SJL Wrath, February 23rd, 2003!

February 24, 2003

SJL WRATH CARD - February 23, 2003

Due Date: Sunday, February 23, 2003 @ 5:00 PM EST

Send Promos & Marked Matches To: realitycheck

Location: Arena México in Mexico City, Mexico. This is the last stop on our SJL World Tour, so let's make it one for the books!

OPENING PROMO WITH COOL ASS MAIN EVENT TIE IN

Mike Van Siclen vs. Crow - Prologue

Description: The members of tonight's main event are also required to write tonight's opening promo. Why? Read the rules for the main event and you'll see. The winner of the main event will also see his version of the opening promo start off the show.

Rules: Uh, it's a promo. Read the main event description for more details.

SJL TELEVISION CHAMPIONSHIP TOURNAMENT

Description: Yes, it's official - the SJL Television Championship is coming out of retirement! The SJL will again have a third singles title for the first time in six months, ever since Thor defeated Fugue back in August to unify the TV and European titles. (Sorry Atlas - as of this moment they're no longer unified.) Anyway, this week we begin an eight man, single elimination tournament that will lead to the crowning of a new TV champion. This tournament includes several new players and is a great way to make an early impact in the SJL. Good luck, everyone!

Rules: Standard singles matches. Regular DQ and countout rules apply.

TOURNAMENT MATCH

Geddion vs. Tryst

Description: After a brief appearance in promo land, Geddion makes his in-ring debut against Nottingham's own Tryst.

TOURNAMENT MATCH

Fosta vs. "Dark Rebel" Terry Wayne

Description: Terry Wayne looked good in his Metal debut against Tryst. Here takes on another recent addition, Fosta.

TOURNAMENT MATCH

David Blazenwing vs. Omega Storm

Description: Omega Storm is looking to snap a serious losing streak. He gets his chance against the debuting David Blazenwing.

TOURNAMENT MATCH

Christian Blackwell vs. "Picture Perfect" Aaron Carpenter

Description: Aaron Carpenter's name has come up already in the SWF world -- as the first SJL wrestler trained by our own "Grand Slam" Mark Stevens, this guy's got a lot of media buzz surrounding him. Let's see how he handles himself against Christian Blackwell.

TRIPLE THREAT FILLER MATCH WITH BADASS MAORI DEBUT

Aecas vs. Va'aiga vs. Thor

Description: I'm starting a tradition here - the "filler" match is the last one on the card that I book. Anyway, here's the much-hyped debut of Va'aiga, who wrote three short promos on Metal and issued an open challenge to anyone on the roster. Aecas and Thor were quick to answer the challenge, believing they could set the new guy straight, so let's have ourselves a triple threat and throw all three guys in there.

Rules: Standard triple threat match. First pinfall or submission wins. Regular DQ and countout rules apply.

CRUISERWEIGHT RULES MATCH

Sean Atlas vs. "Hollywood" Spike Jenkins vs. Matt Myers

Description: Well, it's not exactly a lucha libre match, but we've got the next best thing. These three guys are looking to shine in Mexico City, and they'll get their chance here in a Cruiserweight Rules match.

Rules: Non-title. Triple threat match. First pinfall or submission wins. Regular DQ rules apply. Countout only occurs on a 20 count, rather than 10 count. Anyone counted out is eliminated from the match (which continues if two competitors remain).

#1 CONTENDER MATCH - SJL WORLD CHAMPIONSHIP

SINGLES MATCH

Dace Night vs. Janus

Special Guest Commentator: El Luchadore Magnifico

Description: What do Dace Night and Janus have in common? Well, they're both pretty pissed off about losing World title matches to Mike Van Siclen. One of them will get a chance to redeem himself on Wrath and earn a second shot at the title; who's it going to be? Hey, and since we're in Mexico, we get a visit from our own SWF World Champion, El Luchadore Magnifico!

Rules: Standard singles match. Regular DQ and countout rules apply.

MAIN EVENT

BORDER RUN MATCH

Mike Van Siclen vs. Crow

Description: What better way to celebrate a Mexico City show, and the last stop on the tour, then with an actual Border Run?

Rules: Both competitors begin the Wrath broadcast about ten miles south of the Mexico/USA border. The match will begin with the opening promo, and will theoretically be occurring throughout the show, and we'll see the ending minutes of the match in this segment. To win the match, you must traverse the remaining ten miles with a suitcase full of contraband (provided by GODrea) and be the first one to sucessfully cross the border into the United States. The marker of this match will mark the match and opening promo as two portions of one match. This match will be non title.

February 24, 2003

BANG~!

BANGBANGBANGBANG!

BANG!

The camera flies around the arena as the pyrotechtonics go off, SJL Wrath for Sunday, February 23, 2003, begins! Signs all over the arena pop up, including “Janus es tonto muy grande, ”Tu mama hace el ammor con mi perro”, and “I’m so lost.” Finally, we zoom in on Axis and the Suicide King, sitting at the announcers’ table. Axis is decked out in an oversized sombrero, while King has an underaged Mexican whore on each arm.

“Hello, North America!” Axis shouts in his usual s**teating manner. “This is S-J-L Wrath! Tonight, we have one-two-three-four-five-six-seven-EIGHT matches for you, including the beginning of the Television Title tournament!”

“I’m sure Sean Atlas is happy about that,” King deadpans. One of the Mexicans dips their head below the commentary table, and King smiles sleazily. “God knows I’m happy about that.”

Axis simply stares at the King. “…yeah. Anyway, also tonight we have the new monster in town, Va’aiga…”

“Vagina?”

“Va’aiga.”

“Oh. Carry on, then… you too…”

Axis mumbles a bit. “Va’aiga, making his debut against SJL standbys Aecas and Thor!”

“I’m sure Sean Atlas is…”

“Fermez ta bouche.”

“We’re in Mexico, moron.”

“…oh. Also tonight! We have Sean Atlas taking on “Hollywood” Spike Jenkins and Matt Myers in a Cruiserweight Rules match for… uh…”

“Nothing! I’m sure Sean Atlas is happy about that!”

“…I really, really hate you.”

“Sean Atlas wouldn’t be happy about that.”

“…ugh. And our sub-main event, we have Dace Night vs Janus for the number one contendership to the SJL Heavyweight title, currently held by Mike Van Siclen! And speaking of Mike Van Siclen, he faces Crow one-on-one in a Border Run match, non-title!”

“I’m sure Sean Atlas is…”

“Bite me.”

“I won’t, and I’m sure Sean Atlas won’t either.”

“…ugh. Funyon, give me an intro.”

“Ladies and gentlemen! The following contest is a Border Run match! The first person to take their contraband across the United States/Mexico border will be declared the winner. The contraband must still be in the suitcase, however!”

“Introducing first…”

“Natural Born Chaos” by Soilwork kicks up, and the crowd lights up like a joint as Crow steps out onto the ramp, smoking a cigarette and with his arms extended in a crucifix pose! The crowd boos him as he takes his arms down, removing the cigarette from his mouth and blowing out a long, thin line of smoke. He begins to walk down the ramp, jawing with a couple of fans before sliding into the ring, raising the cigarette to his mouth and inhaling deeply.

“Ladies and gentlemen, weighing in at two-hundred and thirty-one pounds! He hails from Adelaide, Australia, but currently resides in Anchorage, Alaska! He is the Antichrist Superstar, CROOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOW!”

The fans roar out in boos, but their boos are quickly cut off as 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 under his acid-green jacket, the SJL Heavyweight title slung over his left shoulder. 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, strapping the SJL title around his waist before sliding into the ring and extending his arms to the side, dropping his arms and letting his jacket slide off and to the mat. Tonight’s referee, Ced Ordonez, picks it up, as Mike motions with his hands for the crowd to give him more boos.

“And his opponent, weighing in at two-hundred and thirty-seven pounds! He hails from Harrison, Illinois, and is the current Smarks Junior Leagues HEA-VY-WEIGHT CHAMPION! The Spectacle that all come to be hold, give it up for MIIIIIIIIIIKE VA-AN SIIIIIIIIIC-LEEEEEEEEN!”

The crowd boos even more, as Funyon steps out of the ring. Two ring attendants enter, each carrying a suitcase. Ordonez takes both suitcases, setting them down one on either side of him and then motioning for Van Siclen and Crow to step over. Both do, one on each side of Ordonez and listening to his instructions.

“All right, gentlemen, the first person to cross the border with everything in their suitcase still inside of it will be the winner. Crow, your suitcase contains twenty-seven pounds of hash. Mike, your suitcase contains fifteen litres of the finest Mexican tequila. Good luck, gentlemen, and I’ll see you at the border. Wait for the bell.”

Ordonez leaves, presumably getting in his car and driving to the border. As Ced’s silhouette exits the arena, the timekeeper rings the bell.

-=: Ding Ding Ding :=-

“And the border run is on,” Axis shouts gleefully.

Van Siclen and Crow look at each other for a few seconds, not sure of what to do… and then Crow picks up his suitcase, whirling it around and smashing Mike right in the side with it! Mike topples over, clutching his side, as Crow extends his arm in a crucifix, posing quickly before dashing out of the arena. We switch to a shot of him outside the arena, scrawling on a piece of paper. “Dará Picar en trocitos Para el Paseo (Will Give Hash For Ride)”

“Oh God,” Axis says. “Does Crow realize that he can’t give away the hash?”

“I guess not.” King shrugs. “Oh well.”

“Well, fans, we’ll be back with Geddeon vs Tryst, right after this!”

February 24, 2003

The audience's attention is turned to the Smarktron as a live feed from the locker room is played over it. Fosta walks around the corner to ignite a chorus of boos from the on looking crowd.

"What's this about?" Queries Axis.

"Okay, great. Nobody cares what Fosta's doing, let's go to our next match."

He wears a pair of tracksuit pants and a t-shirt; obviously not dressed to wrestle yet. A reporter makes his way towards him, but retreats when a fist is raised. He comes to a closed door, and pushes it open to reveal a locker room.

"Fosta will be wrestling Terry Wayne after this match."

"The guy that has a fixation with snakes eating rabbits?"

"Yes King, that's him."

Sports bags, towels, and wrestling gear is strewn over chair and benches randomly, and Fosta makes his way calmly through the mess. He turns to face his gear, and is visibly disgusted at what he saw. The camera stays on his face, as he takes a few steps back.

"What is it?"

"Maybe one of the wrestlers is naked."

His disgust turns to anger, and he turns away, slamming the door hard behind him. We hear him yell an obscenity as the camera turns towards his gear.

A dead rabbit is laid across his sports bag.

February 24, 2003

BOOM!

The explosive pyrotechnics blast their way into the air as the crowd comes alive, back from the commercial break.

“Well, that certainly was an interesting segment.”

“Segment? It was a piece of crap. But whatever you wanna call it, you politically correct bastard.” King quips.

“What is with you?”

“You know what’s with me.”

“What?”

“Yeah, don’t act like you don’t know.”

“...”

“Heh.”

“Righto. Well, welcome to another pulse-pounding edition of Esss Jayy Ell Wrath!!! I’m Axis, alongside the lovable King of Hearts as this capacity crowd goes nuts. I can’t say that I blame them, however. We’ve got Tryst coming out to entertain the masses right off the bat!”

“Say what you will about Tryst, but I am lovable.”

“...it’s called ‘sarcasm’, you bloke.”

“Wait...isn’t bloke an English slang word?”

“...maybe it is, maybe it isn’t.”

“And HERE WE GO!!!”

As the lights blacken out, the crowd drops to a dead silence before letting out a HUGE pop as their eyes are drawn to the entry way, where a deep green spotlight shines down from above. The Smarktron comes to life, the video running through a lush green forest at great speeds, finally stopping about 20 feet in front of a man, wielding a bow and arrow. He pulls the arrow back, releases, and as it reaches the screen, pyrotechnics on the opposite wall explode as “Forest” by System of a Down blasts across the loud speakers, and the sleeping crowd comes back to life as Tristan Whitt, also known as Tryst, comes rushing out of the back to stand within the spotlight, Bow in one hand, arrow in the other.

“Ladies and Gentlemen...the following competitor stands at six feet, one inch tall, weighing in at two hundred and eighteen pounds...he hails from Bairnsdale, Britain...Ladies and Gentlemen, please welcome Tryyyyyyyyssssst!!!”

Making his way down the ramp, Tryst takes off his quiver of arrows and hands it to the timekeeper, along with his bow as he rolls into the ring and soaks in the cheers from the rhapsodic crowd. The lights fade back up to normal, and he awaits his opponent.

“Up next we’ve got a new competitor, who many are hailing as ‘insane’.”

“Well, Tryst is insane too, so I guess this is the Nuthouse Knockaround.”

“In any case, they’re competing in the tournament for the newly re-activated Television title, so expect some no-holds barred, show-stopping action from these gentlemen.”

“As long as they don’t screw up their spots, we’re good to go.”

The lights begin to fade down...and before long, they die out completely. The crowd holds it’s collective breath as “Set it off” by P.O.D. begins to linger in the ears of the crowd, forcing it’s melody into their minds as Geddeon quietly walks through the entranceway, staring out into the crowd. They begin to boo, sort of, but they stop when he doesn’t react in any way, shape, or form. He simply begins his descent to the ring as some 20-odd spotlights begin to make intricate designs in the crowd, blinding a few fans in the name of flashy entrances! He dives in under the bottom ring rope, and gets to his feet as the lights fade back up. Staring right at him, Tryst doesn’t move a muscle...but neither does Geddeon, trying to psych out his opponent. Clearly, he knows not who he deals with. The referee signals for the bell to be rung, and this match is set to begin! Tryst still hasn’t moved, but Geddeon has gotten to his feet and is beginning to shout some things towards his legendary opponent. Trying to get him unhinged seems to be a popular, yet uneffective method of combating him. Of course, perhaps Geddeon is just trying to send a message to Tryst in a sort of roundabout way. In any case, he lunges towards Tryst, who quickly moves out of the way and counters with a quick flip-kick to the jaw. Geddeon takes the blow and tries to brush it off, getting to his feet as quickly as he can. He turns to Tryst, who smiles and bows, much to the pleasure of the crowd, who pop like a bunch of monkeys on crack! This infuriates Geddeon, who again lunges toward Tryst, who dodges to the left this time, lifting up his leg and cracking Geddeon’s jaw with his knee! He’s reeling, and Tryst makes his assault. He side-kicks Geddeon’s leg out from under him, just above the knee, knees him in the stomach, and lifts him up as he twiiiiiiirls him around.....into a spinning implant ddt!

“Dear God! Tryst is merely toying with Geddeon, and that’s seeming to make him angrier and angrier with each passing moment. But can he counter?”

“Of course he can. The crazies ALWAYS can.”

“Sigh...will you ever change, King?”

“Hmm...I don’t know...but if you wanna find out for yourself, tune in next week. And every week. Until the end of time.”

Geddeon’s head connects with the mat and shakes the ring as he ricochets back up, and Tristan is quick to spin him onto his back and to go for the quick pin.

ONE!

But it seems too early.

TWO!

You can only be stunned for so long...right?

TH-

And so, our story continues.

Tryst is quickly back up to his feet, and Geddeon pounds the mat a few times before standing up once again to face his nemesis. He stares into the eyes of the Sherwood Fable as he stands back to his feet, and as he gradually gets closer, he attempts to use his 2 extra inches of height to his advantage. Unfortunately, it’s hard to intimidate a man that lives in a forest...and so, the fight rages on, as they begin to exchange lefts and rights with a rapidly quickening pace. Left. Right. Left. Right. And as they begin to tire, Geddeon gets Tryst with a cheap shot, and knocks him back into the ropes before grabbing his arm and irish whipping him towards the other side of the ring. In a sort of daze, Tryst can do nothing to stop his momentum, and as he heads back towards his opponent, he’s taken to the mat by a mini-clothesline. Geddeon wastes little time applying an armbar, quickly looking for a submission to end his worries for the night. Tryst begins flailing around, trying to get out of the maneuver...he tries kicking his legs around in hopes of hitting his opponent with a kick, but he is merely kicking the wind. And so, he reaches out as far as he can, and manages to get his hand on the bottom rope to break the hold. The ref comes over the break the hold, but Geddeon isn’t quick to release it...it seems as though his agenda is more to hurt his opponent than to garner himself a victory in this match-up.

“Geddeon should just let go of the hold, but he has no honor. Just like you, King. Does it make you proud?”

“It almost brings a tear to my eye....which reminds me. If you take another shot at me, I’m going to tear your eyes out with my claws.”

“You have claws?!”

“...I think you’re focusing on the wrong part of that statement, Axis.”

Geddeon releases the hold and allows Tryst to get back to his feet for a moment before locking horns with him again. He whips him towards the corner of the ring, and goes headed in there after him. Tryst counters with a quick kick to the jaw, grabs him by the back of his head, and leaps forward, driving his face into the mat! He gets to his feet and quickly moves to apply an STF on Geddeon as payback for the armbar from earlier. As he starts to pull back on the neck of his opponent, he tries to use his leverage to make sure that Geddeon can’t get close enough to the ropes to make the grab, and break the hold. For a while, he succeeds. But as Geddeon begins to try and roll onto his back, Tryst begins to lose his leverage just enough for Geddeon to grab hold onto the ropes. The ref breaks the hold and both men get back to their feet, although Geddeon is a bit slow to get all the way up. He turns to Tryst and begins jawing again, trying to rattle him...again, to no avail.

“Geddeon needs to get it through his head that you just can’t unhinge someone who is so completely unhinged already.”

“So then, it wouldn’t work on you either King?”

“...I hate you, Axis.”

Geddeon takes a swing at Tryst, who ducks under, and kicks him in the ass...sending him into the ropes. This only angers him, and as he rushes back towards Tristan Whitt, he’s sent to the mat in a drop-toe-hold! Tryst spins through it and applies an ankle-lock Geddeon resists the urge to scream out in pain, but spins the opposite way and connects a sharp kick to Tryst’s face, dazing him enough to get out of the hold and get Tryst into a roll-up pinning combination!

ONE!

The referee drops the arm.

TWO!

The legs begin to squirm, Geddeon may not be able to keep this pin for long.

TH-

No! Tryst manages to get out of it, but not by a large margin. He rolls out of it and as Geddeon turns toward him, Tristan lunges forward and hits him in the stomach with his shoulder. Geddeon falls forward a little bit, and Tristan rises up and knees him in the face, sending him back in to the ring ropes. Wasting no time, Tryst leaps into the air and connects a spinning heel kick to the face of his enemy, sending him over the rope and to the outside! But no! Geddeon manages to hold onto the top rope, and narrowly avoids a messy crash into the hard ground on the outside. Tryst spins through the first kick and tries to connect again with a roundhouse, but Geddeon ducks under and pulls his leg, then clotheslines him to the mat as hard as he can! Flipping into the ring over the rope, he lands on Tryst with a plancha, and as he goes for the pin, the referee notices the foot on the ropes before he begins counting. Geddeon doesn’t like that one bit, and starts yelling at the ref.

“How cliche. Geddeon is going to yell at the referee for a while, allowing Tryst to get some time to get his bearings. In the end, it’ll probably cost Geddeon the match.”

“Wow, King, you truly are one of the greats. Way to give away the secrets of the industry, moron.”

“Secrets? Haha.”

“....haha. Yeah, you got me on that one.”

Tryst gets the cobwebs out of his head and makes his way to the turnbuckle as Geddeon keeps on yelling at the ref, saying his peace before he turns around to see what his opponent is up to. Tryst lies in wait on the top turnbuckle as Geddeon makes an about face, and young Whitt grabs something out of his shirt, throwing it at the fiend and then leaping into the air as the he’s distracted.

“Holy crap King, did Tryst just throw a rock at Geddeon?”

“Um...I think he did.”

“Wow...”

“Wow indeed. Talk about innovation.”

He flips and spins as he’s in the air...and as Geddeon manages to get his attention back on his task, it is too late. Tryst connects with The Arrow’s Path, knocking the wind out of his opponent and sending him a good five feet across the ring, right into the turnbuckle. Just after hitting the turnbuckle, he falls forward, staggers, and drops all the way down to the mat. Tryst grabs Geddeon and rolls him onto his back...he takes a moment to look at his opponent before hooking the leg as the ref dives in for the pin.

ONE!

Geddeon took that hit pretty hard.

TWO!

He isn’t moving, he may not be able to power his way out of this one.

THRE-

NO! Geddeon kicks out of a finisher, and Tryst can’t believe it! He’s wide eyed, he merely rolls out of the way, gets up to his knees, and stares in disbelief! Geddeon does his best to get up from the ground, getting to the nearest ropes and grabbing onto them for support as he tries to get up. Tryst gets to his feet slowly, and Geddeon meets him there, catching him off-guard and kicking him in the stomach, then grabbing him and lifting him into the air. He leaves him in limbo for a moment, and then drops him with a stiff brainbuster! Tryst immediately moves to grab his neck for support as Geddeon lifts him back up and irish whips him toward the other side of the ring. As he comes flying back, Geddeon drops underneath him and Tryst connects with the ropes on the other side. But as he comes off of those ones, he’s caught up in the feet of his opponent and sent flying to the far side of the ring. He lands hard upon his back, and yelps in pain as he does so. Geddeon, with his newfound momentum, rolls to his feet and heads straight for Tristan Whitt. Pulling him to his feet, he leans him in the corner and begins to yell at him, in between kicks to the mid-section. ‘Don’t you understand?’ kick. He repeats it. Another kick. And another. And another. And after one last kick, he lifts Tryst up and sets him upon the top of the turnbuckle, and goes up himself, to try and put him out for good. He grabs Tryst around the waist, looking as if he is to lift Tryst with a belly to belly suplex. Tristan starts to regain his bearings, struggling with Geddeon along the way. As Geddeon starts to lift up, Tryst somehow manages to get out of the hold, ducking under as his opponent gets into the air, disbelief follows that Tryst has escaped his clutches...Tryst watches as Geddeon falls backwards, landing awkwardly on his spine and screaming in pain as he does so. Leaping a bit into the air, Tristan transfers in the air and lands on the top rope, springing off and corkscrewing backwards into a plancha, landing directly upon Geddeon!

“Geddeon landed harshly on his back, and Tryst just took advantage...this one is probably over.”

“You’ve gotta feel bad for Geddeon right now, he sustained a lot of pain with that landing. I think you can agree, King.”

“I can, for once. That is not the way you want to land...it’ll hurt you very quickly.”

Tristan doesn’t hooking the leg, but goes for the pin as Geddeon isn’t readily moving.

ONE!

This one may very well end right now.

TWO!

Geddeon isn’t moving.

THREE!

NO!

“Oh my God! Tryst let go of the pin before the three count!”

“Yeah, but look at him celebrate! He’s gotta think he got the three count!”

The referee finally gets the attention of the Sherwood Fable to let him know that the match is still going...and Tryst cannot believe it! He takes a deep breath, and with all the determination that he can muster, pulls Geddeon to his feet, pulling back, and attempts a front-kick to the chest, but he grabs the foot and kicks him in the leg, up under the knee! Tristan yells out in pain as he crumble to a knee, and Geddeon backs up into the ropes to get some momentum. They push him off like a slingshot, and he tries a forward dropkick on Tryst, who drops to his back and moves out of the way. Geddeon lands hard on his back and partially stifles a pain-filled scream as he immediately moves to get back up. Tryst does the same, limping up to his feet. The determination on the faces of these men says the whole story. Tryst stares down Geddeon, and vice versa. Finally, mercifully, Geddeon makes a move. He goes towards Tryst, locking horns with him, and using his mobility and leverage to whip him into the ropes. He appears to be setting him up...but Tristan leaps forward and connects with a kick to the chest of Geddeon! He falls backwards and bounces off the ropes back towards the center of the ring. Tryst lifts him as well as he can, nearly losing his balance in doing so...twists him mid-air, and drives his face into the mat!

“That’s it! The Crusade! IT’S OVER!!!”

“Calm down, Axis! He might still kick out!”

The referee drops to the mat as Tryst uses every last ounce of his strength to power Geddeon onto his back and hook the leg for the pin.

ONE!

The hand drops to the mat. The flashes from cameras in the crowd begin to cease.

TWO!

The crowd drops silent in anticipation. A drop of sweat falls from Tristan’s face and splashes onto the canvas.

THREE!

The bell sounds as the referee hits the mat one final time, and the crowd explodes in cheers as “Forest” by System of a Down begins to blast over the loud speaker. Tryst rolls off of Geddeon and lays on his back as the commentators take us out to commercial.

“Tryst will move on in the TV title tournament, and we’ll find out who he’ll up next!”

“Give these men credit, they certainly put on a show. A tough loss to the new man Geddeon, but there is no shame in losing to a wrestler as breath-taking as Tryst.”

“We’ll be right back, folks.”

Fade out to commercial.

February 24, 2003

We return from the break to our two favourite commentators. One of them is wearing a sombrero; guess who.

“King…”

“Yes Axis?”

“I’m glad this is our last stop on the international tour, or you’d start making a habit of things like this wouldn’t you?”

The lights dim and “Loco” by Coal Chamber seeps through the arena. Fosta stands on the rampway with a single spotlight shining on him. He begins to walk down the ramp with a look of concern underneath his full beard and scruffy hair to a healthy reaction of boos from the audience.

“Making his way to the ring, weighing in at two hundred, thirty-five pounds… Fffosssstaaa!”

“I wonder if that rabbit head has put Fosta off, King.”

”I bet it was the Italian mafia. They do things like that to people all the time.”

“Hurt” by Johnny Cash begins to play, and again the fans boo the man that beat one of the fan favourites last week. He ignores them, but stares into the ring with a smile on his face, looking right at Fosta who paces uneasily in the ring.

“And his opponent, from Norfolk Virginia, Terryyy, Waaaayynnnne!”

“I wonder if Terry has anything to say tonight.”

“I think that the rabbit head done the job for him, King.”

DING DING DING!

“Here we go! Fosta versus Terry Wayne!”

The two men make their way to the middle of the ring, hunched over and prepared to wrestle. But Terry straightens up, and offers a handshake to Fosta. He thinks for a moment before slapping his hand away, and flips him off to the approval of the fans. So Fosta turns to them, and flips the bird again to a chorus of boos. Terry shrugs, and prepares for the opening assault.

“Fosta was telling me earlier that he loves it here in Mexico.” Says King “He said he can go sit against the wall outside a bar, and he fits right in with the homeless drunks!”

The two begin the match with a lock up. Terry’s is extremely sloppy, and Fosta throws him quickly into a side headlock. He wrenches it, and a confused expression turns to an angry one. He throws Terry backward, bouncing his head off the mat. Terry takes a second to get up, and Fosta shoves him heavily, slamming him into the turnbuckle. The entire time Terry has a grin on his face.

“CM’ON!” Fosta yells irately at Terry.

“What the hell is going on?” Says a confused King.

“Terry won’t fight him, King, but I have no idea why not.”

Eventually Terry comes out of the turnbuckle, and Fosta sends a chop across his chest. The chest lights the Mexican audience up with a Flair like “whoo!” but Terry doesn’t react. Fosta chops again, and he begins to lose his temper as a baffled murmur begins to gurgle from the audience. Fosta pushes the lifeless Terry again, and he falls against the ropes, then walks off slowly, but snaps into life and ducks a clothesline. He turns around, and slaps Fosta right in the face with his right hand, then again, and again. Four in quick succession. His face turns a bright red.

“Terry just burst into life, and slapped Fosta in the face with both hands!”

“Why did he slap him?! He could have hit him!” Says King enthusiastically.

“Terry’s playing mind games with his opponent, King. Mentally, Terry is trying to make Fosta uneasy and nervous.”

“Well I just used to kick the guys ass, and that worked fine for me.”

Terry takes a few large steps backwards from Fosta, and Fosta runs at him in a rage. Terry simply sidesteps the crazed veteran, and sends him hurtling through the ropes to growing noise from the audience. Terry heads out after him.

Fosta stands to catch a shoulder to the stomach as Terry tackles him to the mat, and starts choking him. The referee quickly breaks the hold, and orders Terry to take it inside, but Terry lets the referee know that it goes back inside the ring when he wants it to. Fosta is picked up and suplexed on the outside, and the wind can be heard fleeing from his sore body. Terry picks him up, and rolls him into the ring. But he holds onto his hair, and once in the ring Fosta is choked again on the bottom rope.

“Terry Wayne is showing absolutely no respect at all to Fosta here King.”

Eventually he lets go and jumps onto the apron. Fosta lies on the mat, and Terry doesn’t waste a chance. He throws himself over the ropes and drops and elbow across Fosta’s throat. He makes a cover.

“A slingshot elbow right on the throat. Fosta will be in trouble if Terry keeps this much pressure on all match.”

1…

Fosta isn’t giving up that easy.

Kickout!

Terry has no reaction to the kick out; he just continues the assault with another choke. But Fosta knocks Terry’s hand from under him, and rolls quickly to his feet. Beating him to a vertical base, Fosta runs a knee into the side of Terry’s head as he stands. But Terry absorbs it quite well, and knocks Fosta back to the mat with a clothesline before expressing any pain from the shot.

“Impressive toughness by Terry. He absorbed that shot well.” Notes an awed Axis.

“Well there isn’t much to be shaken up in that head of his Axis.”

Fosta nearly reacheshis feet, but he makes a mistake and leaves himself open to a swinging neck breaker which is executed as stiffly as possible. Terry jumps on Fosta right afterwards.

1…

Fosta’s neck has been wrenched…

2…

But he’s not letting this bastard get an easy win…

Kickout!

“Fosta kicks out strongly soon after two!”

“I wanna see him level this weirdo!”

Terry stands, looking very proud of himself, and takes Fosta to the turnbuckle. He pushes him roughly into it before sending a hard chop across his chest. Fosta is lifted onto the top in a suplex hold, and Wayne follows quickly, hopping up to the second turnbuckle.

“Terry must be looking for the double underhook suplex King.”

“But it doesn’t look like Fosta’s going to let him get it!”

Fosta throws a punch at Terry, but Terry throws another back. The fans cheers grow at the chance of either man falling from the turnbuckle. He starts to load Fosta up, but Fosta fires another two strikes into Terry’s stomach. Again Terry retaliates unscathed, with a forearm over the back.

“He can’t fight him off though, and Terry gets his double arm suplex!”

“He wants a pin, too!” Yells King.

1…

Fosta hit the mat awkwardly, landing on his shoulders and head…

2…

But he digs deep, and finds a way to…

Kickout!

“Only had a split second left Axis!”

“Fosta’s in trouble!”

Terry stays on his knees for a second, aiming an intimidating glare at the referee. He focuses his attention towards Fosta again, and slaps him rudely across the face, before urging him to get up. But Fosta stays on his hands and knees, reacting to the slap with nothing more than a cower.

“Fosta’s hurt, Axis.”

“He has taken quite the beating, and he isn’t one hundred percent from his match with Omega.”

Another two slaps, and Terry is convinced that he has Fosta in his hand. A smile comes over his face as he throws himself into the ropes and comes running at Fosta for a…

“Belly-to-belly! Fosta got a belly-to-belly suplex!” Calls an ecstatic Axis.

“He popped up from nowhere, like your Asian wife!”

Terry is launched into the air with a suplex he didn’t expect. He crashes to the mat hard, but manages to climb to his feet at about the same time as Fosta. He throws a kick, and it knocks Fosta into the ropes. Fosta comes off the ropes with a forearm, but Terry quickly sends one back, and Fosta is all his again.

“But it wasn’t enough to give Fosta control, King”

“He doesn’t even have control over his bowels. How is he going to beat Terry?”

Terry decides to whip him, but Fosta reverses. On Terry’s return, he is again launched into the air with a belly-to-belly suplex, and again he crashes roughly to the mat. But this time he doesn’t get up so quick. Fosta takes a breather on one knee as the fans cheer for the two crisp, textbook suplexes.

“Fosta is fighting back now King.” Says Axis in an excited manner. “He has Terry hurt.”

Fosta stays on the attack. He circles Terry like a shark while he climbs groggily to his feet. Fosta’s eyes light up when he sees and opening, and he jumps on it in a split second, locking Terry by the neck and arm. After a second, Terry is shot into the air, over the top of Fosta, and to the mat on his head and shoulders. Fosta scrambles over to him, and makes a cover…

1…

Three successive suplexes have left Terry in a bad way, and his control has slipped through his fingers…

2…

But his determination hasn’t slipped from his heart…

Kickout!

“Fosta just delivered three beautifully crisp suplexes, but Terry still has a grasp on this match.”

“Rather than his sanity...”

The fans are brought to life after the suplexes, and an electricity fills the air as the two find their footing. Fosta throws a chop, and it puts Terry wearily into the ropes. He puts Terry’s arm over the ropes to expose his chest, and sends another stiff chop cracking across it.

“Fosta has found a pace he prefers. He’s looking to dictate this match from here on.” Says Axis as he watches on in interest.

He whips a tired opponent across the ring, but misses a clothesline. Terry comes back from the other side, but gets dropkicked in the knee, and he tumbles to the canvas. He isn’t given time to mourn for his knee, as Fosta hoists him to his feet, then into the air.

“A belly-to-back suplex by Fosta this time, and he goes for the turnbuckle straight after.”

Fosta climbs the turnbuckle with his back to his opponent, and reaches the top in three steps.

“He wants the moonsault! It’s over already if he hits this!”

The crowd gets to their feet to witness the picture perfect maneuver, and he throws himself off in a refined moonsault that lands across Terry’s chest, and drives the wind from it in a vicious fashion.

“He got it! Fosta got the moonsault!” Cries Axis as he nearly stands out of his chair.

The fans are very impressed to see such a textbook moonsault, and although they hate Fosta, they have to clap for his talent. Fosta bounces off of Terry’s chest, but makes the pin a second after the move is performed.

1…

Terry has been suplexed in three different ways in the last few minutes…

2…

And now a two hundred and thirty five pound man has landed on his chest…

THREE!

NOOOOOOO!

“What?! Terry kicked out!” Axis can’t believe it.

“That’s not supposed to happen!”

Fosta is in shock, as are the fans, at Terry’s willpower. He climbs to his feet, and in disbelief begins questioning the referee. But the referee stands his ground.

“Fosta can’t believe that Terry kicked out either, King.”

“I still can’t believe that Fosta found the arena. But Terry did kick out of a Tryst moonsault on Metal.”

The kickout works the audience into excitement as Fosta continues to interigate the referee.

“To kick out of one of Fosta’s moonsaults shows great determination and toughness, King. Even if you don’t like the man, there is no denying that Terry Wayne is a very strong, worthy competitor.”

“He’s up!”

Terry finally makes it to his feet unbeknownst to Fosta, and he wais for Fosta to turn around. He does. Terry meets him with a hard kick to the stomach that doubles him over. A forearm across the back and a knee to the head follow it up, and Terry takes a breath before pushing Fosta against the ropes and attempting an Irish whip.

“Here we go again, King!”

The whip is reversed, but Terry comes off the ropes and catches Fosta with a reverse bulldog, driving Fosta’s head into the mat with the weight of Terry on top of it. Both men climb to their feet afterwards, but in a slow fashion. Terry backs Fosta into the ropes again, but again Fosta reverses. He bends down for a back body drop but as Terry comes back, he’s caught with a running DDT. Fosta lands on his head and neck before falling to his back, and the fans “awwh!” at the hard landing.

“A running DDT by Terry!” Calls Axis.

“Terry’s stringing together some big moves now Axis!”

“And Terry’s looking for a cover!”

1…

Fosta’s neck was wrenched badly in the DDT…

2…

But he thinks he can continue the match…

Kickout!

“Terry nearly got him then,” says Axis “but Fosta decides he still has a chance.”

Terry is to his feet quickly, and hits the ropes. Fosta is still sitting on the mat when Terry comes from behind and performs a flip over his head, grabbing him by the neck and wrenching it a second time as he lands on his back. Fosta grabs his neck and his face tightens in pain as he climbs to his feet slowly. Fosta leans against the ropes, and Terry runs at him, throwing himself into the air and hitting Fosta with a crossbody.

“Both men tumble over the top ropes to the outside! Terry had to have been hurt in that move as well.”

“His brain would have to be able to register pain for that, Axis.”

Both tumble to the outside with a thud, and Terry doesn’t climb to his feet for quite some time either. He grabs Fosta by his hair and pulls him to his feet to whip him into the barricade. Fosta hits with a metallic crash, and arches his back in pain. Fans cheer him on as ones nearby reach out to tap him on the back. Terry sends a hard forearm to his jaw, and throws him towards the commentators desk. He crashes into it and rolls over the other side, landing on King’s lap.

“AHH! Get him off me! He’s all sweaty!

Axis is out of his seat, but keeps his headset on and tries his best to continue to call the match.

“This match has turned into a no rules brawl around the outside of the ring, and Terry is taking it to Fosta!”

Terry chokes him with an electrical cord as the fans get riled up for the rough brawling. Fosta is thrown over the commentators’ desk again by the neck, and hits the mat with a thick thud.

“Fosta is Terry’s ragdoll now, King!”

Fosta’s head is bounced off the table and the apron before he’s rolled back into the ring. Terry scales the apron and turnbuckle, and glares down at Fosta who lies helplessly on his back. Terry stands, and leaps off with an elbow drop, looking to drop it right across Fosta’s throat.

“But Fosta rolls out of the way, and Terry hits nothing but canvas!”

Terry starts climbing to his feet in distress, clutching as his elbow, and Fosta is up as quickly. Eventually Fosta finds Terry in the right position, and throws his arm over his shoulder, then throws Terry’s other arm underneath his own leg, grabbing it from behind. The fans stand again as Fosta hoists Terry into the air, and Terry comes crashing down, landing violently on his head and neck, his feet then going over his body, and touching the ground before he turns inside out and falls to his stomach.

“What a vicious t-bone suplex by Fosta!” Yells Axis.

“Terry landed right on his head!”

The fans “awwh!” again, and Terry lies virtually motionless. His neck has been badly wrenched, and he barely feels conscious.

“That t-bone suplex has wrecked Terry, but it has taken a lot of moves to finally tire him out. What determination by the newcomer!”

“He kicked out of a finisher after four successive suplexes!”

Finally he starts to move, and rolls onto his back.

THUMP!

“Moonsault! Fosta came from nowhere with that!” Cries Axis as Fosta bounces off Terry.

“Can Terry kick out of two?”

Fosta is rebounded off of Terry from the impact, and lands a foot away from him. He’s curled up from the collision, and the fans come alive again. Fosta is also winded from the maneuver, but he crawls over to Terry and makes a cover, hooking a leg strongly, and leaving nothing but Terry’s shoulders and head on the mat.

1…

“Here it is! The cover!”

Terry, after being dropped on his head, has virtually nothing left…

2…

Fosta strains to put pressure on Terry’s shoulders. The fans count on with the referee. Terry decides to kick out. He lifts his other leg, and with everything he has left, throws his legs upwards.

THREE!

“Fosta got him with the moonsault!” Cries Axis.

Terry tried to kick out, but he didn’t have enough energy left to get his shoulders off the mat.

“Ladies and gentlemen… your winner… Fossstaaaa!” Funyon’s voice booms over the speakers as Loco fires up at the chorus.

“What a close match between these two men, King.”

“It was fifty-fifty all the way to the last cover, and even then Terry nearly kicked out!”

“As odd as Terry is, he is going to be hard to pin.” Suggests Axis.

“Yeh, well there’s still questions to be answered, like ‘what is Fosta’s relationship with the Italian mafia, and…”

“(Oh God) Make sure you tune in after the break, fans. We have some great matches for you, including the rest of the first round of the tournament for the TV title!”

February 24, 2003

We come back to SJL Wrath as "Headstrong" by Trapt rips through the speakers at Arena México. The crowd goes into a full-blown frenzy, having seen a lot of action already, and aching for more... Just like soccer fans. The camera swings to a view of the entranceway as the new wrestler known as "The Full Effect" strides confidently down the aisleway. His pyrotechnics go off without a hitch, and the crowd revels in them as we get audio voiceover from our announce team of Axis and the Suicide King.

"Welcome back to SJL Wrath, everyone!" Axis yells out over the crowd. "Axis and the King back with you from south of the border as we see the arrival of David Blazenwing on the scene!"

"Blazenwing?" King asks with a laugh as DB slides into the ring, on the way to the far turnbuckle. "That sounds like the name of a chicken wing joint I went to once..." There's silence from the two-man crew for a few moments.. Funyon takes this time for what it's worth, as he grabs a mike and does his thing.

"¡Señoras y caballeros!" Funyon intones, bringing this already loud crowd to a boil. "This match is an SJL TV Title Tournament match set for one fall... Introducing first, from Oak Creek, Wisconsin... He stands at 1.83 metres tall, and weighs in at 93.3 kilos... He is 'The Full Effect'... David... BLAZENWING!!!" DB poses atop the first turnbuckle and macks for the crowd... And they're eating it up big-time!

"Why don't you do us all a favor and remain the Hell shut up for the rest of the show, King?" Axis sighs as DB heads for the second buckle.

"Hey Axis," King retorts, "Why don't you lock yourself in a shed or something?"

"¿Por qué usted no va tener sexo con su madre, Rey?" Axis grumbles with a grin in his voice.

"What'd you say about my mama???" The crowd quiets down as the lights dim, then start strobing in a sickening manner... All green, blue, white and stuff... DB stops, a bit surprised at the interruption in his "entrance". Thunder rolls throughout the arena sound system as the fans get a little rowdy, restless, and putting out the heel heat. Suddenly, the huge thunderclap comes, with a massive explosive flash of pyros from the rampway. "One Of A Kind" echoes throughout the building, and the crowd lays on the heavy booage, wanting to give Storm a "recepción caliente"... But after several moments, there's no sign of the winless HOSS~! anywhere...

"Seems that Omega Storm is a little wary of coming out here," Axis states simply as the crowd gets even more ugly. Funyon is all sorts of confused, because Storm's non-appearance screwed up his whole ring announce routine, and DB is perplexed at why his opponent isn't coming out. The crowd starts up a chant: "¡Usted no tiene ninguna bola! *Clap clap ClapclapCLAP!* ¡Usted no tiene ninguna bola! *Clap clap ClapclapCLAP!*" DB and Funyon share a laugh in the ring, getting the gist of the translation.

"Well, he talked a lot of smack in the 'abbreviated' interview with Ben Hardy," Axis continues through a laugh or two of his own. "But so far, no action... Guess he's afraid."

*****

"Heh... Afraid? What does he know? He wouldn't know afraid if it stabbed him in the back in a dark alley. No, Axis... This is called smarts, and cunning... And one Hell of a match-starter." I grin at my own thoughts as I crouch behind the security railing near the announce table. My eyes are focused on the one known as "The Full Effect" as he looks around, appealing to the crowd. Idiot. You have -no- idea what's coming... I see him turn around, attention diverted to a figure walking towards the ramp from the back. I smile. That kid I paid is providing the perfect distraction I needed. The fans are even fooled, as their boos go into the jet-engine level of loudness. Just a few moments more... Now! I leapfrog the guardrail, and charge the ring. The fans' reactions go to surprised as they recognize the kid for the ploy he is, but DB isn't exactly understanding. Sliding under the bottom rope, I get right on him and jump up, momentum carrying me forward. The crowd gasps as one as I wrap an arm around DB's neck, and bring him down as I fall... SLAM!!!!! I drive him face-first into the mat with a ambush reverse bulldoging lariat. As I stand, I hear the bell ringing, and DB is starting to push himself off the mat. I deliver several kicks to the prone man's side, until finally the ref comes over for the five count. I sigh, and let off just enough to please the ref, and then I notice... He's got my tazer! The fucking ref lifted my tazer when I was kicking the snot out of this new guy! That bastard! Well, he's next on my list... But for now, to take care of this Blazenwingding fellow... Hey wait...

Where the Hell did he go? Suddenly, I feel a waistlock... Shit! I was so distracted with the ref, I wasn't paying attention to my fucking opponent. I try to swing some elbows back, looking to connect with a nose, a jaw, an eye... Something to get out of this predicament. But the waistlock is in tight, and... That thought's interrupted as I'm planted on my shoulders via a German Suplex... I have to say one thing though as I get back to my feet: Those shots the med tech gave me owrked... The pain's not nearly as bad as it has been. DB lets me know he's there by throwing a nice, clean left hook into the side of my face. So I pound the kid with a like punch. He backs off a step, then unloads with a stiff uppercut. I find myself fading back just a few steps, but this guy's straight on me. I'm trying to douse all the stars I'm seeing, and he's levelling kicks into my midsection that keep adding -more- stars. Seeing as now he's backing off, I don't think this losing battle can get any worse... But as he plants a boot under my jaw on the dead sprint, and sends me -over- the top rope to the floor below, I realize otherwise.

*****

The crowd explodes into a torrent of cheers as DB nearly takes Storm's head off with a massive running boot! Storm flips over the top rope, and lands in a heap on the ground below. DB smiles at his handiwork, and parades around the ring, the big, bad n00b that's kicking ass... For the moment.

"Blazenwing is taking Storm to town here!" Axis intones over the cheering crowd. "Storm looking decidedly overmatched right now... Perhaps his interview fired the youngster up?"

"Meh," King sighs. "Could be... Storm's just not feeling it right now. He's in the mires of a horrid losing streak." And the crowd's volume rises with a repeated chant of "¡Golpee su asno con el pie!" as DB slides outside of the ring, picking Storm up by the hair. "What the Hell are they saying, anyway?" DB looks around the crowd with a grin, then places several kicks into the posterior of Storm, giving the crowd what they wanted! They respond with an outpouring of catcalls, cheers, and other such face pops. Axis laughs. King simply says, "Oh..."

*****

What in the blue -Hell-...? This guy just kicked my ass... Literally! I find myself face-down on the mat outside the ring, and seeing this guy macking around like he's the second coming of Janus. Well... Time to bust that bubble. The ref's up to about 4... Or 5... And DB is pulling me up. That's good... The less energy I have to exert, the better. The ref is at 6 now, and now is the time to strike! A quick punch to the heart to stagger this guy back... Okay, now a breath... Now to grab him... SONOFABITCH! Where'd he go now??? Back in the ring. He's a smart little shit, isn't he? So, I guess I'll head that way too. As I slide into the ring... Whoops! Shouldn't have gone in that way... I just got a nasty-ass elbow to the small of the back for my slight lack of observation. I roll over in an attempt to get back up, but DB sets on me right away... Inverted front facelock... DAMN! My brain can't register what's going on until it happens, and then my brain registers pain in my neck and back as I get the "Full Effect" (ha ha ha) of a Dragon Sleeper. This guy's wanting to put the life right out of me, and it's working. My head is swimming... The ref's down here, mumbling something at me. Can't really tell what it is. All I hear now is the ocean. Oooooh... I an see the waves crashing on the shore of a sandy white beach... The seagulls crying overhead... A steel drum band in the background... A lot of sun...

Wait a minute... I hate the beach! Suddenly I find myself struggling, and the scene changes back to the ring... The ref is still there, and I'm still in the Sleeper, but standing... A quick elbow behind me finds a soft target... Another finds the same... The third finally dislodges me from a nightmare, and I vow to myself that I'll kill this Chickenwing guy for putting me in the Bahamas!

*****

The crowd is in awe of the power that is Omega Storm... Sure he's the bad guy, but he got himself out of a nasty-looking Dragon Sleeper. People are cheering and rallying for DB, but there's a small contingent of Storm followers. And it's growing, like a thundercloud.

"Storm starting to get a little bit of a following down here in the deep south, eh Axis?" King asks as Storm and DB lock up and exchange arm wringers.

"Well, he's a HOSS~!" Anis states as DB gets the slight advantage and whips Storm into the ropes. "People love HOSS~!es." The aformentioned HOSS~! ducks a clothesline attempt from DB, and rebounds into a regular bulldog lariat. The crowd cheers a little nicer, a little louder for Storm...

*****

There we go! Some offense! I finally am getting a string together here, and it's all good. But, he -is- getting up... So... BAM! A quick strike to the neck, and he goes back down. Heh... ON YOUR KNEES, BITCH! And lo and behold, he is! Hmm... This is a good set-up. Step over the arm... Wristlock... Hey! Quit squirming around, damn you! BAM! with a fist to the head... Now... Turn, roll, hook... Yeah! Now count, damn you! The ref goes, "*Slap!*One! ... *Slap!*Two! ..." And that's about it as I go careening off a small distance... He broke the hold. Hmm. That's what I get for not using it for a while... Like... Ever? I'm back up now, and so is he. But he's looking a little beat. Time to press. I approach him, looking into his eyes. I come around to get him into a front facelock, but he's still fighting mad, flinging elbows and such. They connect, but I'm not in the mood to deal with the slight pain. I manage to pin him in a hammerlock in the midsts of his struggles, and then pull a quick snap suplex-like maneuver to send ol' DB over the top! I finally start paying attention to the crowd, and they're -loving- it! Quite the different reaction from when they thought I was coming out earlier. I drop down, hook the leg for the pin... I hear the lovely refrains of "One! Two! ..." Hey! Where's the three??? Oh... There it is... In the form of him having his hand on the damn rope! (Sigh) Alright... We can work with this. I haul him up by the arm, drag him over to the center of the ring, and look to give him the ol' short-arm clothesline treatment, but... He ducks? Damn! How can he be still coherent? I turn just in time to catch a "short-arm" Spear! Ugh... I'm starting to hate this guy. He drags me up, and whips me across the ring... As I bounce off the ropes, I see him running in from the opposite direction! I can't stop in time... I'm a captive of the dreaded "Mo'", and not in the good way. With a quick leap, he catches me in a legscissors around the waist, and slams me down hard to the mat. He follows up with several shots to the face... By the time the ref gets him up off me, my head is swimming. I manage to get a look at him as he pumps up the crowd, now squarely behind him again. I swear that the Mexicans are purely momentum-driven fans... And that sucks. He turns in time to see me start to rise to my feet...

*****

The crowd is rabid. Full soccer-fan mode is in effect as DB styles for them... While Storm is trying to pull his brain back together again.

"Blazenwing showing serious tenacity here tonight," Axis proclaims as DB walks to the slow-rising Storm, and kicks him in the mid-section. "Storm has dished out some pain, but David Blazenwing has eaten it all and come looking for seconds!"

"Please," King groans as DB whips Storm into the corner. "Enough with the food talk. I'm seeing so many tacos here, and I'm sooooo hungry!" DB runs in and splashes the helpless Storm hard into the corner, then starts to climb. The crowd opens up the floodgates as DB makes it to the top, and starts slowly setting up Storm for something big!

"Why don't you go munch on a male taco, huh King?" Axis grumbles, then picks right back up before King has a chance to respond. "If I'm not mistaken, Blazenwing is setting up the Blazen Bomb! If he hits this, it's upset city!"

*****

I hear the crowd. I have a feeling I know what's coming. My brain isn't quite with it, but what little instinct I have in this sport is kicking in, I feel it. My hands swing of their own, trying to break this guy's hold. He's not exactly balanced on the top buckle, but he was trying to set up for a powerbomb... If he'd hit it, I'd be toasted. But... He won't hit it now. I've got him so off-balance that he has to let go of me, and that's all I need. I grab the ropes and shake them... He has to bend over to catch his balance, and that's when I strike! I wrap an arm around his neck, and lance the other up through his legs... And I want to make the guy a missile with a top-rope scoop slam! But... I change my mind... It's time to put this one to bed. I bring him down onto my shoulder, then push him back up after moving my arms to the right spot. With a mighty push, he's off and away, but I add the facelock as he goes, and WHAM!!! I come down with him and pull off that lovely little thing I call that Omega Cloudburst! The crowd follows suit, bursting on their own... I roll for the cover, hook the leg... One! Two! THREE!!! The bell rings, and the ref raises my arm in victory! I am the man for once! Not someone else... I've gotten the victory, moved on in the tournament... And I've silenced the critics, for now. But there's always another match, another opponent... Another point to prove. And I'll continue on, destroying everything, everyone in my way. Until there's nothing left but me... And the top of the mountain with the gold around my waist.

February 24, 2003

Smarks Junior League Wrath

The Mexican crowd's eagerness to see the show and my little will to write a match right now prompt an early entrance by the two combatants. The rabid Mexican fans make so much noise they almost miss...

"Pictures in the mi-i-ir-or..."

... Heard through the PA system. They don't miss the green pyro as it shoots down from the rafters! As the arrow hits the entrance way and explodes in a dazzling scene, "Pictures in the Mirror" by the Living End begins to play. As the smoke subsides and the fans recover from the blinding flash from the pyro, they cheer in unison as "Picture Perfect" Aaron Carpenter makes his first appearance at a Junior League event, and the crowd show their support for the rookie as he sprints down the ramp way. He slaps hands with the fans, smiling all the while. Under that smile though, are worrying feelings about his first match, wanting it to go perfectly. As the impressive looking young man slides into the ring and ascends to the top turnbuckle, Funyon make his introductions over the thousands on thousands of rowdy Mexicans.

"The following match is our final Television Title contendership match of the evening!" Even the Mexicans fans welcome back the Television title, knowing that these men will fight tooth and nail for a shot at it. "Introducing first, from Washington D.C. Standing six foot three and weighing two hundred and twenty eight pounds, making his debut in the Smarks Junior League... please welcome, "Picture Perfect"... AARON CARPENTER!"

Upon hearing this, the crowd grows even louder as they give the rookie a great ovation. Carpenter is already getting psyched for the math up, but smiles as he listens to the fans make him welcome. Axis seems hopeful that Carpenter will be a new rising star in the Junior League, "This kid has the look, and from what I've heard, the skill to make it far in this business! I mean, anyone trained by Mark Stevens has already made leaps and bounds into this business!"

King grumbles, but agrees, "Despite Grand Slam being an utter tool, he would make a good mentor, and Carpenter should be thankful he has had such good fortune in being trained by the second best!"

"Second best? Let me guess, you being the first?"

King chuckles, "Did you really have to ask?"

The crowd continues to stand as the lights inside Arena Mexico begin to dim, and soon only little can be seen. The haunting tune of "Three Libras" by a Perfect Circle begins to play as Christian Blackwell follows shortly after, eyes looking straight down, silently making his way down the ramp way as flames begin to burn beside him as he trails down the ramp way. The crowd does not cheer loudly, except watching quietly as they study Blackwell, some putting their lighters into the air and swaying with the music.

"And his opponent..." Funyon begins to say, the mic held close to his lips. "From Rosslare Ireland. Standing six foot four, and weighing in at two hundred and forty eight pounds... ladies and gentleman, he is... CHRISTIAN BLACKWELL!"

The fans begin to cheer a little more now as Blackwell enters the ring, still silent as he goes about preparing for his match, Carpenter sizing his opponent up, thinking of the strategy for his first match, knowing he needs a solid game plan to beat the experienced Christian Blackwell.

"Carpenter is going to need a solid strategy to beat someone as experienced as Blackwell." Axis comments.

"..."

Funyon quickly takes his leave and exits through the ropes, leaving Kivell, the referee for this bout, in between Blackwell and Carpenter who cordially shake hands before the bout, prompting applause from the audience, who are very big on their wrestling. The bell rings, and this match is officially under way!

"A very special night tonight King..." Axis remarks, "The television title has once again come back to the Junior League, and each man in this tournament wants to put their name into the record books!"

"Exactly my friend. Their name will be put alongside great men like Josh Tupper and Taylor Nicholas Thompson."

"... You've just killed the mystic of the title."

The two men are roughly the same size, Blackwell being just a little taller and heavier, but not enough to factor into the match. Carpenter is weary, not confident enough to make the first move yet, but watching Blackwell, the more experience Blackwell, who knows when and how to attack. The first move is made by Christian, but nothing comes of it as he lunges forward, but quickly steps back, just testing Carpenter out.

"It's a feeling out process right now," Axis explains. "Both men are technical based wrestlers, so it's safe to say there will be little brawling, but as a result, each man is looking for a move or submission to put the other down, and will wait patiently while they do."

"I'm tempted to run in there and knock them both out if they don't do something soon."

Darting towards Carpenter, Blackwell locks Aaron's arm behind his back, executing a simple hammerlock, wrenching his arm. Carpenter twists himself around however, reversing the hold with one of his own, Blackwell hopping around as Carpenter twists his arm, feeling a little pain to start off. The veteran Blackwell soon counters, twisting himself around and grabbing Carpenter by the arm and whipping him into the nearest set of ropes. The rookie comes back as Blackwell sticks his arm out, catching Carpenter by the throat and wrapping his arms around Carpenter's throat with a sleeper hold. Carpenter, although being young and inexperienced, knows such a simple move as a sleeper and easily counters by reaching back and executing a snapmare on Blackwell. Jumping back to his feet, Carpenter shows off just a little of his high flying skill, tying to dropkick a sitting Blackwell in the back of the head, but Christian lays on his back suddenly, and Carpenter hits the mat face first, his legs around Blackwell. The Irish boy soon capitalises, grabbing Carpenter's legs and rolling back into a sitting position, executing a Boston Crab Submission!

"A simple yet effective submission from Blackwell," Axis explains. "Blackwell is still unsure of how to approach Carpenter, so is sticking to his usual strategy, maybe beginning to work on Carpenter's legs?"

But before Axis can complete his sentence, Carpenter continues rolling through, his knees pinning Blackwell arms to the mat as Kivell slams his palm on the canvas!

... O n e ! But Blackwell kicks out. Blackwell rolls back onto his knees and wraps his arms around Carpenter's waist, pushing him to the mat, but Carpenter counters, getting onto all fours and flipping Blackwell over his head and onto his back. Carpenter reaches forward, pulling Blackwell up into a sitting position, yanking back with a rear chin lock! Blackwell finds this difficult to escape as Carpenter locks his fingers together tightly and continues pulling back on Blackwell's jaw. Luckily for Christian he manages to country before too much damage is done, sending his elbow thrusting into Carpenter's waist, winding him for just a second. This gives Blackwell enough time reach back and grab Carpenter's arm, his legs draping across the perfect one with a Cross Arm Bar!

Seemingly knowing Blackwell's plan before he puts it into action, Carpenter rolls himself across Blackwell's legs and strikes him with a forearm to the face! This forces the Irish boy to let go as both men get to their feet. Blackwell, more than annoyed at Carpenter's ability to escape his moves, slaps the back of his hand across the chest of Carpenter with a Knife-Edge chop. He hits another, and another, steadily pushing Carpenter back towards a corner, until he his pushed up against the turnbuckle pads, Blackwell going to town, turning Carpenter's chest red with his vicious strikes.

"Carpenter has done better than I expected him to," King says, surprised. "Blackwell may have the experience, but Carpenter doesn't seem to care as he continues to up stage the Irishman, just how Grand Slam did to me!"

"Don't be silly King, Stevens didn't upstage you." Axis replies with a little chuckle.

"I guess your right."

"He was always better than you."

Blackwell stops his furious assault as he clutches Carpenter by the wrist and attempts to whip him across the ring, but Carpenter reverses it and Blackwell is sent shooting towards the corner, hitting the turnbuckles and stumbling back towards Carpenter. The rookie immediately catches Blackwell, one hand grasping his belt and the other throwing Blackwell's arm over his shoulder, lifting him up vertically into the air, holding him there for a few seconds before setting him down, hitting a well executed suplex!

"What a well executed suplex!" Axis adds.

"Could you stop doing that?"

Carpenter floats over on top of Blackwell and pushes his arms into his chest, pinning him once again.

... O n e !

.

... T - But Blackwell rolls his shoulders off the canvas, breaking the count. Carpenter remains focused as he lists Blackwell to his feet, not letting his superior size or experience affect him the slightest, as he whips the Irishman towards the ropes. As Blackwell returns, Carpenter ducks his head and without thought tosses Blackwell overhead, landing on the canvas with a loud thud! Carpenter keeps up the pace, running towards the corner and jumping up to the second turnbuckle, then the top, finally leaping off with a Triple Jump Moonsault! But Blackwell is awake to this, and rolls out of the way, Carpenter quick enough to correct himself in mid-air and land on two feet.

"This Carpenter is certainly more athletic than Stevens ever was!" Axis yells. "Narrowly missing putting away Blackwell with a beautiful Moonsault."

"He's everything Grand Slam was, but with the ability not to bore me shitless!" King replies happily. "Right now, he's dominating Blackwell, but as he has done before, Blackwell is sure to bounce back."

Blackwell does indeed try to bounce back, charging at Carpenter with a running forearm, which has put down so many men before, but Carpenter ducks the blow! Carpenter continues on to the nearest set of ropes, leaping to the top and springboarding off, turning himself in the air and catching Blackwell in the jaw with a dropkick! The fans are in a frenzy over the rookie who is really showing them something, hooking Blackwell by the leg in hopes of his first win!

... O n e!

.

... T w o ! But Blackwell is still fighting, starting to breathe heavily as he hears the crowd chant, "Perfect! Perfect! Perfect!"

Blackwell climbs to his feet, holding his jaw and cringing in pain, the dropkick doing a lot of damage. Carpenter, being the enterprising young rookie that he is, exploits this, pushing Blackwell into a corner and drawing a big response from the fans as he makes his hands into a picture frame and lines up Blackwell! Carpenter is finally satisfied, and he completes the shot by elbowing Blackwell in the jaw! Once more, twice more, thrice more! Blackwell is absolutely stunned as Carpenter whips him across the squared circle. Blackwell thumps into the corner, Carpenter, running on pure adrenaline, charges toward his prey, but Blackwell counters, lifting his boot into the air and catching Carpenter in the face! The rookie stumbles backward, as Blackwell charges, only to be caught in Carpenter's vice like grip from around the waist, and thrown over his head with an Explodah~!

"Holy shit!" Axis shouts. "I thought this would be the beginning of a Blackwell fight back, but Carpenter is just able to counter everything to veteran throws at him!"

"This is such an impressive debut by this young man," King replies. "He's so dynamic, like I was, and he isn't giving Blackwell one inch in this match!"

"I know Blackwell has been out of wrestling for a long time, but that's no excuse for him to show so poorly against a rookie."

The crowd pops madly for that last move, as the Perfect one lifts Blackwell to his feet, pushing him into a nearby corner, driving his knee into Blackwell abdomen over and over again. He takes a few steps back as Blackwell stumbles forward a few, clutching at his midsection. Carpenter heads on another charge, but Blackwell counters desperately, lifting Carpenter into the air with a flapjack, throwing his head down on the top turnbuckle pad! Blackwell gets to his feet, the crowd severely disappointed as Carpenter lays in the corner. Blackwell growls, his eyes shortening and closing in, angered. He yells to the crowd's shock, putting his hand around Carpenter's throat and choking him in the corner!

"Blackwell is livid!" King cries. "He's let his frustration’s get to him, and taking it out on poor Carpenter who is just trying to win for the first time!"

As Blackwell pushes Aaron Carpenter up against the corner, his face etched with anger and frustration, Kivell steps forward and tries to pull him off, seeing that Blackwell won't let go anytime soon. Blackwell turns around and clocks Kivell in the head, sending him stumbling across the ring with a wayward punch. Blackwell suddenly reaches into his pocket for something, and crouches, fiddling with whatever he produced. He strikes Carpenter across the temple, and the rookie is out cold, falling forwards in a heap, not moving a muscle. Kivell turns back around, ready to have a word with Blackwell, but to his surprise he finds Carpenter on the canvas. Kivell suspects foul play, but can't prove it, as Blackwell just looks down at Carpenter, shocked by his actions, his eyes wide with surprise, hands trembling, the crowd unsure what to think as Blackwell just stares down at his opponent!

"It's brass knuckles!" King shouts. "I would know those from anywhere! Blackwell, loved by the fans for his fair play and honour, has just knocked Aaron Carpenter out cold with brass knucks!"

"I don't believe it..." Axis says. "I know Carpenter was doing good, but did it really warrant Blackwell to strike him with that vile instrument?"

"Apparently, JR."

Kivell surveys the scene, but soon tells Blackwell to get on with it. Blackwell glances at Kivell, seeming distant as Kivell gives him the order. Blackwell drops to his knees and rolls Carpenter onto his back, pressing his arms into Carpenter's chest, pinning him mercifully...

... "O n e !"

.

... "T w o !"

.

... "T h r e e !" The crowd is confused as the bell rings, but start to cheer as Blackwell climbs to his feet, the referee lifting his arm into the air, the crowd unaware of Blackwell's dirty deed.

"The winner of this match and advancing in the Smarks Junior League Television Title Tournament... CHRISTIAN BLACKWELL!"

The crowd cheers once more, but Blackwell continues looking at Carpenter, hands still shaking, not believe what he did.

"What came over Blackwell...?" Axis asks in vain. "He has been a fine, upstanding man since entering this league, why would he do this? Surely not for any career gains, he is too good for that..."

"Maybe there's a side to him we don't know about Axis, but rest assured, he'll be asked to explain his actions!"

As Kivell kneels down, speaking to Carpenter, waking him from his slumber, Blackwell heads out of the ring, disgraced. He walks up the ramp, shaking his head, running a hand through his hair, still not believing.

"He will be King, and I'll be interested in what he has to say, but let's put this behind us for now. Join us after the break for more Junior League Wrath from Mexico City!"

With that, the screen fades to the commercials. Backstage, Tryst looks on by the monitor, chuckling to himself.

"So you have revealed yourself to me, Rottingham."

Stillwell just sighs as he and Tryst walk off...

February 24, 2003

In the depths of the arena, we come upon a locker room. Why the camera has focused on this locker room is unknown, but as it pans to Ben Hardy waiting outside the door, it's very easy to tell why he looks scared. For on the locker room door is inscribed the name of a God, the name of a being so powerful it scares the living hell out of Ben Hardy.

*Knock Knock*

Hardy: "Janus? You in there?"

Silence.

*Knock knock*

Hardy: "Hey. Heeeeey! You in there!?"

While Hardy knocks on the door, the camera pivots as footsteps are heard, and poor Gus recoils as the camera is zoomed right in on the grim and ominous white haired visage of Janus, standing directly behind them! The giant once more has his bag slung over his shoulder, and wears a deep purple shirt with the word "J A N U S" emblazoned across it in dark green.

Janus: "Ben."

The sound of the giant's voice directly behind him makes Hardy freeze and turn pale, before turning around slowly with a nervous expression on his face. Janus continues to look down at him with a bleak expression on his face before Hardy finally begins babbling his reason for being there.

Hardy: "Uh...Janus...I Just wanted to ask you...where were you? And your thoughts on tonight....."

The giant pushes Ben aside none too gently and pulls out the key to his locker room, the metal object almost dwarfed in his giant hand as he puts it into the keyhole and unlocks the door. Without a word, he swings the door open and steps inside, dropping his bag on the bench and stripping off his shirt to stretch his muscles most impressively before turning around. Hardy recoiled in fear, as the sight of the giant just staring like that....

Janus: "....Tonight? Tonight....I take Dace Night....one on one...and show him that his Horrorcore style is no match for me..."

The giant steps forward, re-emerging from his locker room to stare down at Ben and Gus, hands tucked into his pockets like he was casual, but the grim look in his eyes and his tone of voice told how totally serious he was.

Janus: "After tonight....I'll meet Mike again. Who'll think he can beat me like before. When I meet him next show, he'll be confident. Cocky. Lazy..."

Janus' voice turned to such a cold, wintery ice that it made Hardy, Gus, and almost every single person listening to him shiver in fear.

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

With that, the giant's hands come out of his pockets as if to shove Ben Hardy, but he turns around and just stalks back into his locker room and slams the door, a piece of paper drifting to the ground that had apparently fallen out of the giant's pocket. The camera focused on the piece of paper, a note written by Janus.

"Meeting with Psychiatrist. Two hours before SJL Metal."

The camera focuses on this for a long moment as Ben stares at Janus' closed door, before the camera fades out back to the arena...

February 24, 2003

Axis: Folks, we have a dandy of a brawl coming up here. It’s got a Thunder God, a Maori Badass and a… well it’s hard to describe quite what Aecas is, but I’m sure it’s dangerous. I wouldn’t mess with any of these three guys, King.

Suicide King: If I did I’m sure I’d win. Who’s better than Suicide King?

Axis pauses

Suicide King: No one!

Funyon: The following match is scheduled for one fall, under Triple Threat rules. Introducing first, at 345lbs, and a massive 7 foot tall, he hails from Immortal Valhalla, but graces us in Midgard with his presence today…. The Thunder God… THOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOR!

The lights go out and rhythmic chanting of the word "Thunder" begins to play as the stage fills with smoke, illuminated only by a faint blue spotlight. The crazy guitar-line grows steadily until Brian Johnson's voice screams out "You've been... THUNDERSTRUCK!!" at which point a lightning bolt crashes to the stage and an enormous blue and red pyro erupts on the stage. Out of the smoke steps Thor as he walks down the ramp with his hammer Mjolnir in hand and his match on his mind. He slaps the hands of some fans as he marches down the ramp until he gets to the ring where he steps over the top rope and flexes his generous biceps for the crowd.

Suicide King: I’ve always wondered why Thor doesn’t come out to God of Thunder.

Axis: That’s about Greek mythology, King.

Suicide King: It’s all Greek to me!

Funyon: And his first opponent, weighing in at 265lbs, he hails from Shrewsbury, Shropshire in England. He is AAAAAAEEEEEEEEECAAAAAAAAAAAAAASSSSSSSSS!

The arena goes dark as the opening strains of Rob Zombie's "Superbeast" play. As the heavier riffs of the song kick in, red lights begin to strobe around the arena, like an alarm system gone wrong - or a system that is warning of imminent carnage. The Smarktron displays A E C A S with blood dripping onto the top of the words. A series of sadistic moves are shown before A E C A S appears again this time with blood oozing halfway down the words. Another series of brutal weapon shots and vicious bumps is shown before A E C A S flashes up again, blood pooling at the bottom of the letters

Suicide King (sings): Well you’ve got something about you..

Axis: Are you concentrating King?

Suicide King: I’m always concentrating

Axis: The brutal Aecas is a dangerous man.

Suicide King: Yeah but can he cope with being outgunned by the other two guys in this match?

Axis: We shall see.

Funyon: And their third opponent, he hails from Rotorua, Aotearoa, he is the man who Turns Up and Kicks Ass, he is the Maori Badass, he is 285lbs of ass-kicking machine, he is VAAAAAAAAA’AAAAAAIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIGAAAAAAAAAA

"You know what time it be...." rings out over the speakers as "Strike It" by Dub War stars up. Va'aiga walks down the entranceway and slides into the ring as the verse plays, and as the chorus hits Va'aiga drops the Maori hand sign and pyro fires off from behind him on the break inside the line "STRIKE IT... When the iron is hot."

Suicide King (sings): God of Thunder…. And rock and roll.

Axis: Are you with us King?

Suicide King: I’m a rock God, Axis! I’m wherever I wanna be.

Axis: Va’aiga?

Suicide King: Big scary Maori. This is gonna be fun.

In the ring Va’aiga and Aecas lock up, the pair pushing backwards and forwards a couple of steps each way, neither getting the leverage to force the hold to their own advantage. Thor separates the two participants and smashes his mighty forearm into both in turn. Neither man budges too far from the blows and both exchange a quick glance, turn to Thor and grab for an arm. Thor gets whipped double team style into the ropes, and steadies himself by grabbing hold of them. Va’aiga and Aecas link their arms together and hit a huge double clothesline, sending Thor down to the floor.

Axis: Sound strategy from the two smaller, and I use that term merely as a relative comparison, wrestlers in this match.

Suicide King: Cooperate to eliminate! I like it.

Va'aiga and Aecas lock up again inside the ring, this time with Aecas levering round into a headlock. Aecas tries to DDT Va'aiga but the massive Maori steps a leg across Aecas’ and prevents the blow from being landed. Va’aiga tries to push his head further through for a Southern Lights Suplex, but Aecas releases the headlock, denying Va’aiga the position to flip the Black Country Brawler over. Aecas grabs for an arm of Va’aiga’s and whips him into the far ropes, ducks under the vicious but wildly aimed lariat that Va'aiga fires off in his direction as the big Maori rebounds, and as he rebounds again, Aecas shapes for a shoulder block. The two mastodons bounce off each other, and neither budges more than an inch. Aecas rushes into the ropes for himself, attempting the shoulder block again with the additional momentum, Va'aiga shapes shoulder first to receive it, and again the two bounce off each other with little effect. Aecas rushes the ropes again and charges Va'aiga again, and the massive Maori changes tactic and FLATTENS Aecas with a lariat!

Va’aiga: MY HOUSE!

Va'aiga moves to cover Aecas, but Thor drags Aecas roughly out of the ring and fires a few right hands at the Englishman, leaving Va’aiga in the ring alone.

Suicide King: What a match, Axis! What a match!

Axis: It’s barely got started here, and already it’s a power contest between three massive grapplers.

Suicide King: Three guys beating each other up! The crowd loves it, the TV audience loves it, I love it! This is what wrestling is about.

Thor grabs Aecas and smashes him back first into a ringpost as the referee counts 1. The count increases, and Thor follows in with a flurry of punches, before grabbing Aecas by the throat, lifting him and throwing him forcefully into the ring apron. By now the referee’s count has increased to 7, and Thor lets Aecas slump against the ring apron, climbing back over the ring ropes and stepping in his Godly manner towards Va'aiga. The big Maori grins, and the referee breaks his count, concentrating more on what’s going on in the ring.

Axis: Aecas getting the worst of that little encounter.

Suicide King: Well he was going up against a God. It’s something many of MY opponents feel.

Thor marches towards Va'aiga and fires off a stiff chop, which moves Va’aiga maybe an inch. Va’aiga instinctively fires off a lariat, but Thor ducks and Va'aiga is turned so the pair are side by side. Thor reaches an arm round Va’aiga’s neck, looking for his reverse suplex, but Va’aiga steps a leg across and falls backwards taking down Thor with the Side Maori Legsweep. Va'aiga floats across looking to cover 1… and Thor pushes up sending the big Maori FLYING halfway across the ring.

Axis: What power! What strength!

Thor gets to his feet, and walks over to Va’aiga, grabbing the Maori Warrior by the shoulder and dragging him up to his knees. Thor picks an arm to take Va’aiga up to his feet and the whips the big Maori into the ropes, waiting until his return to pick up Va’aiga into a military press, then easily hitting his Triple Gorilla Press Slam sending Va'aiga tumbling to the mat from 9 foot up! Thor winces a little and shakes some pain free from his arms as he drops and covers 1.. 2.. and a recovering Aecas fires off a stomp it’s Thor’s back to break the cover.

Suicide King: I hear Va’aiga lost a battle of wits to a superhero.

Axis: Who King?

Suicide King: The Incredible Hulk!

Aecas and Thor face off again, with Aecas firing off some quick punches, leading to Thor responding with some slightly weaker looking ones of his own. Thor grabs Aecas in a bearhug, lifting Aecas up looking for an orbital belly to belly, but Aecas slips free of the hold and uses the torque of the move against Thor, allowing him to switch behind and hit a quick backdrop suplex, the size of Thor forcing Aecas to alter the suplex, leaving the Norse Warrior landing shoulder first instead of on his head and neck. Thor winces in pain again as Aecas fires some quick shin kicks into Thor’s shoulder while the Norse God is on the ground.

Suicide King: Thor needs to signal for a trainer.

Axis: And how’s he going to do that, King?

Suicide King: Use Norse Code!

Axis: Good grief!

Aecas uses the whole of his strength to lift Thor onto his shoulder and, stepping out a knee, Aecas drops the God down forcefully, impacting the already hurt shoulder into the top of his muscular thigh. Not content whit going for a pin straight away Aecas lifts Thor up off the mat, struggling with the massive size of the Valhallan Hero, before grabbing Thor by the stomach and wrenching him round into a Dr. Bomb. Aecas holds on for a pinning combination, 1… 2… and Thor kicks out. Aecas picks Thor up again, and this time ups the stakes by planting Thor with a massive Powerbomb. Considering that attempting a second sequential bomb would do more harm to himself than Thor, Aecas stand and points to the sky, and the crowd goes ballistic anticipating some high flying from the Shrewsbury man. Aecas climbs slowly to the top rope, surveying the situation, then changes his mind about hitting a top rope move on Thor, as he spots Va’aiga stand up slowly. Aecas turns to the big Maori, and flies off the ropes, hitting a big cross body on Va’aiga… who catches him! Va'aiga holds Aecas across his chest for a few precious seconds before hitting him with the MAORI DROP! Instead of covering Va'aiga kips up and drops the Maori hand sign for the crowd.

Va'aiga: BOOYA!

Va'aiga drops back down to cover 1…2… and Aecas kicks out. Va’aiga lifts Aecas up and forcefully applies a standing head scissors, and lifts Aecas with ease onto his shoulders and drives the Englishman powerfully into the mat with a massive release powerbomb!

Va'aiga: C’MON!

Va'aiga lifts Aecas up from the mat again and lifts Aecas over his shoulder and sits out, spiking the dark individual with a Southern Lights Bomb! Va’aiga covers, but Thor has recovered enough to stomp on Va’aiga to break the cover. Va’aiga stands up to face the Thunder God and the pair start exchanging massive strikes and showing off their manliness by not budging, no matter what the power of the blows.

Axis: Va’aiga had a couple of chances to win then.

Suicide King: You know, if that idiot spent less time jawing and more time pinning, he’d have this match won.

Va’aiga and Thor hammer away at each other, and Thor gains an advantage with a pair of vicious punches, then grabs for an arm of Va’aiga’s and whips the big Maori into the ropes. Thor prepares a big boot for Va’aiga’s return, but the Maori mastodon ducks under, and Thor is forced to turn, awaiting the momentum charged rebound. Thor lifts his leg again, but Va’aiga, with a full head of steam, plants a massive Maori shoulder into the gut of Thor, and lifts the 7 footer clean off the ground, pushing him backwards a few steps before the pair come crashing down to the mat. Va’aiga stomps away on the shoulder of Thor a few times and then lifts Thor up to a vertical base again. The stunned Thor lashes out with a loose lariat, and Va’aiga ducks under the blow to wind up behind Thor, setting himself up for a backdrop suplex, again landing Thor on his shoulder.

Axis: The Maori Badass showing supreme strength again.

Suicide King: He can lever him over, but there’s no way a straight lift will work on him.

Axis: And that means no Maori Drop, right King?

Suicide King: You’re not as dumb as you look. Though that WOULD be pretty damn hard.

As Va’aiga stomps away at Thor again, Aecas rises to HIS feet, and taps the big Maori on his massive shoulder. Va’aiga gives him a cold hard stare, but Aecas whispers something to the massive Maori. The pair work as a team to lift Thor to his plate like feet and hit a double team whip on the God of Thunder. Va'aiga sets himself off in motion following Thor, and Aecas runs into the opposite ropes himself. As Thor lumbers into the middle of the ring, Va’aiga smashes into the back of Thor’s legs with a running Rugby tackle, and at the same time Aecas spears Thor in the chest with THE GORE! Thor gets TOTALLY pancaked and collapses on the mat, back first.

Axis: Oh… my…. God!

Suicide King: Hey, I’d like to order a sandwich, Thunder God on rye. Hold the mayo.

Aecas dives to cover Thor, but Va'aiga drags him off and goes for the cover himself. Aecas drags off Va’aiga after a one count and the pair stand up and face off. Va’aiga gesticulates wildly, signs of frustration crossing his face. Aecas smiles a small smile to himself, and wraps an arm round Va’aiga’s neck, as his protestations lower his personal protection. Aecas locks his hands, and hits Va’aiga with a sitout neckbreaker drop. Aecas floats over 1… 2… and Va'aiga kicks out. Aecas picks up Va’aiga and sets a backdrop suplex ready for the big Maori. Aecas waits for Thor to stand up. A nodded signal to Thor sets up a big boot started backdrop! Aecas keeps the hold on waterwheel style, and the ref gets a count on 1… 2… and Thor kicks Aecas off Va’aiga.

Suicide King: Will these guys EVER get on?

Axis: It’s not their job to agree King, it’s their job to get a win.

Suicide King: Why do we have to fight? Why can’t we all just get along?

Thor stands slowly and picks up Aecas, dropping him rudely to the mat with a rapidly delivered bodyslam. The Mighty One picks up Aecas again, and grabs Aecas around the waist, locking in a tight bearhug. Thor holds in the bearhug and locks his hands tight together, wincing a little at the pain of applying the hold on an injured shoulder, but satisfied that it’s obviously doing MUCH more damage to Aecas than it is to himself. While Aecas is concerned with turning slowly purple, Thor looks towards Va’aiga to see if the Maori Badass has recovered. Va’aiga slowly begins to stir, and Thor takes the opportunity to sling Aecas forcefully over his head, the massive overhead belly to belly suplex flattening Aecas back down to the mat.

Suicide King: Three big guys beating each other up. Somewhere in Stamford, I’m sure someone is watching in envy.

Thor turns to Va’aiga and stares down the Maori, grabbing an arm and whipping him forcefully into the corner. As Va’aiga slumps, Thor charges in and plants Va’aiga hard into the ring post with a massive clothesline, sending Va’aiga nearly up perpendicular to the mat. Thor lashes a chop into the chest of Va’aiga and the Mexican fans, well accustomed to the minutiae of American wrestling whoo happily along. Thor joins in with a Hacksaw Jim Dugganish HOOOOOOO of his own, but Va'aiga shrugs off the impact of the weakest of Thor’s impressive arsenal of strikes, and Clotheslines him down to the mat! Va’aiga goes straight over to the fallen Thor and locks in a camel clutch, sending the crowd into a frenzy! Aecas stirs as the move is applied and Va'aiga loosens it to prevent a quick back attack.

Axis: La de a Caballo! The hold of El Santo! And the crowd love it!

Aecas and Va'aiga exchange a silent glance, and then glance again toward the fallen Thor. The pair lift up Thor as a team, and Va’aiga backs off a few paces. Thor gets whipped forcefully by Aecas into Va’aiga, who uses the momentum of the massive Valhallan and somehow with amazing strength manages a low flapjack on Thor!

Va’aiga: ¡MI CASA!

Axis: I saw it. I’m not sure I believe it.

Suicide King: Yeah but that’s another momentum heavy move! I STILL don’t’ think he can Maori Drop him.

Va'aiga and Aecas combine again, with Va'aiga managing to get Thor high enough in the air with a half backdrop suplex motion that Aecas can step in between Thor’s legs, airborne and parallel to the mat and powerbomb Thor down to the hard, unforgiving canvas. Aecas lifts Thor up again, standing behind him and Va’aiga steps in, the commonwealth pair hitting a combined reverse Russian legsweep/STO! Thor lands hard on his upper back and shoulders and winces in pain. The pair lift Thor again and Va’aiga sets Thor up for yet another derivation of the backdrop suplex. Aecas steps in and grabs his hand around Thor’s thick throat! Thor gets spiked with a combined Backdrop Suplex and Chokeslam!

Axis: Well even if one massive wrestler is going to have problems lifting Thor, I suppose two massive wrestlers aren’t having too many problems doing it.

Suicide King: It’s only a shame they’re not doing it illegally.

Aecas turns to the crowd and looks out into the gathered Mexican masses. Va'aiga grabs hold of an arm of Thor and whips him into the ropes, and on Thor’s return Va’aiga somehow managers to flapjack Thor up, and Aecas slips under to hit a DOUBLE DIAMOND CUTTER! Aecas moves to cover and Va’aiga breaks. Va’aiga moves to cover and Aecas breaks. The pair stand up and face off against each other and stare, the reserved expression that crosses Aecas’s face no match for the neck veins bulging, eyes popping out of skull, contorted faced scowl of pure anger that has taken over Va’aiga. Aecas pushes Va’aiga out of frustration and Va’aiga responds by nearly ripping the Englishman’s head off with a truly awe inspiring lariat! Aecas stands again slowly and as Va’aiga spits verbal venom, Thor has regained his footing, and with the two combatants detained with personal squabbles, Thor grabs both of them by the throat and takes both down with a double chokeslam! The chokeslam on Va’aiga being delivered with the weaker arm looked less impressive, but nonetheless both opponents are flattened on the mat.

Thor: HOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

Axis: That’s the war cry of Thor! The Thunder God could be ready to finish this!

Thor looks up to the top corner and trying to shake free the pain from his shoulder, Thor slowly ascends to the top turnbuckle, one rope at a time, and then taking his time to survey the crowd, Thor turns round to face the fallen Aecas in the ring. Thor extends an arm and the crowd greets this with an ENORMOUS round of cheers.

Suicide King: Could it be, Axis?

Axis: I think it is.

Suicide King: He’s not gonna go for the Crack of Thunder is he?

Axis: I think he is.

Thor waits for a good ten seconds, letting the power of the crowd reaction motivate him for this one last gasp of energy, and as the energy coursees through his body, Thor dives off the top rope with the CRACK OF THUNDER, driving his elbow hard into the stomach of Aecas. Aecas writhes in pain, and Thor howls out in pure unreserved anguish, as the shockwave of pain from delivering his elbow drop shoots through the injured shoulder.

Axis: An AMAZING 350lb, 7 foot plus elbow drop. The Crack of Thunder is SURE to end this match. But maybe the question is - Who did it hurt more?

Suicide King: I know who it DIDN’T hurt more.

And the magic prophecy skills of Suicide King strike true again as Va’aiga draws himself to his feet, walks slowly, deliberately over to the fallen pair of Thor and Aecas, kicks Aecas out of the way onto the ring apron, and as Aecas rolls down off the apron to recuperate, Va'aiga deadlifts Thor off the ground, hold him across his chest…

Axis: No!

…walks back a few paces to the ropes…

Suicide King: He can’t… Can he?

Va'aiga: DROP!

…and hits Thor with the RUNNING MAORI DROP! Va’aiga hooks a leg… 1… 2… 3!!!

Axis: Va’aiga wins! Va’aiga wins in his debut match!

Suicide King: The big lug pulled it out! I’m amazed, Axis.

Back in the ring Va’aiga motions for a stick to be thrown into the ring to him. Gasping for breath he addresses the crowd.

Va’aiga: YO! I’ve been through hell in the ring tonight, and though tonight this has been my house, I gotta give huge props to my two brothers out here in the ring tonight. Get your asses up here guys.

Thor and Aecas join Va'aiga in the centre of the ring, all three sucking wind and slumped, Thor holding his shoulder and Aecas his chest.

Va’aiga: Give these two guys a big hand, cos we ALL turned up and kicked ass tonight!

We cut to a commercial break after Va’aiga has thrown down his mic and lifted Thor and Aecas’ hands in celebration of their performances.

February 24, 2003

"¡Tortillas, Chalupas, Burritos, Enchiladas, Tamales! ¡Tengo todo! ¡Consiga su alimento de bocado aquí!

The loud voices of the snack vendors in Arena México are heard above the murmur of the crowd following the previous Triple Threat Match. They anticipate the start of the next contest, a cruiserweight match between the current European champion, a former World champion, and the resident Junior League Jackass.

Axis: Looks like we've got a hot crowd on our hands, King.

King: [Wearing a Frost-brand sombrero] Of course we do. Considering this is as close to a real Lucha Libre match as the fans will get tonight, they better be pumped for it.

Suddenly, the metal beats of "King of Your Own World" by Smugface plays over the sounds system as gold sparks rise up from under the entrance stage. A few second in, "Hollywood" Spike Jenkins walks out from behind the curtain, stepping into the sparks. He stands, admiring the crowd and himself, basking in the glory of the golden shower raining down on him. Funyon, who accidentally left his metric converter in France, makes his voice heard...

"The following Cruiserweight Rules match is set for one fall. Introducing first, making his way from Hollywood, California, USA weighing in at 220 pounds, "Hollywood" SPIKE JENKINS!"

He gets to the ring and walks up the steel steps, then along the apron to the middle of the rope. He hooks his arms on the top one and leans back against them, staring out into the crowd. He eventually releases the ropes and steps through them, walking towards one of the turnbuckles. To cap off the most original and in-no-way-stolen-from-anyone-else entrance, Spike climbs up one of the corners and sits down on it. As his music dies down, the negative fan reaction is amplified even louder until the opening riffs of "Polyamorous" begin to play... Just as the drums kick in...

*BOOM*

... A pyrotechnic explosion goes off onstage, and behind it, Sean Atlas appears, proudly wearing his European Championship belt around his waist. On his head, we see a brand new mask, different from the type he's been wearing thus far. This one is a lucha-style mask, appropriate for this particular venue. He walks down the ring, mostly to boos but because of the mask and championship belt, some members of the crowd cheer him on. Funyon, who wasn't bright enough to buy an English-Spanish dictionary to announce these things, speaks again.

"His opponent, making his way from Chicago, Illinois, USA, weighing in at 230 pounds, he is the current European Champion, SEAN ATLAS!"

Atlas gets to the ring, aware of Jenkins sitting atop the turnbuckle. In turn, he slides under the bottom rope and makes himself comfortable in the corner opposite Spike's, leaning against the turnbuckle pads. His music slowly fades away as Atlas surveys the scene, glancing at Spike every so often. Then, to the murmur of the crowd, a loud voice is heard on the sound system...

"Ah..."

"Ah...."

"Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh..."

"I'M IN OVER MY HEAD!"

The arena darkens and a strobelight shining from the entranceway blinds most nearby spectators. The opening lyrics of "Over My Head" by Lit blast through as Matt Myers simply walks out through the curtain, receiving mostly cheers from the crowd. Matt walks down the entrance ramp, slapping the hands of loyal and loving fans. Funyon, who somehow manages to make it to make it to both the SWF and SJL show on the same night, introduces the grappler...

"Their opponent, hailing from Honolulu, Hawaii, weighing in at 221 pounds, "Punk Rockstar" MATT MYERS!"

Just as Funyon finishes his business, Myers runs towards the ring and jumps onto the apron from the floor. He uses the top rope to launch himself into the ring and hyper-actively excites the crowd, getting them hot for the soon-to-begin match. Spike and Atlas look on at the overly flamboyant Myers, not quite understanding why he's so happy. They give each other a glance and the instant the bell rings...

*ding-ding*

...they each leap off their respective corner and run towards Myers. Matt sees them both, but has no time to get out of the way as Spike leaps into the air while Atlas dives down... and Myers is hit with a Dropkick to the face and a shoulder tackle to the legs, taking him down to start the match! Sean and Spike both bring Myers back to his feet and pull on his arms to whip him into ropes. Myers bounces off and sees the double clothesline attempt from his opponents, so he ducks under their arms and runs past them. Off the other ropes now, and Matt sees a perfect opportunity to attack both Atlas and Spike, but before he can leap at them, they turn around and thrust their legs into his face, both men executing Superkicks!

King: Haha, looks like Spike and Atlas are teaming up against Myers here. Good job guys!

Axis: Well you have to remember, there is some history between Myers and Spike. It's been a while, but Jenkins may still hold a grudge about losing to then-co-leader of the sWo, Matt Myers, back in September of last year.

King: You remember that? Jeez, I just thought it was because Spike's been asking Atlas to join Team Jenkins...

Axis: Oh, right. That could be it too.

Continuing the double teaming, Atlas and Spike get Myers to his feet again. Sean grabs Matt's arms and holds them behind his back while Jenkins throws some blatant punches to his face. After nearly half a dozen shots, he tops it off with an eye rake which infuriates Myers. Immediately, Matt jumps up to put more weight onto Atlas, and swings his leg around to kick Spike to the side of his head. On the way down, Myers tries to land on his feet but misses, his waist still held by Atlas. Thus, Sean launches the Punk Superstar over his head and back down to the mat with a Wheelbarrow Suplex!

Immediately, Jenkins runs to the ropes opposite Matt, bounces off and somersaults down, then leaps and lands right atop Myers' body! Rolling Thunder now executed, Spike starts to motion for a cover, but before referee Eddy Long can even begin counting, Atlas forcefully pulls him off, telling Spike that Matt is too close to the ropes. Sean pulls Myers back to his feet and puts on a front face lock. Spike comes over and does the same, setting up a Double Vertical Suplex. They lift Matt up... but he struggles and prevents them from doing it... then shifts his arms around their necks and drops down, simultaneously hitting two Op. Ivy Drops!

Axis: Out of nowhere, Myers pulls out his version of the Evenflow DDT on both Atlas and Jenkins!

King: Why is he even trying? It's two on one in there.

All three competitors come to their feet at nearly the same time, with Myers still standing between Atlas and Spike. Acting before the others do, Matt tries to hook Spike's leg from the side, attempting a Russian Leg Sweep. But before he can do it, Atlas stands up beside Myers and hooks his leg, going for the same move... And with one loud thud, all three men hit the mat! Due to both Myers and Atlas' momentum driving him down, Spike took the hardest fall and he remains on the mat as the other stand.

Atlas meanwhile, takes control and whips Myers towards the ropes... he doesn't let go of his arm though, and Myers is snapped back towards Sean. Atlas wraps his arms around him and pops his hips, hurling the former World champion over his head with a Belly-to-Belly Suplex! Myers lands near Jenkins, who is nearly standing by now. Atlas walks over and together, he and Spike whip Myers to the ropes. Spike follows him a bit and stands between him and Sean.

Matt bounces and as he runs, he spots Spike standing in front of him, doubled over. He instantly jumps and flips himself over to roll off Spike's back... But just as he comes around he sees a blurry image of Sean Atlas, feels his feet being swept out from under him, and hears the thud of his back against the surface of the ring as Atlas catches him with the Sweep Spinebuster! Quickly, Atlas drops down to pin Myers...

...One...

...Two...

NO! ...Spike Jenkins jumps over to break up the cover...

Axis: It seems that the cooperation between Atlas and Spike is slowly breaking down here, King, while Myers is still holding his own against both guys in this fast paced match.

Back in the ring, Atlas and Spike are both standing, yelling at each other about who should have pinned Myers. As usual, Jenkins is doing most of the bitching and is the first to make physical contact when he shoves Atlas. Sean stumbles back and dashes at Spike, throwing forearms and punches the biggest jackass in the biz. Spike ducks down though and kicks Atlas in the inner thigh, dangerously close to the goods. This stops Sean for a moment, allowing Jenkins to jump to his feet and in one motion, leap up in the air and catch Atlas with the I-Just-Broke-Your-Nose!"

Sean slowly pulls himself to a standing position, facing the ropes. As he plants both feet, Jenkins runs right past him... He jumps onto and then off the middle rope in front of him, and in mid air, thrusts his foot out, hitting Atlas in the chest with a Springboard Back Kick! Sean falls back down while Jenkins barely manages to land on his feet. Thinking he has enough time, Spike runs at the ropes again and lands on the middle one, then jumps back, trying an Asai Moonsault... and lands it!! Already in position for the cover, he hooks Sean's leg...

...One...

...Two...

NO! ...Matt Myers breaks up the pin!

Axis: Somehow, Myers was alert enough to stop Spike from winning this match!

King: Bah! He was probably fine this whole time.

Stopping the three-count, Myers quickly gets to his feet, just before Spike does. He pulls Jenkins away, then grabs his neck and turns, trying to hit the New Found Glory... but Hollywood shoves him away, forcing him into the ropes. Coming off, Myers sees an opportunity for a running Tornado DDT and goes for it... but Jenkins pulls away, leaving Matt with nothing but air... Spike throws his leg out, trying to kick Myers in the gut, but Matt catches it! Spike throws his other leg up, trying an Enziguri... but Matt ducks! He uses Spike's momentum against him and spin him further, then Matt himself rotates trying a Spinning Wheel Kick... and hits it! Myers balances himself and leaps up, dropping the leg over Spike's chest with a Leg Drop!

Matt considers going for the cover, but he sees Atlas trying to get to his feet. Without allowing him even the security of standing, Matt turns him around and whips him towards the corner. Atlas reverses it though, without much of a struggle from Myers. He runs towards the turnbuckle with Atlas following close behind, but instead of running into it he swiftly steps up each rope and when at the top, he springs off, twists and catches Sean Atlas with the Big Reel Jump!

Axis: What a brutally graceful maneuver by Matt Myers! A Corkscrew Moonsault, timed perfectly to get Atlas most effectively.

While recovering from the uncomfortable landing, Myers notices Spike starting to stand up near the ropes. He instantly comes to his feet and waits for the right moment, then dashes up next to him, grabs his neck and brings Jenkins down with a bulldog! The crowd, which has been fired up for all of this, gets even louder and Matt teases climbing to the top rope. Getting the response he was looking for, Myers goes through to the apron and rope by rope, makes his way to the top. Once there, he poses for a moment while the flashbulbs go off, and finally leaps off, contracts and expands his body in mid-air, then crashes down on top of Spike Jenkins with a Frog Splash! Matt rolls off, clenching his midsection, then floats back over to Spike. Sure of a win, Myers hooks Jenkins' leg...

...ONE...

...TWO...

...THRRNNNO! Sean Atlas desperately hurls himself atop Myers, interrupting the count!

King: ¡Ay Carumba! What a Triple Threat we've got here; everyone has broken up each other's pin attempts!

All three competitors are down in one corner, but Spike and Atlas are more out of it than Myers, however, which allows him to stand up first. He grabs Atlas by his head and quickly kicks him to the gut. He then places Atlas' head between his legs and grabbing him around the waist, he lifts Sean onto his shoulders. As the crowd's excitement grows, Myers turns towards the ropes with Atlas on top of him and leans, springing Atlas' back off the top rope! On the bounce-back, he prepares to slam Sean's body down into the mat, but just before he's able to do so, Spike Jenkins dives down behind him, using a shoulder tackle to sweep Myers off his feet! Matt falls backwards, and Atlas lunges forward, trying to land safely.

King: See, if Myers didn't bother with the springboard powerbomb and just threw Atlas down, he would have hit that!

Axis: Cruiserweight match, mate. Cruiserweight.

Sean and Jenkins spot each other across the ring. Atlas makes the first move and runs towards Spike, who is by the ropes. Jenkins doesn't budge and Atlas prepares to run into him... but Spike hooks his arms on the ropes and spreads his legs, causing Atlas to run into them. Fluidly, he hooks them around Sean's body, then leans back on the ropes and uses them to toss Atlas over the top and out of the ring! Spike himself lands on the ring apron and rolls back inside, but feels the ring shaking... because Myers is running towards the downed Spike...

Just as he comes to him though, Jenkins shifts his feet and knocks Myers down with a Drop Toe Hold, causing Matt to land on the bottom rope with his neck! Quickly, Spike stands up and runs at the ropes opposite Myers. He bounces off, and as he runs back he sees Atlas grabbing Matt's neck, choking him against the bottom rope! Once Spike reaches them, he jumps and swings through the ropes, 619 style, simultaneously kicking Atlas and hitting a legdrop onto Matt's neck!!!

The fans let out a cheer, more for the move than for the person executing it. On the outside, Atlas falls back down while Jenkins comes back in the ring waiting for Myers to stand. Once he does though, though, Spike gives him one swift kick to the chest, then another, then finally ducks down and lifts Myers up on his shoulders, placing him across his back in a Fireman's Carry... He flips Myers in front of him and just as Myers lands....

King: Jenkins is about to hit The Spotlight!

...Sean Atlas dashes up behind him and stops Spike from finishing the move! Matt drops down to the mat and crawls away while Jenkins looks around to see what just happened... Before he's he can assess the situation though, the foot of Sean Atlas comes forward, jabbing him in the gut. Jenkins instinctively leans over, vulnerable to attack when Atlas pulls on his arm and lifts Spike onto his shoulders in a Fireman's Carry of his own. As the crowd grows louder, sensing the impending Saint's Demise, Atlas turns around and prepares to hit it when he notices something quite large and fast coming at him... it's Matt Myers flying towards Sean, landing on him with a Cross-Body!

Axis: Matt Myers stops Atlas form hitting his finisher, saving Jenkins!

Atlas falls backwards, dropping Spike behind him. Meanwhile, the speedy Myers forces himself up again and quickly brings Atlas up as well. Sean is still dazed from the aerial assault by Myers as he is lifted up and onto Matt's shoulders in yet another Fireman's Carry! The crowd, getting louder than before, cheers Myers on as he moves Atlas's body from the carry into a tombstone piledriver, about to execute the Good Charlotte on the European champion!! Myers prepares to drop down when, between Sean's legs, he sees Spike Jenkins leaping into the air... Spike throws both feet out in front of him and dropkicks Sean right in his back! The force is too great for Myers to hold and he falls back, with Atlas falling onto him!

King: Hollywood, the smartest of them all, dropkicks one man and forces his body to land on the others. Brilliant!

Axis: All three men have tried moves set up by fireman's carries, all of which have been interrupted by the third participant.

The fans show their disapproval as Sean rolls off Myers to recover while Jenkins comes to his feet. Myers being closest to him, Spike goes after him first and brings him to a half standing, doubled-over position. Matt now feels his head being placed between Spike's legs, then his arms under-hooked by Jenkins. With one strong lift, Spike flips Myers up and turns in mid air, holding him in a Fireman's Carry. He hooks Matt's leg with one arm and cradles his head with the other, making sure to get a good grip on the punk rockstar...

King: Holy Shii... uh, Mierda! It looks like Jenkins is about to hit the I-Just-Broke-Your-Neck!

... With Myers spread across his shoulders, Spike turns to make sure that this move doesn't get interrupted. Seeing Atlas half standing across the ring, Jenkins smiles, takes a running start and confidently drops to the side...! He lets go of the leg and drives Matt Myers head-first to the mat!!!

Axis: He did it!

King: He just broke his neck!

To the shocked crowd, Jenkins stands up, smiling at his effective use of the rare maneuver. Myers lies limply in the center of the ring, face down showing little signs of recovery. Right away, Atlas runs over lifting his head up slightly... then quickly throws his right hand around Matt's head, hooks Myer's arm with his left and locks on the KATAHAJIME! Jenkins prepares to attack, but instead jumps over Atlas and near Myers' legs... he hooks them both and pulls back, setting up THE SMOKE OUT!!!

Axis: Two submissions on one man!

King: See? They can work together! Myers is done, amigo. ¡El es muerte!

Due to the excessive force applied to his back by Spike and neck by Sean, Matt comes to life and foolishly tries to struggle out. Jenkins puts more and more torque on the hold, screaming as he tugs away at Matt's legs. Atlas twists Myers' neck getting more pressure on it while Matt's arms flail in the air. He screams incoherently, but still gets across the message to the ref that he's not quitting... Atlas and Jenkins keep the pressure on though, waiting for him to tap... Myers refuses to do so, but his arms start to flail slower... Atlas stops jerking Matt's head around now, keeping the force on his neck isolated, preventing oxygen from getting to it's destination in Matt's head. His motion slow down as a result and finally, his arms stop moving altogether. The referee no longer asks him about quitting and instead lifts one of his hands in the air... it drops!

Axis: If Myers submits here, King, he'll be eliminated but the match will go on with Spike and Atlas...

Long lifts his arm in the air a second time... it drops.

King: Perfect! Once more and he's out of here!

Myers' arm is lifted a third time, and as the referee lets it go, it limply lands on the surface of the ring. To a hoard of boos, Eddy Long motions towards the timekeeper and tells Atlas and Spike to let their respective holds go.

Axis: And Myers is officially gone!

The fans continue booing, forced to watch their favorite competitor in this contest get eliminated. As Eddy Long rolls Myers to the edge of the ring, Spike and Atlas catch their breath, celebrating their domination of Myers individually. Suddenly, Spike lunges at Atlas from behind, negating the past few moments of teamwork. He forces Atlas into the corner, then Irish whips him and sends him off across the ring. Atlas crashes against the turnbuckle pads as Jenkins follows close behind. Spike handsprings off the mat and once he gets to his feet, he goes for his patented Tidal Wave...!

But Atlas ducks the first kick and catches his leg on the second! Atlas moves Spike's leg down and reaches around his neck. He forces the one-hopping Jenkins towards the center of the ring and lifts him up, then slams him down with a Leg Capture Suplex! Atlas stands, deciding not to cover. Quickly, he runs towards the corner and starts to climb the ropes. Aware that this is, after all, a cruiserweight match, and he hasn't hit many such moves thus far, Sean reaches the top of the turnbuckle as the fans give him some cheers... then leaps off, attempting the Fall From Grace...! But it's a miss and Jenkins rolls out of the way!

King: He should have known better. A Leg Capture Suplex won't keep Hollywood Spike Jenkins down!

Spike quickly gets to his feet, felling the urgency of capitalizing on Atlas' missed moonsault. As Sean begins to stand up, Spike turns towards the ropes and jumps out to the apron. He grabs the top rope and pulls back, swings himself onto it to spring off... and flies toward the European champion, thrusting his feet into his cranium, taking Atlas down to the mat with a Springboard Missile Dropkick! Sean comes down hard, feeling his face through the mask. Meanwhile, Spike walks over to a corner of the ring and calls for...

King: The Ratings Gabber!

Axis: King, if he hits this, Jenkins'll have the match won!

Spike grabs onto the ropes and once again, swings himself to the top, this time in the corner. The fans come to their feet as Jenkins balances himself and waits for Atlas to roll into position. Spike looks left... looks right... smiles for the cameras and jumps off...! In mid-air, he brings his elbows to his knees, then expands on the way down and crashes onto... the hard surface of the ring!!!

Axis: He...

King: ...missed!!!

Sean Atlas rolls away at the last possible moment, turning the tables on Spike who did the same just a minute ago. As Jenkins tends to his midsection, Atlas rolls away and out to the ring apron. Using the ropes for leverage, he gets to his feet and grabs onto the top one... Atlas waits for the right opportunity, which would be Spike on his back, but that doesn't come about as Jenkins starts to stand. Sean decides to try the move anyway, and much in the same way that Jenkins did moments ago, pulls back on the rope, flinging himself onto it. Clumsily finding his balance, Atlas leaps off, throwing his elbow out in front of him, hoping to catch Spike in the chest with the Knife-through-the-Heart...! But Spike sees him, and steps out of the way, forcing Sean to land squarely in the center of the ring! Jenkins drops to his knees and throws himself over Atlas' shoulders...

...ONE...

...TWO...

...THHRRRREEENNNNOOOOOO!~!~!~!~! ATLAS KICKS OUT!!!

Jenkins can't believe the match isn't over, and lets Eddy Long know it. He stands and threatens the ref, but stops himself before he gets disqualified. He turns his attention back to the inexorable Sean Atlas, and stands behind him, out of his view. As Sean gets up to one knee, Spike grabs his shoulder from behind and spins him around, pulling him up. He throws his arm over Atlas' chest, and tosses Sean's other arm behind his neck, as a rush of excitement brings the fans to their feet...

King: That's the HIGHLIGHTER!!!

Spike gets ready to jump and finish Atlas off, but a sudden strike to his gut stops him and a grimace of pain appears on his face... Atlas wisely kicked him in the gut, as Jenkins hurt himself there last on the Ratings Grabber attempt. Sean takes Spike's arm and slides down between his legs... With one of his hands placed through his legs, Spike is vulnerable and feels his other arm being hooked from behind... and before he can counter, Atlas lifts him off his feet and slams him down with a Stretch Suplex!

Axis: The masked man reverses it and throws Hollywood down!

With his grip still intact on one of Spike's hands, Atlas yanks on it and drags all 220 pounds of Spike Jenkins to his feet. Quickly, he steps over the arm and puts it through his own legs. He then puts his head under Spike's other arm, and reaches across his chest... Atlas pops his hips and with one strong snap, lifts Spike up and over, then down, dropping him directly on his head!!!

King: Exploder~!

Axis: That's a Belly to Belly Pumphandle Brainbuster Suplex! I didn't know Atlas had that move in his arsenal...

The appreciative fans, who loved the last move, Atlas starts to stand back up, still breathing heavily. Though he's hit two consecutive suplexes, it doesn't seem like enough. The grip he's got on Spike's hand remains intact, and again, he drags the poor man up, with no resistance from anyone but the force of gravity. Atlas lowers his shoulder and pulls Jenkins on top, across his back... Those fans that haven't stood up yet, do, and those who haven't yet taken out their cameras do that as well. Atlas turns around, making sure that everyone, no matter what side of Arena México they sit on, can see his face... and completing the revolution, Atlas drops down, driving Spike's already weakened neck into the mat with the SAINT'S DEMISE!!!

King: That it! It's over! It has to be!

Axis: That's not right, dammit!

King: Atlas should call that sequence I-Just-Broke-Your-Neck!

Sean floats over and hooks both of Spike's legs, which are heavy and limp. Eddy Long drops down to count the pin...

...ONE...

...TWO...

...THREEEEEEEE!!!!!!!!!!!

*DING-DING-DING*

"The winner of this bout… SEAN ATLAS!"

King: What a match!

Axis: Sean Atlas dominated over two Junior League veterans, helping to eliminate one and destroying the other, winning his fifth consecutive match!

Atlas rolls off Spike and sit up as Teddy Long lifts his arm in the air. The view fades out on this scene as "Polyamorous" plays, letting everyone in attendance know exactly who won this match.

Axis: Don't go anywhere! We'll be right back with Dace Night vs. Janus for #Number-One-Contendership to the SJL World Title.

King: And joining us will be SWF World Champion, El Luchador Magnifico! Stay tuned!

February 24, 2003

The cameras come back live to SJL Wrath, panning an arena full of predominantly Mexican individuals, which is a rather obvious conclusion given the location of the show. Many of the signs are in nearly-unreadable Spanglish, but several of the English ones profess no love for any of the superstars, instead extolling things like "Welcome home, ELM!" and "ELM > MVS". The camera finally pans down to ringside.

Axis: "Welcome back to SJL Wrath, folks! We're on the last stage of our World Tour here in...."

Suicide King: "The land of stinking dirty immigrants!"

Axis: "No, King, for the record we're in Arena México in Mexico City, in the state of, you guessed it......Mexico!"

Suicide King: "Dirty stinking immigrants. Anyway, we've got a match with the so called Priest of Horrorcore taking on the Australian Hoss to try and...."

Before the Suicide King can continue, he's interrupted as a Mexican voice suddenly shouts from the speakers - and King groans and hangs his head as if to say 'oh no', muttering something suspiciously that sounds like 'damn Mexican Carnies'...

“UNO!”

*BOOM* A blast of orange pyro shoots from the turnbuckles in the ring.

“DOS!”

*BOOM*

“TRES!”

*BOOM*

“CUATRO!”

As Bunch of Believers' "Mission Trip to Mexico" blares over the speakers, the crowd goes absolutely wild for their home star as El Luchadore Magnifico dashes out from behind the curtains, getting a huge pop as he waves the Mexican flag above his head. In the ring, Funyon has a grin on his face as he announces.

Funyon: "The following contest is a number ONE contenders match for the Smarks Junior League WORRRRRLD TIIIITLE! However, introducing first, from right here in Mexico....your special guest commentator! He is ELM...EL...LUCHADORE...MAGNIFIIIIICOOOOO!!"

The crowd roars in delight as ELM slaps the hands of the fans on the way to the ring, however, he doesn't enter the squared circle, instead going around it after propping his Mexican flag on one of the ring posts, and sliding into a seat next to Axis at the announce table, a wide grin on his features.

Axis: "It's nice to have you with us Magnifico! I bet it's great to be home!"

ELM: "That it is, esse'. It's wonderful to be here back in Mexico, my HOME COUNTRY~!"

Suicide King: "Full of dirty people just like you, Magnifico."

ELM: " 'ey, King. Nice to be so close by to the man who hates me so. Try to contain your anger, eh esse!"

The crowd lets out another cheer that lasts just long enough as the arena dims to be covered by red and purple lights, and then brutal death metal thrashes out of the speakers, riling the crowd into a frenzy of cheers as Decapitated's "Winds of Creation" continues to play - and Dace Night, respledent in dark trenchcoat and wrestling attire, steps down the ramp, stripping his trenchcoat off at about the halfway point and climbs into the ring as Funyon makes the announcement.

Funyon: "Hailng from Birmingham England, and weighing two hundred and forty eight pounds...ladies and gentlemen, he is the Priest of Horrorcore.....DAAAAAAAACE....'HORRORCORE'....NIIIIIIIGHT!"

Axis: "Dace coming off a loss back on Metal to the skill of Mike Van Siclen...."

Suicide King: "And the 'priest' lost the title! Bahahaa. Just like Magnifico will to TNT!"

ELM: "Don' be so quick to jump to conclusions, King. I've beaten Tom, I can beat TNT. But onto the match, esse, Dace is coming off a losing match, and he could quickly get a rematch here!"

Suicide King: "That's if he can..."

Again the Suicide King is cut off in mid sentence, however he smiles as the fans boo, as the faintest sounds coming from the speakers indicate the beginning of Fear Factory's "Resurrection" and the entrance of nearly the biggest monster in the Smarks Junior League. Blue pyros fountain up from the sides of the entrance ramp as the song begins.

"Consumed with memories...

That preceded today...

Given a chance to bereave....

Life that's slipping awaaaaaaaaay!"

As the powerful guitar riffs rip from the speakers, Janus' name flashes in deep green on the Smarktron, showing clips of his most painful moves, interspersed with shots of him looking intimidating or just plain evil. The giant stalks down the entranceway, each set of blue pyros going out as he stalks past them. Locking eyes with Dace Night, the giant climbs up onto the apron and steps into the ring, still staring.

Suicide King: "While the goody 'Priest' lost, Janus here is coming off a thunderous win!"

Axis: "....over Spike Jenkins"

Suicide King: "Aww, Spike'll live. Janus is going to crush Dace like a bug, and then Mike can kick HIS ass again!"

Axis: "Magnifico? Your thoughts?"

ELM: "Janus is a monsterous specimen of a man, Axis my amigo. He is big. He is powerful. He has proven that he can win matches. However, Dace is his own man. While Janus.....Janus is Tom Flesher's lackey. A duped fighter for the Magnificent Seven."

As if hearing ELM's words, Janus turns his green gaze from Dace to look down at the announce table, looking directly at the Mexican who is the SWF champion and foregoing his usual blue-fire-explosions. His momentary distraction is all Dace needs, as the six-foot-four superstar charges forward and smashes his elbow right into Janus' jaw! The giant reels under the sudden impact, and Dace captialises by driving his fist into the other side of the giant's face. He then reaches up to apply a wristlock, but Janus twists his arm out of it and counters with a stiff standing lariat that doesn't knock Dace down, but definitely sends him reeling.

Suicide King: "Janus could have taken his head off right there!"

ELM: "But Dace is merely reeling, esse. Janus should not be the cocky one and assume he can win."

Axis: "His motto is that he never gets cocky..."

ELM: "Words, Axis. Let's see if he can back them up."

After stunning Dace with that lariat, Janus begins slam heavy punch after heavy punch into Dace's ribcage, staggering him with the sheer power. Dace growls as the referee moves in to break up the punching, to drive a stiff knee into Janus' stomach and grab his head, quickly dropping the giant to the ground with a DDT! Rather than hook the leg, however, Dace knows this won't keep Janus down, and he pulls the giant up, wrapping his arm around the giant's chest. Before he can lift him up however, Janus elbows him in the head and grabs Dace around the neck, stretching out his arm and driving the Priest of Horrocore's shoulder into the mat with a single-arm DDT!

Like Dace before him, Janus does not go for a pin this early in the match, instead rolling Dace over onto his back and stomping on his spine, and reaching down to grab the Brit's arms. He pulls one arm back, but before he can get the other, Dace grabs the ropes and forces Janus to let go of the half-applied surfboard. The giant steps back with a low grumble, then flexes his arms and waits for Dace to get up. As he does, Janus charges and lifts a boot...but Dace ducks and runs to the other side of the ring, rebounding as Janus puts his leg down and turns around...

...and getting a YAKUZA KICK RIGHT IN THE FACE!!

Axis: "YAKUZA KICK! Janus went to boot Dace in the head and it came back to bite him! That move just came out of NOWHERE!"

ELM: "Janus goes down like a ton of bricks, Axis~! But that kick will not keep him down forever!"

Suicide King: "That was luck, dammit! Get up, Janus!"

Dace drops down into a pinning predicament and referee Matthew Kivell drops down to watch Janus' shoulders and make the count.

ONE!

TW....

Janus' left arm powers up into the air, and Kivell signals that a ONE count was made, as Dace gets off Janus and climbs to his feet... and grabs Janus leg to drag him away from the rope, before sitting at the giant's head and locking his legs around Janus' skull and throat and locking in the figure-four sleeper!

Axis: "It's a submission.......NEVERMORTAL!"

Suicide King: "Get him off, Janus! You can kick his ass!"

ELM: "Dace has that submission locked in tight, but Janus is too fresh, esse'. It won't hold."

ELM's words actually ring true as Janus grits his teeth and braces his hands on the ground, before forcibly starting to sit up! Dace sees the giant getting up and wrenches with his legs to try and get Janus back down, but the giant refuses, and Night is forced to release the hold as Janus starts climbing back to his feet. Running to the ropes, Dace comes back and lowers his shoulder for a Gore, but the giant scoops him off the ground with surprising ease and whirling him around - but instead of a whirl sideslam, Dace finds himself crashing into the giant's knee as he switches to a pendulum backbreaker! The British superstar arghs and clutches his spine, rolling off Janus' knee and onto the floor. Janus drops laterally across Dace, and hooks a leg.

ONE!

TWO!

Before the referee can even think of a three, Dace kicks out, and the crowd ooooohs as Janus looks at Kivell who holds up two fingers. The giant shakes his head and lifts Dace off the ground, pivoting and sending Night crashing spine first into the turnbuckle, and then storming in after him with shoulder lowered...and Dace throws himself out of the way and allows Janus to drive his left shoulder into the post! He audible arghs in pain and staggers back with a hand on his shoulder, turning as he hears footsteps...and Dace, in a rare move, decides that an eye for an eye is a good tactic, and delivers his own picture-perfect Gore to the giant's abdomen, and Janus tumbles backwards, straight out of the ring and onto the floor!

Axis: "Janus misses a Gore and Dace capitalises with his own, absolutely DRILLING Janus straight through the ropes!"

Suicide King: "That's illegal! Dace shouldn't have moved!!"

The Suicide King looks rather displeased as Janus sprawls on the ground, and goads the giant into getting up, and sure enough one of the giant's hands slams down onto the table, in front of Magnifico as the giant uses the table for a crutch. Behind him, Dace slides out of the ring, and the Suicide King makes to yell out a warning, but Axis pulls the heelish commentator back down into his seat. King colours almost a dark purple, but is prevented from responding as Janus' other hand slams down in front of him, and the rising giant stares at the announce table, directly at Magnifico, once the most hated rival of Tom Flesher and the Magnificent Seven - at least, in the SWF.

ELM: "Janus. Behind you, esse."

Before the giant turns around, he steps to the side, and a swinging lariat by Dace goes straight past him. Both superstars pause in front of the announce table for a moment as Matthew Kivell begins the ten count - and Dace and Janus throw a punch, each smashing the other in the side of the face!

ONE!

Dace and Janus get into a fistfight, driving the punches into each other's head and chest. Janus, with his bigger, more brutal mass, gets the upper hand with a stunning right hook that sends Dace reeling.

TWO!!

Showing no mercy whatsoever, Janus storms after Dace, driving another punch into his cranium, and then hoisting him up above his head. Instead of throwing him in a military press...

THREE!!!

Janus hooks Dace in a fireman's carry and kicks his legs out to the side, and drives Night's head straight into the thin mat covering the concrete! Dace twitches on the ground, and Janus hoists him back up to his feet, a cold expression on his face as he lifts the six footer above his head and gorilla presses him right back into the ring! Matthew Kivell stops the count as Janus rolls back into the ring as well.

Axis: "Impressive display by both men, but Janus gets the advantage with a death valley driver on the outside!"

Suicide King: "Now look! His hand's up for the chokeslam!"

Janus slams his hand around the rising and groggy Dace Night's throat, tensing as he moves to lift him into the air...but Dace locks one of his legs around Janus', preventing the chokeslam! The giant looks down at him, and Dace slams a lariat into Janus' chest, and holds his arm there, and with a grunt, hoists Janus OFF HIS FEET and down across his knee in a backbreaker as the Priest of Horrorcore successfully nails one of his signature moves!

Axis: "FAITHLESS!!"

ELM: "Dace hit a stunning move to get some recovery time, esse'. Un movimiento impresionante pero su opositor es demasiado fuertes justo a ir abajo de eso fácilmente."

Suicide King: "Speak English, you dirty luchador!"

Magnifico just rolls his eyes as Axis actually pulls out a Spanish-English translation book and quickly skims through it - as Dace, not going for the cover, drives some stiff kicks into Janus' chest, then sits behind him and once again applies the Nevermortal Figure-Four Sleeper! Arching in pain from the backbreaker, Janus struggles with the legs locked around his head and throat, slowly sapping the blood from his brain and the fight from his body. The crowd starts cheering in broken English as Dace cinches his legs tight for the submission.

"DACE F'N NIGHT!"

Slamming his feet into the ground in frustration, Janus struggles against the move, great arms lifting up to try and pry Night's legs from around his throat. The giant's eyes are half-lidded, as the submission takes its toll even on him. Grimacing, he braces his arms on the ground, trying to lift and push himself, and with a burst of power, he shoves himself across the canvas and puts a leg on the ropes, forcing Night to break the hold! Dace does so, shrugging and getting back to his feet as Janus uses the ropes for support, the giant's chest heaving as he works air into his throat, massaging it vigorously to get the blood flowing into his brain.

However, his respite is temporary as he supports himself on the ropes, as Dace rises behind him and wraps his limbs around Janus' waist, trying to pop his hips and send the giant over his head with a German suplex! However, Janus' great hands close around the ropes, blocking the move as Dace heaves back. Again the Priest of Horrorcore throws his weight back, but Janus holds onto the ropes grimly. Before the giant can counter, however, Dace lets go and drives a stiff elbow straight into the center of Janus' spine, making him grimace and loosen his grip...

....and Dace quickly grabs Janus around the waist...

...and sends the giant backwards over his head with a released German suplex! Janus crashes into the canvas head first, falling to the ground with a thump as the crowd cheers, and the announcers - and guest announcer - are staring for several moments.

Axis: "Dace just NAILED that released German! I thought he wouldn't be able to lift Janus over!"

ELM: "As I said, Axis, esse'! Dace is a fine wrestler! If he can capitalise, ¡él podría hacer este fósforo ganar!"

Suicide King: "Magnifico! SPEAK ENGLISH!!"

Slowly, Janus begins to recover, shaking his head and holding his neck, the blood pounding in his ears as he tries to recover his orientation, trying to push himself up. He's assisted by Night... who wraps his arm around Janus' head in a front face lock...before cinching his arm in tight and turning it right into a front facelock neck choke! Janus gasps for air, trying to push Dace away as the blood and air to his head is once more cut off. The giant slumps to his knees, the light in his eyes beginning to fade as Dace continues to hold the Crownless submission hold on Janus. The giant's arms wrap around Dace's waist, then start to slide down as consciousness seems to slowly leave the giant's frame. Referee Matthew Kivell looks at the submission, then looks at Janus' limp arms, and lifts one up.

ONE!

Axis: "Janus may be out cold! He may be big..."

ELM: "But he can be knocked out jus' like anyone else, esse'!"

Kivell lifts Janus' arm as Dace cinches the submission hold in tighter, gritting his teeth and hoping this will net him the win. Janus' arm drops yet again.

TWO!!

The Suicide King looks ready to scream as the referee drops Janus' arm a third time...but it doesn't fall! Dace's eyes widen as he attempts to cinch the hold tighter, and Janus' arms wrap around his waist and lock tight as the giant growls low in his throat, trying to force his way back to his feet. Night refuses to release the Crownless, but although he can't stand, Janus gets his feet under him and charges towards the ropes! Dace lets go and Janus puts on the brakes and lets him go...momentum carrying Dace right back into the ropes. The giant's arms clamp around Dace's waist as he comes stumbling back, and lifts him high into the air, and rotates around before cratering the Priest of Horrorcore's spine into the canvas with a thunderous high angle spinebuster, and hooks a leg!

ONE!

TWO!

TH....

Kivell signals two as Janus rolls off Dace, sprawling on the ground and gasping, and he rolls away from Night and uses a corner to support his weight as he focuses on getting the air into his lungs and the blood back into his head, still dazed from the repeated Nevermortal and the Crownless submission holds. The giant wheezes a little, watching Dace on the canvas as the Priest of Horrorcore slowly rolls onto his stomach and starts getting up as well. Janus scrapes his boot on the canvas as if he were a bull, and storms out of the corner the instant Dace is upright.

Suicide King: "Janus moving to CRUSH Dace with a big boot!"

ELM: "The big man is dazed, King. When you are dazed, esse', you don't see right."

Axis: "Magnifico's right...!"

The reason is that Dace has sidestepped Janus' charge, using the monster's momentum to lift him off the ground and whirl him around in the air before cracking his spine on Dace's knee as the British superstar nails a picture perfect tilt-a-whirl backbreaker! Not stopping there, Dace hesitates only a moment to hold his back, before dragging Janus up and jamming the giant's head between his legs and underhooking both arms. He yells to the crowd, who scream incoherently back at him, and tenses his arms, trying to lift Janus up...

...but the giant is far too heavy, and he wrenches his arms free, still headscissored, and grabs Dace around the waist, pulling his head free and lifting the Priest of Horrorcore up in the air, in perfect position for a sitout powerbomb. Janus smiles grimly up at Dace, who stares back down at him...and punches the giant right between the eyes! Stunned, Janus loses his grip, and Night grabs Janus' head, pulling him down to the ground and spiking his head with a massive DDT! The crowd 'ooo's in pleasure as Dace hooks Janus' leg.

ONE!

TWO!

TH....

Janus kicks out, and Dace stands up - leaving Janus on the ground holding his neck. Seeing Dace move around to get behind his head, the giant begins rolling towards the ropes - and the Priest of Horrorcore lunges like a shark smelling blood, landing on Janus' back as he rolls and grapevining one of the giant's arms! Janus growls and swings back with an elbow, preventing Dace from locking in the Code Black...but Night falls back, instead locking the grapevined arm into a Fujiwara armbar! Janus lets out an audible cry of pain at the wrenching in his shoulder. But his rolling has gotten him close enough to the ropes for him to reach out and grab on, forcing Dace once more to release the hold! He holds on until Kivell makes a five count, though, before releasing the submission - Janus lays next to the ropes, holding his neck and shoulder alternately as Kivell gets in Dace's face about not releasing the submission hold.

Axis: "Dace showing he wants to win at all costs by taking advantage of the five count!"

Suicide King: "See! He's a filthy cheat! He should be disqualified!"

ELM: "Listen to the crowd, esse'! They are loving Dace Night! The Magnificent Seven lackey has no support with him here tonight, my amigos!"

Suicide King: "You're no friend of mine, you filthy Mexican."

Finally, Matthew Kivell gets out of Dace's face once the British superstar tells Kivell he's sorry for holding the submission, and looks around for Janus, who is once more leaning on the ropes and gasping. Dace ponders before running to the rope, bouncing back and lifting his boot up for a yakuza kick - and Janus blocks it with a thick arm, grimacing before locking his opponent in a bearhug, and then promptly dropping Dace's pelvic region onto his knee with an inverted atomic drop! Dace arghs in pain and holds his mangled grapefruits - but before he can hop away, Janus kicks him in the stomach, hooks his head, and lifts the Priest of Horrorcore off his feet and landing a massive implant DDT!! Weariness visible on his face from the constant submissions, Janus rolls Dace over and hooks a leg.

ONE!

TWO!

TH...

Dace kicks out, and Janus stares at him, then Kivell. Leaving Night on the ground, Janus runs to the ropes, bounces back, and skids before leaping to nail a thunderous standing legdrop into his opponent's neck! Having crushed Dace's windpipe - maybe literally - Janus hooks the Priest of Horrocore's leg and presses across him laterally!

ONE!

TWO!

THR....

This time, Night puts his foot on the ropes, much to Janus' chagrin. He stands up, dragging Dace by the hair and looking out across the crowd, before slashing his thumb across his throat and cinching in a front-face lock, before hoisting Dace up above his head with a massive stalling vertical suplex! The giant grits his teeth, but as he shifts Dace around, he kicks out of the suplex, falling back down and hooking Janus' head for another DDT! The giant refuses to go down, and Dace lands on his feet - and still holding the giant's head, once more cinches in the Crownless!

Axis: "Janus almost had the Rage Unleashed! Dace tried to counter into a DDT, but Janus stood firm - and Night responded by locking in the Crownless!"

ELM: "Janus is fading fast, esse'! All Dace has done is focus on his neck and submissions!"

The crowd cheers as Janus drops to his knees, gasping as the move once more chokes out his air supply, not to mention the blood going to his brain. Slowly sinking to the ground, Janus goes almost limp in the submission...

...and Dace releases him, only to fall onto the giant's back when Janus hits the floor, grapevining an arm and wrapping his hands around Janus' face, locking in his patented Code Black crippler crossface! Janus springs to life almost instantly, yelling in pain as Dace wrenches back on the submission, the giant's arm reaching for the ropes only to fall short. He reaches again, getting a bit closer, but failing to reach safe ground.

Axis: "CODE BLACK! Dace has Janus locked into the Code Black!"

Suicide King: "Don't, Janus! Don't tap out! You have to go on to the title!"

ELM: "He can't hear you, esse'. Look, he's gone and passed out again."

Magnifico's words ring true, because Janus's cries of obvious pain have faded into nothing, and he appears to have gone totally dead in Dace's grip. Still holding the submission, he looks up as the referee drops to check Janus' arm, lifting the thickly muscled limb off the ground and dropping it.

ONE!

Again, Kivell lifts Janus' arm off the canvas. The Suicide King looks like he's praying for Janus to recover, but if it is a prayer, it goes unanswered as Janus' arm drops a second time!

TWO!

Axis: "This is over! Dace has made Janus pass out from the submission!"

Suicide King: "There's still one more fall!"

ELM: "Face it, esse', your giant has lost this match, King."

The referee lifts Janus' arm up for the third time...and abruptly, the arm comes to life in Kivell's grasp, lunging and grabbing the rope, wrapping around it! Kivell shakes Dace to get him to let go of the submission, and the crowd is in awe as Janus opens his eyes, pain visible in their depths as he holds to the bottom rope almost like a child, wheezing and feeling the pain shooting through his head, neck and arm. At that almost puppylike expression in the giant's eyes, referee Matthew Kivell drops down next to the giant, asking him if he's able to continue.

Ignoring the screaming pain in his neck, Janus turns his gaze towards Dace. That pained, almost childlike expression in his eyes goes cold and hard, and reaching up with his arm, he grabs the middle rope, and then the top as he pulls himself back to his feet, hunched over and obviously hurting, but the look in his eyes demanding that one of them is going to go down.

Axis: "Incredible! Janus didn't tap! He might've been playing possum!"

Suicide King: "Haha! He's got more resilience than you think!"

ELM: "But he's in obvious pain, amigos. I said he had skill earlier, but now, I am thinking he is stupid for not giving in."

Suicide King: "Hah! You just proved you were stupid by not tapping out to Flesher in your last title match!"

El Luchadore Magnifico stares at the Suicide King for a moment, then shrugs his shoulders and makes a few choice comments in Spanish about the Suicide King's choice of female partners, before everyone's attention goes back to the match. Janus and Dace slowly circle each other after the giant's recovery, studying each other almost scientifically. And then the action begins anew as Janus lunges forward, swinging his arm into a lariat! Dace ducks and cinches his arms around the giant's waist, popping his hips and sending Janus over his head with a german suplex! For the second time, the giant almost lands on his head, crying out in pain at the impact of landing on his neck, and Dace scrambles to make the cover!

ONE!

TWO!

THR....

Janus kicks out with vigour, empowered by his chances of getting a title shot. Dace drags him up, but the giant drives a great elbow into Dace's stomach and stands behind him, hooking both arms in a full-nelson, then gritting his teeth and throwing himself backwards with a stiff full-nelson suplex, bridging his entire body for the pin with a low growl in his throat.

ONE!

TWO!

THR....

The arm that had been grapevined for the submission, and subjected to a Fujiwara armbar, begins to sing its pain to Janus' mind, and Dace kicks out as Janus withdraws his arm! Both superstars get back to their feet, and both of them run to the ropes, and come flying back at each other with legs raised.....and both connecting, falling down in a heap in the center of the ring! Kivell looks down and begins a ten count as the fans chant for that painful looking double knockdown.

"HOLY SHIT!"

ONE!

Dace stirs slowly.

TWO!!

Janus shakes his head, holding his neck, and slowly starts to sit up.

THREE!!!

Dace follows Janus' example, however, he's a bit quicker....

FOUR!!!!

And the count is broken as Dace is on his feet, and lunges at the rising Janus, wrapping his head with a front-face lock and trying to once more lock in the Crownless! Janus' eyes widen at the sudden submission, and a smirk crosses his features - as Dace tries to lock in the front-face lock and apply the Crownless at full pressure, Janus wraps his arm around Dace's head as well and lifts the British superstar high into the air with a stalling vertical suplex! A look of intensely pained focus on Janus' face, he holds Dace high in that suplex...

...twisting him around...

...and Dace Night eats canvas as Janus totally craters his skull with a perfect executed Rage Unleashed!! The crowd boos this as Janus makes the cover!

ONE!

TWO!

THREEEEE!!

Suicide King: "BAHAHAHAHA!!"

*DINGDINGDING*

Funyon rises from his chair and lifts his microphone to his lips, staring at the ring as Janus rolls off Dace to sprawl on the ground.

Funyon: "The winner of this bout...and NUMBER ONE contender to the S...J...L...WORRRRRRLD TITLE.....JAAAAAAANUS!"

Fear Factory's "Resurrection" booms out across the speakers as Matthew Kivell helps Janus to his feet and lifts his arm in victory. At the announce table, the Suicide King cackles maniacally, and El Luchadore Magnifico looks at both the commentators.

ELM: "That's my job done amigos. Axis, enjoy your job. King, vaya aspiran en su hermafrodita!"

The Suicide King stops laughing and turns around with intent to kill as he's able to vaguely translate that last word, but ELM puts down his headset and escapes through the crowd! The heelish commentator fumes before turning his attention back to the ring, where Janus stands tall now, without Kivell's help, holding his neck. The giant stares straight at the camera, as if looking through it for Mike Van Siclen....and slashes his thumb across his throat.

We freeze frame on this image as the SJL goes to commercial....

February 24, 2003

“GET YOUR TACOS!”

A taco vendor walks up and down the aisles, ironically the shot that brings us back from commercial. The vendor holds up two tacos, one in snow-white wrapping and one in pink wrapping. “FROST BRAND TACOS! SYDNEY SKY PINK TACOS! GET ‘EM WHILE THE MICROWAVE WORKS!”

Several members of the audience reach their hands out, some yelling for “GIVE ME A TACO OF FROST!” while others yell for “I WANT SKY’S TACO!” We switch to a shot of King and Axis, sitting at the commentary table. Axis gives King a look. “Couldn’t they have put on a commercial for that?”

King shoots Axis an icy glare. “We’re on, moron.”

Axis looks at the camera… and puts on a huge faux grin. “Welcome back to SJL Wrath, ladies and gentlemen! Tonight we’ve seen several excellent matches, but my pick for match of the night would have to go to Dace Night v. Janus. What a confrontation!”

“…hmph.” King grumbles a bit. “All I remember was that stupid Carnie Mexican jabbering on about nothing…”

“You jobbed to him.”

“Yes, I did. He never actually beat me. I laid down for him.”

“…sure you did, King.”

“You know, I’m a former champion. Tom Flesher wishes he was me. I deserve some f**king respect from you. You didn’t even wish me a merry Kingmas.”

“I felt the holiday was beneath me.”

“I got you a Secret Suicide gift!”

“I never really wanted a photograph of you with the words ‘Former Champion, Unlike Axis’ on it, sorry.”

“Well, you should be so lucky.”

“I’m not. Anyway, let’s send it to field reporter Ben Hardy, who’s covering the match between Mike Van Siclen and Crow. Ben, what’ve you got for us?”

The shot switches to a half-screen… on the left half is Axis and King at the commentator’s table, on the right half is Ben Hardy standing near the Mexico-United States border. Hardy smiles, even huger than Axis. “Hi guys! I’d first like to say how happy I am to finally be commentating again…”

Hardy continues on with his thank-you spiel, but the mic switches to King and Axis. “You wanna take the wind out of his sails, or shall I?” King asks Axis.

“Take him, champ,” Axis replies, smiling.

Hardy, unbeknownst to Axis and King’s conversation, continues on. “…and I’d like to thank Tom Flesher for introducing me to Sarah, she’s a huge SJL fan, even though she’s only eight… and I’d like to thank Jack Black for being Black Jack only reversed… and I’d…”

“Ben, Ben, Ben,” King says, mock-friendly. “We’ve got a show to do. It’s a wrestling show. This is not the Ben Hardy Happy Hour. So would you please stop trying to enlighten us on the Ben Hardy Victory Path and just tell us what the f**k has been happening.”

Hardy pauses abruptly, dabbing his eye with his hand. “Y-y-yes, Mr. King.”

In the background, a group of Mexicans are sneaking across the border James Bond fashion... when suddenly a gunshot rings out, and one of the Mexicans falls dead! The camera pans out to show a man in a large cowboy hat and cowboy boots and the gay cowboy vest with a large gun in his hand, aimed straight at the Mexicans. “That one was for the Alamo, yee-haw!” BAM! “That one was for Santa Ana, ya little git!” BLAM! “And that one was for that Fox asshole! YEE-HAW!” The Texan continues to shoot at the now-fleeing Mexicans, and then turns around, facing his Texan friends. “I told y’all I’d git me a hundred-pounder by the end of the day. YEEEEEEE-HAAAAAAAAAAAAW!”

Hardy turns around to look at the men. “I wonder where the U.S. Border Patrol are to…”

“Ben,” King says, “That is the U.S. Border Patrol.”

“…oh. Well, a lot… look, here’s the referee for the match, Ced Ordonez!”

A car with the words “Don’t Shoot” painted on the front pulls up next to Ben Hardy. The Border Patrol stands up, looking at the car and then at Hardy. “Y’all know this unTexish person?”

“Yes, I do, he’s former SWF Superstar Ced Ordonez…”

“Oh, the DDR guy. He kin c’mon through.”

“Thank you, gentlemen,” Ordonez says, stepping out of his car.

Hardy sidles up next to Ced. “So, Mr. Ordonez, what do you plan to do once Crow and Mike Van Siclen reach the border?”

“Well, Ben, I’m going to take their suitcases and make sure they brought back everything they had to begin with.”

“And if they don’t?”

“They lose.”

“Thank you, Mr. Ordonez.”

“No problem.”

Ced walks away, and Ben turns back to the camera. “Well, a lot has happened since the beginning of the race to the border. Let’s take a look.”

---

”In the beginning, Crow had a huge lead…

Our camera switches to a shot of Crow, standing outside the arena. He holds up a homemade sign that reads “Dará Picar en trocitos Para el Paseo”, or “Will Give Hash For Ride” in English. An old, beat-up car screeches to a halt in front of Crow, and the bumper falls off. A burly Cuban man sticks his head out the window.

“You wanna put that back on for me, esse?”

Crow points at the bumper. “That?”

“You got it, holmes.”

“No problem.” Crow picks up the bumper, but instead of putting it back on the back of the car walks over to the driver’s side door, where the big man has put his head back inside the car. He can see Crow standing there, though, and yells at him.

“What’chu think you’re doing, mang?”

Crow, wordless. Backs the bumper up and drives it through the window like a battering ram, shattering the window into tens of thousands of pieces! The driver begins yelling Spanish obscenities at Crow as the Antichrist Superstar opens the door, swinging the bumper back like a baseball bat and then plowing it right into the skull of the Cuban man! The man (henceforth referred to as Jose) slumps over on the steering wheel, blood dripping from his forehead and mouth. Crow grabs the man by his shirt, ripping him out of the car and throwing him to the ground. Crow puts his suitcase on the passenger’s seat and then slides into the car himself, the keys still in the ignition. Crow, deciding that he has some time to spare, opens the suitcase, pulling his pipe out of his pocket. Crow pulls out a bag, full up with hash, and puts some of it into his pipe. Crow takes out a zippo lighter, lighting up and taking a deep hit from his pipe.

“S**t, that’s good.”

Crow closes the bag, putting his pipe in his mouth as he speeds off. The last image we get is of Mike Van Siclen dashing outside, only to see Crow speeding away. Mike manages to catch the license plate – “USSUCKS.”

“No kidding,” Mike mutters, as he sticks his thumb out, awaiting a ride…

---

”Mike Van Siclen was forced to find a ride in an attempt to catch up to Crow…”

“Come ON!” Mike yells at no one in particular. “Doesn’t anyone in Mexico have the decency to give a good-looking person like myself a ride?”

A car whizzes past Mike. Then another. And another. Mike shrugs.

“Apparently not.”

Suddenly, out of the corner of his eye, Van Siclen spots a bicycle with the words “Frost Brand Taco Delivery” etched on the back. Looking around to make sure no one sees him, Van Siclen dashes over to the bike, mounting it when suddenly…

“¡Oye! ¡Eso es mi bicicleta! ¡Cubra de escarcha dio que a mí personalmente! ¡He obtenido las órdenes para llenar, asshole, obtiene el jode espalda aquí con mi bicicleta de entrega antes yo llamo la policía que jode y los tiene patean su joder como de aquí a América, usted hijo estúpido de una ramera! ¡Obtenga el jode espalda aquí! (Hey! That's my bicycle! Frost gave that to me personally! I've got orders to fill, asshole, get the fuck back here with my delivery bike before I call the fucking police and have them kick your fucking ass from here to America, you stupid son of a bitch! Get the fuck back here!)”

Van Siclen turns around, trying to figure out who caught him stealing… and sees a tiny child, no older than twelve, shaking his fist and cursing at him in Spanish! The SJL Champion, not used to being spoken to in such a manner, tries to speak reasonably to the boy.

“Do you know who I am, son?”

“¡Jódalo, asshole! ¡Por supuesto yo joder sabe quién usted es! ¡Usted es ese asshole ese jobbed a un ref! ¡Sí! ¡Obtengo la televisión! ¡Apenas porque soy un chico de la entrega que jode no significa que yo no miro la televisión! Usted es ese dickwad de Camioneta Siclen. ¡Oye, douchetard! ¡Usted jode a su madre! (Fuck you, asshole! Of course I fucking know who you are! You're that asshole that jobbed to a ref! Yeah! I get television! Just because I'm a fucking delivery boy doesn't mean I don't watch television! You're that Van Siclen dickwad. Hey, douchetard! You fuck your mother!)”

Mike, not having any idea what the child is saying, continues on.

“Do you mind if I borrow your wheelmobile?”

“¡Usted obtendría mejor el jode lejos de mi bicicleta antes yo llamo a las policías, jackoff! (You'd better get the fuck away from my bike before I call the cops, jackoff!)”

“Okay! Thank you, son!”

Mike mounts the bike again, and the twelve year old lets out a hyena-like shriek and jumps on Mike’s back, hitting him repeatedly over the head! Van Siclen grabs the little boy around the neck, whipping him over his body and into onto the ground! The child, obviously not knowing when to stay down, pops right back up, but Van Siclen is visibly upset at this point. Throwing the bike to the ground, Mike raises up to his full six-foot, three-inch frame, causing the child to cower in fear. He kidney punches the child, causing him to double over. Mike puts the child in a standing headscissors, raising three fingers to play to a crowd that isn’t there! He raises the boy up into Styles Clash position, stepping over his legs. Van Siclen lets out a yell before falling to his knees, driving the youngster into the pavement with the Riot Act! Mike quickly gets to his feet, pointing at the little boy.

“No joda con el Espectacular uno. (Don’t f**k with the Spectacular one.)”

Van Siclen picks the bike up, riding away…

---

”Crow, meanwhile…”

“Whoa whoa whoa,” Axis says. “Hold up.”

We switch back to the half-and-half shot, and Hardy looks at the camera. “Yes?”

“Ben,” King says, “Tell me you’re making this up.”

“No sir,” Ben says.

“You mean to tell me that Mike Van Siclen, SJL Champion, has been reduced to stealing bicycles from twelve-year-old Mexican children?”

“I guess so,” Hardy replies.

Axis and King look at each other, and Axis smiles. “There’s irony in that somewhere. Carry on, Ben.”

“Aye-aye, captain.”

“Oh, and Ben?”

“Yeah, King?”

“Stop acting like such a motherf**king tool.”

“No problem.”

---

”Crow looked destined for victory… but a small problem caused him to be delayed…”

Crow takes another hit, cruising along (at 90 miles an hour), when suddenly…

Ppppt… phpt phpt… ccccckkk… wheeze…

“Awww, F**K!” Crow curses. He opens the windowless driver’s side door, getting out and slamming it shut. Paint chips scatter across the ground as Crow takes another hit, angrily yelling out “F**K!” randomly. Cars fly past him as he stands there. “Barely a mile…”

A bicycle skids to a stop next to Crow, and Mike Van Siclen turns his head towards the Antichrist Superstar. “So, Crow, how comes the border run? Ran out of hash yet?”

Crow stares daggers at Mike. “I’ll kill you, motherf**ker..”

“You’re going to have to catch me, first…” Mike points at the car. “Did car-car go dead-dead?”

Mike cackles as he rides off, Crow staring after him and taking another hit. “That f**ker’s gonna pay.”

Crow takes another hit, leaning next to the car and trying to think of a plan. Suddenly, the plan comes to him, as a white Cadillac pulls up next to him. The window rolls down, and a Latina princess wearing sunglasses and a top the size of a postage stamp sticks her head out. “Oye atractiva. ¿Quiere que un levante? (Hey sexy. Want a lift?)”

Crow, speaking broken Spanish, replies. “Por supuesto hago. (Of course I do.)”

Crow opens the door, but the woman pulls it shut. “No tan rapidamente. Usted ha obtenido para hacer algo para mí primero. (Not so fast. You’ve gotta do something for me first.)”

“Algo usted quiere, el bebé. (Anything you want, baby.)

The woman lets out a killer grin. “¡Quiero que usted baje en mí mientras tomo un golpe de su tubo y el grito ‘Me come mejor ramera me come mejor!’ (I want you to go down on me while I take a hit from your pipe and yell "Eat me better bitch eat me better!")

Crow looks at the woman. “Usted es uno de esos feminista joden, no son usted. (You’re one of those feminist fucks, aren’t you.)

The woman nods. Crow mutters several curse words in English before getting into the car. The window rolls back up, and all we can hear as the car drives away is “Me come mejor ramera me come major!”

--

”Mike Van Siclen, barely in the lead at this point, was starting to fatigue…”

Mike pushes harder on the bicycle, his face drenched in sweat as he continues to push towards the finish line. A white Cadillac speeds up the road, but a faint “¡Pare aquí! ¡Pare aquí! (Stop here! Stop here!)” can be heard from inside the car, and it stops. Mike looks over at the car, where the driver’s side window rolls down. Crow looks out at Mike, a gleaming smile on his face, with the Latina from before perched on his lap. Crow looks at Mike. “So, how are you… hold on a second.” Crow opens his mouth, pulling a hair out. He wipes it off on the door and continues. “As I was saying. How are you coming along, chumpstain?”

Mike leans over the front of his bike, trying to catch a breather. “I’m… going to make it… before… you… ass… face…”

Crow cocks a grin. “Really? Well, in that case, I’ll have to make you wrong. Later on.”

Crow rolls the window up, and the car speeds away again. Van Siclen angrily stares at the Caddy as it fades into the distance, then curses it out. He looks around, trying to find a faster means of transportation than the Caddy… and spots it in a beat-up pickup parked across the street. Van Siclen smiles, getting off the bike and setting it down, then grabbing the suitcase and crossing the street in an over exaggerated, James Bond manner. He makes it to the other side, and grabs the door handle to open the pickup…

ARRRRR-EEET! ARRRRRR-EEET! ARRRRRRR-EEET!

“¿Quién el jode es tratar de hurtar mi coche? (Who the f**k’s trying to steal my car?)”

Mike’s head snaps around and faces the man who spoke – a very big man, with a familiar, small twelve-year-old standing next to him.

“¡Eso lo es, el papá! ¡Eso es el joder! (That’s him, daddy! That’s the f**ker!)”

Mike’s face loses all color.

“¡USTED! ¡OBTENGA EL JODE ESPALDA AQUI! (YOU! GET THE F**K BACK HERE!)”

And the Spectacular World champion ditches.

Mike dashes off, the suitcase in his hand and the two Mexicans chasing after him. Mike’s eyes frantically search for a way out… and spots one.

A truck. With a giant polar bear head eating a taco on top. With the words “Frost Brand Tacos” printed across the side.

“Thank God for s**tty security,” Mike mutters, as he rips open the door. He throws in the suitcase and leaps in, shutting and locking the door behind him. Mike begins to search the car, trying to find a spare key somewhere…

“¡SALGA Y LUCHEME USTED COÑO QUE JODE! (COME OUT AND FIGHT ME YOU F**KING P***Y!)”

Mike curses out the country of Mexico as he finally stumbles upon a spare key in the glove compartment! Jamming it into the ignition, Mike starts it up and races away, with the two Mexicans trying to give chase but stopping, realizing they can’t stop him!

“¡YO LE OBTENDRE CAMIONETA SICLEN! (I’LL GET YOU VAN SICLEN!)”

---

“And that’s how we got to this point. And look, here comes Crow now!”

The white Cadillac pulls up to the border, and Crow climbs out, suitcase in hand! He dashes across the border, and Ced Ordonez walks over to him.

“Congratulations, Crow! You are the first one to cross the border! Now, if I could check to make sure your suitcase still contains twenty-seven pounds of hash…”

Crow’s face loses color as Ced takes the suitcase, opening it. He pulls out bags, counting them… “Crow, there’s only fourteen pounds of hash in here.”

“Well, you see…”

“I’m afraid I have to disqualify you.”

“I can explain!”

“You can explain. Later.”

Crow curses as the Frost Brand Tacos Delivery Truck pulls up, flying across the border and screeching to a halt. Mike Van Siclen jumps out, throwing the suitcase at Ced and screaming “I AM A WINNER YES I AM A WINNER!”

Ced smiles at Mike. “Congratulations, Mike! You are the second one to cross the border, but since Crow’s suitcase did not contain all twenty-seven pounds of hash, you still have a chance to win! Allow me to check your suitcase to make sure all fifteen bottles of tequila are in there…”

Ced takes the suitcase and counts the bottles.. “fourteen, fifteen! Timekeeper!”

The bell rings in the arena as the crowd erupts in boos! Ced raises Mike’s arm. “Your winner of the first-ever Border Run match, the SJL Heavyweight Champion, MIIIIIKE VA-AN SIIIIIC-LEEEEEN!”

The crowd roars out in boos as Mike grabs a bottle of tequila, jumping onto the hood of the Frost Brand Tacos truck and pouring it in the general vicinity of his mouth. He raises both hands as Ced hands him the World title, which he raises, playing to a crowd that isn’t there as SJL Wrath…

Fades to black…

February 24, 2003

Summary... of DOOM!

Geddion vs Tryst

-Tryst is a manly man. In tights. Who just got another win. w00t

Fosta vs Terry Wayne

-Fosta drops the "Dark Rebel"!

David Blazenwing vs Omega Storm

-OH MY GOD! OH MY GOD! OMEGA STORM FINALLY PICKS UP A WIN!!

Christian Blackwell vs "Picture Perfect" Aaron Carpenter

-Despite all the hype and hoopla, Blackwell continues to roll along..

Aecas vs Thor vs Va'aiga

-The badass maori takes it in his debut!

Sean Atlas vs Spike Jenkins vs Matt Myers

-Atlas balances holding up the planet and winning matches pretty well, methinks, as he picks up another 'W' here.

Dace vs Janus

-Who's the NEW no.1 contender? I say you better read to find out.

MVS vs Crow

-...read it.

And that's all from me tonight, kids. Look to TNT, as he'll have your Crimson card up asap!

SJL Wrath, February 23rd, 2003!

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