SWF Storm

[Guest Grand Slam]

Apparently, Fugue and CIA were caught in traffic. Sucks to be them.

[Guest Grand Slam]

"Is the match already over Jimbo?"

 

"Yeah you just missed it," answer Jim Phelps, as the similar sized man walks past him, dressed in a pair or grey sweatpants and black tee shirt.

 

"Hey," shouts Hardy, "you're back! I haven't seen you in a little while man, do you have something to say?" adds Hardy, waving for Gus to come over and set up for an interview, whose camera pointing towards the ground while he eats a donut.

 

"Yeah, but first I got to go apologize to somebody." responds the young man on the move.

 

Ben motions for Gus to start taping which he does, sadly getting a difficult angle for the crowd to see who it is. The screen fires up in the arena as Hardy continues to talk. "How about a quick backstage interview?"

 

"Hardy, I definitely got to say this in the ring," he starts with a smirk, "besides, who could have something better to say than me?"

 

The guy dismisses the thought with a wave. "Gotta go Ben and if I find out that you told anyone I was here before I make my grand apperance in the ring... it'll be just like the good old days, when I used to punk you out." He takes off down the hall, as Gus tries to get a better angle.

 

"Heh, good times!" says the young guy over his shoulder, as Hardy sighs, remembering the not so long ago 'good old days'.

 

If someone were to look close, as he turned the corner they might have seen on his sweat pants, three green school letters, stenciled in over the words Wrestling, on the bottom of the right pants leg. But that's only someone who looked closely. Gus turns the camera to Hardy who looks on, not sure what to do.

 

"Well this is Ben Hardy and uh... I didn't say anything..."

 

Gus cuts the feed and SWF Storm fades to commercial break.

[Guest Grand Slam]

Ben Hardy is standing in the back in front of a door with Tom Flesher?s ?star? placard on it. He looks into the camera and says, ?Fans, I?m here outside Tom Flesher?s locker room, and I?m hoping to get a word with the Tag Team Champion before his match with ?the Judge? William Hearford.?

 

With that, he reaches over to knock on Flesher?s door, but before he can, the door swings wide open, and Tom Flesher stands in the doorway with his hands on his hips, his head turned to the left and an overly dignified expression on his face. He wears his trademark blue warm-up suit, with the Tag Team Title slung over his left shoulder. After holding the pose for a few seconds, he looks over at Hardy, pats him on the back, and asks, ?What can I do for you, my good man??

 

?Well, Tom, I was wondering how you and your partner Frost feel about defending the SWF Tag Team-?

 

Flesher raises an eyebrow. Hardy stops mid-sentence and sputters, leaving Flesher to take the microphone from him.

 

?Benjamin, Benjamin, Benjamin, sometimes I wonder why you?re still employed here. Why, you can?t even get the names of the titles right. My good friend Frost and I, we?re the reigning SWF WORLD Tag Team Champions. We?ve been defending them against all comers and beating them all handily. Now, I have the utmost respect for Justice & Rule, and they?re a great pair of seasoned vets even though they?re relatively new to the SWF. The problem is? they?re just not quite as good as Frost and I. We?re just a leeeeeeetle bit better than they are, and that, my man, is the reason that Frost and I are the champions, and they?re not.?

 

?Well, Tom, I?d also like to know-?

 

?I bet you?d like to know how I feel about facing Bill Hearford tonight. No problem, Benjamin, I?m more than willing to tell you. I don?t mind at all. Bill and I get along well, and as you know, we?re going to be putting on a clinic at the pay-per-view. It only makes sense to have us face off today, the last show before From The Fire. We?re going to pop the buyrates so high with this match that I?m going to move into a higher tax bracket. Sad, I know, but you have to understand what I?m willing to do for the good of this sport.?

 

?Actually, I-?

 

?You?re probably wondering, ?Tom, what?s going to happen at From The Fire?? And Ben, I?m glad you asked. We?re going to put on the greatest tag team match that?s ever been seen by human eyes. Misawa, Kawada, Kobashi, Andre the Giant, Sky Low Low, Little Beaver and King Kong Bundy will all weep tears of unabashed joy and inadequacy when they see the tag team masterpiece that we construct at From The Fire. Why? Simply by virtue of the fact that the four of us are not only more talented than the entire rest of the roster, but we all want the belts. These belts, the SWF World Tag Team Title belts, make us the premiere team in the business today. No one else can say that, Ben. No one except me and Frost.?

 

?What about-?

 

?And when I go out there tonight, I?m going to show Bill Hearford exactly why I?m on the best team in the business. Now if you?ll excuse me, I?ve got a match to get to.?

 

Flesher struts off, leaving Hardy behind to simply shrug as Gus fades out.

[Guest Grand Slam]

Fade in on the Dunkin’ Donuts Center in Providence, Rhode Island, where the fans are on their feet waiting for the next in the epic series of matches in which the Magnificent Seven turns against itself in preparation for From The Fire. Fans hold up signs, and the camera pans across the sold-out arena, immortalizing such masterpieces of western civilization as “FLESHER SUCKS DICK,” “EJIRO = IN JUDGE’S BRIEFS” and “BEERHUG.” As the camera continues panning, it catches the SmarkTron, which is animated with photos of Tom Flesher shining his SWF Tag Team Title and Judge proudly holding the Hardcore Gamers belt. Finally, the shot settles on the announcers’ table, where Mark Stevens and Bobby Riley sit side-by-side.

 

“Fans, we’re back for another exciting edition of SWF Storm!” says Bobby Riley. “Let me tell you, this next match is going to be one hell of a show. It’s going to be everyone’s favorite jurist, ‘the Judge’ William Hearford, testifying against ‘the Superior One’ Tom Flesher! Mark, words simply can’t express how… excited I am!”

 

“Well, that’s certainly understandable,” replies Mark Stevens. “These are easily two of the best pure wrestlers in the SWF today. They share a very similar style, and they’ve even been known to use each other’s submissions. Flesher’s often broken out Hearford’s ‘Held Without Bail’ stretch plum, for example. It’ll be quite a chess match between these two Magnificent Seven workers.”

 

“And these Rhode Island cumrags won’t even understand it past the first wristlock.”

 

“Let’s go to Funyon!”

 

Funyon stands in the ring with the microphone and announces, “Ladies and gentlemen, the following match is scheduled for one fall. Making his way to the ring…”

 

The crowd quiets down as the lights dim to a harsh red, and the drumbeats from beginning of Rage Against the Machine's "Testify" softly, making a slow crescendo up. The drumbeat gets louder and louder, and as the drum hits the cymbal there is a split second of silence before....

 

"NOW TESTIFY!"

 

The song skips to midway through and continues on as three sets of red pyros shoot up all across the stage, and Judge Mental appears on the entrance ramp. He walks down to the ring in a very precise and deliberate step, occasionally stopping to give a small taunt to the crowd.

 

“From Royal Oak, Michigan, and weighing in at 242 pounds… this is ‘The Judge,’ William HEAAAAAARFORRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRD!!!!!!”

 

Hearford steps into the ring after carefully wiping his feet on the apron, then ducks between the top and middle ropes. He takes a quick stroll around the ring, looking disdainfully at the crowd, and finally takes off his Hardcore Gamers Title belt. He folds it, sets it in the corner and slides out of the ring in deference to his stable leader’s entrance.

 

“And his opponent….”

 

The SmarkTron goes white with the blue words "SUPERIORITY COMPLEX" and "MAGNIFICENT SEVEN" on it. Then, with an explosion of blue pyro, "Kashmir" by Led Zeppelin bursts out over the loudspeaker. Tom Flesher emerges from the cloud of smoke, striding confidently to the ring with his SWF Tag Team Title belt over his shoulder as videos of his signature moves alternate in half-second clips with the words "SUPERIOR ONE," "AWARD-WINNING," "MAIN ATTRACTION" and "MAGNIFICENT SEVEN." Flesher enters the ring and poses in the center head bobbing in time with the music, until the symphonic hook at 50 seconds in, which cues a machinegun-like burst of blue and white pyro from each corner.

 

The music fades out, and Flesher looks expectantly at Funyon. Everyone’s favorite heavily salted snack treat reaches into his breast pocket and produces everyone’s favorite heavily copied gimmick item, the INDEX CARD OF SUPERIORITY~!

 

“Fans,” he says, “the man to my right is one of the top mat workers in the SWF today and one-half of the SWF World Tag Team Champions, but his opponent is no slouch either. Therefore, tonight, they’re going to put on the greatest display of technical wrestling you’ve ever seen. This match will feature William Hearford and 213 pounds of Buffalo’s most prolific ring general, he is ‘The Superior One,’ TOM FLESHERRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR!!!!!!!!”

 

The fans boo out loud as Flesher throws his hands up and holds his belt high in the air. After a moment, he folds the belt and kisses it, then sets it in the corner. As Flesher goes through his cursory stretch and strips off his warmup suit, Hearford re-enters the ring, and once both men meet in the middle, referee Ced Ordonez calls for the bell.

 

 

DING DING DING!!!!!!!

 

 

In the center, Flesher and Hearford look each other over, sizing each other up.

 

“You know,” says Stevens, “this is the first time these two have faced off outside of the practice room. It’ll be interesting to see how they interact.”

 

“Screw that, Stevens! I want to see some stretching!”

 

After a moment or two of tension, Flesher extends his hand and looks directly into Hearford’s eyes. The Judge thinks it over for a moment, and then extends his arm and clasps Flesher’s hand. With a solid pump, the two shake hands, then break and lock into a collar-and-elbow tieup.

 

“These two are making a very sportsmanlike start to this match,” notes Stevens. “You have to wonder how long that’s going to last.”

 

“Jesus, Stevens, you could ruin a wet dream. Tom and Bill have tremendous respect for each other, just like every other wrestler should respect them. They’re going to put on an incredible show, and all you can yap about is cheating. Grow the hell up, Mark.”

 

“Touche. We may actually get a clean match out of the Magnificent Seven tonight.”

 

Flesher and Hearford struggle back and forth, each man trying to gain the upper hand in the earliest stages of the match. Flesher steps around just a little, angling off against the Judge’s left leg, and then shoots in to attempt a single-leg takedown. Hearford, of course, will have none of that. He swings his leg back and out of the Superior One’s reach, and then leans forward to bring a meaty arm down hard across the small of Flesher’s back! Flesher falls to the mat, his already questionable balance destroyed by Hearford’s forearm smash. As Tom starts to fight his way back to his feet, the Judge drops to the mat and plants a knee into Flesher’s back.

 

“‘Judge Mental’ takes charge early,” calls Grand Slam. “He counters a single-leg takedown, and it looks like he’s going to set up a submission from here.”

 

William Hearford keeps his knee in Flesher’s back but eases off to the side. Flesher, feeling the pressure loosening, scoots to the side and sits out. As he does, Hearford takes control of the left wrist and follows behind him, getting to his feet. Before the Superior One even realizes what’s happening, Hearford plants a foot between Flesher’s legs and goes for a reverse facelock! Tom panics and reaches up with his right hand in a desperate attempt to block Mental from securing his lethal Held Without Bail! Hearford fights to lock on the hold, but Flesher takes control of his right wrist and holds it away to prevent him from locking on the reverse facelock! The workers fight back and forth, with Tom finally getting the upper hand and pushing the arm away. He spins out, letting go of the right arm but still tethered to the Judge by his deathgrip on the left wrist. Now on his feet facing Hearford, Flesher pulls his left arm through to set his stablemate off balance, and then grabs him in a front facelock! Without missing a beat, Flesher steps in, pops his hips and arches his back, throwing William Hearford overhead with a front headlock suplex! Hearford hits the mat with a crash and Flesher lands on his back as he falls out of the bridge. Immediately, the two roll to their stomach, pop up to their feet and charge into another collar-and-elbow tie! In spite of themselves, the smarkier fans in the arena pop for the counter-and-suplex sequence.

 

“You know,” says Riley, “it’s unusual for ‘Judge Mental’ to get caught like that. Even though he’s new to the SWF, he earned those grey hairs working his way though the Detroit and Windsor indy feds, and he’s got some of the best mat awareness in the SWF today.”

 

“Wow, Bobby,” says Stevens, clearly impressed. “That was unusually intelligent and objective, coming from you.”

 

“Flesher’s still Superior, though.”

 

“There we are.”

 

Flesher and Hearford strain back and forth, each man fired up a little by the initial round of impact. They fight for the advantage, still remaining within the bounds of amateur-style mat wrestling. Flesher lowers his head and shoots the Judge’s arm over his shoulder, attempting a Greco-Roman style duck-under. He comes up behind his adversary, trying to lever him to the mat, but Hearford maintains his balance and stays on his feet. Flesher steps around to try to trip Hearford to the mat, but the Judge maintains his footing and controls Flesher’s arm. With a quick shift of his weight, William Hearford spins behind Flesher and takes him to the mat with a standing switch! He rolls through, landing on Flesher’s back, and comes up into a seated position. He starts to pull Flesher’s arms back over his legs, looking for a camel clutch to stress the Superior One’s back. Tom pulls himself forward, though, avoiding the submission. Hearford stays on him, trying to secure the hold, but Flesher skitters forward and eventually does a full forward roll to shake Hearford loose!

 

Stevens checks his notes, and comes up with, “Well, that looked like a Granby roll to me.”

 

“Of course it was a Granby, dumbass,” Riley shoots back. “That’s one of the most unorthodox moves used in college wrestling, but it almost always gets the escape. Flesher knows that, and he’s using it to his advantage.”

 

“It almost looks like Flesher’s afraid of Hearford beating on his back,” says Stevens. “The Judge may have found Flesher’s weakness!”

 

“Bull,” replies Riley. “It’s not a weakness, it’s just Flesher trying to keep from getting caught in a submission by a man who knows how to use them. It’s no different than when any one of the schmucks in this league tries to keep from getting caught in the Superior Stretch – it’s just self-preservation.”

 

Flesher pops back up to his feet and spins around, only to see William Hearford coming at him with a vicious double-leg takedown! Flesher’s eyes widen to roughly the size of dinner plates, and thinking as fast as he can, blocks the Judge off by planting his forearms on his shoulders and sprawling back. With that, Flesher plants his feet and locks his hands behind Hearford’s neck, then snaps him down violently to push his head toward the mat. Hearford reacts by trying to get to a full standing position, and as he pops his head up, Flesher pivots and takes him to the mat with a fast side headlock takeover! The fans pop in places, and referee Ced Ordonez counts

 

ONE!

 

 

but Hearford gets a shoulder up. Flesher keeps the side headlock tight, but Hearford locks his hands around his waist and rolls to the side. With Flesher’s own shoulders on the mat, Ordonez counts

 

ONE!

 

 

But once again, Flesher shifts his weight and rolls back, this time to a seated position instead of a near-fall. He keeps the pressure on the Judge’s neck, seemingly content to sit and wait for Hearford to have to expend the effort to break the hold.

 

“And, as always, here’s Flesher with the strategy,” says Riley with a grin. “He’s going to make Bill do all the work to get out of this hold, while he just sits there and rests.”

 

“That may be sound strategically,” says Stevens, “but it’s not what the fans paid to see.”

 

The fans agree with Grand Slam, starting up a “BOOOOORING, BOOOOORING” chant. Tom looks out, shrugs, and keeps the headlock tight. Hearford, meanwhile, slides on the canvas and curls his body around Flesher’s. He tries to fight his way up, but Flesher simply grinds his arms into his opponent’s head and keeps him on the mat. The fans continue to boo.

 

“Interesting to note,” adds Stevens, “this has been one of the cleanest matches we’ve seen, which is odd when you consider the reputations of the men involved.”

 

“Now you’re just trying to stir up trouble.”

 

“They haven’t even touched the ropes yet, which is amazing considering how often these two cheat. They’d sell their own mothers for a fair price, Bobby.”

 

“Hell, I’d sell my mother-in-law for a nickel and a blowjob.”

 

Stevens declines to ask who the blowjob would have to be from, assuming it would probably be Michael Jackson. Flesher, meanwhile, simply continues to crank the hold, oblivious to the Judge’s gradual change of position. The man whose Justice offsets Ejiro Fasaki’s Rule reaches around his stable leader’s waist and grabs him by the wrist, then curls around Flesher’s body again. Before Flesher knows what hit him, ‘Judge Mental’ lifts a leg into the air and stiffly hooks it across Flesher’s neck, pulling him down into a headscissors. Flesher releases the headlock to try and fight the scissors, but as soon as he does, Hearford switches off and spins behind him! Flesher grabs Hearford’s hands and pushes to his feet to try to fight for an escape and start over in the standing position, but the Judge pulls him backwards and keeps him in control. With that, he uses his strength advantage to yank Flesher’s arm back and thread his arm over it and behind his head. As soon as Hearford threads his leg through Flesher’s, he has an abdominal stretch locked up, and Flesher is wincing in pain! The fans pop for the action, and William Hearford continues cranking the stretch.

 

“What a reversal!” says Stevens. “I’m telling you, these fans are seeing some great action, no matter WHAT they think of the Magnificent Seven’s methods.”

 

“What about their methods?” Riley says, clearly trying to bait Stevens. “These two are doing their damnedest to educate the fans as to what real wrestling is, and all you can do is whine about their cheating? You need to grow up, Grand Spam.”

 

Hearford leans on Flesher, putting even more pressure on the abdominals and back muscles. Flesher winces in pain, and as Ced Ordonez drops down to check on him… William Hearford carefully reaches over, takes the top rope, and pulls on it. Flesher screams out loud, and the fans pop with an even mix of cheers and boos, as the grey-haired jurist plays Ordonez’s positioning for all it’s worth.

 

“Ohhhhh, that bastard!” growls Riley.

 

“Well,” says Stevens with a shrug, “we knew it was only a matter of time. William Hearford is just more willing to take that extra step, regardless of how reprehensible it is.”

 

“DISQUALIFY HIM!” shouts Riley, in an absolute fit of rage. “YOU DAMN PURPLE-TRUNKED DUMBASS, LOOK AT THE ROPES!”

 

Ordonez looks up, just as Hearford lets go of the rope and plants his hand on Flesher’s hip. Ced looks at him carefully and asks, “Did you have the ropes?” The Judge shakes his head, ‘No,’ and Ordonez warily drops back down to ask Flesher if he wants to submit. Immediately, Hearford grasps the top rope again and resumes cranking on Flesher’s back.

 

“WHAT IS ORDONEZ’S MAJOR MALFUNCTION?!”

 

“Bobby, aren’t you the one who always says that Flesher should cheat as much as he can possibly get away with?”

 

“THAT’S COMPLETELY IRRELEVANT!” Riley spits. “Flesher doesn’t deserve this kind of crap!”

 

Meanwhile, Flesher screams in pain as William Hearford strains his back just a little more with the help of the ropes. Ordonez looks up, and before Hearford can let go of the ropes, the official sees it! Looking like Stubby just caught him sodomizing Misty Rivers, Judge holds on to the rope and tries to deny that he cheated by babbling, “I… uh… I never had… uh….” Disgusted, Ordonez nails Hearford’s arm with a high kick that draws a huge pop from the crowd! As the Judge goes off-balance, Flesher takes advantage by using his hooked arm to throw him overhead with a hip toss, both men landing with a crash on the mat! Flesher pushes himself up, but falls back down onto his stomach, and Hearford lays for just a moment before rolling to his stomach and grabbing at Flesher’s arm.

 

“It looks like ‘Judge Mental’ is going to try to take advantage of the fatigue he’s caused, irrespective of whether that fatigue came legally or not,” says Stevens. “It’s good to see Flesher’s attitude coming back to bite him in the ass.”

 

“That’s enough about Flesher’s ass, damn it! Bill Hearford has no honor, none at all!”

 

Hearford keeps Flesher’s arm and rolls toward his back, threading an arm under to look for a double chicken wing that will further soften his opponent’s back. Flesher, though, finds the strength to spin out and grab Hearford’s wrist, then stands up. William starts to stand, but before he can, Tom pulls the arm out and kicks one leg over, locking on a triangle choke! Hearford panics, trying to get out of the hold, but Flesher simply tightens his legs and continues stressing his stablemate’s neck in hopes of getting him to either tap out or pass out.

 

“YES!” screams Riley. “YES, PUT HIM AWAY!”

 

“Calm down, Bobby. Flesher’s applying a hold to look for a tap, but ‘Judge Mental’ is far too fresh to tap out.”

 

Sure enough, Hearford rolls around on the mat looking for a way out of the hold. Even as Flesher continues to tighten his scissors grip, Hearford inches closer and closer to the ropes. Before Flesher can do anything about it, Hearford hooks one black boot over the bottom rope, and Ordonez administers the standard count of

 

ONE!

 

TWO!

 

THREE!

 

FOUR!

 

With that, Flesher releases the hold and scoots backward, coming to his feet to wait for Hearford to get back up. The camera zooms in on Flesher, and the fire in his eyes is obvious.

 

“Flesher’s mad as hell at the Judge,” says Stevens.

 

“Of course he is,” says Riley patronizingly, as if Stevens were a retarded five-year-old boy. “Bill Hearford’s been taking advantage of every rule in the book. Would YOU be happy if you were Flesher right now? I mean, aside from knowing that you’ll get all the ass you want after the show…”

 

“Well, I see what you-”

 

“… free drinks at all the bars…”

 

“Yes, Bobby, but-”

 

“… flowers waiting for you at the hotel… man, that’s the LIFE.”

 

“I don’t think Flesher, being the bastard that he is and all, gets many flowers sent to his hotel room.”

 

“Oh…” says Riley, “I don’t know how true that is…”

 

Pause.

 

“You’ve got to stop stalking him, Bobby.”

 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about!”

 

Hearford pulls himself back to his feet using the ropes and starts moving toward Flesher, who quickly drops down into a duck-under and shoots around his back. This time, Flesher succeeds in passing his opponent by with the duck-under and comes out on top with a back-mounted facelock. Angry and determined, Flesher yanks back on Hearford’s head and tries to stiff-arm him into the Superior Stretch Beta! The fans begin to cheer and boo evenly, some wanting the Judge to escape, and some wanting Flesher to lock on his lethal back-mounted dragon sleeper. Flesher strains, stiffing Hearford over and over again with his elbow, but the silver-haired grappler reaches up and blocks off the dragon sleeper! Just as in the opening moments of the match, the two fight back and forth in a frantic attempt to either lock on the hold that will spell the end for the victim or keep the hold broken and survive to win the match! Flesher tries desperately to lock on the sleeper, but William Hearford finally manages to yank the arm away and plant it on the mat! This draws an almost unanimous pop from the crowd, and with that, Flesher slides off of his opponent while still keeping a grip on the arm.

 

“Interesting choice by Flesher,” says Stevens. “You’d think he’d want to stay on the mat as long as possible, especially in the position of advantage like that.”

 

“You’re such a boob sometimes,” sighs Riley. “Flesher’s MUCH more adept on his feet than he is on the mat, especially at this stage of the match. Bill’s starting to gas, and Flesher’s still fresh as a daisy.”

 

Sure enough, Flesher jerks Hearford’s arm, yanking him towards Flesher at an alarming speed. Quickly, Flesher catches him and lifts him into the air, his face contorting into a mask of pain at the apex of the lift. He capitalizes on the momentum by sending him flying overhead with a Railgun suplex! Hearford crashes to the mat, and Flesher lands with a wince. He starts back to his feet, and Flesher moves toward him, ready to toss him again. The pain, though, is evident on Flesher’s face, and the Judge sidesteps the first attempt at a lock. Instead, he grabs Flesher and brings him to the center of the ring, then nails him with a sledgehammer-like fist to the side of the head in order to knock him off balance. With Flesher thus stunned, Hearford grabs him by the waist in a gutwrench position and lifts him, then drops him across his knee with a vicious pendulum backbreaker! Flesher cries out as Hearford covers him, and Ordonez counts

 

ONE!

 

 

TWO!

 

 

 

KICKOUT!

 

“Flesher somehow manages to get the shoulder up, but he’s in no condition to continue,” says Stevens. “Hearford is just going all-out on his back.”

 

Hearford stands at Flesher’s feet and looks down at him, then lifts Flesher’s legs into the air. Tom tries desperately to beg off, but Hearford shrugs and says, “Just business, my man.” With that, he starts to step over Flesher’s back, looking to set up his deadly high-angle variation of the Boston crab.

 

“This is going to be the end if the Judge gets Flesher over!” declares Mark Stevens. “He might as well tap out now!”

 

“Never!” says Riley. “Tom Flesher’s going to find some way out of this, come hell or high water. There’s a reason he’s the leader of the Magnificent Seven and William Hearford isn’t.”

 

Hearford keeps trying to torque Flesher hard enough to turn him onto his stomach and into the lethal Boston crab, but Flesher scoots away each time. Finally, after three or four attempts, he reaches the ropes. Disgustedly, the Magnificent Seven’s in-house attorney lets Flesher go and waits for him to get up. When he does, the Judge steps in and cuts into him with a surgically-placed knife-edge chop to the neck. Flesher staggers backwards, and Hearford grabs him by the arm. With a powerful whip, he sends Flesher crashing back-first into the turnbuckle. Flesher screams and grabs his back, arching in the corner. ‘Judge Mental’ charges at him, looking for a lariat… but Flesher just barely ducks out of the way! Hearford crashes into the corner sternum-first, and as he bounces out, Flesher gets back to his feet and nails him with a stiff palm strike to the neck! The Judge collapses into a seated position in the corner, and Flesher looks down at him, smirking. He swings his Doc Marten boot backwards, and then stiffly kicks the Judge in the face with the lug sole! Hearford holds his hands up, trying to block another kick, but Flesher swings back and slams the boot into his face again! Finally, he backs away, falling into his wrestling stance and waves his hands, baiting Hearford to come at him!

 

The Judge gets up, refusing to quit even as Flesher catches him coming out of the corner with another hammering shotei! He pulls his stablemate to the center of the ring and drives a knee into his gut, then reaches around and puts on a gutwrench lock!

 

“Is this going to be the Ego Buster?!” asks Grand Slam.

 

“You better believe it!” shouts Riley. “This one’s over!”

 

Flesher tightens his grip, then starts to lift Hearford for the Ego Buster…. but can’t get him up! The fans burst into a chorus of boos as Flesher staggers backwards, holding his back and wincing in obvious pain. The fans start up a “Bullshit! Bullshit!” chant as William Hearford steps in and drives a knee of his own into Flesher’s stomach! With the Superior One bent over, the Judge crosses his arms under his stomach and smiles evilly.

 

“This is going to be the Capital Punishment,” says Steven. “There’s no two ways about it. Flesher can’t counter, and his back is too sore to backdrop out of it.”

 

“Never count the Superior One out! Look!”

 

Flesher strains, trying to stand up all the way and backdrop his way out of the straitjacket powerbomb that Hearford ends with a drop onto a bended knee. He struggles to hit the back body drop, but William Hearford lifts him a few inches off the mat! Flesher plants his feet back down, and with a gargantuan effort, stands all the way up and drops Hearford back onto the mat! The fans once again pop, but Flesher falls to the mat holding his back and writhing in pain.

 

“What an effort by Flesher!” Riley gushes. “You can never say he’s down for the count!”

 

“I’d say once the Mental one hits anything, anything at all, that’ll be it, Bobby.”

 

Flesher stands up, but by the time he does, Hearford is already lying in wait. He shoots in, hitting a bear hug and ducking his head under, looking for a Northern Lights suplex! Flesher staggers backwards, struggling, and Judge starts to lift him up for the bridge and the sure pin… but Flesher grabs the head, rolls to the side and pulls him to the mat in a small package!!!!!!! The fans boo and cheer alternately as Ced Ordonez drops to the mat and counts

 

ONE!

 

 

TWO!

 

 

 

THREE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

 

 

DING DING DING!!!!!

 

 

Flesher rolls off of Hearford and into the corner. On one knee, still holding his lower back, he looks over at Ced Ordonez. The official comes over and raises his hand as Funyon announces, “The winner of this match, by pin, ‘The Superior One’ TOM FLESHERRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR!!!!!!!”

 

“What an exciting end to this one!” says Stevens.

 

Flesher, meanwhile, glares over at Hearford. “I’m not gonna forget this one, Bill,” he says with a scowl. “You and Ejiro are going down…”

 

“… going down in flames.”

[Guest Grand Slam]

Suddenly, the house lights shut off as Riley and Stevens look on in wonder, Flesher and Mental having already made the trip to the back...

 

"What the hell?!" shouts Riley, as he Grand Slam Mark Stevens quickly turn their heads towards the stage. "I thought we were going to a commercial break!"

 

'I don't have anybody on my sheet scheduled for this time slot..." mumbles Stevens.

 

The wispy sounds of a digital xylophone echo throughout the arena. You can feel the pulsation of the light dings, as a hard beat done by violins, suddenly strikes up slightly overshadowing the original background rhythm.

 

"So do you wanna? be a Franchise? And live large? A big house? five cars?"

 

"Could it be...he was that person we saw entering the building, just a little while ago?" questions Riley.

 

The SmarkTron flares up with a blue and white photonegative image of Mak Francis, which is followed by ?The Franchise? in large green lettering, flashing on the screen in time with the beat.

 

"The rent charge? Comin? up in the world, don?t trust nobody? Gotta? look over your shoulder constantly!"

 

"It must have been, because the Mak Attack is back jack!" responds Steven over the nice sized pop of the crowd and Rock Superstar by Cypress Hill, slightly altered of course. It takes a little while, but eventually the self proclaimed franchise makes his way through the curtain. The lights come back up and Francis comes out onto the stage, tilting his shades down on the bridge of his nose, before looking left and then right?

 

"I remember the days, when I was a young kid grownin? up? Lookin? in the mirror dreamin? about blowin? up!"

 

That cues multiple short bursts of green pyrotechnics erupting from either side of him. He readjusts his shades with a smirk, before slowly strolling down to ringside and after walking up the ring steps, he cockily wipes his feet on the apron, giving a salute to the crowd, before entering through the middle ropes. Francis climbs the nearest turnbuckle and poses with both fists raised in the air, giving everyone a gander of his NEW DEFINITION tee shirt with the Franchisable slogan on it, as cameras flash and everyone's sisters have heart attacks! Francis hops down off the turnbuckle and after getting a mic tossed his way, Mak paces about the ring, soaking up a small "Franchise" chant from the crowd.

 

"Thanks for the applause, but it's time to get down to business folks." The crowd's chant, now much louder than before, causes Francis pause for a little while longer. "'Deathwish' Danny Williams, I could talk about your dirty, ugly mama and I could talk about your chipped buck tooth," the crowd pops as Mak continues to pace about railing off disses, "but suffice to say I'm calling you out, RIGHT NOW!"

 

The crowd waits as they quickly get to hear the gentle melodies of In Flame?s ?Jester?s Dance? echoes through the arena, triggering them into a chorus of ?boos?. Williams pushes his way through the heavy curtains draping from the locker room entrance, and slowly makes his way out to the platform. With the object of their hatred now in clear sight, the fans taunts become even louder. Williams lets the negative reaction bounce right off of him, and slowly makes his way down to the ring like he has all the time in the world.

 

"Yeah, you take your time geting down here... Danny Williams we've had some great matches." starts Mak, stopping in the center of the ring. "And I'm out here to tell it like it is. You beat me clean in the center of the ring, dishing out more punishment to me in one match, than I've felt in a long LONG time..."

 

At this point Williams has made it to ringside, face sill stoic and features showing no signs of changing. "And it was foolish of me to get in the ring after our match and cost CIA and myself a tag title shot, cause I couldn't kick out of a school boy..."

 

"But, like the tee shirt says," adds Francis pointing to his new black shirt, "I'm 'Far and away better than a normal wrestler', so after a little break, this Mak Attack is back!" Mak brings the mic down from his lips and leans against the ropes. Williams snorts and he starts to walk up he ring steps as Francis continues...

 

"And you my friend are definitely a fighting champion." finishes Mak. "I know there's another person gunning for a US title shot, but the question is do I REALLY need to cash in my rematch clause and force you into a match OR is it already set, right now, no muss, no fuss?" the crowd cheers and Mak backs away from the ropes, as Williams is now standing on the apron. "What do you say? Do we have a match at From the Fire?"

 

Williams steps into the ring and walks up to Francis, no signs of backing down from either man as Mak holds his ground.

 

"Wait, before you answer my question I have something to get off my chest." says Francis waving his free hand. "This match won't be just any match... oh no we had plenty of those. Our last match was a small battle, but this match, I'm out to prove something... to prove that I can go with anyone, anyplace, for ANY amount of time!"

 

Danny responds with an "Oh really?" that the mic doesn't pick up, before stepping forward again.

 

"At From the Fire Danny," continues Mak, "At From the Fire, I want you, one on one, for the Title in a goddamn WAR the likes of which these fans have never seen!" Francis steps forward getting rid of the small space in between them. Both men stand there nose to nose for a few seconds...

 

 

 

"SIXTY minutes, TWO men, ONE true survivor... you do the math!"

 

 

 

The crowd pops as Williams looks at Mak near incredulous. Danny quickly reaches up and yanks the mic out of Mak's hand with a slight jerk. "After what i did to you, you want to face me in this ring for SIXTY minutes... not thirty, not forty-five, but SIXTY minutes?" ask Williams, but it comes out more like a statement. "I must have dropped you on your head more times than I should have in our last match rook for you to challenge ME to an Ironman match..."

 

"This ain't a joke! I'm not joking with you damnit!" shouts Francis pretty loudly for not having a mic. He yanks his shades off showing his deep brown eyes while tossing them out of the ring, into the crowd somewhere. He attempts to snatch the mic back, but Williams keeps his grip and both now hold the mic in between each other. "Yo, this is serious you son of a bitch!"

 

The crowd oohs and probably the home audience too, at the production slip."Heh, the censors missed that one." comments Riley in the background, as the crowd stays quiet.

 

"Shut it Bobby," retorts Stevens, "this is getting heated."

 

"I agree." growls Danny. "It's VERY serious!"

 

"For almost my entire SWF career I've heard the whispers in the back! I was the next M7 goldenboy until I got a shot at Tom and his ICTV title and now I'm some kind of a non factor?!" says Francis practically screaming into the clenched mic. "This isn't a joke and I've heard enough! Enough of the M7 and ENOUGH of YOU hating on my style." rants Mak, getting the crowd behind him. "That's me in he ring! It's who I am and it's what I do! I thought I earned my respect after pinning you for the US Title, but damnit YOU just couldn't give me my props!"

 

Mak growls into the mic. "So now this Franchise has come to collect and I can't see any better way than an Ironman to prove just why I get the Franchise bucks, the Franchise perks, and the Franchise Tag!"

 

Danny is definitely not amused with Francis's catchphrase and lets his feeling known yanking the mic closer to him and almost pulling Mak down. "You have a match at From the Fire Francis, but remember that you brought this on yourself!"

 

Mak attempts to pull the mic back towards him, but it doesn't even budge from Williams grasp. They stare at each other as the crowd reacts to the tension. Then finally, Francis gets the mic away from Williams, as Danny loosens his grip, allowing Mak to back off some. "You got a match later tonight, so we won't do anything right now, we're bigger than that, but come From the Fire... I'm getting the respect I deserve..."

 

"And who the F[beep] are you to tell me otherwise."

 

Francis throws down the mic and falls back under the ropes, rolling to the outside. "Well we've got another match signed for From the Fire and it's a doozy... 'Deathwish" Danny Williams versus 'The Franchise" Mak Francis in a SIXTY minute Ironman match for the United States title!"

 

"Man, Mak doesn't know what he's getting himself into Stevens!" comments Riley as Francis and Williams trade words, as he walks to the back and SWF Strm goes to commercial break.

[Guest Grand Slam]

The camera returns to the highly secured and law enforced building known as the Dunkin Donuts Center. The camera briefly pans around the Rhode Island fans, rapidly absorbing thousands of signs to be displayed on screen in split second images. We cut to the announcer's table, where Stevens and Riley sit and are ready for some hardcore action.

 

Stevens: "Welcome back to Storm, and by the sounds of it, it is time for our hardcore match!"

 

Riley: "Hee hee hee. Jay Dawg, who is most definitely in a rotten mood after being robbed by Magnifico just last week, gets to vent his frustrations on the young rookie Wildchild."

 

Stevens: "Not too long ago. Jay Dawg was placed in a hardcore match to vent his frustrations on both Annie Eclectic and Stryke. The reason for that was, he was actually pinned in a tag match by Wildchild. However, JD wasn't done there. Take a look at this footage."

 

The screen flickers back to last Lockdown, where Wildchild is punching the Commissioner in the face. We see Jay Dawg sneak up behind him and nail him with a German suplex.

 

Riley: "Now watch the connection on this."

 

SMACK!!

 

The camera adds a little extra sound for when Jay Dawg hits the Thai Roundhouse.

 

Riley: "And the landing on this."

 

Riley clearly enjoys watching, as the replay of JD's Revenge on Wildchild is played.

 

Stevens: "Whatever the case. The two demanded a match against each other, and Commissioner Applewhite decided that a hardcore match was appropriate. Surely it had nothing to do with him being slapped around a little under a week ago."

 

Riley: "It's good to see that both you and I agree that the Suicide King is a great commish, and doesn't hold any grudges."

 

Stevens: "Could you provide anymore fellatio to the King, because I don't believe you've scraped all that teeth whitener off your gums."

 

Riley: "What in the world are you talking about?"

 

Stevens: "Nevermind. I've just received word that Wildchild is in the back with Ben Hardy. I guess he has some thoughts before he fights this match."

 

Riley: "Yeah. To notify his next of kin!"

 

We swing to the backstage with Wildchild, where he stands with Ben Hardy, and clearly not in the happiest of moods.

 

Hardy: "Thank you, Stevens. I am here with the recent bumpee Wildchild. Who was just viciously attacked by Jay Dawg last week, now has to go one on one with the man, in his own environ..."

 

Wildchild: "Monsieur Ben. Please shut up. Last week, I was disrespected by my own boss and Jay Dawg. The hardcore gringo will pay dearly. T'is isn't somet'in t'at I take and lie down. T'is is somet'in t'at will cost monsieur Dawg. JD, if you are list'ning, you best bring your..."

 

SMACK!!!

 

Wildchild didn't even see the chair coming as it waffles his forehead. As if anyone couldn't guess whom the swinger was, but you can see Jamie Drazon standing with the chair in hand, smiling as Wildchild crawls on the floor. JD looks at Hardy and signals him to bring the Mic over.

 

Jamie: "You forget, Wildthing. I am the teacher tonight. Welcome to school."

 

JD drops the chair, and proceeds to punt Wildchild in the ribs. The bell can be heard giving it's three rings, and an official arrives shortly after.

 

JD: "Get up, son! Before the pain sets in."

 

JD grabs a hold of the Bahama Bomber's hair, pulling him up. Holding him steady by the hair with the left hand, cocks his fist back, and pops Wildchild right in the yellow of his Bahama colored facepaint. Still a little woozy from the chairshot, Wildchild stands dazed in Jay Dawg's grip. JD pops him in the face once more before releasing the grip, letting him drop to his knees.

 

Stevens: "Jay Dawg just started the match with that unnecessary cheap shot."

 

Riley: "What are you talking about unnecessary? Jay Dawg flattened him so he won't run away. Lord knows how fast that little bastard moves! It's a good thing he's wearing shoes at the moment though... because something tells me JD has no intentions of taking this to the ring!"

 

Stevens: "I fear that I have to agree with you."

 

Jay Dawg continues to smile as he grabs the back of Wildchild?s tights, as well as grabbing a handful of the braided locks. He turns toward the curtain, letting his grin slip for a second as the anger shows sides of taking over for his strength. With a growl, JD throws Wildchild into the curtains, taking the thing down to reveal the hallway of the backstage area. The entrance to the audience section of the arena can be seen straight ahead. To the right, the hallway can be seen leading to a set of corridors. Loads of goodies can be seen, such as connection cables, a shovel, and the always popular table.

 

Riley: ?How much you wanna bet Jay Dawg takes that way??

 

Stevens: ?How about if you win, you admit you?re a?hey look, that fan there is drinking homo milk!?

 

Sure enough, a fan behind is drinking a liter of milk?

 

Back to the wrestling. Jay Dawg goes to the right, passing by the mile long cords and cables, past the shovel, and even passed the tables. His ring presence taking over, JD looks to the corner of the hallway, grabs a hold of Wildchild?s wrist, and Irish whips him toward the wall. JD follows him to the corner, not even close to aware of Wildchild?s agility. The youngster leaps into the air, bouncing his left foot off the left corner wall, then the right. JD pauses, realizing he may have fucked up. Wildchild pivots off the wall and back to JD, and before JD can block, the Bahama Bomber wraps his legs around his head, spins off, and hurricanrana's him down to the cement floor! JD sits straight up from the hurricanrana, but falls right back down again.

 

Stevens: ?Whoa! This kid?s agility continues to impress me!?

 

Riley: ?That was most impressive indeed!?

 

Stevens: ?Now Wildchild needs to take this to the ring!?

 

Riley: ?That would be the safest place for him!?

 

JD sits back up once more, rubbing his head this time and Wildchild helps him to his feet. The better half of Wild and Dangerous pops JD with a pair of right hands. The two shots are shrugged off fairly easy, but WC remains in control for the moment. Taking the battle back the other way, he notices the table. JD suddenly shoots out with a knee, connecting in the ribs of Wildchild. He grabs the back of his neck and the tights, and tosses him on top of the pre-setup table. The shovel rests next to the table, but that doesn?t interest JD at the moment. He turns to see one of the cable cords and grabs a hold, turning his attention back to Wildchild. He wraps the cord around his throat, lifts his leg onto the table so his knee is directly in Wildchild's back, and yanks on the cable. In the background, the fans can be heard showing their displeasure.

 

Stevens: ?Jay Dawg in what looks to be an unusual decision, decided to take the cable cord instead of the shovel. From my own viewing experience, JD almost always prefers the blunt object.?

 

Riley: ?It?s not like he?s ending the match yet! He wants him to suffer. It?s a good thing to know if this wrestling gig falls through, JD can always get a job at a House of Pain.?

 

As Wildchild gags, trying to slip his fingers in the cables to loosen the grip. His face turning beat red, JD hangs on for a couple more seconds before releasing. Wildchild instantly grabs his throat, forgetting whatever pain he was in before. JD pulls himself onto the table and quickly pulls Wildchild into a standing headscissors. Whatever JD had planned is short lived, as Wildchild drops to his knees and?

 

DING!!

 

Uppercuts the area just straight south of the abdominal.

 

Riley: ?Hey!?

 

Stevens: ?A page out of Jay Dawg?s book, no doubt.?

 

Riley: ?Yeah! Get your own damn move!?

 

Stevens: ?I highly doubt Jay Dawg invented a shot to the groin.?

 

Riley: ?True? but it?s always funny when he does it!?

 

JD rolls off the table, landing on his hands and knees. He slowly crawls away for a breather while he hopes that his balls find their way back into the scrotum. Wildchild hops off the table, and spots the shovel standing beside it. Thinking back to the chairshot and the strangling mere moments ago, he grabs a hold of the tool primarily used for digging. As JD starts to stand, Wildchild swings the shovel?

 

DONG!!!

 

?AAARGGHH!!!? Connecting with the back of Jay Dawg. A welt begins to form, leaving an imprint of the shovel in his back. The blow knocks JD down to a knee, but he gets back up again. Wildchild swings once more?

 

KONG!!

 

Roars of approval can be heard from the crowd, watching the SmarkTron as JD takes another shovel shot to the back. He holds the roar of pain in this time, clutching his back as he drops to both knees this time. But not for long, as he makes it to one knee, then back to his feet. Wildchild stands in wait, this time encouraging JD to turn around. He gets a good look at the welts on JD?s back from the dented steel of the shovel, before Drazon turns around. Wildchild swings it over his head like an axe?

 

CRACK!!

 

The shovel end snaps in half after connecting with Jay Dawg?s cranium. JD stands there, his eyes closed still, but even if they were open they probably couldn?t see. A trickle of blood starts to come down from his forehead. JD continues to look forward, before he says the one thing anyone in true pain says? ?Ow.? JD timbers down, falling flat out on the cement, not even having the energy to say ?Ooof.?

 

Stevens: ?What a shovel shot! Wildchild has just coldcocked Jay Dawg!?

 

Riley: ?Oh my god! Wake up Jay Dawg! Wake up!?

 

Wildchild stands with the broken shovel, staring down at the carnage he just created. He has just flattened the King of Hardcore in his own yard. This thought brings a smile to his face. He drops to his knees and with a hook of the leg, makes the cover.

 

ONE?

 

 

 

TWO?

 

 

 

THR?No. Jay Dawg gets the shoulder up! Wildchild looks straight at the ref, wondering how in the world he couldn?t get a three out of that. JD sits up although not with his usual fury, he gently taps his forehead, testing to see if anymore blood has come out.

 

Stevens: ?Wildchild can?t believe that didn?t put Jay Dawg away!?

 

Riley: ?I think this rookie has no idea how resilient Jay Dawg really is!?

 

After some small questioning to the official, Wildchild turns his attention back to Jay Dawg who is back at his feet. Wildchild hits him with a solid right fist, knocking his woozy adversary back a step. JD starts to walk away, stumbling along as Wildchild follows. They make a right hand turn this time, with Wildchild connecting with a pair of solid rights. JD fires back, grabbing Wildchild?s hair to hold him, and smash him with a headbutt to the forehead. As Wildchild staggers back, JD immediately regrets his decision, still feeling the effects of that shovel.

 

Stevens: ?That was a very dumb move by Jay Dawg there.?

 

Riley: ?I think the Bahama Bomber has a harder head then him anyway.?

 

JD starts to walk some more, making his way up the steps to the ramp. The Bahama Bomber follows closely, reaching the top step shortly after JD and they are behind the curtains leading to the fans view. As JD continues to walk, Wildchild shoots his leg out, kicking him in the back of the knee. The blow drops Jay Dawg down to one knee, and Wildchild takes a step back. Before rushing back with a running elbow?

 

CRACK!!

 

The blow knocks JD back hard and he bursts through the curtains, and finally the fans get a live view of the two competitors in the ring? and their first view is a happy one. JD grabs at his head, feeling the pain. He returns to his feet and Wildchild dashes for him again. However JD swings his left arm out, blocking the right hand punch WC was planning to throw. Before Wildchild can even think of a counter, JD throws the arm away and spins 180 degrees and thrusts out?

 

CRACK!!

 

Smacking Wildchild with a spinkick. The blow knocks Wildchild back towards the SmarkTron, hitting the steel structure holding the massive screen up. The pain JD suffered before starts to take a back seat. He growls out loud and opens his eyes only to roll them into the back of his head.

 

Riley: ?Uh-oh! Jay Dawg is getting pissed off!?

 

Stevens: ?Well Wildchild is giving him quite the fight. JD seems to have a short temper for that!?

 

Wildchild rushes back for JD, but JD shoots his arm out, clasping it over the throat of Wildchild. For a half second, JD lets his pupils show as he pierces a whole into Wildchild. He places the other hand on the throat as well and lifts the Bahama Bomber high in the air. The eyes once more roll into the back of his head as he lets Wildchild hang in the air. Wildchild grasps at his throat, trying to break the seemingly iron grip of Jay Dawg?s hands. He throws the youngster back into the steel structure, and as Wildchild once more grabs his throat, JD punches him in the stomach, winding him as well.

 

Riley: ?Damn rights! You make that bitch respect the teacher!?

 

Stevens: ?Wildchild is certainly getting a lesson in shortcuts here, that?s for sure!?

 

Riley: ?Hey he started it.?

 

Stevens: ?He did not!?

 

Riley: ?So Jay Dawg started it? like it matters anyway!?

 

JD pulls Wildchild off of the steel, but grabs a hold of him in a bearhug, lifting him up, pivot, and slams the youngster down with a belly-to-belly suplex. CLANG!! The sound is painful enough, but Wildchild cries out in pain as he grabs at his ribs. JD looks down at Wildchild, tilting his head to the left, then the right. Studying the spasm like movements. He calls the ref over, and places his foot over Wildchild?s throat. He steps into the air, the foot slowly going into the larynx. He twists the foot away and over onto Wildchild?s chest.

 

?Count!? JD demands, and the ref follows the command.

 

ONE?

 

 

 

Stevens: ?Jay Dawg has just flattened Wildchild with a belly to belly on that ramp and to make matters worse, stepped on his throat! Dammit, that could have crushed his larynx!?

 

 

 

TWO?

 

 

 

TH?No! Wildchild easily gets his shoulder up, but that is all that gets up. JD smiles, as he knows he will enjoy this. He stands all the way on Wildchild?s chest and places his foot into his throat once more. But this time, as JD steps off, he takes his foot of the chest first. Wildchild gags out and kicks his feet frantically as he feels the unbelieveable pain of Jay Dawg stepping on his throat. JD stands down on the steel once more and puts his foot on the chest.

 

?AGAIN!!? The ref clearly doesn?t want to piss JD off right now, makes the count.

 

 

ONE?

 

 

 

 

TWO?

 

 

 

 

 

THRE?NO!! Wildchild gets a shoulder up again. JD once again grins satisfied with his ?student?s? perseverance.

 

Stevens: ?That was a disgusting display by Jay Dawg there! I haven?t seen someone disrespect someone so much!?

 

The crowd rains down boos on Jay Dawg even though Wildchild kicked out. Aware that Wildchild is temporarily incapacitated, JD turns his attention to the crowd. He smiles as they start to throw everything from popcorn to insults at him. All the items aren?t coming close as he is so far up the ramp, but the audience is determined to try anyway. JD continues to smile, even slapping his fist off his bicep while doing so. Shouts of ?Fuck you!? and ?You suck!? are heard in response to that. JD finally cuts it off, wiping his arms away, signaling that in moments, the match will be over.

 

Riley: ?You show them, Jay Dawg!?

 

JD takes a step back, watching as Wildchild rolls onto his chest, attempting to push himself up. JD stomps his foot into the steel. The crowd knows what is coming as JD begins to grin, having considerable trouble trying to look angry. He stomps his foot again, his arrogance rising faster then Wildchild who is at his knees. JD stomps again, starting to speed up his pace. He stomps again, again? Wildchild to one knee? again, again? Wildchild to his feet? JD thrusts forward, leaping in the air and does a full 360 degree spin. Wildchild ducks the Thai roundhouse kick to an enormous pop. He pulls the back of Jay Dawg?s pants and brings him down with a schoolboy roll up.

 

ONE?

 

 

 

TWO?

 

 

 

 

THRE? No! Jay Dawg rolls backward.

 

Stevens: ?A roll up on the steel? an unusual move if I ever seen one!?

 

JD gets to his feet, moving a little quicker? but Wildchild scoops his legs out from underneath of him! The Wildchild proceeds to flip onto Jay Dawg, cradling both of his legs.

 

 

ONE?

 

 

 

TWO?

 

 

 

JD breaks the cradle but the shoulders are still down!

 

 

 

 

THRE? NO!! JD wraps his arms around Wildchild?s waist and bridges up. JD spins around, breaking the bridge and pulls Wildchild into a standing headscissors. He powers Wildchild up, but the Bahama Bomber snaps himself all the way up onto Jay Dawg?s shoulders, then off them as he facelocks JD on the way, spinning off?

 

CLANG!!

 

DRILLING HIM HEADFIRST INTO THE STEEL RAMP WITH A TORNADO DDT!!

 

Stevens/Riley/Crowd: ?HOLY SHIT!!?

 

JD doesn?t even sit up, lying flat down on the ramp. His arms spread out, his face showing a rather goofy expression. Although he is clearly not on his own free conscious? it?s almost as if Jay Dawg is smiling.

 

Stevens: ?What is wrong with Jay Dawg!??

 

Riley: ?He likes it!?

 

Wildchild lies on the ramp, the fans getting behind him, knowing if he can make it there, he has the win. He crawls ever so slowly, the audience roars in approval for his determination. He reaches out, draping his arm over Jay Dawg?s chest, then grabs a hold of the leg, placing his whole body on top.

 

Stevens: ?This has gotta be all!?

 

 

 

ONE?

 

 

 

 

 

TWO?

 

 

 

 

 

THREE!!!

 

NO!! Jay Dawg gets a shoulder up, to the shock and anger of over 20,000 Rhode Island natives. Wildchild looks down in shock, grabbing his hair in disbelief. He reaches down, grabbing the hair of JD, and holds it in place as he begins to feed his face with multiple punches.

 

Stevens: ?Dear lord! Jay Dawg just kicked out of that brutal DDT!?

 

Riley: ?The toughest hardcore bastard this side of Neilsen and Grimedogg!?

 

JD slowly starts to stand as Wildchild continues to pummel him. As JD returns to his feet, Wildchild grabs him by the wrist, and throws him to the steel structure? no? JD shifts his weight, and Irish whips Wildchild toward the steel. The Bahama Bomber, who is often countered from that, is well prepared, leaping into the steel on his own free will, clutches onto the steel bars, and bounces off. Wildchild curls into a ball, and JD, who has clearly not learned his lesson from earlier, runs forward, only to fall victim to the Pinball! Wildchild?s back smokes JD in the chest, taking JD down with Wildchild on top of him, the shoulders down!

 

Stevens: ?The pinball! This is what it took for Wildchild to beat JD last time!?

 

ONE?

 

 

 

 

 

 

TWO?

 

 

 

 

 

 

THREE!!

 

NO!!

 

Again, Jay Dawg barely inches his shoulder up off the steel!

 

Riley: ?Jay Dawg! You the man!?

 

JD rolls onto his chest, avoiding any chance for a second pinfall attempt. As JD pushes up though, Wildchild stands over him, scissoring his legs around his arm, and applies a side headlock. Wildchild tries to somersault forward, for a Majistral cradle, but JD holds his ground, and throws his elbow back out, connecting with the Bahama Bomber?s jaw.

 

Riley: ?Sorry kiddo! But this isn?t the ring! You gotta use something besides a rollup to beat JD in this domain!?

 

Stevens: ?I have to agree. Jay Dawg has fought too many times in this environment!?

 

JD fires back another elbow, breaking both the headlock and the armlock. JD proceeds to stand, and Wildchild is ready. The former acrobat leaps into the air, throwing his leg out for a leg lariat? but JD ducks low! Shocked that his attack didn?t hit, Wildchild turns to his next predicament, trying to land on his feet. Wildchild shifts his weight, able to turn just in time to land on his feet, but not in a manner that would get him a ?10? in gymnastics. He stumbles for a second, not seeing JD leap into the air? spinning? Wildchild looks up.

 

SMACK!!!

 

ANNIHILATING HIM WITH THE THAI ROUNDHOUSE KICK!!!

 

Wildchild?s head snaps to the left, and shakes for a second. He suddenly drops to his knees, then collapses onto his chest. The crowd continues to show their lack of appreciation for Jay Dawg. He smiles as he rolls Wildchild over, placing his forearm in his head and hooks the leg. Tiny driblets of blood fall from his face and onto Wildchild?s body as the ref makes the count.

 

Stevens: ?Whoa! JD caught him by surprise with that roundhouse kick!?

 

Riley: ?Stick a fork in him, he?s done!?

 

ONE?

 

 

 

 

 

 

TWO?

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

THREE!!!

 

NO!!

 

Wildchild shows he?s a tough S.O.B. as well, getting a shoulder barely off the ramp. JD however isn?t shocked, he?s pissed. He gets up off the steel and glares a hole into the striped man. His eyelids begin to rise, starting to feel like knocking the official?s teeth down his throat.

 

Stevens: ?Jay Dawg better watch himself??

 

Riley: ?Or what? he?ll get disqualified? Ha ha!?

 

Wildchild starts to rise, and JD reaches down, grabbing him by his hair and yanks him to his feet. He pulls him into a standing headscissors and crosses the arms over his throat to a tidal wave of boos via the inhabitants of Dunkin Donuts center.

 

Riley: ?This will do it!?

 

JD opens his eyes, but promptly rolls them into the back of his head. He growls for a second as he holds Wildchild in place. Suddenly, Wildchild starts to struggle.

 

Stevens: ?Wildchild is fighting it! He knows what this move feels like on the mat? imagine the steel ramp!?

 

Wildchild is able to flip himself up, trying to pull himself onto Jay Dawg?s shoulders? but JD?s grip of holding his arms over his throat hold him in place upside down! JD growls as Wildchild tries to push himself all the way up? but that?s not happening. The fans start to cheer? hoping that Wildchild will get himself out. JD looks to his side, getting a look of determination from Wildchild. JD smiles, letting his pupils reappear. ?School?s out!? JD launches forward, pushing Wildchild outward?

 

 

SMASH!!!

 

 

FACEFIRST INTO THE STEEL RAMP WITH JD?S REVENGE!!

 

The audience looks on in horror as Wildchild bounces off the ramp, his forehead broken open already as a crimson mask begins to form. JD looks down from his knees, his eyes wide open, piercing down into the broken body of Wildchild. He grabs a hold of the leg, placing all his body weight on top including his back. The ref mercifully makes the count.

 

 

ONE?

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

TWO?

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

THREEEEEEE!!!

 

JD throws the leg down and sits up, letting his arms rest on his knees. He takes a deep breath as some more blood drips down his face.

 

Stevens: ?Holy crap! That was sick!?

 

Riley: ?That was brutal! I love it!?

 

Stevens: ?Wildchild looked to be ready to counter the JD?s Revenge? but the pain already in his throat, and JD?s anger from that earlier DDT prevented that!?

 

Funyon: ?The winner of this match via pinfall? JAMIE ?JAY DAWG? DRAZON!!!?

 

JD raises his arms, looking sadistically at the crowd. Almost wanting one of them to come out and challenge him.

 

Stevens: ?Wildchild took the fight to Jay Dawg! But you gotta believe, that due to it never entering the ring, it was all Jay Dawg?s domain!?

 

Riley: ?Never fight a pitbull in his own yard!?

 

JD continues to hold his arms up. Finally letting them drop, he does a quick rotation of his shoulders before turning around and walking backstage. Wildchild show his resilience, rolling onto his chest, he pushes himself partway up, the blood pouring off his face. The ref kneels beside him to assist, but is shoved away.

 

Stevens: ?Wildchild is getting up on his own free will!?

 

Riley: ?Jeez! This little bastard is tougher then I thought!?

 

Stevens: ?A resilient youngster indeed! Folks, we have to take a break? but stay tuned? for we have two more battles scheduled that should be great!?

 

Riley: ?Including a tables match! Whee!?

 

Cut to commercial.

[Guest Grand Slam]

THE MOST CONTROVERSIAL MAN IN IGNWF HISTORY

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

THE MOST HATED MAN IN IGNWF HIISTORY

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

THE MOST FEARED MAN IN IGNWF HISTORY

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

THE MOST PSYCHOTIC MAN IN IGNWF HISTORY

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

THE ONLY MAN TO BE THERE FROM BEGINNING TO END

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

MARCH 2003

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

FROM THE FIRE

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

IT'S TIME FOR THE SWF

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

TO RETURN TO THE JUNGLE

[Guest Grand Slam]

ELM v. Danny Williams

 

World Champion v. U.S. Champion

 

Neither one finished a match.

 

I am inspired.

[Guest Grand Slam]

The camera flickers back on the obviously unaware SWF commentating team of Mark Stevens and Bobby Riley having a tug of war over a bear claw.

 

?This is the last one, you?ve already had six,? hollers Stevens through clenched teeth.

 

?Five, the other one was a pecan log,? Riley corrects as he attempts to wrestle the donut into his arms.

 

?Why don?t you have one of the round donuts with the sprinkles,? Mark tries to convince Bobby.

 

?Because those are gay.? Riley says with a slight lisp.

 

?See, you should like them then.? This stuns Riley just enough to let his grip slip and Mark is flung back a few inches in his chair with the prized bear claw now his. Mark takes a huge bite out of the bear claw and pumps his fists over his head in celebration. Through a full mouth Mark crows, ?Time to the make the donuts, beyotch.?

 

?Fine,? Riley snorts miffed ?I?m not picking up the muffin tab at Tim Horton?s tomorrow then.?

 

Mark chews off another hunk of bear claw and then whips his head around to face the camera; a muffled, angry voice inaudibly leaking through his headset. He swallows with a gulp. ?Welcome, back to Storm, coming to you live from the Dunkin Donuts Arena in Providence, Rhode Island.?

 

?A.K.A., the seventh level of hell,? Riley grumbles and folds his arms across his chest.

 

Mark ignores his partner?s usual cattiness and continues, ?A sizzling night of hot action is about to be capped off with a match no one thought they?d see.?

 

?Probably because it wasn?t very high up the list of matches people would want to see.?

 

?I don?t know about that, Bobby,? Mark muses ?Frost vs. Ejiro Fasaki for the ICTV Title would stand to be a hell of a contest on its own, but tonight those two stablemates turned adversaries will be going at it in a tables match!?

 

?Well, it?s not Mistress Sarah vs. Annie Eclectic in a loser licks carpet match.? Riley grins mischievously.

 

?Not only will the two teams these men are a part of square off at From the Fire this Sunday, but Frost also served as the special referee for the US Title match between Danny Williams and Fasaki on Lockdown. Here is a clip from a confrontation the two men had shortly before that stiff battle.? Mark points at the camera and the scene star wipes to a still shot of Frost standing with Ben Hardy in front of an SWF Lockdown banner. The bottom right hand corner of the clip is marked with a label of ?Last Lockdown: Wednesday, March, 5th 2003.? The scene jumps to life.

 

Frost points a finger dead in the camera and it zooms in tight. ?I own you rookie. Never forget that. Hooking up with the Mag 7, teaming with Judge Mental, trying to leapfrog you?re way up this federation. That isn?t going to get it done. The only thing that will do it is to prove it. You go into that ring tonight and prove it against Danny Williams and that?s one step.? Frost holds up his index finger. ?However, don?t think that will help you one damn bit in taking the Tag Team Title belts at From the Hire, because that won?t happen until hell freezes over. We all have to learn our places and fulfill our roles. Tonight, my first role is to call this title match right down the middle.?

 

"And you'd better do just that," calls a voice from off camera as into frame steps the aformentioned Ejiro Fasaki.

 

The Velvet Hammer turns on a dime and immediately gives Fasaki a look of utter contempt, "Boy, you better not get in my face or I'll jam you right in the... nah you're too small to get jammed in the hurt locker. Maybe the hurt minifridge. You sure of hell haven't earned the right to be saying something like that to me."

 

"Don't even pretend to tell me what I've earned," grates the incensed voice of Ejiro, "And don't come out here and tell everyone I've somehow lucked into my spot either. I've earned my place in this world with my own two hands time and time again. So don't forget Frost... you guys came to me because you knew what I would do to win at any cost. Don't cry now just because you and Tom can't seem to get the job done and finally beat El Luchadore Magni..."

 

Suddenly a massive hand darts out from the body of The Velvet Hammer and wraps around the gullet of Fasaki. Gasping for breath, Fasaki dangles in the grasp of Frost for a moment or two before the mighty Islander sends him stumbling into the side of a locker room stall. He hits it with a slight clang, not enough to hurt, just enough to tell him to mind his place.

 

The scene pauses and star wipes back to the commentator?s table.

 

?We?ve had word that Ejiro confronted Frost before the two men left Las Vegas, but whether some sort of meeting of the minds was reached between the two men remains a mystery.? Stevens drops his voice low to add a little drama to that last word.

 

Riley turns toward Mark like he just thought of something. ?What?s with all this mad crisscrossing of the country anyway? We go from Las Vegas all the way here to Providence. I barely had time to make it here on Greyhound.?

 

Mark wriggles his face a bit startled. ?You took a bus here??

 

?What?? Bobby fires back perplexed. ?Did you fly??

 

?Let?s go to Funyon for introductions.? Mark quickly stutters and points toward the ring.

 

?No, wait!? Riley pleads. ?Are you telling me you make enough money to afford to FLY??

 

The camera pans around to Funyon standing dead center in the squared circle. Ringing the outside are a group of brown folding tables with black legs, approximately six feet long and two on each side of the ring. Funyon stands awash in the crowd buzz for a moment before speaking.

 

?Ladies and Gentlemen, it is now time for our main event!? A slight roar greets that news. ?It is scheduled for one fall and will be a tables match for the SWF ICTV Title. The first man to put his opponent forcibly through one of the tables standing around ringside will be declared the winner!?

 

Stevens: ?Note that if a man breaks a table of his own accord or by a missed maneuver, the match continues.?

 

Riley: ?Hold on! Don?t tell me the front office PAYS for your ticket?!?

 

The commentators are cut off by the blaring thump of Biohazard?s ?Sellout? on the loudspeakers. A lithe form shoots through the backstage curtain and sprints down the ramp, wasting no time getting to the ring.

 

?The challenger, hailing from Sarasota, Florida and weighing in at 188 pounds, he represents the Magnificent 7, EJIRO?FA?SA?KIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII!?

 

The grappler springs to the apron and ascends to the middle rope just as Funyon finishes his introduction. Fasaki lifts his arms above his heads and pyro explodes from the ring posts right on cue. The crowd boos and hisses, prompting Ejiro to wave his hands to tell them to bring more of it down. He?s fully aware that a negative reaction is better than no reaction at all.

 

Riley: ?Ok, fine, you don?t want to talk about our travel arrangements??

 

Stevens: ?I don?t want to talk about it. You know Stone Froze Jack Houston handles all that.?

 

Riley: ?I said fine, so answer me this question??

 

Stevens: ?I?m told the pillow mints are complimentary.?

 

Riley: ?No! How can Ejiro lose a U.S. Title match to Danny Williams on Lockdown and be granted an ICTV Title shot tonight??

 

Stevens: ?Not that Ejiro Fasaki hasn?t proven to be a solid competitor since coming up from the JL, he is one half of the number one contenders for the tag team straps after all, but I would say this just ties in more with King?s machinations to set the Magnificent 7 at odds before From the Fire.?

 

Riley: ?I figured that, but King was never really a subtle villain was he? You need to be a little more discreet when playing mind ga?wait?you get a mint on your pillow at the Super 8??

 

Stevens: ?Uh?you have check in before six.?

 

Riley: ?Oooooohhhhhhhh.?

 

Fasaki grips the top rope with both hands and flips over the cords to land feet first in the ring. He retreats to the lower right ring corner as ?Frost Wants to Kill Your Mama? by Dweezil Zappa rings out. Ejiro is miffed at Frost receiving a much more boisterous reaction than he did. He disgustedly rips off his leather coat and flings it over the ropes to an attendant. The Velvet Hammer marches out from behind the curtain and sails down the ramp much like Ejiro did. He holds his balled fist up to the caterwauling crowd, a stream of smoke trailing behind from the trademark cigar in his lips. He is a pissed off human freight train that stops for no man!

 

?And the Champion,? Funyon booms ?coming to us from Reykjavik, Iceland and tipping the scales at 296 pounds, he also represents the Magnificent 7 and is one half of the SWF Tag Team Champion while also being the ICTV Title holder, the Iceman from Iceland, FRRRRRRRROOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSST!?

 

Frost steps sideways to get between the narrow space that separates the two tables facing the aisle and pulls himself to the apron by a hand on the second rope. He undoes the ICTV belt as he steps over the ropes and hands it off to referee Eddy Long. Long holds the title over his head and shows it to all four sides of the auditorium before giving it to Funyon as he exits. Frost flicks his cigar out of the ring and it skips across a tabletop before coming to rest near the protective guardrail. Ejiro points out to one of the tables and then points his thumb down to signify Frost going through it. The champion smirks.

 

Stevens: ?Notice that Frost did not wear his half of the tag titles to the ring.?

 

Riley: ?Now don?t start making more trouble than already exists. He has no reason too; it?s not on the line. I?m just glad there are no shows left before the ppv or King would be having Tom and Frost fight next.?

 

Stevens: ?Oh yeah, no one wants to see that.?

 

Riley: ?I can detect sarcasm, buster.?

 

Stevens: ?Sure you can.?

 

Riley: ?SARCASM!?

 

DING DING DING

 

Frost lumbers at Fasaki with his arms out. Ejiro notices the gap between Frost?s legs and baseball slides underneath them. Frost plants his right foot and pivots around with his right arm extended. Ejiro shoots to his feet, but still manages to duck under the swinging pendulum of Frost?s arm. He gets off a punt to the gut as he comes out of his crouched position, but it seems barely stun his giant ogre of an opponent.

 

Stevens: ?Fasaki dodges the spinning back fist, but his kick looks ineffective. From what we?ve seen in the past, Ejiro really doesn?t have much of a speed advantage on Frost and that is usually how smaller men beat him.?

 

Riley: ?On a one to ten scale, I?d say Frost is a 4 and Fasaki a 5, that?s totally arbitrary of course.?

 

Frost throws out a stiff right jab. Ejiro barely faints to his right to make it miss, but instead walks into a left hook to the ribcage. He stumbles to his side and takes a deep breath, but still looks game.

 

Riley: ?Although, Ejiro has show better stamina and vitality than Frost and that could serve him well in what could be a grueling, brutal match.?

 

Stevens: ?Say?an 8 to 5 advantage.?

 

Riley: ?Yeah, that sounds about right.?

 

Ejiro goes with his stumbling feet and runs for the ropes. He comes off and launches into the air with a dropkick that strikes Frost square in the chest! He staggers back with his arms wind milling and lands in the ropes. Ejiro scrambles up and back to the ropes for another burst of speed. He measures Frost tangled in the strands as he races at him. He takes to the skies with a cross body, but Frost dives to his right and lies flat on the canvas, allowing Fasaki to soar through the ropes headed for the floor! He throws his hands out to catch himself and the toes of his boot catch the bottom rope to slow him down. He glides across one of the tables harmlessly and rolls to his feet on the outside.

 

Stevens: ?Fasaki blows the cross body attempt and winds up on the floor. Perfectly legal in this match, Eddy Long is just there to call who goes through the table and nothing more.?

 

Riley: ?Because he?s really not good for much else anymore.?

 

Frost swings his legs under the bottom rope and pushes himself over the table to the floor. He lands next to Ejiro and brings down a clubbing right hand to his skull before he can react!

 

Stevens: ?Also note that the men can only use the tables our crack ring staff have already setup around ringside.?

 

Riley: ?It?s not BYOT: Bring Your Own Table. However, most ring staff meetings are BYOB.?

 

Frost works the right hands to drive Ejiro back. He puts his arms up to block the blows and Frost grabs his wrist. He goes to Irish whip him down the length of the outside area. Fasaki reverses, yet Frost re-reverses and flings his opponent back first to the steel guardrail!

 

Stevens: ?Ejiro slumps stunned, but he better get his wits about him quick. Frost is picking up one of the tables!?

 

Frost rotates the table around vertically and charges with it to use as a battering ram. Fasaki?s dazed eyes open wide as the big man approaches and spins to his right in order to avoid the crunching impact! The table cracks against the steel, but does not break. Fasaki sends a thrust to Frost?s back and he drops the table while arching his spine in pain.

 

Riley: ?Frost might not have been able to finish it there, but he showed a great advantage he has. The Velvet Hammer can do whatever he wants with these tables or Ejiro?s lighter frame. Fasaki doesn?t have as much leeway in maneuvering within the confines of the stipulation.?

 

Stevens: ?He?s really going to have a hard time luring Frost onto a table.?

 

Riley: ?A well placed T-bone steak might help.?

 

Ejiro grips Frost in a wristlock and brings him away from the railing while still firing martial arts kicks to his kidneys. He howls in pain with each strike. Ejiro gives one last good twist on the wristlock and then fells Frost with a leg trip sweep.

 

Stevens: ?The STO! Ejiro has him on the ground and is now stomping the right ankle. He did take a beating on that ankle by TNT on Lockdown and it was crucial in helping TNT squeak out the victory and retain his World Title shot.?

 

Ejiro drops down with a knee to the ankle and Frost screams bloody murder. He slaps his leg, trying to alleviate some of the discomfort. Ejiro leaps straight up into the air and lands a second knee drop! He then rolls up the length of Frost?s body with his elbow cocked and bashes him square in the nose! He continues his roll up to his feet and tips over a nearby table on its side. It comes with a hair?s breadth of hitting Frost and lays sideways.

 

Riley: ?Ejiro usually works on the arm and this is not time to switch, even with a possible pre-existing injury. If Frost can?t stand, it?s going to be twice as hard to drive him through a table. Dropping it on him won?t cut it.?

 

Ejiro runs a half circle toward the ring and bounds up to the apron. Without breaking stride, he twists his body to face Frost and comes off the edge with both legs pointed straight out. The fans pop as they sense what?s coming. Ejiro collides with a whap to the table!

 

Stevens: ?BASEMENT DROPKICK TO THE TABLE!?

 

Riley: ?Ok, so there are other ways of breaking a table on somebody.?

 

Fasaki lays flat on the black floor mats for a moment and then sits up. He sees the table cracked in half, but not entirely busted. He looks over his shoulder to Long in the ring, waving his arms in front of him.

 

Stevens: ?No dice. Frost had rolled out of the way before Fasaki connected.?

 

Frost pulls himself up by the guardrail as Fasaki jumps up and argues with the referee.

 

Riley: ?He broke the table, but there was not contact with Frost at the time. Stop your whining. Ejiro hasn?t had the best of luck with officials lately.?

 

Frost skips over the broken table to smash a forearm into the back of Ejiro?s neck. The crowd hisses and Fasaki sinks to his knees.

 

Stevens: ?Meaning that he had to deal with Frost as the special guest referee in the Williams match. I admit that he called that one fairly down the middle, even with what happened before the match as we saw a few minutes ago. Of course, Frost isn?t known for liking either man.?

 

Riley: ?Frost is equal opportunity, he hates everybody.?

 

Frost pulls Ejiro up by what he can grab of his short hair and tucks him in a front facelock. He grabs a handful of Fasaki?s tights and looks to lift him up.

 

Stevens: ?I think he?s going for an Ice Pick on the table edge! That?s insane!?

 

Riley: ?And cool as f*ck!?

 

As Frost hoists him, Ejiro kicks his legs forward. Frost loses his grasp on the man?s trunks and Fasaki is able to wrap both his legs around Frost?s tree trunk like right one.

 

Stevens: ?Ejiro might have saved his own neck there.?

 

Riley: ?Literally.?

 

Ejiro squeezes his legs around the top of Frost?s ankle and calf while beating mercilessly on the back of his knees with both fists. Frost releases the facelock and the determined wrestler starts headbutting him in the thigh for good measure.

 

Riley: ?He?s a one man leg band.?

 

Stevens: ?He?s really brutalizing that leg. It?s a smart wrestler who knows where to attack a man and Ejiro has already proven that he knows how to smash a table over Frost without him standing up.?

 

Frost comes down with a double axehandle to try and knock Ejiro off, but he doesn?t have the proper angle to hit him fully. With Frost?s center of gravity now lowered, Fasaki rocks backward and throws Frost face first into the apron with a pop from the fans!

 

Stevens: ?Interesting full body leg whip by the challenger. The fans might despise both men, but they?re starting to lean toward the underdog to bring the giant down to size.?

 

Riley: ?Which makes me root for Frost just that much MORE!?

 

Frost is sprawled out on the floor from the knock to the apron. Ejiro scurries up and leaps to the guardrail. He takes a second to steady his feet on the slim rail, facing the audience. The front row fans give him space, but cheer him on as he springs off the barrier head over heels! His body twists to face the ground and he has to tuck his legs in a bit so they don?t strike the ring edge. Which only allows him to drive the knobby points of his knees into Frost?s midsection! He ?oophs? and folds in half from the shot like an accordion! Ejiro hits his feet running, heading for the cracked but still intact table Frost had earlier.

 

Stevens: ?Ejiro had to tweak the lionsault a little to make it work in the narrow confines of the outside area, but it helped to make the move that much more devastating.?

 

Riley: ?The table he had is pretty much done, so he grabs the one Frost was using. Notice how awkward it is for Ejiro to lift and carry, it?s like I was saying earlier.?

 

Ejiro trips back a few steps as he hoists the table over his head to make it easier to carry. He trots for Frost?s fallen form with the table bouncing slightly off his noggin as he moves. He pulls up as he nears the man and uses all of his minimal strength to the toss the table in the air! It hovers for an instant, defying gravity. Ejiro steps back to watch its descend onto his foe. Still grabbing his tortured gut, Frost jets out his left leg! It impales the table as it falls and it splinters around him into kindling! A piece of the top half strikes him in the chest while a piece of the lower section smacks harmlessly to the ground.

 

Stevens: ?Frost got his leg up to block the shot! He broke that table under his own will, so it doesn?t count and the battle rages on.?

 

Riley: ?About the only option open to him there, but not a great one. Now he?s got two bad wheels instead of one. However, it was good that he was thinking enough not to use the right leg to do that.?

 

Ejiro looks up at Long with his arms out, pleading for the win. Eddy leans over the ropes and points at the remains of the table. The camera picks him up telling Ejiro, ?Frost broke the table himself with his leg. Doesn?t matter that you threw it in the air. You had no control over the table or your opponent?s body when it busted. No win.? Eddy brandishes his arms in front of him like an umpire calling a player out. Fasaki groans in frustration and pulls at a few stray strings of hair that have dropped in front of his eyes.

 

Riley: ?You can?t get frustrated here and let your rival come back on you, that?s usually Frost?s schtick.?

 

Frost works up to his knees and Fasaki races over to pull him up the rest of the way by the sides of his head. Frost catches Ejiro in the side with a left hook and he takes a stutter step back. Frost holds one of the table legs in his right hand, leading up to a shattered piece of debris. He drives his arm up as he stands and plows Ejiro on the button of his chin with a table part assisted uppercut! Fasaki flies backwards off his feet like a cartoon characters and crashes down in a mangled human heap!

 

Stevens: ?Frost is using that shard of table as a weapon! That?s sick! Do you realize what kind of damage he could to Ejiro with that??

 

Riley: ?You bet I do!?

 

Frost sneers and waves a disgusted hand at the loathing fans. He limps toward Fasaki, dragging his piece of table turned club like a caveman behind him. Ejiro writhes on the floor with his hands over his face. Breathing hard and with sweat pouring, Frost leans against the ring apron to take some weight off his legs and barks at his opponent to get up.

 

Stevens: ?Frost rocked his world with that table shot, but Ejiro is struggling up. It?s that vaunted stamina we talked about and it might be the only thing that can get Fasaki through this encounter.?

 

Ejiro stands on rubber legs and Frost juts forward with his table leg club up at the ready. He bashes it into Ejiro?s forehead! The audience gasps shocked and appalled! Fasaki miraculously keeps his feet and trips past Frost, toward the ring ramp, seeking refuge. Frost follows in hot pursuit and delivers two more crushing blows to the back of his skull. Ejiro twirls as he falls and winds up slumped against the guardrail. Frost holds the table leg like a javelin and mightily thrusts the chunk of table on its end into Fasaki?s face!

 

Stevens: ?Ejiro Fasaki has been busted open! He?s bleeding from a cut on his forehead from the use of that table piece.?

 

Riley: ?I don?t care how tough you are, everyman bleeds and bleeding will weaken any grappler.?

 

Frost tosses his weapon aside and yanks Ejiro up off the railing by his hair. Blood stains his face and pours out of the head wound at a good clip. Frost spins Fasaki around to be belly to back with him and hooks a rear waistlock.

 

Stevens: ?I wouldn?t be surprised if the ICTV Title was secondary here to dishing out as much punishment as possible to the other man. These two want to see how much the other man can take.?

 

Riley: ?Aside from a mutual respect society of pain, injuring your opponent heading into a ppv is always a good idea. What a coup it would be for either team if one of their opponents were beaten up to bad to compete this Sunday.?

 

Frost takes a few steps back, looking over his shoulder to find another table, with Fasaki?s limp rag doll body nearly slipping through his arms. Frost sets his feet and arches rearward to jerk Ejiro off the floor and over his head. Frost releases his hold as he reaches the peak of his arc. Fasaki whips through the air in the blink of an eye and cracks back first into a table! The nape of his neck and the base of his skull take some impact as well and Ejiro flops off the table to a crippled pile on the ring mats!

 

Stevens: ?GOOD LORD! A RELEASE GERMAN SUPLEX TO THE TABLE! It?s a wonder it didn?t break.?

 

Riley: ?It?s a wonder Fasaki didn?t break! One slight benefit such a light wrestler like Fasaki might have is that he doesn?t quite have the weight behind him to break a table on his own. Frost is going to have to most likely through some of his own weight behind a high impact move to get the job done.?

 

Stevens: ?I?d also say that Frost didn?t have the right angle there either, it was more of a glancing shot to the table, but a wickedly powerful one to Fasaki.?

 

Frost hovers above Ejiro, his face a bloody mess and excruciating pain firing through every nerve in his body. Frost points a finger at him and growls, ?You wanted my best, you got the best.?

 

Riley: ?Since when did Frost join the Kiss Army??

 

Frost hauls off with a stomp to the midsection. Ejiro tries to get his arms up, but can?t quite muster the effort. Frost bends over to pick him up by the sides of his head and then shimmies his arms down for a waistlock. He twists Fasaki as he lifts him and lies him stomach down over his right shoulder. He spins in place, making four full revolutions and then slows down while pushing his hands into the grappler?s chest. Frost shoves Fasaki straight up into the air and takes a step back out of the way. His body hangs limply in the air like a corpse before plummeting down. His forehead raps the table edge with a sickening wet thud! The crowd groans from the echoing din of the hit. Fasaki takes a mild pop back into the air and flops over to his back before crash landing on the floor. The table wobbles from the strike and tips over to land on top of Ejiro with its legs pointing toward the heavens.

 

Stevens: ?A SNAKE EYES TO THE TABLE! This is entering a new realm of brutal! I don?t even know if Ejiro is still conscious!?

 

Riley: ?For his sake I hope not. His brains have to be so scrambled you could serve them up with hash browns and a side of toast.?

 

Frost repositions the table atop Ejiro. He leans down to check the man underneath and finds him perfectly still. Frost reels his head back like a wild stallion and chuckles a sick, twisted laugh at the booing throng. Frost trots to the ring edge and tows himself up to the apron with a hand on the second rope.

 

Stevens: ?Inconceivable! Frost is going to jump off the apron onto the table with Ejiro pinned underneath.?

 

Riley: ?Maybe a little overkill, but it will get the job done. Better have somebody run down to Spatula City and buy the overstock, we?ll need something scrape Ejiro up with.?

 

Frost lets forth a primal scream to incite the fans further and shoots his right fist definitely into the air. He bends his legs for leverage and leaps off the apron. He brings his legs up into a sitting position as he falls, looking for a leg drop to the table. Whether it?s the warning shouts of the crowd, the sensation of the table on top of his pain wracked body or some persevering brain cells managing to put two and two together, Fasaki slips out from under the table at the last moment! Frost collides with the table as it lays flat on the floor! He slumps over to his side and puts both hands on the underside of his legs.

 

Stevens: ?Frost missed the leg drop from the apron! Ejiro moved out of the way just in time!?

 

Riley: ?He?s running on fumes and instinct. This would be the perfect time for Fasaki to capitalize on Frost, but I don?t know if he has anything in him to get the job done.?

 

Long stares on helplessly from the safe confines of the ring while the audience buzzes with energy. Both men lie still. Finally, Frost scoots his way to put a hand on the apron and Fasaki attempt to claw up by the guardrail. Ejiro?s face is the proverbial crimson mask and blood stains his bare chest. The forehead gash looks to be clotting, but a little blood still trickles. Frost attempts to stand, but can?t seem to put any weight on his legs.

 

Stevens: ?The brunt of impact was on the back of his thighs, but that?s not to say the ankles weren?t injured further.?

 

Ejiro makes his feet and pushes off the guardrail. He trips around like a drunk on shaky legs. He wipes the blood out of his eye to see Frost struggling up and adrenaline kicks into high gear. Frost slouches against the ring and Ejiro spins into him with a reverse roaring elbow to the bridge of the nose!

 

Stevens: ?Screaming elbow! Some blood seems to be trickling from Frost?s nose.?

 

Riley: ?Their beautiful faces, both of them will come out of this match as disfigured and disgusting as CIA.?

 

Fasaki grips the back of Frost?s head with both hands and rockets one knee lift after the other into his gut. The fans cheer more with each strike.

 

Stevens: ?How can you tell? He wears a mask.?

 

Riley: ?Precisely.?

 

Fasaki snakes his hands down to snag a wristlock. He twists on it as he yanks Frost away from the apron. He pulls down on it to get Frost to double over. He kicks his legs off the ground and throws one leg over Frost?s back while collaring the other around his throat. He throws his weight forward and down, twisting to make Frost?s right shoulder impale the next standing table! Bone and table crunch as the strike flips the table up on one end! Frost lays motionless on his stomach with the table on his back, giving Fasaki a chance at a breather.

 

Stevens: ?Fasaki Fuser to the table, but it didn?t break!?

 

Riley: ?Glancing blows are not going to cut it. You?ll just wind up maiming the guy. Good for leading to this Sunday sure, but we?re running out of T.V. time.?

 

Ejiro reaches back to take the guardrail with both hands and pulls himself up. He sizes up the situation and comes to one crucial decision. He bounds over Frost and the table and hops to the ring apron. He seizes the top rope with both hands and hits the second rope with sure footing.

 

Stevens: ?I think Ejiro is going for the lionsault to the floor!?

 

Riley: ?Remember what happened to Frost when he tried to come off the apron??

 

Ejiro bounces in place several times to build up power. He looks over his shoulder to make sure Frost is still in place and skips off backwards. Loose strands of hair hangs in blood stained eyes as his body turns to face the floor. Everything black out for a moment, an almost calm serenity washes over him. However, that is quickly ripped away as he feels the white hot burning in his gut from smacking the table full on! He ricochets a good foot in the air from the bang and swirls his body to come down to the side of Frost. He lies with hand a across his stomach and his face twisted in pain. The wild shouts in the crowd shift to shocked groans of disbelief!

 

Riley: ?IT DIDN?T BREAK! The table didn?t break!?

 

Stevens: ?Unbelievable, Fasaki hit the table with everything he had and it is still intact. It appears to be cracked and banged up some, but it?s not broken enough to count. Eddy Long is signaling for continuousness.?

 

Riley: ?Ejiro might have hit it with all he had, but that is not much right now. If that didn?t work, Fasaki is going to have to come up with some way to use Frost?s own weight to get the table to break.?

 

Ejiro stumbles to his feet and swipes the table off of Frost. He lies underneath it with his eyes closed and his hands across his chest like a vampire. He boots him in the head and screams ?Get the hell up!? This stirs the giant and Ejiro goes to pull around a table from the other side of the ring.

 

Stevens: ?Fasaki goes for a fresh table and Frost is trying his damndest to stand. The table might not have broken, but you can?t tell me he didn?t feel any pain from it.?

 

Frost reaches his knees as the blood soaked Ejiro drags a table around and places it near the outside upper left corner of the ring. He points to the top turnbuckle and the crowd pops.

 

Riley: ?I?m not sure what he?s thinking here, but it?s got to be beyond insane.?

 

Ejiro marches over to Frost and pulls his limp right arm off the ring edge with a wristlock. As he?s done all match, he uses the hold to maneuver Frost as he needs to and leads him up the length of the outside. Ejiro steps backwards up to the apron and tugs on the wrist to get Frost up. The Icelander must comply or his arm gets ripped out of the socket. He weakly climbs up and both are on the apron.

 

Stevens: ?I?m guessing he?s going to throw Frost off the apron and through the table. Like you said Bobby, using Frost?s own weight to take his title from him.?

 

Ejiro tugs on the arm to whip Frost down and off, but he grabs the top rope with his free hand and holds on tight! Fasaki tugs again, but Frost reverses momentum and brings him in for a knee to the stomach! He follows with a forearm to the forehead and drives Fasaki down the narrow length of walkway with three bone jarring headbutts!

 

Stevens: ?The blood is oozing from the cut once more and Ejiro is on the verge of passing out.?

 

Riley: ?He?s on the verge of taking an Early Winter!?

 

Frost jams Ejiro?s head in a stand leg scissors and underhooks his arms. He flips him up to lay against his chest and edges closer to the table on the floor. Suddenly, the fans stir?

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Stevens: ?IT?S JUDGE MENTAL!?

 

Ejiro?s tag team partner flies out from the back with a chair in hand. Frost is distracted and looks his way. Halfway down the ramp, a figure swoops in out of nowhere and tackles Mental off the other side!

 

Riley: ?TOM FLESHER WITH THE SAVE! He must have been lying in wait the whole match, knowing Mental could not resist interference.?

 

The lapse of focus is all Fasaki needs to lock his ankles in an X around Frost?s neck and wiggle his arms free. He throws his arms out as if to do a handstand and rips his legs toward the table!

 

Stevens: ?A FRAKENSTEINER OFF THE APRON THROUGH THE TABLE!?

 

Riley: ?NO! HE CAN?T PULL HIM OFF!?

 

Ejiro lacks the power to get Frost off and he retakes control by wrapping his arms around the man?s waist. He jumps off the apron with Ejiro?s head pointed down! They both plummet like a rock to drill into the table and splinter it into sawdust!

 

Stevens: ?A TOMBSTONE PILEDRIVER OFF THE APRON!?

 

DING DING DING

 

Funyon: ?Here is your winner, and still ICTV Champion, FRRRRRRRRROOOOOOOOSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSST!?

 

The crowd chants ?HOLY SHIT!? while the two men lay comatose in the wreckage. Paramedics streak down the aisle, but they are interrupted by the warring Judge and Flesher fighting back onto the ramp.

 

Riley: ?I hate to say it, but things don?t look pretty for the Mag 7 this Sunday for From the Fire.?

 

Stevens: ?And things don?t look pretty for us right now as we are desperately out of time. Tune in this Sunday for even more carnage and unbelievable action!?

[Guest Grand Slam]

"YOU CAN'T BEAT ME"

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

"YOU CAN'T OUTFIGHT ME"

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

"YOU CAN'T OUTTHINK ME"

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

"BUT AT FROM THE FIRE"

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

"2003"

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

"YOU WILL FEAR ME"

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

"ROAR MOTHER FUCKERS"

[Guest Grand Slam]

You want a recap?

 

Of what. It'll take like three minutes to read the "Show".

 

Needless to say I am very disappointed. The stuff that is there is great, the stuff that is missing is a tragedy.

 

Silly me thinking people might be excited for the last show before a PPV.