dace to come and get him as the crowd boos him mercilessly.

“Van Siclen looks like he wants Night to come after him, King! I’m confused!”

“Your confusion is nothing new, Aussie. Anyway, it’s quite plain to me that Van Siclen has a plan here, and he’s trying to goad Dace into falling for it.”

“Aaaah, I see. But… it’s not working.”

“Minor detail.”

The champion dances around some more as Dace, now seeing red and seething, charges Van Siclen… but Mike leapfrogs Dace, and Night charges to the other side of the ring as Van Siclen turns around and leaps into the air, rolling over in midair and catching Dace with a spinning wheelkick to the jaw! Dace goes down, grabbing a bit at his neck, and Mike runs to the corner, climbing the turnbuckle and turning around so that he faces Dace, who lay in the center of the ring. Grinning like a Cheshire cat, the champion leaps off of the turnbuckle, his legs outstretched so that the left one will just miss the top of Dace’s head… and the right one will slice right through Night’s neck! Dace sees the leg coming towards him but realizes that it’s too late to rolls away, all he can do is brace himself for the impact…

WHAM! Van Siclen’s leg crashes RIGHT into Dace’s Adam’s apple, and the challenger rolls away from Mike, grabbing his neck in agony! Mike, not caring at all about Dace’s pain, grabs him by the shoulder and rolls him back so that Night is flat on his back. Mike covers him…

“ONE!”

“TWO!”

“THRE – TWO COUNT!”

“Van Siclen catches Dace with a wheelkick and a Van Siclen Guillotine, both of which hit the neck! Mike is obviously setting up for the Cardinal Sin Clutch, King, but will Dace tap to it?”

“I don’t know, Axis. I don’t want to underestimate Dace Night… but at the same time, he’s not going to win. Whether or not he’ll tap out… that’s a different story.”

Van Siclen lifts Dace to his feet, kneeing the challenger in the stomach and thrusting Dace into a standing headscissors! The crowd boos heavily as Van Siclen, using every ounce of strength he can muster, lifts Dace up, and into powerbomb position! This maneuver, however, puts a lot of stress onto Mike’s back, and the champion is forced to sort of push-bomb Night instead of hitting the full powerbomb! Regardless, Dace hits the mat pretty damn hard, and Van Siclen climbs on top of Dace for the cover.

“ONE!”

“TWO!”

“THR – TWO COUNT!” Dace gets the kickout, and Van Siclen stands up, hauling Dace to his feet and grabbing him by the arm, signaling to the crowd for the Van Slaminator!

“Van Siclen can’t get Dace with the full powerbomb, but now he’s lookng to get him with a full Van Slaminator!”

“Yes, and he will, and that will be the end of Dace Night! Ladies and gentlemen, I’d like to apologize for how absurdly short this match was, but due to Van Siclen’s inferior opponent…”

The champion whips Dace Night into the ropes, bending over in the middle of the ring and looking for Night to roll right over him. Dace hits the ropes and comes back, and Van Siclen steadies himself, praying silently that another Tom Flesher doesn’t happen. Night hits Van Siclen and rolls over him, his body across the Spectacular champion’s back as Van Siclen grabs Dace by the feet, standing up so that Dace is facing straight down…

And Van Siclen sits out, driving Night’s head straight into the mat!

The champion lets go of Dace, allowing Night to fall flat onto his back, clutching his neck in agony and looking to roll onto his stomach… but Mike, quickly standing up, gives him a toe kick to the sternum, sending Dace onto his back. Mike drops to his knees, hooking Dace’s leg for the cover.

“ONE!”

“TWO!”

“THRE – TWO COUNT!” The crowd goes NUTS as Dace raises one arm, Nicholas Soapdish showing two fingers to timekeeper Dick Soapdish! Van Siclen bolts up, stalking Soapdish and slapping his left hand into his right three times. Soapdish, getting right back in Van Siclen’s face, does the same with his own hands, only twice. Frustrated, the black-haired superstar grabs Night by his black jeans and angrily lifts him to his feet.

“Van Siclen with the Van Slaminator on Dace, but it only gets two!”

“And again, Axis, there’s a difference between only two and a long two. That right there was a long two, taking eternities to count. Nick Soapdish should be fired – that count was longer than me!”

The champ grabs Dace by the arm, whipping Night into the rope... but Dace holds onto the ropes, causing Van Siclen to leapfrog over thin air! The Spectacular superstar, angry, charges Dace, looking for a Cactus clothesline… but Dace falls down, taking the ropes with him, and Mike goes flying over the ropes and to the outside! Jack Soapdish follows him to the outside, as in the ring, Nick Soapdish begins to count Van Siclen out.

“ONE!”

The champ struggles to his feet on the outside, while inside, Dace Night climbs over the ropes, readying himself on the apron…

“TWO!”

Van Siclen stands up, a bit wobbly, and Dace leaps off the ring apron…

“THREE!”

…catching Mike with a huge Plancha! Mike falls back like a sack of lead, Dace right on top of him as the Paris fans go absolutely wild, Dace giving them a slight nod before turning back to Van Siclen.

“FOUR!”

“The champion gets caught with a massive plancha from Dace Night, and now is struggling just to stay alive in the match!”

Dace lifts Van Siclen up, rolling the champ into the ring and following closely behind. The champ stands up, looking at the King of Horrorcore who is coming towards him with fire in his eyes. Mike backs up, and finds himself suddenly in the corner. Mike, nervous, watches as Dace roars towards him, looking for the Gore…

BUT MIKE ROLLS OUT OF THE CORNER!

Dace’s entire upper body goes in between the second and third ropes, as his shoulder impacts the steel post! Dace massages it, in incredible pain from the blown Gore, and Van Siclen, thinking quickly, realizes he has to end it there!

“This match may be headed for an early ending! Dace looks injured from that missed Gore, and now Van Siclen is looking at Dace like a shark smelling blood in the water!”

“The shark smells blood, and he’s about to get the kill!”

Van Siclen pulls on the back of Dace’s jeans, yanking him out from between the ropes where he lay, possibly injured. Mike yanks Dace out so that he is standing up, facing away from Van Siclen. Mike turns Dace around, kicking him in the gut and putting him into a standing headscissors! The crowd, knowing what comes, boos heavily, as Van Siclen grabs Dace in a waistlock and lifts him up, so that his body is parallel to Mike’s with his head facing out, pointing straight down. The champ steps forward, so that Dace’s arms are behind his legs… and then drop to his knees, driving Dace’s head into the mat with the Riot Act! Mike lets go of Dace, and Night falls forward, possibly unconscious, definitely out for the next three seconds. Mike turns him over, onto his back, and makes the elementary cover…

“ONE!”

“TWO!”

“THREE!”

-=: Ding Ding Ding :=-

“Ladies and gentlemen, your winner, and STILL the Smarks Junior Leagues HEAVYWEIGHT CHAMPION… MIIIIIIKE VA-AN SICLEN!”

Van Siclen rolls out of the ring, Jack Soapdish chasing after him to raise his arm and hand him the title. Mike holds the title up in his right hand, raising it high before clutching it to his chest, backing up the ramp and out of the arena. The crowd boos the quick finish, understandably so, as the camera focuses on Dace Night, shaking the cobwebs out before slamming his fist into the mat as we…

Fade…

February 19, 2003

SUMMARY!

"Dark Rebel" Terry Wayne def. Tryst

Fosta def. Omega Storm

Crow def. Christian Blackwell

Janus def. "Hollywood" Spike Jenkins

Thor def. Insane Luchador and Matt Myers

SJL METAL - February 18, 2003

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