SWF Lockdown - March 26th, 2003!

March 27, 2003

The buzz of the Dayton crowd quiets, as the house lights dim. A solitary spotlight falls onto Funyon, as a voice booms over the arena "Ladies and gentlemen... please rise for the national anthem."

A familiar riff stirs, and crowd tries hard to place it, as Funyon raises the mic to his lips...

"That's the way it begins -

you try to behave,

yeah, you try to fit in.

But when you rise and stand

you find a lock-step march -

no room for jazz.

Born bad-

with a slight-o-hand

I go from jam to jam

with a crash, boom, bam.

Born bad -

I dodge a sucker punch

and drop a bomb, like Liston,

on an animal hunch.

I've been down.

Yeah, I've spent some time downtown.

I've covered sacred ground,

soft and slow and round.

I gave up.

Yeah, I learned to give it up,

thinkin' that's the final cut.

But it turns out I was wrong.

Born bad -

that's the way it began,

stuffed a young pink lung

down a rank glue bag.

Born bad -

this is where it all lands

for a bull headed, corner hangin'

problem child man.

I grew hard.

Over time my scars toughed up.

When gettin' even just wasn't enough,

I had to choke my conscience off.

I've come far.

Yeah, I had to travel far.

Peel through layers sick and raw

just to taste and touch once more.

Born bad -

like a synchro-mesh shift

that's stuck in third

just smokes and burns.

Born bad -

with a cig-hangin' lip.

A talk-back baby on a

star-crossed ship."

As the music and Funyon's voice fade out, they're replaced by a LOUD round of applause, for that stirring rendition of the Gone Jackals "Born Bad". They settle back in for the show, as y'all should know who that one was for...

March 27, 2003

The opening ceremonies of SWF Lockdown finally finish, leaving an eerie, almost awkward silence within the Nutter Center. The situation doesn’t get any better when the lights suddenly go out, leaving the arena in darkness save for a trio of red, white, and green spotlights slowly scouring the crowd. Suddenly, the silence is shattered when the opening strains of the Mexican National Anthem blast over the loudspeakers, which immediately draws a wave of boos from the capacity crowd. The three spotlights quickly come to a point at the top of the entrance ramp, just in time to illuminate El Luchadore Magnifico, who bursts out from behind the backstage curtain. His Mexican Flag mounted on his shoulder, Magnifico slowly makes his way down the ramp, the spotlight following him down as the crowd’s booing slowly grows louder and louder.

“Ladies and gentlemen, please welcome...El Luchadoooooorre Magnificooooooo!!” bellows Funyon.

The crowd will do nothing of the sort, ignoring Funyon’s request as Magnifico rolls beneath the ring’s bottom rope and pops to his feet. As ELM crosses the ring and signals for a microphone, the lights suddenly come back up, revealing an audience sprinkled with signs that either bash Magnifico or sadly question his actions.

“And we start off Lockdown in an interesting fashion, as El Luchadore Magnifico comes out here, hopefully to explain his actions on Storm.” Remarks Stevens with just a hint of bitterness.

“What’s to explain?” questions Riley. “Mag realized that his partners and friends were either weak or worthless and found himself some compatriots that can actually give a wrestler of his caliber a little bit of support!”

As the luchadore receives a microphone, he sets his flag up in a corner and begins tapping the mike repeatedly, grinning ear-to-ear as the soft smacks echo throughout the arena. Slowly, he rises the mike to his lips, the crowd growing hushed as he does so.

“Buenos noches, mis amigos!” greets Magnifico, his voice dripping with sarcasm. The fans, catching on, immediately begin to boo again. ELM laughs to himself for a second before continuing.

“You know...” Magnifico starts, “Ever since Storm, it seems the only question anyone can ask me is, ‘Why, Magnifico? Why did you turn on CIA, your friend, and TNT, your partner and ally?’” Apparently wanting to know the answer themselves, the fans grow quiet again, anxious to hear what ELM has to say.

“First off, yes, CIA WAS my friend.” Magnifico continues, “And TNT, for that moment anyway, WAS my partner, and he WAS someone I respected. However, all of that friendship, all of that trust, all of that camaraderie was simply tossed out the window at From the Fire.”

“You all saw it, right? Me and TNT, going toe to toe, putting everything we had out there in one of the most important matches of out lives.” ELM pauses. “But then...HE showed up. He ran down the ramp and bashed me in the face with a chair. He knew that he wasn’t supposed to interfere, but he did it anyway, and it cost me the match.”

“That’s not quite what happened-“ begins Stevens, only to have Riley cut him off.

“Shhh! This is a good story, shut up.” Riley insists.

“What CIA did was inexcusable. His actions cost me the World Title, but more than that, it cost me a friendship.” ELM confesses. “There is nothing I hate more than someone who tries to be in the spotlight all the time, tries to steal someone else’s glory, tries to be the hero...and CIA was just that.”

The fans boo in unison upon hearing Magnifico’s twisted logic, but ELM isn’t quite done yet. “So that’s why I did what I did. CIA needed to be taught a lesson in what friendship and trust was, and I believe he got the point.”

Stevens is flabbergasted. “You[/i} taught him a lesson in friendship in trust?! Trust isn’t violently attacking your partner with a steel chair, and it sure as hell isn’t joining in on a three man beatdown on your partner!”

Riley shushes him again, “Quiet! This is getting better by the second!”

Magnifico’s face suddenly breaks out into a grin. “Of course, I wasn’t about to leave my old, unfaithful friends and not find some new ones. That’d simply be foolish. So, I thought to myself...which stable wields the most power in the SWF?”

The fans have already caught on, and begin to boo as ELM continues. “Which group of wrestlers have shown complete dominance over the opposition?”

Another round of boos, but Magnifico presses on nonetheless, a huge smile on his face. “Which stable, I ask you, is led by the greatest technical wrestler in this federation, who has given me some of the fiercest competition of my career?”

“The answer, of course, is the Magnificent Seven.” States Magnifico, rather smugly. The audience is sick of ELM’s attitude, and lets him know about it in a very vocal manner. However, ELM simply waves them off and continues on.

“The Magnificent Seven represent what trust and loyalty are all about.” Magnifico explains. “Here you have a group of seven incredible competitors, each different, each gifted in their own way, yet able to stick together and work as a team. And while its leader and I may have had our troubles in the past, we realize that those days are behind us, and that the future is all there is.”

“So, you have your explanation now. I hope sus estupidos gringos are happy now,” Magnifico comments through the booing, “Because I’ve got nothing left to say.”

Just as ELM is about to climb out of the ring, he seems to remember something and suddenly pauses.

“Oh, and TNT.” Magnifico says, grinning. “You and I both know that the World Title is mine. When my rematch comes around, you won’t have CIA around to screw me up and hand you the victory. Just be prepared, Taylor, because you’re looking at a Four-Time, Four-Time, Four-Time, Four-Time World Heavyweight Champion.”

With that, Magnifico drops the mike and climbs out of the ring amidst a sea of boos.

“Well, Magnifico sharing some of his thoughts and incredibly twisted logic with us.” Stevens announces. “Interesting to say the least, especially his comments directed towards TNT.”

“Can’t blame the man for telling the truth.” Replies Riley, shrugging. “It was great that TNT got a little singles gold for a little while, but now it’s time for him to give the Title back to who it belongs and to go play in the midcard with the other losers.”

“You know, TNT was a US Champion as well.” Remarks Stevens sharply.

“Oooooh, four day US Title reign, I’m impressed! Let’s make him head jackass for life so we can stand in awe of his mediocrity!” cries Riley.

Stevens sighs loudly and ignores his partner. “Folks, if you still feel like sticking around after that, we’ve got a Triple Threat Match for the #1 Contendership to the US Title, which should be fantastic. We’ll be back after these words.”

March 27, 2003

Card:

Opening Promo - El Luchadore Magnifico

The former World Champion and leader of the Midnight Carnival has much to explain to his former friends and, more importantly, to the fans that supported him through the longest World Title reign in the history of the SWF. Tonight, the Magnificent One sets the record straight.

Triple Threat, No-DQ, Elimination Match for the U.S. Title #1 Contendership

Wildchild v. Mike Van Siclen v. Janus

Rules: No DQ, no countout. You must be pinned or submit in the ring to be eliminated. Oh, and it is no-DQ, so the ropes do not break submissions. Have fun.

By all accounts, MVS and Janus feuded something fierce in the JL and settled it on the biggest stage of all, From the Fire 2003. But now it is time to start thinking about gold. Wildchild has impressed the boys by surviving (although just barely) a match with the returning Neilsen. So, take three recent bumpees, mix in a cup of title shot, a dash of brutal stip and bake until golden brown. Results? Cake baby... cake.

Tag Team Match

"The Superior One" Tom Flesher & El Luchadore Magnifico v. Deja Vu

Rules: Standard Tag Match, DQ and Countout are in effect, and don't forget the tag ropes.

King's fingerprints are all over this show. After chewing Kris & Kross out over "Making a mockery of the sport" he decided to show them what wrestling is all about by pitting them against two of the absolute best in the business. Well, you know what they say about the best way to learn how to swim...

"You can't spell Furniture without FUN" Match

Michael Craven v. Neilsen of the Jungle

Rules: Standard match, with one big exception. Chairs and Tables are perfectly legal weapons. Aything else is a DQ. Countouts are still in effect should the ref deem it neccessary. Victory is by pinfall or submission in the ring.

King is still a little miffed by Neilsen spitting on a title with as much history as the ICTV. Add into that he tried to decapitiate one of the rising stars of the Fed last week on Storm and the commish is plenty annoyed. Seeing that the Master of the Unique Stip was available, King put together what is sure to be a brutal, bloody mess that will hopefully accomplish two things: welcome Craven back to the SWF in the manner he deserves and maybe, just maybe, try and teach Neilsen the consequences of his actions.

Intercontinental-Television Title Contender's Match

Jay Dawg v. Fugue

Rules: Standard match rules apply, DQ and Countout in effect.

JD has been tearing through the roster, trying to earn the respect and the gold he believes he deserves. Fugue is an up-and-comer who has a belt in his future. What happens when these two primal forces of nature collide? Well, one of them will be in a better position to try and claim the coveted ICTV Title. The other one... well, the other one might just be eating through a straw...

Main Event

Handicap Match

Frost v. Justice and Rule

Rules: Standard rules apply, DQ and Countout in effect. Judge & Ejiro must tag in and out during the match, so don't forget about the tag rope.

Frost asked for this match, and seeing dollar signs in front of his eyes, King agreed quickly. So the Icelandic Giant will try to walk away with a victory over the reigning Tag Team Champions. Sounds like a winner to me.

March 27, 2003

FADE IN:

“We’re going to open up tonight’s action with a Triple Threat match, with a shot at the United States Title on the line,” says Mark Stevens. “Bobby, there are a lot a variables at play in this match; on one hand, Janus’ power is clearly going to give him the advantage over either Van Siclen or Wildchild.”

“Absolutely,” adds Bobby Riley, “Janus is my pick to win this thing; he’s stronger than the other two put together, and he can probably take anything those two lightweights throw at him!”

“On the other hand,” continues Stevens, “Mike Van Siclen has the unique experience in this match of having wrestled against both of the other two opponents. He’s familiar enough with Janus to overcome the size disadvantage, and he actually has a win over Wildchild.”

Riley sniffs the air. “I don’t see Mike Van Siclen having any chance of winning this match. He’s made the fatal mistake of drawing the attention of the monster Janus.” Riley breaks into a malicious grin. “I wouldn’t be surprised to see Janus make a beeline for MVS, kill him, and then kill Wildchild in rapid succession.”

“And they you have the Wildchild,” adds Stevens. “I think that he could be the X-factor in this match; the main thing that I think he has going for him is that the rivalry that MVS and Janus have developed might lead to them to overlook Wildchild.”

“Well,” replies Riley, “I think that Wildchild only has a slightly better chance of winning this match than Van Siclen, but I will say this: because of the particular way he wrestles, it could prove to be very dangerous to lose track of this guy. But realistically, his only chance is to hope that Mike Van Siclen takes enough out of Janus that he’s able to capitalize on the monster’s fatigue.”

“Well, without further delay,” says Stevens, “let’s get right to the action!”

With that, darkness falls on the Nutter Center and the anxious crowd starts to cheer until they hear the voice of Burton C. Bell, and realize that the darkness is there to usher in the arrival of the monstrous Janus. Tufts of blue flame billow upwards along each side of the ramp as the increasingly familiar words can be heard…

Consumed with memories…

That preceded today…

Given a chance to bereave…

Life that’s slipping AWAAAAAAAAAAY!!!

The erratic beat of Fear Factory’s “Resurrection” begins to pulse throughout the arena as the Monster of the Magnificent Seven steps from behind the curtain, ducking his head slightly to avoid hitting it against the SmarkTron. In the ring, Funyon lifts the microphone to his lips and announces him. “Ladies and gentlemen, the following contest is a single-elimination Triple Threat Match, to determine the number one contender to the United States Championship! Approaching the ring at this time, and representing the Magnificent Seven, from Sydney, Australia, weighing in at three hundred fifty pounds, Janus!” As the Hell Machine draws nearer to the ring, the azure flames extinguish behind him, until they have all been doused and he climbs the steel stairs at ringside, stepping over the top rope into the ring. Once in the center of the ring, Janus raises both his arms above his head, and each ringpost explodes in a burst of blue pyro as the lights inside the arena come back on.

“Resurrection” fades out and makes way for Dark Tranquility’s “Damage Done.” The crowd begins to cheer again as the lights go back out and blue strobe lights pan the arena, as ‘Spectacular’ Mike Van Siclen steps onto the stage, spinning around with his arms extended, the blue lights combining with his acid-green jacket to create a haunting image.

“His opponent,” continues Funyon, “from Harrison, Illinois, weighing in at two hundred thirty-seven pounds, ‘Spectacular’ Mike Van Siclen!” MVS stalks down towards the ring purposefully, removing his jacket as he approaches the ring and discarding it absent-mindedly to the ground as he slides underneath the bottom rope and bounces back to his feet. Instead of going through his normal posing routine, Van Siclen stares across the ring at his arch-nemesis, and the two begin to approach each other in the center of the ring.

“I don’t think either one of these two want to wait for Wildchild to get out here,” remarks Stevens, as the Spectacular One and the Hell Machine stand chest-to-chest in the center of the ring, staring each other down. For what seems like the longest ten seconds in history, the two rivals remain frozen in place, each unwilling to blink first, when suddenly Janus swings wildly at Van Siclen with a fierce right hand, but the Spectacular One ducks behind him and blasts him in the face as he turns around with a right hand of his own! Funyon bails out of the ring and the referee orders the timekeeper to ring the bell.

“I guess they’re NOT going to wait on him,” exclaims Stevens. Mike Van Siclen hammers Janus repeatedly in the face with hard right hands and backs him into a corner as Wildchild races down to the ring without fanfare. Van Siclen whips Janus towards the opposite corner as Wildchild hops onto the ring apron, and the Monster reverses the whip attempt, hurling the Spectacular One into the turnbuckle with authority. Wildchild climbs to the top turnbuckle behind the oblivious Janus, who snatches up Van Siclen as he staggers out of the opposite corner into a gorilla press.

SMACK!

Janus turns around, holding Mike Van Siclen over his head, and is surprised by the Bahama Bomber, who leaps off the top turnbuckle and soars half the length of the ring to blast the Hell Machine in the face with a missile dropkick! Janus falls to the mat with Wildchild directly atop him and Mike Van Siclen, who seemingly remained suspended in midair for almost half a second, crashes down atop both men! Referee Sexton Hardcastle drops to his knees and makes a quick count attempt…

ONE!

TWO!

Almost as soon as the referee counts two, Janus kicks out with authority, launching both men off of his body with alarming ease! Wildchild and MVS both stand up immediately, one in front of the other, as Janus rolls onto his feet. With a snort of frustration, Janus extends his arm and surges forward, missing the ducking Wildchild but nailing Van Siclen with a mammoth lariat that sends him flipping over backwards.

“What a clothesline,” shouts Riley excitedly. Janus turns around to see what became of his other opponent and is knocked backwards by a dropkick, courtesy of Wildchild. The Caribbean Cruiser springs quickly back to his feet and grabs Janus by his arm, whipping towards the ropes, but Janus easily reverses. The Hell Machine raises his leg as Wildchild bounces off the ropes, but the quicker cruiserweight easily avoids his big boot, barely even having to duck to get underneath it. Leaping to the top rope as he makes his second rebound, Wildchild springs off and curls into a ball as Janus begins to turn around, staggering the big man with his patented Pinball attack. Landing on his feet, the acrobatic Wildchild again races to the ropes, and leaps into the air at Janus as he bounces off, but the Monster catches him in the midst of his cross-body attempt. “He couldn’t have possibly believed that he was going to get Janus with that,” remarks Riley.

WHAM!

Janus tosses Wildchild onto his shoulder to get him into position for his shoulder breaker, but as he begins to make his move forward, Mike Van Siclen lunges at his left knee, surprising the big man with a chop block to the knee. Wildchild drops behind Janus as Van Siclen rolls to his feet, and they each wrap and arm around Janus’ back, lifting the Hell Machine off the mat and dropping him on his head with a high-angle Backdrop suplex! They rush toward him and pull him to his feet, whipping him to the far ropes, and taking him over as he rebounds with a double hiptoss! MVS and Wildchild wait for Janus to get back to his feet and then leap into the air simultaneously, blasting him in the face with a double dropkick that sends the Monster flying over the top rope to the arena floor!

“That may be the only viable strategy for these two,” remarks Riley. “Double team Janus and get rid of him; that’s the only way the other two have a chance.” Wildchild and Van Siclen pose in the ring with their arms raised, but the crafty Van Siclen decides to get the drop on Wildchild, spinning him around and grabbing his arm, whipping him around and grabbing his other arm, cris-crossing them around his throat and slamming the Bahama Bomber to the canvas with a devastating Crossface Halo! The crowd boos the Spectacular One for what they deem to be a cowardly action as he rolls atop his foe for the cover…

ONE!

TWO!

THR—Two count only, as Wildchild gets the shoulder up. Mike Van Siclen pulls Wildchild to his feet and whips him into the far corner, where his back crashes into the turnbuckle forcefully. The Spectacular One rushes into the corner with his shoulder slightly lowered but Wildchild, with yet another display of his spectacular agility, leapfrogs over the charging Van Siclen and lands behind him as he crashes shoulder-first into the turnbuckle. Mike Van Siclen staggers backwards into the waiting Wildchild, who grabs Van Siclen’s leg as he drops down, taking him over in a rollup!

ONE!

TWO!

THR—No! Two count only, as the surprised MVS kicks out with not inconsiderable force. Van Siclen rolls to his feet and rushes Wildchild with a lariat, but the much quicker Tropical Tumbler easily ducks underneath and kicks Van Siclen in the stomach as he comes off the ropes. Wildchild back MVS against the ropes as Janus gets to feet on the arena floor behind them, and whips him towards the far ropes, but the stronger Van Siclen reverses easily.

CRASH!

Wildchild ducks underneath a jumping outside crescent kick attempt by Van Siclen as he bounces off the ropes, and leaps suddenly as he reaches the opposite ropes, flipping over the top rope to the outside of the ring, and knocking the unsuspecting Janus back to the ground with a dazzling somersault plancha!

“What a move,” shrieks Stevens. “Sensational tope con hilo by the Wildchild! Janus never even saw it coming!” Wildchild straddles the fallen Hell Machine and pounds away at his head, but notices Van Siclen climbing the turnbuckles out of the corner of his eye, and rolls out of the way as the Spectacular One crashes down atop Janus with a moonsault! Wildchild scrambles to his feet and rushes at Van Siclen before he can recover, blasting him in the face with a running dropkick. The Bahama Bomber bounces back to his feet, raising his arms above his head as the crowd pops enthusiastically.

“It looks as though Wildchild has managed to take a momentary advantage,” notes Riley.

“Well, they say that speed kills,” replies Stevens, “and there’s no question that Wildchild is the fastest person in this match!” Wildchild walks around the ring and reaches underneath the apron, pulling out a table as the crowd roars its approval. Wildchild sets the table up in front of the ring and walks back around the corner as Van Siclen starts to get back to his feet, grabbing him by his arm and whipping him towards the steel steps…

CRASH!

WHAM!

Mike Van Siclen reverses the whip attempt, and the steel stairs dislodge as Wildchild’s head bounces off them! Satisfied that the Tropical Tumbler has been suitably incapacitated, Van Siclen turns around to tend to his other opponent, and walks right into a brutal big boot! Janus pulls MVS up by his hair and hoists him high into the air in a gorilla press, nonchalantly tossing him OVER the top rope! Ignoring the unmoving Wildchild, Janus climbs onto the ring apron and steps over the top rope into the ring. As he approaches his archrival, Van Siclen surges off the mat and surprises the monster with a shoulder into the midsection. He bounces to his feet and grabs Janus by he wrist, twisting his arm around in an arm-wringer. Janus seeks to free himself with a short clothesline, but the Spectacular one ducks underneath, ending up behind Janus while still holding onto the Monster’s wrist, grabs the other wrist and sits down suddenly, dropping Janus with another Crossface Halo!

“That’s the second time that move’s helped Van Siclen take an advantage in this match,” remarks. Stevens. Mike Van Siclen walks over to the corner and climbs to the top turnbuckle as Janus struggles to his feet. He stretches his arm out briefly before leaping off the top turnbuckle to deliver an axe handle chop, but the Hell Machine reaches his arm out, clasping it around Van Siclen’s neck and stunning him as he drops back to the mat. Janus prepares to lift him into the air, but the Spectacular One swings his leg forward desperately, stunning the Monster with a kick to the groin. Janus releases his hold on Van Siclen’s throat and reaches down to cover his crotch, as MVS slides his head underneath Janus’ chin and wraps his hands around the Australian’s head, sitting down suddenly and stunning him with a sitout jawbreaker. Van Siclen rolls to his feet as Janus staggers backwards and bounces against the ropes, leaping into the air as he rebounds and drilling his adversary with a spinning wheel kick that knocks him backwards.

“Van Siclen smells blood,” cries Stevens. “He knows he has his old nemesis right where he wants him!” Van Siclen turns Janus over onto his stomach and straddles him near his upper back. He reaches down and grabs the Monster’s arm, cris-crossing them and pulling them back into a Cardinal Sin Clutch.

“Cardinal Sin Clutch,” screams Stevens. “MVS might be able to put Janus away right here!”

“No way,” scoffs Riley. “It’s way too early in the match to even try.” The Hell Machine uses his massive leg muscles to try and scoot himself over towards the ropes. “Look at that; Janus is already trying to get out of it.”

“Well that’s not going to do him any good,” replies Stevens. “Even if he gets to the ropes, the referee can’t make Van Siclen break the hold.”

“WHAT?”

“No disqualifications,” says Stevens with a shrug. “That means that Van Siclen can’t be disqualified, even if he takes that hold all the way to the ropes.”

“That stinks,” shouts Riley. “It’s total BS! It’s a conspiracy against Janus and the Magnificent Seven!”

“Hey, if you want to blame anyone, blame the commissioner,” replies Stevens. “He’s the one who put this match together…”

“…”

Meanwhile, Wildchild finally gets to his feet outside the ring, and looks inside to see Mike and Janus with their backs to him on the opposite end of the ring. Mike is pulling back on Janus’ arms for all he’s worth, but the Hell Machine refuses to submit. Daring to try a slightly different strategy, Mike leans forward while still pulling up on Janus’ arms, putting increased pressure on the Australian Monster’s throat rather than his back, with the hopes of perhaps choking his foe out. In doing so, Van Siclen leans forward so that his is practically between the middle and top ropes, a decision that will prove to be costly for him…

WHAM!

… For as he leans into the ropes, Wildchild slides into the ring and dashes towards the opposite ropes and diving between the top and middle ropes, grabbing the ropes with his hands and rotating his body around, smashing Van Siclen in the face with a Chicklet Buster!

“Chicklet Buster,” cries Stevens. “Van Siclen is down! Janus is down! Wildchild is the only one standing, and… Oh My God! Wildchild just gave the signal for the Wild Ride!”

“Well, we know one thing for sure,” says Riley, “he’s not going to try to put it on Janus!” Sure enough, the Bahama Bomber pulls MVS to his feet and bends him over, standing in front of him and hooking his arms from behind. The Spectacular One, however, fights desperately to escape the Wild Ride, and stands straight into the air. Wildchild flips backwards and lands behind Van Siclen to avoid a backdrop attempt, and leaps into the air, nailing Mike with a dropkick to the back of the head that sends him staggering into the corner, where he smashes his face into the top turnbuckle. Wildchild scampers backwards into the opposite corner and suddenly dashes forward, leaping into the air and twisting as he approaches MVS, crushing him belly-to-back into the corner with a twisting Stinger-type splash! Mike Van Siclen slumps lifelessly to the mat as Janus slowly begins to rise to his feet, clutching his aching back with one hand, and his throat with the other. Ever the opportunist, Wildchild rushes the Monster, leaping into the air and knocking him through the ropes and onto the ring apron nearby the table with a leg lariat!

“Uh-oh,” says Stevens as Wildchild whips his right arm through the air above his head in a circular motion. “I think I know what’s about to happen here; Wildchild’s going to look for his patented Tornado DDT to the outside. My God! Could he be trying to put Janus through that table?” Wildchild waits for Janus to get to his feet and runs at breakneck speed towards the corner, leaping onto the top turnbuckle and springing backwards outside the ring…

SMASH!

… But before he can get a hold of Janus, the Australian Monster takes half a step back, and reaches forward, grabbing Wildchild by the back of the head and throwing him face-first into the table!

HOLY SHIT!

“Dear God,” shouts Stevens, “Janus just Wildchild through that table! Wildchild’s broken IN HALF~!”

“Serves the fool right,” crows Riley. “He never should have tried for that fool move in the first place!”

Janus drops down to the arena floor, ignoring the motionless Wildchild and reaching underneath the ring to retrieve a Kendo stick and a steel chair. He slides both into the ring and climbs back onto the apron, stepping over the top rope into the ring. Janus elects to grab the Kendo stick first and raises it above his head with both hands, bringing it down viciously onto Van Siclen’s back…

CRACK!

“Janus’ gone Singapore on Van Siclen’s ass,” crows Riley. “He’s caning that bum all the way around the ring!” Momentarily sated with his abuse of his favorite punching bag, Janus drops to his knees and covers him. Sexton Hardcastle runs over to count the pinfall…

ONE!

TWO!

THRRRRREEEEEEE—NO! Mike is just able get his shoulder up.

“Very nonchalant cover by Janus,” notes Stevens.

“I’ve gotta agree with you this time, Marky Mark,” adds Riley. “If he had hooked the leg, he’d probably have gotten him there.” Janus pulls Mike to his feet and whips him into the ropes, lifting his leg up for a big boot. Van Siclen ducks underneath the Aussie Monster’s enormous foot and bounces off the opposite ropes, but get snatched up off the ground as he rebounds and dropped abruptly back down with a high-angle spinebuster! Janus drops back down to cover again, this time hooking the leg…

ONE!

TWO!

THRRRRRREEEEEEEEEEEEEE— Two count only, as Van Siclen weakly kicks out! Janus gets up and walks over to the still folded steel chair, sliding it across the mat over to the center of the ring, and lifts Van Siclen to his feet. Janus whips Mike towards the ropes…

CLANG!

… But Mike surprises the Hell Machine with a desperation reversal and trips him as he rebounds from the ropes with a drop toe hold that sends him crashing face-first into the steel chair! The impact splits Janus’ nose open and he lay there stunned, as Mike tries desperately to catch his wind. As he struggles to his feet, Janus stands up and strikes forward with a lariat attempt which the Spectacular One ducks, and Mike counters by grabbing Janus with a waistlock and lifting him backwards into the air, delivering a momentum-shifting German suplex that drives Janus headfirst into the steel chair!

“German suplex onto the chair,” screams Stevens. “That may have turned the tide!” The crowd in the Nutter Arena chants in unison to give their support to MVS:

LET’S GO MIKE!

The two archrivals begin trading punches as they slowly make their way to their feet. The stronger Aussie succeeds in taking advantage, backing him into a corner and climbing onto the second turnbuckle to deliver a ten-count punch…

ONE!

TWO!

THREE!

FOUR!

At the count of four, Mike grabs Janus around the legs and, in an astounding show of strength, carries him out of the corner into the center of the ring, and stunning him with a Manhattan drop! Van Siclen runs back towards the ropes as the Aussie Monster bends down holding his tender groin, and rushes towards him on the rebound, grabbing his neck and twisting it around, driving him to the mat with a spinning neckbreaker. Mike rolls on top of his old adversary and attempts to pin him…

ONE!

TWO!

THREEEEEEE—NO! Janus gets the shoulder up! Mike pulls Janus to his feet, but the Hell Machine stuns him with a knee lift. He walks behind Van Siclen and applies a full nelson, but as he begins to lift him to deliver a slam, Mike wriggles free and grabs Janus’ wrist. MVS tries to grab Janus’ other arm to hit another stunning Crossface Halo, but the Aussie swings his back suddenly with a mule kick that lifts the Spectacular One off the ground! Janus runs towards the ropes seeking to finish his most hated foe off, but Van Siclen shows that he still has some gas left in the tank, snatching the Hell Machine off the rebound in another surprising display of power and into a Quick and Dirty powerslam! The crowd pops as Mike follows through the powerslam for the cover and counts along with him…

ONE!

TWO!

THRRRRREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE—NO! Janus gets the shoulder up.

“Mike Van Siclen can’t beat Janus,” shouts Riley. “It’s only a matter of time before the Aussie Monster comes out on top!” Outside the ring, Wildchild finally regains consciousness, and is struggling pull himself up onto the ring apron. Meanwhile, Van Siclen slides the chair over near his feet and reaches down to pull Janus up.

“Oh my God,” moans Stevens. “He just gave the sign for the Van Slaminator! He’s going to try to hit Janus with the Van Slaminator onto that chair!” Van Siclen tries to lift Janus once, twice, three times, to no avail, as Janus uses his hundred-plus pound weight advantage to resist his attempts and finally hammers Mike to the mat with a clubbing double axe-handle blow. Janus pulls Mike to his feet and applies a front facelock, lifting him into the air and positioning him above the chair…

“Dear God, NO,” pleads Stevens.

“Do it,” urges Riley. “Do it! Do it! Do it! Do it!”

BANG!

Janus shifts Van Siclen’s body around and sits down suddenly. Mike’s head bounces off the steel chair with a sound reminiscent of a gunshot, and then lay still.

“Rage Unleashed,” moans Stevens. “Dear God, Rage Unleashed onto the steel chair!”

“Nobody gets up from that,” crows Riley. Janus wearily leans forward and Sexton Hardcastle drops down to count the pinfall…

ONE!

TWO!

THRRRREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!

DING! DING! DING!

From outside the ring, Funyon raises the microphone to his lips and announces the fall. “Mike Van Siclen has been eliminated!” Janus leans back and tries to catch his breath for a few seconds as Wildchild crawls stealthily back into the ring. As the Bahama Bomber lie in wait, out of sight in the corner, Janus rises to his feet and starts to push Van Siclen out of the ring with his feet. When he gets him over to the ring apron, Janus uses the ropes to balance himself as he kicks Mike out of the ring. Wiping the sweat from his forehead, Janus smiles down at his nemesis, grumbling in a low tone, “just one more chance for me to prove I’m better than you!”

ONE!

TWO!

KICKOUT!

Without warning, Wildchild lunges across the ring behind the unsuspecting Hell Machine, and trips him up, trying to surprise him with a quick rollup, but to no avail. Janus kicks Wildchild back against the ropes as he rolls to his knees, but the recharged Wildchild bounces off the ropes and charges the Aussie Monster with blinding speed, crushing his nose with a Shining Wizard, re-opening the flow of blood to his nose, and knocking him backwards to the mat. Wildchild jumps atop his much larger opponent and tries again to get the fall…

ONE!

TWO!

THREEEEEE— Kickout! Wildchild waits for Janus to get to his feet and runs to the corner, leaping onto the top rope and springing back off, twisting through the air to deliver a cross-body block…

WHAM!

… But Janus catches Wildchild in midair and spins him around, drilling him into the canvas with a devastating powerslam! Getting to his feet, Janus reaches up to feel his face, becoming enraged by the bloodflow he discovers. He repositions the chair and pulls Wildchild off the mat by his hair.

“Tell me he’s not going to deliver another Rage Unleashed onto the chair,” pleads Stevens. Janus applies a standing headscissors on Wildchild and snarls out into the crowd, bringing both his hands to his neck and bringing them back down sharply in a slashing motion.

“No,” cackles Riley gleefully. “He’s not going to hit him with the Rage Unleashed on the chair; he’s going to hit him with a Dark Bomb on the chair!” The Hell Machine reaches down and grabs Wildchild in a waistlock, and lifts him into the air. As he positions his hands underneath Wildchild’s posterior and raises him higher into the air, the Bahama Bomber flaps his arms wildly and slides forward out of Janus’ grip, somersaulting down his back, and applies a waistlock on the way down, trying desperately to take him over with a Sunset Flip!

“He’ll never get him,” shouts Riley. Janus briefly starts to rock backwards, but is then able to stop himself, bending forward and plunging his fist down in an effort to shatter Wildchild’s face…

CLANG!

…But he sprains his wrist as Wildchild scoots out of the way and he punches the canvas! As Janus shakes his hand painfully, Wildchild lifts both feet up and kicks him in the posterior, sending him stumbling forward. Without hesitation, the Bahama Bomber nips up and runs to the ropes, running past Janus as he rebounds and snaring his head in a side headlock, using his momentum to drive the off-balance Hell Machine into the steel chair with a stunning bulldog headlock! Janus rolls onto his back and Wildchild pops to his feet.

“Bulldog,” cries Stevens. “Bulldog into the chair!” The Caribbean Cruiser spins his arms together rapidly and the crowd pops in anticipation as he runs to the ropes and leaps onto the top rope, springing backward as he flips forward to land on Janus with the…

“Falling Star Press,” screams Stevens. “He hit Janus with the Falling Star Press! In his weakened state, he can get him here!” The referee dives into position and the crowd chants along with the count…

ONE!

TWO!

THRRRREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!

DING! DING! DING!

The Nutter Arena goes bananas as the referee counts to three and the Bahama Bomber scores a pinfall over the Australian Hell Machine. Funyon rises from his seat at ringside and announces the official verdict. “The winner of this contest, and new Number One Contender to the United States Title, the Wiiiiildchiiiiild!”

“My God,” sputters Stevens. “What an amazing match, and we’re just getting started here on Lockdown. We’ll be right back, folks, with more exciting SWF action!”

As We:

FADE OUT

March 27, 2003

In the back of the Nutter Center in Dayton, Ohio, Tom Flesher is walking down a corridor in his blue warmup suit. The look on his face is sour, and as he strides past the camera, Ben Hardy sticks a microphone in his face.

“Excuse me, Tom, can I have a moment?”

Flesher pauses and glares at him. “I don’t have time for this, Hardy.”

“But what - ”

Flesher backhands the microphone out of his face and continues walking. Hardy follows behind him at a slow jog, and Gus struggles to keep up. Flesher, meanwhile, stomps down the hall until he gets to a dressing room marked, “DANNY WILLIAMS.”

*KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK*

No answer.

“DANNY!” barks Flesher. “I know you’re watching the Fugue-Jay Dawg match tonight. I made your god damn car rental reservation. Get out here NOW!”

After a moment, the door opens slowly, and Danny Williams glowers out the door at Flesher. “What do you want?” he growls.

“Danny, I’m going to give you ten seconds to explain to me where in the HELL you were last week when we were dealing with CIA and TNT. Just what were you doing back here? Didn’t I TELL you to stay around until the show was over? We didn’t expect CIA out there! If Magnifico had gotten injured out there, your ass would have been in a sling so fast –”

“What, the guy that made you tap can’t take care of himself?” Williams stares at Flesher with his standard glare and, as usual, doesn’t mince words.

“THIS ISN’T ABOUT MAKING ME TAP!” shouts Flesher, obviously overly sensitive about his last World Title shot. He looks away for a moment and clears his throat. “This, Danno, my friend, my good man, my stablemate… is about your duties as a member of the Magnificent Seven.”

Williams says nothing.

“You’re just angry that you’re not getting stroked up anymore like you were when I was using you to get under Frost’s skin.”

Williams says nothing.

Flesher, getting slightly more irritated, says, “You’re just pissed off that any of the other Mag-7 members could take you out in the blink of an eye.”

Williams tries, but can’t keep a smirk from breaking through his angry demeanor. “You mean like Ejiro?”

Flesher gets even angrier, and turns away to keep from popping Williams in the face. “Danny, you better clean up your act. After Fugue takes out Jay Dawg, I swear to god…”

“What?”

“You better pray to god that you don’t have to fight Fugue, Danny. If you do, he’s going to put you out of this game for good.”

With that, Flesher spins on his heel and walks away. As the camera focuses on Williams, he rolls his eyes and then slams the door shut.

March 27, 2003

“And remember: 50% off this week only at Cutthroat’s Vasectomy Shack! 50% ALL the way off! CUTTHROAT~!”

The camera fades back in on the announcers’ table at the Ervin J. Nutter Center in Dayton, Ohio, where both “Grand Slam” Mark Steven and Bobby Riley sit looking horrified and pained.

“Mark…. what the hell was that?”

“We’ve got to stop letting these people back on the streets,” murmurs Stevens. He clears his throat, and then says, “Welcome back, fans, to Dayton, Ohio, and S… W… F… LOCKDOWN! We’ve seen a great opener already, which saw three up-and-comers who are all trying to make their mark in the SWF go at it for a shot at the US Title. What a match!”

“Oh, come on, no one’s here to see the bump crop. They’re all here to see the greatest stable in the SWF today, the Magnificent Seven!”

“You know, Bobby, Janus WAS in that last match.”

“So he was, Stevens, and that, THAT, is why I didn’t get up to piss during the #1 contenders match.”

”Gee, Bobby, you’re so… respectful.”

“Hey, for Janice, it’s the least I can do.”

“Terrific. Well, regardless, we have yet another exciting match on hand for you folks, as the rookie team of Deja Vu takes on the Magnificent Seven, represented by Tom Flesher and the stable’s newest recruit, El Luchadore Magnifico. Magnifico shocked the SWF last week by turning on both CIA and TNT, as he led a beatdown of the two men with Judge Mental and Tom Flesher.”

“Well, Mark, I don’t think anyone was expecting what happened last week, but I for one am THRILLED! The Magnificent – no, the Magnifico Seven should just change their name to the Magnificent Monopoly, because with Tom Flesher, El Luchadore Magnifico, William Hearford, Ejiro Fasaki, Danny Williams, Fugue, Janus and Sean Atlas running things down in the SJL, they’re in charge of everything.”

“Actually, Bobby, I’d say that right now, TNT is in charge of everything. He’s got the SWF World Heavyweight Championship, and I’d be willing to wager that before Tom Flesher gets a shot at him or Magnifico gets his rematch, they’ll have to go through the Iceman from Iceland, Frost!”

“You mean that big musclebound moron? Pfft. If they want to get past him, all they have to do is put him in a round room and tell him to sit in the corner.”

“I think Frost would have something to say about that,” Stevens replies. “And tonight, the newest tag team in the SWF has something to say to the Magnificent Seven, even after losing to Fugue and Janus last week. So, without further ado, let’s go to Funyon!”

Funyon clears his throat, and from his usual spot in the center of the ring announces, “Ladies and gentlemen, the following match is a tag-team contest scheduled for one fall! The first team…”

The rock remix of “Awnaw” by Nappy Roots comes on, and instantly searchlights pan the audience. The crowd pops politely, but they know that these green twin brothers aren’t going to be able to hang with the Mag-7. The camera pulls out, trying to find our misfits, and finally finds each one pushing through the crowd. Kris and Kross enter from opposite sides, then slide into the ring. They stand up, and Kris points to Kross, saying, “You da MAN!” Kross feigns being flattered, and points back, saying, “No, no, YOU da man!” The two play back and forth for a few seconds as Funyon announces, “From Las Vegas, Nevada, at a total combined weight of 413 pounds… they’ll make you jump! Don’t miss the bus for Kris, Kross, they are DÉJÀ VU!!!!!!!!!!!!”

Kris and Kross then take to the turnbuckles, showing off their “thick as thieves” finger crossing to the crowd. The crowd cheers for them, drawn in by the pair’s natural charisma and youthful exuberance. As the two hop off the ropes, their music fades out. Funyon announces, “And their opponents….”

"HEEEEEERE WE ARE!

BORN TO BE KINGS!

WE'RE THE PRINCES OF THE UN-I-VERSSSSSE!

HEEEEEEEEERE WE BELONG!

FIGHTING TO SURVIVE!

IN A WAR WITH THE DARKEST POWERRRRRRRRS!”

The lights in the arena vanish, only to be replaced by dim red flashes. As the strident chords echo through the arena, dark red images of Magnificent Seven members and glaring white M7 slogans flash from the SmarkTron. As two silhouetted figures step through the curtain, the red flashes begin to alternate in patterns of red, white and green and red, white and blue. One of the silhouetted figures wears a warmup suit, and the other just his wrestling gear. As they step forward and into the light, they reveal themselves as “the Superior One” Tom Flesher and El Luchadore Magnifico. The grinding guitar in the background blares, and Flesher and ELM strut to the ring.

“Making their way to the ring, at a total combined weight of 414 pounds, they are members of the Magnificent Seven, they are ‘THE SUPERIOR ONE’ TOM FLESHER and EL LUCHADOOOOOOOOOOOORE MAG- NIIIIIIIIIIII- FICOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!”

ELM and Flesher enter the ring, and as referee Sexton Hardcastle looks to both sides, Flesher backs into the corner. He strips off his warmup suit, folds it carefully and ducks out of the ring. Magnifico bounces to loosen up and stays in the ring. In the opposite corner, meanwhile, Kris and Kross each continue trying to tell the other that he is, indeed, the man. The camera zooms in close enough to catch one saying, “There’s only one way to settle this, bra… rock, paper, scissors!” The two cackle, and then shoot off a quick round of rock, paper, scissors. Kris… presumably Kris… wins, and he enters the ring. Sexton Hardcastle calls for the bell.

DING DING DING!!!!!!

“And this one is under way,” says Mark Stevens. “I’m wondering exactly what Kris and Kross think they’re doing in the ring with two of the top athletes in the SWF today.”

“They think they’re going to win, obviously,” replies Riley. “Too bad they’re so deluded.”

Magnifico and Kris circle each other for a few moments. Magnifico stays in a fairly reserves half swagger, half stance that still manages to scream “I’m just plain better than you.” Kris, on the other hand, shuffles back and forth like a boxer, his fists guarding his face, and jabs the air in front of him. With a silly grin, he leans forward and pops ELM in the nose.

… or attempts to, anyway.

Magnifico slips his head to the side, dodging the sloppily-thrown punch, and answers back with a stiff kick to the stomach! Kris, caught completely by surprise, doubles over, and Magnifico slams an elbow smash down across the back of the Déjà Vu twin’s neck! Kris stumbles forward, and Magnifico grabs him in a front facelock. Before the Vegas casino heir knows what hit him, Magnifico locks on the facelock, arches backwards and slams him to the mat with the front headlock suplex known as the Ganso Tiger Driver! Kris arches up and screams out, “HOLY GOD! THAT HURTS!” as Magnifico struts away and toward the corner.

“Nice suplex by El Luchadore Magnifico,” says Mark Stevens. “Interesting to note how much his offense has changed since he left the Midnight Carnival and joined up with the Magnificent Seven. He doesn’t seem to want to please the fans anymore.”

“Why would he?” snorts Riley. “All they want him to do is jump around like a monkey. He’ll end up taking a bad bump like that Habayashi guy across the pond, or he’ll compress his spine, and his career will be over before his time. And let me tell you, I can’t get enough of him! I WANT him to stay around so my kids can see him!”

“I didn’t know you could have kids.”

“Well, we can always adopt.”

Magnifico swaggers over to the corner and smirks as he tags Tom Flesher. Kris would, ordinarily, try to get away, but in his untrained and disoriented state, he merely lays on the mat. Sexton Hardcastle administers his standard incompetent, uneven five-count as Flesher and Magnifico lift Kris up and whip him to the ropes. Kris rebounds, and the SWF’s main event tag team nails him with dual Yakuza kicks! The Déjà Vu member crumbles to the mat, and as El Luchadore Magnifico leaves the ring, Flesher drops down and covers him. Sexton Hardcastle counts...

ONE!

TWO!

THR- NO! Kris gets a shoulder up, and Flesher rolls off.

“Half-hearted cover by Tom Flesher,” calls Stevens, “and he shouldn’t be at all surprised that Kris was able to kick out of that. It almost looked like he wasn’t even trying.”

“Of course he wasn’t. Look at this schmuck,” says Riley as the camera zooms in on the disoriented Kris. “Would YOU want this to be over? Flesher doesn’t get to have his own personal tackle dummy very often.”

“What about-”

“They denied my application,” sighs Riley sadly.

Undaunted by the lack of a pin, Flesher grabs Kris by the arm and quickly stands up, bringing the Deja Vu member to his feet as he does so. Tom then uses his grip to whip Kris hard towards the corner, so much so that Kris doesn’t even have a chance to turn around before he collides chest-first with the corner’s turnbuckles! As Kris stumbles backwards in a pain-induced stupor, Flesher swiftly steps up behind him and sticks his head beneath Kris’ arm while grabbing him by the waist and leg, setting him up for the Blue Thunder Powerbomb! However, as Tom hoists Kris into the air, his prey manages to twist out of his grip and flip backwards in mid-air, landing on his feet right behind Flesher! Before Tom even has the chance to turn around, Kris leaps into the air and kicks out his feet, driving them into the back of Flesher’s head with a Standing Dropkick! Flesher is knocked forward by the force of the Dropkick and falls face-first onto the second turnbuckle, drawing a surprised pop from the live audience! Barely able to believe it himself, Kris, a huge grin on his face, begins to joyously stomp away at Flesher as he falls to the mat, his hands on his chin. After a few seconds of stomping, Kris grabs Flesher by the arm and pulls him to his feet, before using his grip to try and whip Tom towards the far ropes. Unfortunately for him, Flesher manages to reverse the whip, sending a dismayed Kris rushing towards the ropes! Kris bounces off and charges back towards Flesher, and as he does so, Tom reaches out and wraps his arms around Kris’ body, trapping him in a Front Waistlock! Then, in one fluid motion, Flesher falls backwards and hurls Kris over his head, throwing him hard into the canvas with a Railgun Suplex! As Kris cries out pathetically and arches his back in pain, Flesher springs back to his feet, rubbing his chin and cursing silently as he does so.

“It looks like Kris hit a bit of a nerve with Flesher!” remarks Stevens, “I don’t think Tom expected the rookie to get in any offense, and was infuriated when Kris struck him with the Standing Dropkick from behind!”

Riley scoffs. “Well, he has a good reason to be angry. Would you be happy if some goofball in Abercrombie Dropkicked you in the head?”

“No, I suppose I wouldn’t.” admits Stevens.

Flesher heads over to Kris, who still lays on the mat, incapacitated by pain. As Tom stands over his opponent, he places his boot on Kris’ forehead, a mischievous grin slowly creeping over his face as he does so. Suddenly, Tom twists his foot, grinding the sole of his boot into Kris’ forehead and drawing a collection of winces from the crowd! As Kris shrieks in agony, Magnifico chuckles loudly from the corner, his laughter drowning out Kris’ cries of pain as Flesher grabs him by the hair and pulls him to his feet. Leading Kris behind him, Tom charges over to the nearby corner, still gripping his opponent’s scalp. As Flesher reaches the corner, he drives Kris’ head forward, slamming it into the top turnbuckle! As Kross desperately cheers on his brother, Kris collapses back-first against the corner, allowing Flesher to freely and happily kick away at his exposed gut. After five solid kicks, Tom backs up a step or two, lifts his foot high into the air, and presses it against Kris’ neck, effectively choking the Deja Vu member with his boot! Flesher looks over at Kross and smiles mockingly, drawing him out of the corner to assist his beleaguered brother! This courageous act initially draws cheers from the audience, but that reaction quickly shifts to boos when referee Hardcastle notices Kross entering the ring and immediately steps forward to block his path! Kross begins to argue with the ref, insisting that he be allowed to help his brother! However, his refusal to return to his corner ends up being disastrous for Kris, as Magnifico suddenly comes out of his corner and begins to kick away at Kris’ gut while Flesher maintains the choke with his boot!

“This is ridiculous!” cries Stevens, “It’s not enough that Flesher has to resort to choking, so Magnifico has to come in and kick a defenseless Kris while he’s being choked?”

“Yeah, that about sums it up.” Agrees Riley. “Hey, if you don’t like what’s happening, tell it to Kross. It’s because of his dumb ass that Kris is in this position, you know.”

Finally, Kross gives up arguing with the referee and returns to his corner, which is an immediate cue for Magnifico to return to his. The ref turns back to Flesher and begins administering the five count, unaware that Kris has been choked for a good twenty seconds now. As Sexton reaches five, Flesher finally releases his foot, allowing Kris, blue-faced and choking for breath, to fall face-first to the mat. Tom looks over Kris for a few seconds with mock concern, going so far as to bend over and closely examine his fallen opponent. When Kris looks up at him, however, Flesher suddenly drives his boot forward, slamming it into the side of his head and drawing a massive wave of heat from the audience! As Kris cradles his head and rolls around in pain, Flesher strides over to his corner, laughing to himself. Once there, he tags in Magnifico, who has a dastardly yet eager look painted across his face. As ELM enters the ring and quickly heads over to Kris, the audience boos even more than before, not so quickly forgetting Magnifico’s betrayal. Their boos actually seem to motivate the luchadore, who wildly stomps away at Kris as he pathetically tries to push himself to his feet. Despite the rapid and fairly painful stomps, Kris eventually manages to get to his feet, but as he does so, ELM grabs him by the arm and whips him across the ring, sending Kris rushing towards the far ropes. Kris bounces off of said ropes and rushes back towards Magnifico, and as he approaches, the luchadore suddenly doubles over, apparently looking to send Kris flying with a Back Body Drop! However, Kris manages to leap right over Magnifico, landing on his feet right behind the bent-over luchadore! Surprised anf flustered, ELM stands up straight...only to have Kris hook his arms from behind and pull him down to the mat with a Backslide! The fans cheer ravenously as Magnifico struggles wildly to escape, doing so as Hardcastle slides into position and begins counting...

ONE!

TWO!

TH-Noo! Magnifico escapes at two and a half, drawing a round of disappointed OHHH!s from the audience. An enraged ELM immediately springs back to his feet, and when Kris gets back to his, the luchadore charges forward and slams his arm into Kris’ throat, immediately knocking him back to the mat with a stiff Clothesline!

“Ouch!” exclaims Stevens, “It seems as though Magnifico didn’t take too kindly to Kris’ attempt at offense either!”

“Of course he didn’t! Who on Earth uses a Backslide?” questions Riley.

“Well, Magnifico has been known to.” Replies Stevens.

Riley sighs. “It’s always gotta be about showing me up, doesn’t it?”

“Pretty much.” Answers Stevens, grinning.

Magnifico shakes off his arm as Kris lays on the mat, choking for breath once more. Even as ELM pulls Kris to his feet and shoves him into the corner, the Deja Vu member has a hard time catching his breath. Unconcerned with such matters, Magnifico delivers a few kicks to Kris’ gut while he leans up against the corner, before grabbing him by the arm and whipping him across the ring and towards the far corner. Immediately after whipping Kris, Magnifico charges after him, tailing but a few feet behind his running opponent. Kris turns around as he approaches the corner, and as he does so, catches sight of ELM charging at him at top speed! The second Kris hits the turnbuckles, he instinctively throws his foot into the air, which by some miracle smacks Magnifico right in the face! The stunned luchadore stumbles backwards and away from the corner as a delighted Kris pushes himself off of the turnbuckles. He steps towards Magnifico and tries to deliver a kick to his gut, only to have the luchadore surprise him and catch his foot in mid-air! As ELM glares at Kris with a mixture of frustration and hatred, the Deja Vu member summons up all of his strength and talent as he hops into the air and throws his foot upwards, slamming it into the side of Magnifico’s head with an unbelievably sloppy Enziguri! Magnifico immediately releases Kris and falls to the mat, cradling his head in pain. Meanwhile, Kris also falls, as he is too exhausted at the moment to remain standing. As the pleasantly surprised fans cheer, Kross begins banging his corner’s top turnbuckle in unison, doing his best to guide his brother to his partner.

“This might just be the break Deja Vu needs!” cries Stevens. “Kross is completely fresh, and will no doubt make an impact in this match if Kris is able to tag him in!”

“Right, then all he has to do is go toe-to-toe with either Magnifico or Flesher.” States Riley sarcastically. “Yeah, things are sure looking up for the Idiot Express.”

As the crowd begins to clap in unison with Kross’ turnbuckle-bashing, both ELM and Kris start crawling towards their respective corners, each of them in need of a tag. Unfortunately for Deja Vu, Magnifico is moving considerably faster than Kris, reaching his corner while Kris is still a considerable distance from his. ELM slowly reaches out and tags the outstretched hand of Tom Flesher, which immediately draws a wave of boos from the live audience. However, that reaction quickly shifts to cheering when Flesher charges across the ring to try and stop Kris, only to have him lunge out and tag Kross’ outstretched hand at the very last second! Tom immediately skids to a halt as a fired up Kross climbs into the ring!

“Yes! Kris got the tag!” exclaims Stevens. “And it looks like Kross is more than ready to get in there!”

He immediately charges at Flesher, but as he does so, Flesher throws a right hand, looking to cut off Kross’ offense before it even starts! Unfortunately for him, Kross manages to block the punch and blast back with one of his own, knocking Flesher back a step with the power of the blow! From there, Kross launches into a lightning-fast series of jabs and punches, which backs a stunned Flesher across the ring and into the ropes! As Flesher leans up against the ropes, Kross rears back with his arm, drives it forward, and...CHOP! SMACK! WHOOOO!...delivers a piercing Knife-Edge Chop, which creates a resounding smacking sound while drawing the obligatory “whoo”s from the audience! Kross rears back once more and...CHOP! SMACK! WHOOOO!...one more Chop! Flesher, who was caught completely off guard, puts up little resistance as Kross grabs him by the arm and tries to whip him across the ring. However, as he’s being whipped, Tom springs to life and reverses the maneuver, sending Kross rushing towards the far ropes! Kross bounces off of said ropes and charges back towards Flesher, and as he does so, Tom throws his foot into the air, looking to drive it into Kross’ face with a Yakuza Kick! However, Kross manages to roll beneath Tom’s foot, popping to his feet behind Flesher as he silently questions why Kross isn’t lying on the ground in front of him. Tom turns around, and as he does so, Kross sidesteps towards Flesher and throws his foot into the air, slamming it directly into his chin with a Superkick!

“What the hell is going on here?!” questions Riley angrily. “Flesher, get your ass in gear and show that ridiculous excuse of a wrestler what for!”

“Umm, maybe he’ll do that AFTER he recovers from the Superkick, Riley.” Offers Stevens.

The crowd just goes wild as Flesher collapses to the mat, doing so as Kross excitedly thrusts his fist into to the air. He remembers that he actually has to pin Flesher, however, and does so, further intensifying the crowd’s cheering. As Kross hooks the leg, Hardcastle slides into position and begins counting...

ONE!

TWO!

THR-Nooo! Magnifico charges out of his corner and dives on Kross right before the three count, drawing a wave of disappointed boos from the audience. But, as has happened so many times, the reaction quickly shifts to cheers as Kris charges out of his own corner and nails Magnifico, knocking him to the ground with a stiff punch! ELM immediately springs back to his feet, but as he does so, Kris begins jabbing away at the luchadore’s face, keeping him stunned and off balance! Kris continues to do this until Kross gets to his feet, at which point each twin grabs an arm and whips Magnifico into the ropes. While ELM heads towards the ropes, Kross whips Kris towards the ropes perpendicular to the ones Magnifico is bouncing off of! As ELM charges back towards Kross, he reaches out, grabs Magnifico around the waist, and lifts him into the air as if for a Spinebuster! At the same time, Kris bounces off of his ropes and charges back towards Magnifico, reaching up and grabbing him around the neck as Kross drives him towards the mat! Deja Vu hit the canvas simultaneously as they slam Magnifico into the mat with the Spinebuster into Neckbreaker combo, drawing a huge pop from the overexcited audience!

“What a Double-Team Maneuver from Deja Vu!” exclaims Stevens. “And now, it looks like Flesher and Magnifico are at their mercy!”

Kris and Kross pop back to their feet and immediately share a quick high five while grinning like madmen. Suddenly, the two turn around and head for the corners behind them, doing so as Magnifico lays motionless in the center of the ring! Kris and Kross quickly climb their respective corners, reaching the top rope in a matter of seconds! Once there, they carefully line themselves up with Magnifico, apparently preparing to finish him with the Deja Vu Twin Splash! Kris suddenly leaps off of the top rope, his body extended and his hands clasped for the first Jackknife Splash! Thousands of flashbulbs go off as Kris makes perfect contact with the Splash, crashing directly into Magnifico’s gut! Meanwhile, Kross prepares to leap off of his turnbuckle and finish the maneuver...but failed to notice Tom Flesher, who got to his feet during Kris’ Splash! With remarkable agility, Flesher rushes up Kross’ corner, reaching the top rope in little more than a second! Once there, Tom delivers a stiff kick to Kross’ gut, doubling him over and nearly causing him to fall off of the top! But before he can do so, Flesher grabs Kross and pulls him into a Suplex position, immediately drawing a wave of anticipatory boos from the audience! Wasting little time, Flesher lifts Kross into the air and falls backwards off of the top rope, igniting a wave of flashbulb activity that lights up the inside of the arena! As Tom hits the mat, back-first, he slams Kross’ skull into the canvas, scattering his brains with the Boilermaker! Kross falls lifelessly to the mat, looking to be completely out of it as the fans boo their little hearts out.

“Boilermaker! Dammit! Why isn’t the ref counting for Kris?” questions Stevens, angrily.

“That would be because he’s not the legal man.” Responds Riley smugly. “And, oddly enough, Kross is. So, guess who’s screwed?”

“It appears that Kris is waiting for his brother to finish the other half of the Deja Vu Splash, and is oblivious to what has befallen Kross!” remarks Stevens, ignoring Riley’s last comment.

Flesher immediately rolls onto Kross, making the cover and hooking the leg as the ref slides into position. As Hardcastle begins counting, Kris looks up, wondering what’s taking his brother so long...

ONE...Kris catches sight of Flesher...

TWO...Kris springs to his feet...

THREEE!! Kris dives on Flesher a half-second too late, as Sexton has already reached the three count! As he springs to his feet and signals for the bell, Tom rolls out of the ring and steps to the outside, his body exhausted and his chest heaving.

DING DING DING

“Your winners, by pinfall...” announces Funyon, “Tom Flesher and El Luchadoooooorre Magnificoooooo!!”

“Beautiful!” cries Riley, “Flesher shows why he is the best in the business as he takes advantage of Deja Vu’s inexperience and overall suckiness by breaking up their Double Team Finisher and nailing Kross with the Boilermaker.”

“That’s not the exact choice of words I’d use,” retorts Stevens, “But regardless, it’s true that the miscommunication and inexperience of Deja Vu cost them dearly in this contest.”

As Kris tends to his brother, Flesher stealthily walks around the ring, grabs Magnifico by the legs, and pulls him out, helping ELM to his feet as he steps to the outside. Ignoring the boos, Magnifico and Flesher make their way towards and up the entrance ramp, triumphant grins painted on their faces.

“Well, stick around folks, because coming up next, we’ve Michael Craven taking on Neilsen of the Jungle in a “You Can’t Spell Furniture Without Fun” match.” States Stevens.

“Wow, that doesn’t make a mockery of the business at all.” Remarks Riley.

“Stay tuned.” Replies Stevens, exasperated.

The final image shown before the commercial break is Tom Flesher and El Luchadore Magnifico, treading backwards up the ramp as they glare down at Deja Vu...

March 27, 2003

Stevens: “Quiet the riot, close the doors and lock the cells because the SWF Lockdown is back!”

Riley: “And what a momentous one it’s been. We’ve crowned a new #1 Contender to the U.S. Championship. We’ve seen unparalleled action, excellence and events in that very ring so far…and we’ve only just made it to the halfway point of the show!”

Stevens: “That’s right, and tonight we get to see the reigning ICTV Champion Frost take on two of his former comrades in arms, the reigning Tag Team Champions, Justice and Rule in a handicap match! Not only that, but up next, we’ve got a man not only familiar to handicapped matches, but incredibly familiar with being on both the wrong, and winning, end of them-”

Riley: “None other than the cock sucking bastard-”

Stevens: “Neilsen of the Jungle! He’s…what’d you say…never mind…he’s up next in his first ‘hardcore’ match since his return against-”

Riley: “-‘The Nightmare’ Michael Craven! This Magnificent Seven member will take it to Neilsen in, not a hardcore match Stevie but a-”

Stevens: “I know it’s not really a hardcore match, that’s why I put quotes around-”

Riley: “Whatever, but the master of the special stipulations takes it to the Jungle King in a ‘Can’t spell furniture without FUN’ match!”

Stevens: “What are the rules for one of these things?”

Riley: “Funyon’s about to tell ya’.”

The crowd, which had still been twittering from the awe-inspiring action of the last match, quiets down as Funyon enters the ring.

Funyon: “Ladies and gentlemen, your attention please…the following contest is the ‘Can’t spell furniture without FUN’ match!”

The crowd explodes into cheers.

Funyon: “The rules for this wholly unique match are as follows. Chairs are legal, tables are legal and that’s it! All other rules apply. No interference. No low blows. No holding of ropes for added leverage and (Funyon looks to the back) no throwing powder of any kind.”

Riley: “Any kind?”

Funyon: “Any kind.”

Riley: (Whispering to Stevens) “Did he hear me?”

Funyon: “Introducing first…”

A heavy beat starts to bump as images of a man pulling on black fingerless gloves, black elbow pads and black kneepads. “…can you feel that?”

Funyon: “Hailing from Chicago, Illinois…”

The man’s scarred chest is shown with a black wifebeater being pulled over it. His arms can be seen pumping. His sandaled feet are shown hopping up and down. “Aw shit…”

Funyon: “Weighing in at 245 lbs…”

Images from behind of the man walking into an excited arena bearing a steel chair are shown.

Funyon: “Neilsen…of…the…Juuunngglllllle!!!”

“Ooooo…ah ah ah ah!” The man explodes out from behind the curtain with his steel chair and the joyous ovation of many ticket holders is soon drowned out by the disgust of the majority. The Jungle King stalks down the ramp, flicking off the fans, egging them on, daring them to try something, brandishing his chair up in warning to any drunk enough to actually try. Neilsen smirks at this capacity crowd, looking on at this capacity crowd with a gleam in his eye, apparently enjoying the raw emotion he brings out of them. He throws his chair into the ring, rolls in after it, flicks his slightly shaven head back out of habit and sweeps up his chair. He raises it high to receive a majority of boos from this raving crowd. Neilsen seems to be about to demand the microphone when…

The lights cut out.

“BOOM-BOOM BOOM... BOOM...”

Strobe lights pulse to the beat of the guitar in the background as Audioslave’s “Cochise” kicks in; smoke spewing from vents in front of the entrance as the drums cue in 24 seconds into the song. Golden waterfalls of pyro similar begin flowing from the top of the SmarkTron and the crowd really begins to unleash their verbal disgust. A huge pyro blast kicks up from the front of the stage at the guitar drop, about 50 seconds into the song, strobes still going. Suddenly, as Chris Cornell begins to sing, a spotlight shines down on Michael Craven, standing on stage. The boos and disgust reach unprecedented heights. He stops turning to look at the fans, and quickly, he spins around twice, finishing by pointing to himself and flexing as the crowd begins to boo so loud it hurts. He starts walking down the ramp with a cocky strut that infuriates not just the fans, but also the Hardcore King standing in the ring.

Funyon: “And his opponent, hailing from Tampa, Florida, weighing in at 280 lbs., returning to the SWF, The Omega Nightmare, Michael Crraaaavveeeennnn!!!”

The fans boo the shit outta’ this man as he lifts a mic to his lips at the exact same time Neilsen swipes Funyon’s.

MC: “Neilsen…you’ve been gone a long time. So long that you even needed to get yourself disqualified just to walk away with dignity from a guaranteed loss to Wildchild, the Child of the Wild if you will… But see, you are not against your everyday run of the mill wrestler. You’re against the returning Freak, the Idol of Desire, the Gulf Coast Hurricane, the Chimera…you are up against Michael ‘Mother Fucking’ Craven! I’m every man’s worst nightmare, every woman’s wildest dream and tonight-”

NotJ: “-I’ll make you f**kin’ scream!”

Neilsen charges with the steel chair and-

Ding! Ding!

Kivell rings the bell!

Stevens: “The furniture will fly!”

-Craven turns, grabs the top rope and leaps out of the ring! Neilsen is staring at him in shock from the ropes. “Get the f**k back in here,” he screams. Craven merely runs his hands through his styled hair and-flicks the goop at the Jungle King! It hits Neilsen’s face and the fans gasp as Neilsen ever so slowly wipes it off.

Stevens: “Craven just threw styling gel at Neilsen! He might as well have spit in Neilsen’s face! All he did was bring the Jungler to a boil!”

Riley: “Maybe that’s just it. Maybe Craven thinks that if he can make Neilsen lose it, he has a better chance of winning.”

Stevens: “Or maybe he’s just an arrogant asshole.”

Craven starts walking around ringside and-Neilsen rolls out and charges! He runs after Craven while still brandishing the chair. Michael takes flight. He reaches the front of the announce team, rolls in, Neilsen rolls after, Michael charges, Neilsen follows, Mike rebounds, Neilsen swings, ducked, Neilsen rebounds, seconds before hitting the ropes, Mike drops, rolls out, Neilsen’s chest hits the ropes and-Michael grabs Neilsen’s feet, yanks them and-Neilsen hits the mat and the steel meets his face! The Jungler seems out of it as Craven pulls him out of the ring. He whips Neilsen, cracking the man’s back against the announce table. Craven whips Neilsen again and again back cracking busted out. Craven then drives a shoulder into Neilsen’s gut, slamming his back against the point of the ring apron again and again. Michael grabs Neilsen by the head and waist, spins him around and hurls him into the ring.

Riley: “See, it’s working.”

Stevens: “For now.”

Craven quickly follows picking Neilsen’s chair up in the process and-CRACK!-steels meets a rising Jungle King’s skull! Neilsen falls in a heap, Craven puts on foot on the man’s chest, raises the chair high and gets-

ONE!

TWO!

THR-Neilsen spins, grabs Mike’s leg, Craven’s face hits the mat, Neilsen leaps onto his back and starts slamming his head into the mat! Again and again and again the Jungler jams it into the ring. Neilsen rises, runs across the ring, Craven makes it to all fours and-eats to sandaled feet to his face! Craven falls to his back and Neilsen hooks a leg for-

ONE!

TWO!

THR-No! Craven kicks out and quickly rolls out of the ring.

Stevens: “Whoa, Neilsen came roaring back and Craven needs a breather.”

Riley: “We’ve seen the first chair shot and it can only go up from here.”

Craven starts walking around ringside once more, straightening his hair, when-Neilsen charges, leaps and crashes down onto Michael! Neilsen staggers up and starts laying sandals to skin. The Jungle King turns away, throws up the ring tarp and pulls out a-fire extinguisher! Neilsen turns and-Kivell shouts, “Stop!” Neilsen turns back and is told to toss it aside. He does so, reaches under the tarp and pulls out-a cookie sheet! He smirks and…has to throw that aside as well. Neilsen swears and continues swearing, as he has to get rid of a 2x4, a rack of Pepsi MAX ©, a chain, a stop sign and-the crowd explodes for a ladder! Neilsen smirks and…swears, as he has to throw that down as well. Neilsen throws up the tarp once more and pulls out a table! He starts unfolding it, Michael’s on a knee behind him, and Neilsen finally opens it up. As a chant of, “Table! Table! Table!,” goes up, Neilsen smirks and-Craven slaps on a full nelson, hauls Neilsen up and slams him back down, the Jungler’s face going straight through the end of the table! “Holy Shit,” goes up as the table stays up and Neilsen stays down!

Stevens: “Holy Shit! Craven just hit Red Fusion through the table!”

Riley: “And it’s still up!”

Craven hauls the busted open Neilsen up, slaps on another full nelson and-Neilsen ducks down, Craven’s head comes over and slams into the table. Stunned, he staggers back, Neilsen charges, leaps, locks his legs around Craven’s head, spins and-Craven holds on, spinning Neilsen around and then hurls him back into the ring under the ropes. Craven climbs on the apron and-Neilsen charges, hits the ropes, Craven goes flying and hits the announce table. Neilsen chuckles, charges the far ropes, rebounds, leaps and-Craven ducks and Neilsen smashes his gut into the announce table! Neilsen staggers back, hunched over when Craven jumps onto the table, leaps off, throws his right leg high and brings it down on Neilsen’s neck with a-

Stevens: “Craven kickoff the table!”

Riley: “He’s got Neilsen hurting now.”

Stevens: “Now?”

Riley: “Make that still.”

Craven races to his feet, throws up the tarp and pulls out-another table! The fans roar as Craven slides this one back into the ring. He then grabs Neilsen and tosses him in as well. Craven then walks around ringside, grabs and tosses in one, two, three chairs! The fans buzz as Craven enters the ring. Craven unloads a few kicks to Neilsen’s head, turns to the audience and shouts, “Who’s better than Craven?” Shockingly, a loud number reply, “Nobody!” Satisfied, Craven turns, steps back, charges and hits a guaranteed field goal with Neilsen’s head as the ball! The crowd gasps in response and Craven gives them a quick bow. The consummate cocky showman then hauls up his table and sets it up in the middle of the ring. He then scoops up a chair and, seeing Neilsen get to all fours, slams it down on the Jungle King’s back! Neilsen screams in pain and Craven does it again! He throws the chair down and laughs at the Hardcore King.

Stevens: “Craven just beat the crap out of the Jungler.”

Riley: “Neilsen’s back has really taken a beating so far.”

Craven struts around the ring, laughs at the writhing Neilsen once more and picks up a chair. He unfolds it and sets it down. He picks up another chair, unfolds it and sets it down facing the previous one. He picks up a third, unfolds it and places it facing the connecting points between the previous two. Craven picks up the last chair, Neilsen’s chair, hauls it up and cracks it against the Jungler’s back again! Neilsen screams and Mike grabs the King, hauls him to his feet, hurls him away form the throne of the three seat threat, Neilsen rebounds, Mike ducks, Neilsen leaps over, lands on the chairs, flips backwards, Mike ducks while turned away, stands as Neilsen flies over, grabs the Jungler’s leg and falls back, smashing Neilsen face first through the chairs! “Ooooooo...,” exclaims the crowd.

Stevens: “Holy Shit! Craven flapjacked Neilsen through three chairs, one totaled by Neilsen’s face!”

Riley: “The Freak rules!”

Neilsen is out cold as Craven flexes a bicep, causing a ripple to flow through the crowd. He then strolls over to the Jungle King, flips him, steps on his face, holds his hands up once more for the-

ONE!

TWO!

THR-Craven spins, wrenching Neilsen’s face with his toe! The crowd gasps in response, Craven laughs, Neilsen clutches his face and the commentators shout…

Stevens: “What is he doing?”

Riley: “He had Neilsen dead to rights there!”

Craven’s still chuckling, starts posing for the crowd and decides not enough people can revel in his grandeur. He steps out onto the ring apron by the announcers, with his back to the ring he starts climbing the ropes. He steps onto the second one, the third and then flexes both biceps. He gets a loud reaction as Neilsen gets to all fours, raising his head so the crowd can clearly see his blood flow from the forehead to the mat. Craven, clearly enjoying himself and thinking nothing of his opponent flex his left bicep once more while sticking his right arm out to the side. The crowd buzzes as Neilsen wobbles to his feet and Michael thinks it’s for him. Neilsen looks over his shoulder, sees Craven oblivious to his presence and charges the ropes by the ramp. Craven then brings both arms down, performing a full body flex as Neilsen leaps over the table, rebounds, leaps again, steps on the second rope and springs. Craven looks back, sees no one, turns around-just in time to see Neilsen’s upside down smirking face! The Jungler latches onto Craven’s waist, flips over, lands on the apron and-Craven goes flying-

Stevens: “Through the table face first with a reverse sunset flip powerbomb!”

Riley: “Holy Shit!”

Neilsen slips off the ring apron and then stumbles on the floor as the fans chant, “Holy Shit! Holy Shit! Holy Shit!,” once more. Only catching himself on the Spanish announce team’s table keeps him up. Neilsen smirks at them, says, “Hola,” and then starts walking away. Neilsen holds his arms to the side, shouting at Craven, “What? You thought you were f**kin’ bad pretty boy!” Neilsen kicks Craven in the head. He then walks around the ring, occasionally pausing to look under it. By the ramp, Neilsen throws the tarp up and smirks. Neilsen reaches under and pulls out…an ARMOIRE!

Riley: “What the hell is that?”

Stevens: “An armoire.”

Riley: “What the hell is an armoire?”

Stevens: “It’s like a gay French closet. You’d love it.”

With Kivell distracted by checking on Craven, Neilsen hauls the big ass armoire up and slides it into the ring. The Jungler slides in after it and stands it up. The top is higher than the top turnbuckle. Neilsen starts walking towards Michael when Kivell turns around. The ref’s eyes go wide as he sees the huge armoire. Neilsen almost steps past the man when Kivell shouts at him, “That’s not legal!” Neilsen spins, his expression incredulous as he shouts, “But it’s f**kin’ furniture!” Infuriated with the man, Neilsen turns, charges the ropes by the announce team, leaps through the top and middle and-a slightly recuperated Craven leaps and slaps on a Crossface!

Stevens: “Omigawd!”

Riley: “That was amazing! Catching Neilsen in a Crossface in mid-air!”

Neilsen’s momentum causes his face to fly into the announce table, Craven yanks him off and tightens his grip on the Crossface. Neilsen screams as Craven wrenches in on his holds. The Jungler’s left hand slams down on the floor a few times. Craven keeps wrenching back, his muscles bulging. Kivell decides to use his discretionary count to start shouting, “One!” Craven gives Kivell a quick look of hatred when Neilsen shoves up on his right hand. Craven forces him back down. “Two!” Neilsen shoves up once more, flips Craven to his back and-Craven rolls them back over. “Three!” Neilsen taps! …but since he’s out of the ring, Kivell just counts, “Four!” Neilsen places his palm on the floor. His muscles strain, they bulge, they shake and-Neilsen gets to his knees, one knee, to his feet with Craven on his back and the fans start to cheer! Neilsen charges back, slams Craven’s head into the turnpost, spins the man around and throws him into the ring, breaking the count. The Jungler falls to the floor. Kivell counts, “One,” as Craven is apparently unconscious in the ring. Neilsen makes it to his knees and crawls under the ring. “Two!” Neilsen’s nowhere to be seen. “Three!” Neilsen’s sandals peek out from under the tarp. “Four!” Neilsen comes out with three chairs in hand! “Six!” Neilsen tosses the set at Kivell and the ref jumps out of the way. Neilsen quickly rolls in laughing at Matty K.

Stevens: “Three more chairs.”

Riley: “What the hell does Neilsen need three more chairs for?”

Neilsen kicks the three chairs he had earlier bashed with his body out of the ring. The Jungler then turns to face Craven whose pulling himself up with the ropes by the turnbuckles left of the announce table. Neilsen charges and-Craven hits a droptoe hold and Neilsen’s face smashes into the second turnbuckle! The Jungler stumbles back, Craven rises, latches onto Neilsen’s waist, hurls him back in a German-Neilsen lands on his feet, falls, hits his back on the mat, Craven charges, Neilsen rolls under the table, Craven leaps to catch Neilsen on the other side and-Neilsen pumps his feet and the table crashes into Craven! The Freak is out in pain on top of the table as Neilsen rolls to his feet on the other side. He rises by the ropes, runs, leaps, steps on Craven, leaps, lands on the top rope, flips back and smashes Craven through the table with a-

Stevens: “Springboard moonsault!”

Riley: “Almost amazing…”

A few fans in the front row actually start chanting, “Neil-sen! Neil-sen! Neil-sen!,” before he spits at them that is... The cavalcade of boos is overwhelming. Neilsen, smirking, walks over to the chairs, unfolds one and places it a few feet away from the turnbuckles right of the announcers. Grabbing the other one, Neilsen shouts, “That was f**kin’ pretty…and this will be hardcore!” As Neilsen makes the last statement, he hauls the chair up…and sends it smashing down onto Craven’s back! “Payback’s a bitch mother f**ker,” Neilsen shouts as Craven throws his head up and gives out a cry. Neilsen chuckles as he places the chair onto the turnbuckles nearest the unfolded chair. He then turns back, grabs Craven by the hair, pulls him up and-Craven’s face smacks the mat as his hair is too gelled for Neilsen to get a firm grip. Neilsen smirks, wipes some blood off his forehead and then grabs Craven by his waist. He hauls him up, slaps on a headlock, charges, leaps and-cracks Craven’s jaw with-

Stevens: “A bulldog right into the top of the chair!”

Riley: “Holy Shi-!”

“That’s not it,” shouts the Hardcore King as the fans start to break into that very chant. Neilsen grabs the devastated Chimera’s head and places through the back of the chair, laying it on the seat. As the fans start to buzz, Neilsen starts heading towards the turnbuckles right of the announce team. He steps onto the apron and slowly starts to climb, pausing to build the anticipation of what’s about to happen. Neilsen picks up the chair, steps to the top and holds the chair up high, silencing the crowd.

Stevens: “Oh my God.”

Riley: “I can’t wait…”

Neilsen leaps, places the chair under his right leg and-

Sound effect no single word can describe

Stevens: “Holy-”

Riley: “Shit!”

Crowd: “Holy Shit! Holy Shit! Holy Shit!”

NotJ: “Now you can f**kin’ chant!”

Neilsen stands, throws his arms high and gets an incredible, unbelievable, overwhelming positive response from the fans. They’re actually cheering the Hardcore, High-Flyin’ Fuck! How could you not after Neilsen comes off the top rope with a leg drop, onto a chair, onto a man’s head which is laying on the seat of a chair with the back around his…his fuckin’ neck!?! Holy Fuckin’ Shit!

Stevens: “Craven’s neck is almost broken in two!”

Riley: “I…I…I can’t say anything bad about Neilsen…”

“Neil-sen! Neil-sen! Neil-sen!,” goes up as the Hardcore King starts limping around the ring. With renewed energy, Neilsen starts throwing pieces and scraps out of the ring. He looks to his right and sees the armoire. It makes him chuckle. Neilsen staggers towards it, steps around and exits the ring. Kivell shouts down at him, “Pin him,” motioning towards the man now bleeding from the head, the mouth and the right ear. Neilsen ignores him as he throws the ring tarp high. The fans roar as Neilsen pulls out another table!

Stevens: “Crap, another one!?!”

Riley: (Rubbing his hands together) “The night’s still young! What more does Neilsen have for us to see?”

Neilsen drags the table to the ramp, unfolds one end and places it on the ramp, the other end touching the floor. Neilsen then reaches under the ring and pulls out a second table!

Stevens: “Holy Shit!”

Riley: “Oh yeah!”

The Jungler laughs as the fans split between chanting his name and for the table. He walks around the ringside area, checking out the inside to see Craven still out a bleeding in the ring. Almost reflexively, Neilsen runs a hand through his short hair, remembering his days as a long haired hardcore hellion. Finally reaching the corner of the barricades to the right of the announcers, Neilsen stands the table up against it. The Jungle King then heads back to the ring and rolls in. He stands up, walks toward Craven, grabs him and-Craven slaps at Neilsen’s gut but it does nothing. Neilsen hauls the man to his feet and…laughs in his face. Craven rakes Neilsen’s eyes! Neilsen staggers back, clutching his face, turns, eyes full of rage, charges over a chair, throws his left foot and hits a low bl-Craven catches the foot, looks down and shouts, “Fuck!”

Stevens: “If Craven let Neilsen connect, it would’ve been over!”

Riley: “Yes, for the match and for Craven’s love life.”

Neilsen smirks at Craven, throws his right leg high and hits an Enzigur-Craven ducks, the foot flies over his head, lands on the other side, Neilsen’s stays on it, reaches down, grabs the chair and-the right foot flies back, Craven ducks again and-CRACK! Neilsen brings the chair flying down onto Craven’s back! The fans cheer once more as Neilsen slowly rises. He laughs at the downed man and starts slapping the back of his head. Neilsen hauls him up, slaps on a reverse headlock, lifts him in a reverse Suplex and-Craven floats over, latches on a dragon sleeper, spins and-

Stevens: “Neilsen just took a Diamond Bullet out of nowhere!”

Riley: “Now both men are out!”

“One,” shouts Kivell! “Two!” Neilsen and the horribly bleeding Craven are still down. “Three!” Neither man moves. “Four!” The armoire’s still standing. “Five!” Neilsen starts to stir. “Six!” He pulls himself up, the blood starting to gush from his previously opened forehead. “Seven!” He gets to a seated position. “Eight!” Craven’s still down as Neilsen crawls to the ropes. “Nine!” Neilsen grabs the middle rope. “Te-!” Neilsen pulls himself up to the delight of the crowd.

Stevens: “Neilsen’s drawing in these SWF fans, showing them for the first time why he’s the Hardcore King.”

Riley: “Craven’s comeback is definitely a bloody one.”

Neilsen staggers around, picks up two chairs and unfolds them, setting them back-to-back, one facing the armoire. Neilsen grabs Craven, hauls him up, whips him at-Craven falls to a knee, reverses Neilsen flies into the furniture, stumbles back, Craven charges, rebounds off the ropes, slaps on a full nelson, leaps and plants Neilsen’s face into the seat of the chair! The fans rumble at this shocking turn of events. Craven, rapidly losing blood, slowly rises, causing it to flow all the more. He makes it to his feet as Neilsen is still out with his face mashed into the seat. Craven staggers, stumbles around the armoire and makes it to the ropes behind it. He starts climbing up them, turns, grabs the armoire and slowly pulls himself up. Craven makes it to his feet on the giant piece and it starts to wobble. The man almost falls before it steadies and Kivell’s shouting at him to get off. Craven ignores him as Neilsen starts to rise. The Jungler looks around, wipes the blood from his eyes, turns and-Craven leaps, grabs Neilsen’s head and-

Stevens: “Snaps it off the top of the two chairs with a flipping neckbreaker from the armoire!”

Riley: “Holy Shit!”

In this match setting a record for that very chant, it’s breaking out once more as both men wind up in a sitting position on the back-to-back seats! Kivell goes to give a ten count, but both men are technically not down. Both men are out and breathing heavy in their respective seats. Slowly, Neilsen’s right arm waves back and forth. Finally, it steadies and Neilsen pushes himself up. Softly swearing, Neilsen grabs his chair and places the back against the turnbuckles right of the announcers. He turns back and-gets a shoulder blasting him right into the ‘buckles and the chair! Craven stumbles back, slides out of the ring and drags the Jungler with him. He slams the man’s head into the barricades as well before setting him up against the table that had been set in the corner some time ago. He slams Neilsen’s head against it a few times and then slowly pulls himself back into the ring. He uses the chair to help as he steps on it and then steps onto the top rope. Turning his back on the Jungler, he shouts, “Sonic Boom!!!” Neilsen charges, his right leg hits the apron, his left springs off the second rope, Craven faces the table, Neilsen slaps on a sleeper, spins, hops back and slams the back of the man’s head against the back of the chair!

Stevens: “Wet Dream into a steel chair off the top turnbuckles!”

Riley: “Incredible!”

Craven is now stuck with his legs hooked around the top turnbuckle and head in the chair. Neilsen stumbles back, falls into the chair Craven had previously occupied, catches his breath and then grabs his seat, folds it, charges and-CRACK!-slams it into Craven’s knees! The man screams as Neilsen starts whacking away at them. The Jungler throws down the chair and climbs over Craven and onto the turnbuckles. He then turns, reaches down, grabs Craven’s legs, hooks them in a cloverleaf, grabs the man’s tights, Neilsen’s muscles bulge, he leaps and plants him with a-

Stevens: “Clooooverbooomb!!!”

Riley: “Off the top rope and right into a-”

-Texas Cloverleaf! Craven screams as Neilsen wrenches back! The Jungler practically foams at the mouth as Kivell gets into the Freak’s face. Craven doesn’t say a word as he pushes himself up. He starts, slowly starts to crawl, to drag Neilsen to the ropes. Craven inches closer…closer…closer and even closer. He is now inches away and-Neilsen pulls him out to the center of the ring! Craven is down as Neilsen grows a huge grin. Kivell lifts Craven’s arm once…ONE!…twice…TWO!…thrice…THR-Craven holds the arm up! He shouts, “Get this fucker off me!!!” Neilsen’s eyes go tight and he lets go of the hold. He shouts, “F**ker!?!” Neilsen unloads a sandal to the back of Craven’s head. He then staggers around the armoire, exits the ring and goes out to check if the table by the ramp is okay. Craven starts to push himself up, still bleeding, as Neilsen turns back. The Jungler reaches under the ring and tosses one…two tables! He steps onto the ring apron and-Craven charges, spears Neilsen through the top and middle ropes, flies out of the ring with him and smashes him with a-

Stevens: “Sonic Boom from the ring through a table to the ramp!”

Riley: “Holy Shi-fuck it. That was fuckin’ awesome.”

Craven is slow to rise as he stands, turns around, almost falls and stumbles to the ring apron. He climbs into the ring and ever so slowly grabs a table. He unfolds it and places it in front of the armoire. Craven starts heading back towards the ropes to see Neilsen rise. Craven starts to climb the armoire. Neilsen makes it to his feet. He wipes the blood from his eyes and sees Craven’s head peeking over the top. The Jungler climbs onto the apron, leaps onto the top rope, springs off, lands on the armoire, kicks Craven in the face, Michael flies off, hits the table, bounces and the table doesn’t break! Neilsen looks down at Craven, smiles and-

Stevens: “Five-Star-Frog-Splash!”

Riley: “Off the armoire through the table!”

The fans chant, “Ho-”…do I really need to tell ya’. Neilsen slowly rises and he waves Craven up. The Nightmare rises, blood gushing, and-boot to his gut-caught! Craven spins him around, catches him on the return, hauls him up in a fireman’s carry, spins him around and-

Stevens: “Gulf Coast Cru-!”

-Neilsen kicks his legs free, slaps on a side headlock, twists, STUNNER!!!

Riley: “McTwist! McTwist! Spinning Freakin’ McTwist!”

Craven goes flying back, Neilsen rushes at him, hooks a leg and puts it over Craven’s head for-

ONE!

TWO!

THREE!!!

Ding! Ding! Ding!

Funyon: “Ladies and gentlemen, your winner, the King of Hardcore…Neilsen…of…the…(Crowd: “Mother Fuckin’!”)…Juuunnnnnglllllllle!!!”

The crowd roars as “Ooooooo…ah ah ah ah!,” blasts over the loud speakers. Neilsen gets his arm raised by Kivell and promptly collapses in the ring. As the camera zooms out, allowing the home audience to see the multitude of broken chairs, tables and the one table still standing against the barricade before the announcers shout…

Stevens: “This has been amazing!”

Riley: “And up next, the Lockdown continues!!!”

March 27, 2003

Frost sits in his dressing room staring at the mirror on the wall. He doesn’t blink. He doesn’t speak. He simply sits and stares, examining the man looking back at him. He peers into the pupils of the eyes glaring back, trying to peer into the soul, trying in vain to see what is truly in there. A knock on the door snaps him out of his malaise and he calls wearily “Who is it?”

“It’s TNT.” The voice on the other side of the door sounds much more confident and in command than it did when a similar scene played out a couple weeks before From the Fire. However, TNT defeated Frost that night and went on to wrestle the World Title away from a man who had a stranglehold on the belt for months on end. Frost is proud of Thompson, regardless that he leapfrogged him to win the World Title first.

“Come in.” Frost answers and Thompson enters in street clothes. He nods his head in greeting and takes a chair from the corner. He spins it backwards and sits it in front of Frost. He straddles it and stares the big man in the eyes.

“I want you to know,” Thompson starts “that I’ve got your back tonight. You helped me last week and I’ll help you if need be.”

Frost nods his head slightly, weighing the offer. “I appreciate that, but I think beating Justice and Rule by myself is something I need to do.”

TNT holds up a hand. “I’m just saying, I’ll be there if Flesher or Magnifico try to stick their nose in. I owe you that. Hell, I owe the World Title to you…”

“No, no you don’t.” Frost cuts him off with an almost disgusted look.

“Hey,” Thompson says, growing surprisingly stern “you made me realize I could win it when I thought I had snuck by in the Clusterfuck on a fluke. You fired me up in that match against you, when you could have easily beat my sluggish ass no problem. Despite what anyone says, I know you’ve always done what you thought was right and you’re doing that again. You supported me when I needed it and I support you now.”

A breath catches in Frost’s throat and his eyes seem swimmy. The man is caught off guard and genuinely moved. “Thank you” is all he can croak out.

Thompson extends his hand over the head of the chair. “Don’t get mushy on me. I don’t want to date your ass.” Frost takes the hand and gives it one firm shake. “I know what it’s like to be an outcast from the Mag 7 and not having anyone trusting you. But you and me, Chilly Chilly Bang Bang, we’ve got to stick together.”

Frost mulls it over and then reaches to pull out a drawer in his dresser. He puts his hand inside to take out two already snipped Frost Brand Cigars. He hands one to Thompson and puts the other in his mouth. He retrieves a box of long wooden kitchen matches for the drawer and goes to strike one. TNT shrugs and puts the cigar in his lips. Frost lights it and then his own. They sit and puff on the cigars in silence. Smoke filters through the room and rings their heads like dirty halos.

March 27, 2003

We see a view of a backstage hallway in the Nutter Center. The camera proceeds quickly down the hall, passing doors on each side. A strain of classical music is picked up by the camera--strident, sinuous themes, dark and eerie music. Classically trained listeners recognize it as Mussorgsky's "Night on Bald Mountain". The view finally stops on a blank door, ajar. Darkness is visible behind it. A hand pushes the door further open...

In the dim light from the hall, two figures are visible. One large and hulking, the other smaller and wiry. The large figure looms over the other... winds up and SLAMS his fist into the smaller man's face! The victim stumbles...

...and gets right back up!

"AGAIN!"

The monster winds up again...

WHAM!

"AGAIN!"

With precise, controlled movements, the fist comes back again...

WHAM!

"OKAY!... okay. Yeah, I think I'm ready."

The two figures approach the doorway, coming into the light... Fugue, of the Magnificent Seven, followed by the huge Janus! Fugue turns and reaches up to slap his fellow M7er on the shoulder.

"Thanks, big man!" the musician says. Janus nods impassively. Then Fugue spies the camera and grins wildly. "Oh, yeah, I'm ready. Time to start the music!"

Fugue walks quickly off to ringside. Janus looms over the camera, and the operator decides to flee. "JAY DAWG vs. FUGUE!" Mark Stevens narrates. "Coming up NEXT!"

March 27, 2003

The camera returns to the Nutter center in Dayton Ohio, as it soars through the crowd, engulfing signs such as "Jay Dawg fears Neilsen!!!" and "IMMIGRANT SELLOUT!!!" are now famous with the minds of the viewers. It is not long before the camera returns to it's rightful place in front of the announce table.

Stevens: "Welcome back to SWF Lockdown! What a show we've had so far! But right now, we are about to see two men collide for a shot at the vacant ICTV title! Danny Williams is already a contender... speaking of Williams, I've heard word in the back that Jay Dawg is quite furious about Danny's use of the Hiza Juji-Gatame!"

Riley: "Jay Dawg isn't furious, he just wants an excuse to be pissed off! It helps him fight better, naturally."

Stevens: "Whatever Riley. Jay Dawg has used JD's Avenge ever since his minor league. He has used it to make some of the greats tap out. Seeing Danny Williams get the win with it has to piss him off. I bet he's visualizing fighting Danny for that ICTV right now!"

Riley: "Since you mentioned the real reason for this match, the ICTV title. This is quite an opportunity, seeing as neither man has had an ICTV title match."

Stevens: "Fugue has been here for a few months, while Jamie Drazon has been here for two years. This should be quite the battle, as both men have similar styles, and similar personalities!"

Riley: "I want to pick a winner! I hate anyone who hates the Magnificent Seven... but come on... it's Jamie Drazon! Let's have some good clean fun!"

The arena lights are suddenly extinguished. The eerie strains Bach's "Toccata and Fugue in D minor" pierce the air. Strobes flash epilectically through the arena before illuminating a figure at the top of the ramp. The audience roars in disapproval at the figure standing there, his sihlouette mimicking his shape behind him. The top hat and trademark trenchcoat can be seen through in the shadows, the wind shaking the jacket ever so slightly. As a rock guitar takes up the theme the lights come up again, revealing the meniacal Fugue walking down to the ring.

Funyon: "The following contest is for a shot at the SWF INTERCONTINENTAL TELEVISION CHAMPIONSHIP!!! Introducing first... he hails from Philadelphia Pennsylvania! He stands at Five feet Eleven inches and weighs in at 181 pounds! A member of the Magnificent Seven! HE IS FUUUUUUUUUUGUE!!!"

Fugue stops outside the ring moments after Funyon's spiel. He pulls his hat off his head and places it on the ring apron, and with a shake of the shoulders, off pops his trenchcoat. He tosses his clothing to a nearby ring assistant, who carries them to behind the announce table. He then slips into the ring and bounces a bit, testing the canvas. He proceeds to circle around the ring to leer at the fans sitting ringside, giving them a peek at his infamous Jesus Evil Brother smile.

Stevens: "There he is! Fugue getting an ovation all Magnificent Seven members expect!"

Riley: "On one side you have a demonic figure with psychopathic head smashing violence... on the other side, you have a musician lover with masochistic tendencies!"

As Fugue stands in the center of the ring, the lights go out and a massive pyro shoots off from each turnbuckle.

BOOM

Thousands of fireworks explode around the arena, specifically the rafters and all the way up the entrance ramp...

"THIS

IS

MAH

HOUSE!!"

The voice of Jamie Drazon echoes through the arena to a loud display of boos. Rammstein's 'Du Haste' plays without the lyrics, letting the heavy beats thunder 360 degrees around the arena. As the music seeps into the minds of the fans, JD steps through the curtains calmly walking with his head down to the end of the ramp. He slowly raises his head, staring at the thousands of Ohio natives who are all cursing and taunting in his general direction. He captures a glimpse of Fugue with his eyes open, letting the lids flutter over the pupils, he lowers his head again complete with a grin that only spells malicious intent.

Funyon: "AND HIS OPPONENT!! He hails from Vancouver, British Columbia! He stands at Six feet Four inches and weighs in at 243 pounds! He is JAMIE 'JAY DAWG' DRAZON!!!"

Jay Dawg continues walking down the ramp, finishing about 3 seconds after Funyon completed his bit. JD grins toward Fugue before taking the two steps to ringside and slide inside. He stands up real quick and slowly cracks his neck into place, letting some ringside fans hear the sickening pop. He scans the crowd to his left, then to his right, and then looks forward at Fugue.

Stevens: "Well there you have it! This is a regular match by the way... so JD and Fugue probably won't be able to get away with a lot of their sadistic violence!"

Riley: "Are you kidding? These guys can bring the pain anyway possible!"

The two walk toward each other, their fists hanging by their sides. Jay Dawg's hair is neatly pulled back, some minor facial hair is evident. While Fugue's locks dangle, clearly not combed, and his scraggly beard is there as always. JD stands there in a confident pose as Fugue examines him, eying him up and down. The referee instructs for the bell and in stereo, the two lock up. Fugue instantly regrets his decision as JD powers him down to one knee. Just as Fugue regains the strength to stand, JD breaks the lock up and drives Fugue chest first into the mat with an armbar takedown! Before JD can wrench on the shoulder, Fugue rolls forward and returns to his feet. He snaps his head to JD, completely shocked at the choice of offense, but satisfied as he begins to smile.

Stevens: "Jay Dawg just leveled him with an armbar takedown! Fugue is quite the ring general, even surprised, he didn't allow JD to apply the painful Fujiwara armbar!"

Riley: "Well Jay Dawg is known for his brawling style! However he knows his shit! A submission this early is unexpected, but very possible!"

Fugue rubs his biceps a little bit, smiling as Jay Dawg has just made the contest a little more interesting. They saunter toward each other, and another lock up follows. Fugue positions himself better this time, not allowing Jay Dawg to tower over him. Knowing he can win the battle of strength, JD again breaks the hold, but this time takes Fugue over with a hiptoss. Fugue lands on his feet though, shifts his weight into JD and Irish whips him into the ropes but JD reverses with a whip of his own. Fugue bounces off the ropes and ducks a decapitating clothesline. JD shakes his shoulder off before turning around, watching Fugue return off the opposite ropes. JD swings out his elbow, but the music carries Fugue as he easily telegraphs the blow and keeps on running. Fugue ricochets off the ropes one more time and as Jay Dawg pivots a slight bit, Fugue throws both his legs out, and front dropkicks JD in the chest! The blow knocks JD staggering backward into the corner.

Stevens: "JD attacked the arm! Fugue attacked the body! It looks like these two have studied each others styles a bit!"

Riley: "Yeah they are pulling their own prefered attacks on each other!"

Stevens: "It just goes to show you, that a title like the ICTV is worth studying up a bit! Despite people like Neilsen disrespecting it!"

Fugue lands on his back from the dropkick, but instantly kips up and rushes for JD in the corner. He leaps in the air and pounds his forearm into the forehead of Jay Dawg! Drazon absorbs the blow as his cranium rocks back and forth from the impact. Fugue drills him with another forearm blast, but Jay Dawg fires back with a right hook of his own, the knuckles firmly connecting with the jawbone. JD powers out of the corner and drives his knee into Fugue's ribs. Momentarily stunned, Fugue stands victim as Jay Dawg smashes his own cranium into him with a headbutt! Fugue drops to a knee, grabbing his forehead for a second. JD flips his hair back, the ponytail already undangled. Jay Dawg grabs a hold of Fugue by the hair, pulling him up but gets an elbow in the stomach! Drazon's exhales in pain only to fire a fist in return. JD grabs Fugue's right shoulder with his left arm, and uses it to hold Fugue in place. He swings with his right, but Fugue breaks the grip on his shoulder, hooks Jay Dawg's right with his right and arm drags him over! JD sits straight up after hitting the mat, snapping his head toward Fugue with a pissed off expression that would give Steven King the chills. JD stands up, letting Fugue build some momentum as he foolishly rushes the younger grappler. Fugue ducks down, and leg sweeps Jay Dawg to the mat! Fugue stands only to drop an elbow onto JD. He tries a cover with a lateral press, but before the ref can count, like an older brother playing possum to sucker the younger bro... JD surprises Fugue with a side headlock, and tows him over with a headlock takeover.

Stevens: "An aggressive battle so far! Both men have been pulling out the offense!"

Riley: "Consequently, they are being put on the receiving end as well!"

JD hangs onto the headlock as he lies over top of Fugue. He begins to grind the arms and flex the biceps, hence tightening the hold. Fugue struggles, slowly making the journey so he can position himself so he is not under JD. He begins to roll JD over, and in the process, pins his shoulders to the mat with a belly-to-back bridge. JD kicks out just as the ref drops to his knees, shifting his weight over top of Fugue. JD exhales in relief, but Fugue rolls him back up!

One!

JD releases the headlock, and reaches to apply another one, but Fugue hooks the arm and wraps it up into a hammerlock!

Stevens: "The ref was in perfect position that time! JD didn't get that extra second to realize he was pinned!"

Fugue pulls JD up to a seated position, standing behind him with the hammerlock painfully hooked into place. JD unwillingly lets the leverage go to Fugue, but the harmonic one proceeds to chickenwing both arms. JD knows instantly to this set up. Before Fugue can firmly control the double chickenwing, JD breaks free by falling to his back, and with a double boot, kicks Fugue in the jaw! Fugue shoots his head up into the air, spitting out his saliva before dropping to his knees. JD grabs onto Fugue by the bottom of the chin, digging his fingers into the pressure points located around the neck point. JD holds Fugue in place as he stands behind him, and drives the bottom of his elbow into Fugue's forehead!

CRACK!

Stevens: "What an elbow! That was dangerously resemblant of a roaring elbow!"

Riley: "It was damn stiff! That's for sure!"

JD raises his arm again, and drives it right in between the eyes of Fugue!

CRACK!

Fugue's eyes begin to water, and the pressure of Jay Dawg's grip causes him to snap, as he batters the arm out of the way. JD tries to swing, but the quicker Fugue spins around and drives his fist into Jay Dawg's ribcage. The blow catches JD offguard, forcing him to double over, allowing Fugue to connect full on with an uppercut. Fugue gets off his knees, and sticks his head under Jay Dawg's armpit, and wraps his arms around his body with a waistlock. Fugue lifts for the Northern Lights... but Jay Dawg kicks his legs out in mid air, resisting the suplex. Fugue reluctantly lowers JD back to his feet. JD takes advantage and sticks his head under Fugue's arm instead, then cradles his leg. JD throws Fugue over his head with a T-Bone suplex, but Fugue wraps his arms around Jay Dawg's waist! As soon as JD lets go, Fugue hits the mat then rolls Jay Dawg up with a modified sunset flip! Jay Dawg easily rolls all the way through to his feet. JD hooks onto Fugue's legs and elevates him into the air. Before JD can carry him over, Fugue hooks onto his ankles.

Stevens: "I don't know about you Riley! However something tells me these men want a submission over each other!"

Riley: "I just realized something Stevens! Out of four contenders for the ICTV title... 3 of them were Magnificent Seven members! Now what does that say about that stable!"

Stevens: "Overpushed and put into the spotlight by the Suicide King?"

Riley: "I was thinking more along the lines as ultra talented, but to each his own. You Carnival loving freak."

JD releases one of the legs, holding the other firmly by his waist. He pops Fugue with another fist. Fugue's head comedically bounces like a punching bag and JD grabs his hair, dragging him to his feet and throws him off the ropes. Fugue ricochets, but comes back leaping and spinning in mid air only to drive his shoulder into Jay Dawg with a spinning shoulder block! Jay Dawg staggers back three steps, only to thrust forward with a clothesline. Fugue ducks the blow, but latches his arms around Jay Dawg's waist, his head comfortably under Jay Dawg's striking arm. Before JD realizes where he is, Fugue flips him over his head and into the mat with a Northern Lights suplex! Fugue bridges onto his tippy toes with the pin.

ONE...

TWO...

T...JD powers his shoulder out of the bridge.

Stevens: "The first close fall of the evening with that Northern Lights suplex!"

Jay Dawg clutches his chest, rolling outside as he catches a quick breather.

Stevens: "Jay Dawg a little stunned by the suplex! He's taking a smart breather!"

Riley: "Fugue isn't the most patient of wrestlers!"

Fugue makes a run to the opposite ropes, rebounding hard off them as he sprints to the side that stands in between him and JD, springboards off the top rope and suicide somersaults to the outside... straight for Jay Dawg! The flashbulbs light up as Fugue soars through the air, somersaulting his body over... and crashes his back into Jay Dawg with the somersault plancha! Fugue rolls off of Jay Dawg, sitting on his chest momentarily before collapsing off and falling to his side. The crowd pops huge for the massive high spot as Jay Dawg lies on the mat.

Stevens: "Fugue takes it to the air! It's interesting to see that they are resorting back to their regular styles!"

Riley: "Of course, neither are foolish to try and beat each other at their own game! I'm just glad neither of them have truly snapped like they are so known for!"

Fugue stumbles up to his feet, using the guardrailing as his assistance. He shakes the cobwebs out and grabs a hold of one of the nearby fans drinks. Fugue takes a slam of the drink and promptly spits it out. Jay Dawg begins to sit up only to get the cup smashed over his head. The liquid spews all over the place, but JD remains seated, not noticing that he has been drenched with soda. Fugue throws the remains of the cup into the crowd, then pounds his chest. The audience negatively replies to the insane one. Fugue pulls JD up and calmly rolls him into the ring. JD keeps rolling toward the center of the ring, before lying on his chest.

Stevens: "Jay Dawg is moving awfully slow, he should stay towards the ropes in this case!"

Fugue steps up to the ring apron. Jay Dawg gets to his hands and knees then stands to one foot. Fugue pulls himself onto the top rope and springboards off, JD stands all the way up only to get knocked right back down again with a missile dropkick! JD lands hard on his back, flips over and lies chest first on the mat. Fugue waists no time, rushing for JD, leaps into the air with his back leading the way, drives it into Jay Dawg's lower back with a senton splash!

Stevens: "Fugue is bringing the offense! Will it be enough to put JD away!"

The crowd doesn't really know who to get behind, just booing and cheering loudly out of principal. Fugue peals JD off his chest and rolls him onto his back with a hook of the leg, the momentum behind him...

ONE...

TWO...

THR..NO!!

Jay Dawg hooks his right shoulder off the mat. Fugue hooks the shoulder into his arm with a chickenwing. Feeling the torque in his shoulder, JD brings his spare arm to protect himself.

Stevens: "Jay Dawg kicked out of that combo of moves! But now he's in danger of suffering the Harmony!"

Holding down his struggling opponent, Fugue persistently reaches for Jay Dawg's shoulder, locking his fingers around the elbow and finally slips in with the double chickenwing. However Jay Dawg bridges up to his feet! Fugue tries to hold onto the chickenwing, but JD grapevines his left leg. Fugue struggles to lift, using the chickenwing hold as an armbar. JD resorts to a dirty tactic and stomps on Fugue's toe! Fugue howls out in pain, allowing Jay Dawg to break the chickenwing and circle in behind for a waistlock. Fugue struggles, but JD releases his right arm to club Fugue in the back of the head with it. Fugue grabs the back of his head in pain, and the second he does, JD muscles him up and drives him into the mat with a German suplex! JD doesn't release, instead he rolls through and pulls Fugue up again. JD again powers the musician up over his head, and into the mat shoulder/neck first with a vicious release German suplex! Fugue's body folds up like an accordion, and timbers over sideways as Fugue lies on his ribs and right leg. However over his face, despite having the lights knocked out of him, Fugue has a small grin on his face. JD crawls over, pushing him onto his back and makes the cover.

ONE...

JD sees Fugue's smile in mid-count, and he straightens up, but the cover still on.

TWO...

JD places his forearm over Fugue's face and begins to grind it in...

however the forearm only wakes Fugue up...

TH...NO!! Fugue fairly easily gets a shoulder up.

Stevens: "I think JD unintentionally assisted Fugue there!"

Riley: "I think he found it annoying that Fugue was smiling after taking one of the sickest German suplexes I have seen!"

JD continues to look at Fugue smiling, and begins to smile himself. He grabs a hold of Jesus's evil twin lookalike by the hair and drags him to his feet. JD pulls him into a standing headscissors, and wraps his arms around the waist. JD grunts as he lifts, but Fugue doesn't go with him. JD begins to struggle as Fugue tightly hugs his leg. JD lets his arms go, raising his right to club Fugue, but the slippery bastard sneaks under Jay Dawg's arm again, applies another waistlock, and Northern Light suplexes the hardcore bastard! Fugue hangs onto the hold, but doesn't bridge. Instead he rolls through, pulling JD to his feet, he sneaks around back and applies a double chickenwing, which gets a surprisingly loud pop from the crowd. Fugue powers up, taking JD over his head and drives him into the mat with a Tiger suplex! Fugue holds the bridge tight as the ref makes the count...

ONE...

Stevens: "A Northern Lights, then a Tiger suplex! An odd combo, but Jay Dawg has to be feeling it!"

Riley: "If JD can kick out, Fugue can lead this right to the Harmony!"

TWO...

THREENO!!!

Jay Dawg drives the top of his head into the mat, forcing his shoulders to bridge up just inches off the mat. Fugue rolls over, keeping the double chickenwing in place, he uses it to help JD stand to the mat. Fugue keeps his double chickenwing locked on, and forces JD into the air! Jay Dawg hangs by his shoulders, shaking it away as the pain begins to get to him. He grapevines his right ankle in behind the kneecap of Fugue. Drazon suddenly begins to laugh, the chickenwing hurts but he doesn't care. Fugue's energy wears out, once more lowering Jay Dawg to his feet and releasing his hold. Fugue hangs onto the left arm, maybe he should have taken the right, because he receives a stiff elbow right into his jaw!

CRACK!

Fugue takes it like a trademark boxer, with his head being rocked back and eyes glazed over. Jay Dawg hooks around, applying a full nelson. The pain in his arms stops that quickly though, as Fugue breaks free and slides in behind JD, becoming back-to-back. Fugue hooks his arms under Jay Dawg's and drops to his knees with a backslide!

ONE...

TWO...

Stevens: "He's got him!"

THREEEEEEEEEENOO!!

Jay Dawg barely inches his shoulder off the mat! Fugue slips out from under Jay Dawg, but hooks his one shoulder, then the other with a double chickenwing! Fugue sticks the top of his head into the back of Jay Dawg's neck! He starts to flip over, but Jay Dawg pushes up, forcing himself to stand despite the torture in his arms. Jay Dawg breaks his right arm free! With a switch of the wrist, Jay Dawg spins around, applying a half nelson and a chickenwing onto Fugue! JD releases the chickenwing and clubs Fugue in the back of the neck. With his spare arm, Fugue grabs his neck and Jay Dawg completes the full nelson! "YOU WANT PAIN!!! I'LL GIVE YOU PAIN!!!" A suddenly angered Jay Dawg shouts, his eyelids raise and he launches Fugue over his head and spikes him into the mat with a Dragon suplex! Fugue's body collapses as JD releases the full nelson, not trying for the bridge due to the pain in his arms.

Stevens: "Jay Dawg with that sudden adrenaline burst, just creamed Fugue with a suplex!"

Riley: "That ought to knock the Mozart out of his brain!"

Stevens: "The voices tell him to hurt people."

Riley: "..."

JD puts his hand on Fugue's face, looking away as he hooks the leg for the cover!

Stevens: "Jay Dawg doesn't want to see if Fugue is smiling!"

Riley: "These guys have lost their minds!"

ONE...

TWO...

THRENO!!

Fugue gets a shoulder up, despite the palm still wrapped around his face. Jay Dawg carefully lowers the hand, taking a small peak at the face, and sees the grin still planted on his Fugue! "AARRRRRGGHHHHH!!!" Jamie Drazon grabs Fugue by the throat and pulls him upt! Jay Dawg releases his grip on the throat, and grabs the beard! JD hangs onto the rather messy chunk of hair and with a closed fist, punches Fugue right in between the eyes!

Stevens: "Oh crap! Jay Dawg is getting pissed!"

Riley: "Don't do anything you'll regret Drazon, it's for the ICTV title shot!"

Jay Dawg swings with his right, but tucks his fist in and guides with his elbow!

CRACK!

Drazon swings again, connecting with a second roaring elbow!

CRACK!

Stevens: "Jay Dawg is stiffing the hell out of Fugue!"

Jay Dawg swings again, again, again!

CRACK!

Fugue drops to one knee, but his head is held up due to Jay Dawg's grip on his beard.

"Keep smiling!" shouts JD, just daring Fugue to do so...

...and under the sweat. Behind the beard, despite the glossy eyes and now very tender jaw, Fugue keeps smiling.

Stevens: "This is getting bad!"

Jay Dawg swings again!

CRACK!

Another!

CRACK!

Jay Dawg grabs at his shoulder, feeling each swing himself. He looks down at the far more hurting Fugue and laughs, then hits him again!

CRACK!

JD grabs Fugue by the throat and tows him off the mat. JD looks closely into Fugue's eyes, getting more pissed off by the second. Fugue merely grins, blood dripping down from his bottom lip. JD can't believe it, and Fugue swings at him with a half hearted punch. JD swats the arm away, ducks down and spins as he thrusts up his leg, and

CRACK!

Connects full on with the reverse spinkick! Fugue staggers backwards, collapsing onto the top rope and he hangs on for dear life. He looks over at JD, not even able to keep his own balance, he continues to grin. Jay Dawg grabs his hair before thrusting toward Fugue, leaping in the air before he spins a full 360 degrees... thrusting out his right leg...

CRAAACCCK!!!

Fugue releases the top rope and drops to his knees! He somehow remains enough balance to keep himself up, and although exhausted, and some severe purple coloring forming up over his face, Fugue flashes a weak smile.

Stevens: "Did Fugue just smile after eating a Thai roundhouse!"

Riley: "Look at the bruises already developing! Jay Dawg through everything he had and then some with those elbows!"

Jamie Drazon grabs the top rope and begins shaking it. His anger getting the better of him as he stomps the mat, causing a rampage as the fans start going insane as well, telling him he sucks and start cursing in his general direction. The antagonization of the fans only gets to Jay Dawg even more, as he continues stomping the mat. Fugue continues looking forward, completely unconscious despite sitting on his knees and not on his face. The fans finally get to Jay Dawg and he rushes to the opposite ropes, ricocheting off them with a purpose, he guns it straight for Fugue... JD takes the distance of 20 feet in under a second as he steps on Fugue's right knee with his left leg, and thrusts out his right leg...

CRRRAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAACCCCCCCCCKKK!!!

...connecting with a Yakuza kick!

Stevens: "THE SHINING BLACK!! SHINING BLACK!! I HAVE NEVER SEEN JAY DAWG DO THAT!!!"

Fugue's head just absorbs the blow, his head going in with the foot, and bobs once before caving into the mat. Jay Dawg stares down at Fugue, grinning sadistically at his fallen opponent, who's mouth is filled with blood, staining his beard in areas where a stain can be considered dirty for Fugue. JD hooks Fugue's leg and rests his back over top of him, Fugue's spare leg dangles in the air...

Riley: "Stick a fork in him... he's done."

Stevens: "Fugue has just been knocked senseless!"

ONE...

TWO...

THREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE

NO!! Fugue's spare leg falls onto the bottom rope just in time!

Stevens: "He just got his leg on the bottom rope!"

Riley: "That either saved him or killed him!"

JD looks down at his bloody/bruised opponent, and drags him to the center of the ring. JD shakes his shoulders off, the carrying of the weight bothering him ever so slightly. JD hooks both of Fugue's legs, wrapping his arms around both as he makes the cover.

ONE...

TWO...

THREEEEENOO!! Fugue breaks Jay Dawg's grip with a kick out! JD calmly falls away from his earlier state of mind, despite the pinfall angering him, it's not enough to bring back the adrenaline.

Stevens: "Jay Dawg better finish him off quick!"

Riley: "He's losing his rage! That's the one thing that fuels him most!"

In what seems like an eternity, JD peels Fugue off the mat and into a standing headscissors. He wraps his arms around Fugue's chest, and grunts as he lifts. Fugue wraps his arms around Jay Dawg's legs, and the pressure on his shoulders lets Fugue go! Fugue drops to his knees, but out of nowhere, grabs a hold of Jay Dawg's arm, hooking his elbow joint over the point of Jay Dawg's, he drags him to the mat with an armbar takedown! Fugue wrenches once with the Fujiwara armbar, before reaching over and tries to hook his other arm with the Minor Cord!

Stevens: "In an unusual turn of events! Fugue has absorbed some of Jay Dawg's more brutal offense! He's now coming back and dishing it out!"

Riley: We both know Jay Dawg is one vital bastard! But he might have wore out all his energy! And now he is trapped in the Minor Chord!"

Drazon begins to drive his head into the mat, scratching it as he tries to loosen up the grip. Jay Dawg flexes his foot back, trying to get it to stretch to the ropes. Fugue continues torquing on the shoulders, getting Jay Dawg to growl in pain. Fugue's smile returns, even though the blood has coated his teeth. He spits out a spurt of blood before wrenching on Jay Dawg's shoulders some more. The extra torque pulls JD from the ropes, but his right foot inches closer... stretching, JD tries to slide his body... and hooks his foot onto the bottom rope! The referee gives Fugue the info and Fugue releases after a four count.

Stevens: "JD makes it to the ropes!"

Riley: "He was damn close there!"

JD lets his body rest for a second as he clutches at his tender shoulders. Fugue drops a knee onto Jay Dawg's shoulder, Fugue stands only to drop a knee on the other shoulder!

Stevens: "Fugue senses blood! He's going to capitalize!"

Riley: "That's what you gotta do!"

Fugue underhooks Jay Dawg's right arm, pulling him to his feet and doubling over, then drives his knee into Drazon's shoulder! Fugue pulls JD up and spins him so they are belly-to-back. Fugue applies another double chickenwing! Fugue torques on the shoulders, but Jay Dawg won't go up! Jay Dawg begins to struggle like he's resisting arrest. Fugue holds him tight, tucking his head in between the shoulder blades. He lifts his head up, and doesn't see Jay Dawg's head smacking backward!

CRACK!

Fugue releases the right arm, and Jay Dawg reaches it down, pulling the right leg of Fugue into the air! Fugue stumbles on his one leg, but releases the chickenwing and waistlocks JD for balance. He pushes JD forward, forcing Dawg to release the leg and step into the ropes, JD tries to hook his elbows into the top rope, but his grip slips free, Fugue pulls him back. Fugue rolls back, taking JD with him for the victory roll up! JD powers through, knocking Fugue onto his back. JD rolls to his feet, grabbing Fugue's left leg, drops down and scissorlocks the leg! Before Fugue realizes he's been trapped, JD jerks back on Fugue's ankle, hyper-extending the kneecap!

Stevens: "JD's Avenge! Drazon just suckered Fugue in!"

Riley: "Crap! They are in the center of the ring!"

JD viciously wrenches on the leg, pulling back as his eyes roll into the back of his head. Fugue howls in pain as Jay Dawg continues to torque the knee...

Stevens: "Danny won his contendership with this same move!"

Fugue clutches at his hair, unable to believe he has been trapped in such a painful move...

Fugue raises his arm, but decides to hold out...

Riley: "He's wanting to! He can't make it to the ropes!"

Jay Dawg growls as he torques the leg again, the wrongful bending of the kneecap can't even wipe the smile away off of Fugue's face...

Stevens: "He's still smiling!"

JD doesn't even look at Fugue's smile as he keeps on the painful hold... and Fugue finallys taps in submission. Drazon doesn't let go of the hold as the bell rings...

Riley: "Fugue has tapped out with a smile! This has to be driving Jay Dawg insane!"

The ref calls for the bell and tries to pulls JD off of Fugue while Funyon makes the announcement.

Funyon: "THE WINNER OF THE MATCH VIA SUBMISSION!!! JAMIE 'JAY DAWG' DRAZON!!!"

Jay Dawg finally releases the hold as the crowd pisses on his victory with curses and boos. Drazon pays no mind as he holds his arm up although exhausted and remains lying down with the win in his name. Fugue rolls onto his chest, clutching at his kneecap as he feels the evident pain. JD pulls on the top rope, using it to help him to his feet even though it kills his shoulders. He clutches at his arms and exhales in exhaustion as the crowd continues the laying on the heavy heat.

Stevens: "A close victory for Jay Dawg! I for one would love to see these two lock up again!"

Riley: "What do you think about Jay Dawg vs. Danny Williams for the ICTV title!"

Stevens: "Once more, another battle I would love to see!"

Riley: "No shiznit! They both won their contenderships with the Hiza-Judagatagoop!"

Stevens: "That's Hiza Juji-gatame! With the roaring elbows and shining black, and the JD's Avenge... this looks like a message sent to Williams. Maybe JD was feeling strong about the submission after all!"

Riley: "Whatever! Jay Dawg and Williams! Let's see it!"

Stevens: "I'm with you there... folks we have to take a break! However stay tuned, for we have Frost about to take on both members of Justice and Rule! That is next!"

A final clip of Jay Dawg celebrating his victory as he walks up the ramp.

Commercial.

March 27, 2003

The camera fades back in with a sweeping wide shot of the screaming crowd. The shot transitions to the announcer’s table and the smiling face of “Grand Slam” Mark Stevens.

“Welcome back,” he greets the viewers “to the Erwin J. Nutter Center in beautiful Dayton, Ohio.”

Bobby Riley scoffs next to Stevens and then examines his cuticles to avoid his partner’s sideways glance. Mark continues unfazed, “We’ve had a sizzling night of action and to finish off the evening we have an unprecedented historical event.”

“We’re going to replay Tulsa whipping ass on the University of Dayton?” Riley questions with a shit-eating grin.

Stevens frowns, “No, we have Frost’s first match after not only leaving the Magnificent 7, but also after vacating the ICTV Title. It’s a turning point in one man’s career and a continuation of the turning point for our federation that we saw with TNT winning the World Title at From the Fire.”

“Hold up there, Cochise,” Riley says while holding up his hands “if you want to talk ‘turning points’ and ‘historical events,’ the only thing I’ve seen recently that would qualify is El Luchadore Magnifico pounding the last nail in the Midnight Carnival’s coffin by joining up with the Magnificent 7. I thought that ELM had drunk himself stupid on tequila long ago, but he proved me wrong last week by turning on Taylor Thompson and beating down his former stablemate CIA.”

Stevens hangs his head with a distraught look. “I don’t think anything in a long time has disappointed me more than the way that a stable I was a longtime part of passed like it did. The only saving grace of last week’s show was Frost running out to help his former tag team partner and friend, Thompson. He’s one of the few honorable men we have in this sport today and does he get rewarded?”

Stevens lets the question hang in the air while Riley giggles. “You should know by now that honor never gets rewarded. The only thing that counts around here is winning matches and kicking ass. Frost hasn’t done that lately. He drops the ICTV belt to Neilsen of the Jungle at From the Fire and then turns right around to cost Tom Flesher the tag belts a few hours later. Judge Hearford and Ejiro Fasaki truly are Justice and Rule and I see tonight as a reward for them.”

“As declared by the Suicide King last week,” Mark makes sure to point out “if Frost wins the ensuing handicap match with his former stablemates he will receive a tag team title shot with the partner of his choice. If he loses, the punishment is promised to continue.”

“Meaning he’ll be left here in Dayton.” Riley cackles.

“We have no idea what future punishment might entail or even what we might see in the following the match. Will TNT be involved? ELM? Flesher? Other Mag 7 members? Only way to find out is to ring that bell and allow Funyon to do his introductions.”

Stevens points at the ring and the shot transitions to focus on Funyon standing in the center of the squared circle. “The following is a handicap match scheduled for one fall. Standard SWF rules are in effect and the two man team must tag in and out of the ring.”

Funyon is cut off by the opening cords of “Sleep Now in the Fire” and red pyro popping from the entrance stage. The Smarktron flashes the word “JUSTICE” in bright Red letters, followed by Judge Hearford stepping out from behind the curtain to a huge wave of boos. He stands to the right side of the ring ramp with a sneer on his lips. The Smarktron now displays the word “RULE” to summon the appearance of Ejiro Fasaki. He takes a post to the left of the ramp. The two men scan the crowd for a moment with both hands on their waists, just above their tag team title belts, before heading to the ring.

Funyon booms out, “Now entering the arena at a combined weight of 430 pounds, they represent the Magnificent 7 and are the current SWF World Tag Team Champions. They are Judge Hearford and Ejiro Fasaki, collectively known as JUSTICE AND RUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUULLLLLLLLLLLLLLLE!”

Stevens: “A replay of the champs new entrance that we first saw at From the Fire.”

Riley: “And those snazzy jerseys with Justice and Rule on them. This team has a lot of chemistry and that unity is going to defeat Frost more than mere two on one odds.”

The pair circles the outside area and hop to the apron in the lower right corner. They proceed to remove their jerseys and belts to hand off to a ring attendant.

Suddenly, a new guitar hook rings out and silver fireworks explode from the rafters in rapid-fire succession. A pale blue spotlight shines down to highlight the stage and catches what appear to be thick snowflakes fluttering down from above. The fans murmur with questioning expectations when the voice of Ozzy Osbourne singing “Snowblind” rings out to cue the entrance of the Velvet Hammer!

Stevens: “Speaking of new entrances, this is certainly a lot showier than what we’ve seen from Frost in the past.”

Frost holds up his arm, fist clenched, and stands at the top of the ramp while Funyon makes his introduction. “And their opponent, weighing in at 296 pounds and hailing from Reykjavik, Iceland. He represents no man but himself, holds no titles but ones of honor and nobility. THE VELVET HAMMER… FRRRRRRROOOOOOOOOOOSSSSSSSSSSSSSST!”

The crowd pops wildly for the recently turned face as he steps out of the pale blue light, thick flakes sticking to his well oiled torso, and heads for the ring.

Riley: “There’s no reason for this type of gaudy display. Fireworks? Snow? Frost has left the Mag 7 and ran straight for the bosom of the humanoids. That won’t win him any matches.”

Frost takes a long drag on his cigar as he eyes his foes from the floor. He drops the stogie to the ground and rubs it out with the heel of his boot. He pulls himself to the apron by the second cord and steps over the ropes to the ring.

Stevens: “Listen to this crowd. They’ve really taken to Frost fast. Although, standing up to such a hated man as Tom Flesher and his private army would do that for anyone.”

Riley: “And we’re going to see how worthless Frost is without the Superior One leading him around by the nose like the dumb dog he is.”

DING DING DING

Eddy Long points at Justice and Rule and tells them to pick their starting man. The pair is huddled together finalizing strategy. Judge nods his head and pats Ejiro on the shoulder as he enters the ring. Frost and Fasaki circle each other with Frost keeping a weary eye on Hearford.

Stevens: “Fasaki will start out. Sound choice as Ejiro is the more experienced man of the two against Frost, having faced him prior to From the Fire in a tables match.”

Riley: “Not to mention that Ejiro definitely has youth on his side and better stamina. Every little decision this team makes has multiple layers.”

Ejiro edges closer to Frost. He fakes to his right and then flies to his left to get behind the big man and grab a rear waistlock. Frost immediately pries the two hands locked in front of him apart as he spins out of the hold. He brings up a knee to catch the hunched down Fasaki in the chin! Frost presses forward with clubbing right hands to force Ejiro into the lower left ring corner.

Stevens: “Frost uses his power and boxing skills to take the early advantage. He’s going to have to keep one man in the ring and wear him down if he hopes to win this.”

After delivering one last good right cross, Frost grabs the stunned man by the wrist and Irish whips him toward the opposite corner. Ejiro shifts his weight and reverses. Frost turns to take the turnbuckles in the back and Fasaki charges with a shoulder thrust out. Frost rockets up his right leg and the tag champ eats foot on the charge! The blow spins him around and he stumbles away. Frost advances to seize Fasaki by wrapping his right arm around the man’s left and then twisting back to back to grapevine the other appendage. He hoists him off the mat, feet dangling, and revolves around the ring in a circle!

Stevens: “Ejiro Fasaki goes for the ride in the airplane spin!”

Riley: “Listen to these fans scream. It’s show over substance. Frost is killing himself, by trying to appeal to them.”

Frost pulls up short to stop his revolution. He unwinds his arms to send Ejiro twirling through the air like a top!

Stevens: “He’s used that move for long as I can remember.”

Ejiro crashes down and Frost takes a long stride toward him while skipping off the mat. He spins his massive frame in the air and smashes down with a meaty thigh to the chest!

Riley: “Uh…LOOK! A COVER!”

ONE!

TWO!

Judge Hearford suddenly appears with a boot to Frost’s back! Long shoots to his feet and pushes the man back.

Stevens: “Hearford breaks the cover after the spinning leg drop.”

Riley: “He’s just helping his partner, that’s good tag team wrestling.”

Frost rockets up and swats at Judge over top of Long. The ref tries to keep the two men separated, but Hearford lands a sledgehammer right to Frost’s jaw!

Stevens: “This isn’t a tag match, it’s a mugging.”

Riley: “Even better.”

Judge Mental blows by Long to snag Frost’s wrist and whips him to the far ropes. The referee throws his shoulder into Judge’s chest and shoves him toward his corner while threatening disqualification. Fasaki rises up to both knees as Frost runs at him. He plows a fist into the big man’s crotch to double him over! He applies a facelock and pops off the mat. He throws his weight back and impales Frost’s head into the mat with a DDT in one swift motion!

Stevens: “Frost gets waylaid by a cheap shot and eats a DDT while the ref’s back was turned.”

Ejiro scrambles to hook the leg for a cover and Judge steps to the apron while pointing at Long to turn around. He does to see the pin and dives into place for the count.

ONE!

TWO!

Stevens: “Kick out! A little too early to put Frost away, but Justice and Rule will take the victory here whenever they can.”

Fasaki rolls off of Frost and stretches out to tag his partner. Frost is halfway up and Hearford brings him the rest of the way by grabbing his right arm and applying a wristlock. He twists on it twice and leads Frost into his corner. He slaps hands with Ejiro to tag him back in. Fasaki takes the top rope in both hands and slingshots in with a drop kick to the Icelander’s right shoulder! Frost drops to one knee and puts a hand to his shoulder as Judge steps to the apron. Ejiro takes over on the wristlock and gives it a good crank before making the tag back to Judge. He ascends the ropes from the outside and drops down from on high with a double axehandle to the shoulder blade! Ejiro pops to the apron as Long hits 3 on his dq count. Judge takes the wristlock and steps under Frost’s arm while grinding the hold.

Stevens: “Nice quick double team segment by the tag champs. It looks like they’re going to make the shoulder the focal point of their attack.”

Riley: “They’re dismantling it like it was the Iraqi military.”

Hearford goes to whip Frost into the ropes, but he stops himself and tries to reverse. Hearford keeps control by twisting Frost back into him and extending his arm for a short, stiff lariat! Both men go down from the blow with Judge on top for a pin.

ONE

TWO

Stevens: “The short arm clothesline only gets two. Both men race up, but Mental cinches that wristlock to keep Frost under control.”

Hearford swirls his leg around to deliver a kick to the back of the knee. Frost winces and goes down. Judge sticks his right leg out and falls rearward while holding the wristlock to drive the shoulder across his jutted out knee!

Stevens: “Modified shoulder breaker and Judge makes the tag.”

Ejiro takes the top strand with both hands to slingshot in. This time he sits out as he flies through the air and lands with a leg drop to the shoulder. He rolls Frost over and hooks the leg for a cover. Long won’t count until Judge extracts himself from the ring.

ONE

TWO

TH-

Stevens: “Kick out. Frost is getting a few precious seconds to rest as Justice and Rule transition in and out.”

Riley: “But their making the right choice in working the quick tags and picking one body part to hammer. They’re treating this like a standard tag match. You want to keep Frost in your half of the ring and grind him down with a methodical, focused attack.”

Ejiro pulls Frost up by the wristlock and whips him to the near ropes. Frost reverses to send Ejiro for the ride and extends his left arm for a clothesline. Fasaki ducks and heads for the opposite strands. Frost turns to meet him and winces at the pain in his shoulder. Ejiro leaves his feet for a spinning heel kick aimed at the bad shoulder. Frost reaches across with his left arm and snags the ankle before it can make contact! He throws it to the side and Ejiro rolls with the toss to land off balanced but on his feet. Frost takes him around the tops of the thighs before he can get his bearings and flings him down hard with a standing spinebuster! Frost then falls backwards into a catapult! Ejiro flaps through the air with his arms flailing and lands throat first on the second rope!

Stevens: “Great spinebuster into the catapult by Frost. Usually he’s the one to keep things slowed down, but with the tag champs employing that strategy he’s looking to speed proceedings up.”

Frost runs for the ropes and springs off. He eyes Ejiro for a Bossman Straddle, but another twinge of pain slows him and Hearford takes the opportunity to drop off the apron and drag his partner to the floor.

Riley: “Justice and Rule can’t let him do that and they know it. Judge is helping Ejiro regroup on the floor. It allows Frost to rest, but it also takes his momentum away from him.”

Frost rubs the sore shoulder and windmills to get the blood flowing. The fans cheer for the outburst of offense. Long yells at the two men on the outside as they huddle in conversation. Ejiro nods his head in affirmation and slides into the ring under the bottom rope. Judge takes his place in the corner and Frost points at him menacingly. Fasaki takes his feet and puts one hand on the top strand. He walks to his corner and tags Judge.

Riley: “Ejiro keeps his hand on the ropes so Frost can’t attack him and he can make the easy tag. Subtle little understandings of the rules is what wins matches.”

Stevens: “Or subtle little breakings of the rules.”

Judge signals for a lockup, but Frost hangs back and stares a hole through him.

Stevens: “Struggling in a lockup is going to put strain on that shoulder. These men are two of the smartest I’ve ever seen. It’s going to be hard for one to gain the upper hand.”

Riley: “Frost is going to have to revert to his power game, but it’s no match for Hearford’s technical mastership with that bad shoulder to work on.”

Judge examines the situation with a shrug and motions to tag Fasaki back in. However, he suddenly dives at Frost and upends him with a single leg takedown! Mental bars the knee and pulls up until Frost kicks him in the kisser with his other foot! Hearford spins off, grabbing his mouth, and slumps chest first across the ropes. Frost rocks to his knees and stands. He comes up behind Hearford as he climbs up the ropes like a ladder. Frost locks him in a half nelson and yanks him off the cords. Judge fires back an elbow to the shoulder and Frost wails in pain, allowing him to make a standing switch to a full nelson. Judge Mental bends his knees for leverage to sling Frost back with a full nelson suplex, but the Icelander grapevines the man’s right leg with his own to stay on the mat! The Velvet Hammer uses the leg for a pivot and gets behind Judge to reclaim his half nelson and snake his other arm across his throat in a Cobra Clutch. Hearford tries to get his arm up to attack the shoulder, but Frost sweeps the leg out from under him and jams his face into the canvas!

Stevens: “The flurry of counters ends with an Icelandic leg sweep. Frost sits up, favoring that shoulder while the Judge is stunned.”

Riley: “Normally I’d applaud that from Frost, but he can go to hell in a handcart while playing Cribbage with CIA for all I care anymore. He’s turned his back on his real fans.”

Hearford pushes himself up by his arms and looks over at Fasaki stretching for the tag while making sure to keep a hand on the tag rope. He crawls toward him, but the Iceman snatches the ankle.

Stevens: “Real fans?”

Riley: “Me, myself and I.”

Frost stands while holding the ankle and precariously hoists his opponent off the mat. Judge bounces on his free leg and goes to roll through, but Frost pitches the leg he has snagged and Hearford flops to his back. Frost drops with a knee face and then tugs the man up.

Stevens: “Frost goes to work with an inverted facelock. He’s working Hearford over good now.”

Frost sways to his right then swings to his left while rolling Hearford’s body up and around for a swinging inverted neckbreaker! Frost makes sure to bend the man so he takes the greatest portion of the bump on the nape of his neck and he lies in a heap!

Stevens: “That’s a move Frost calls the Rock ‘n Roll the Dice. He’s been trying out some new maneuvers in the gym this week to go with his new attitude and we might see a few of them tonight. The cover!”

ONE

TWO

THR-

Ejiro Fasaki sails into view with a flying axehandle! The ref breaks his count and escorts Ejiro to the apron. Frost shakes off the shot and rises to his knees. He puts a hand on Judge’s skull and the man springs up with a thumb to the throat! Frost rolls away spitting and choking! Hearford lies on his side sucking wind as Long turns around and spies the gagging Frost. He questions Judge, but he shakes his head to any wrongdoing.

Riley: “Such seamless cheating. It enough to give me an erection.”

Stevens: “HARUMPH”

Riley: “…set…erection set…erector set…yeah…uh…there’s no saving that one is there?”

Judge puts a hand on Frost’s shoulder from behind and tugs on it to get him into a sitting position. Judge positions himself behind the Icelander and locks a body scissors while collaring him with an inverted facelock and wrenching back on it for a stretch plum.

Stevens: “Judge Metal bolts in the Held Without Bail. Frost needs to get out of this fast.”

Frost grits his teeth to fight through the pain and throws his weight in the direction Hearford is pulling to roll him upside down on his shoulders. It’s good enough of a cover for Long and he counts.

ONE

TWO

Judge rolls back over, but he loses the stretch plum to settle for a chinlock. Frost gets his feet underneath him to stand and Hearford morphs the move to a side headlock. The crowd oddly pops and the camera whips away from the action to the entranceway.

Stevens: “Frost counters with a rollover for a near fall. A very inventi…what the…TOM FLESHER IS COMING DOWN THE RAMP!”

Still in his wrestling togs, Tom waves to the hissing fans as if they were showering him with a hero’s welcome. The distraction permits Frost to push out of the headlock and send Hearford into the ropes. He rushes off toward Frost who leans over with his arms out. He puts the flat of his hands into Judge’s chest and stomach and scoops him high overhead! Hearford’s eyes go wide as Frost tosses him over out of the press slam! The grappler splats the canvas, shaking the whole ring! Frost collapses from the pain in his shoulder. Flesher shakes his head as if he might distantly care about Frost’s suffering, but one knows he doesn’t.

Riley: “Watching Frost get his ass handed to him on a monitor backstage just doesn’t have the same zing as seeing it in person.”

Stevens: “Flesher has no business being out here. The odds are stacked too much against Frost as is.”

Fasaki looks down at Flesher from the apron and asks him what he’s doing. He holds up a hand and crosses to the commentator’s table. Riley picks up a spare headset and hands it to him. In the ring, Hearford crawls on all fours toward his corner, but Frost pops up and cuts him off with a punt to the ribs! Judge flops to his back with a grunt and Frost continues to work some feeling into his damaged shoulder.

Flesher puts on the headset and looks at Stevens. “I heard what you said and just like when I came out for TNT vs. Frost a couple weeks ago, I’ve got all the right in the world. The temporary manager’s license I got to be Frost’s corner man in the boxing match with Magnifico is good until the end of the April and I’m going to be ringside for every single one of that son of a bitch’s matches.” Flesher points to the ring where Frost is bending down to pick Hearford up and finally notices the Superior One on the floor. Flesher waves at Frost with a mock smile. Frost curses, yet tries to focus on the match.

Stevens: “Regardless, there’s no need for you to be out here, or don’t you think Justice and Rule can get the job done.”

The camera flashes to Flesher as he mounts himself on the corner of the commentator’s table. “Trying to stir up trouble? I admit that I’m doing some spring-cleaning in the Magnificent 7, but Judge and Ejiro are not part of it. Sure, there’s a little animosity leftover from the ppv match, but the way I look at it, they did me a favor…”

The camera cuts to the ring to see Frost whip Judge to the ropes. He reverses to whip Frost instead and holds out his arm for a clothesline. Frost ducks it and heads for the opposing strands. He turns to take them in the back and is unceremoniously waylaid by a cheap kick to the kidneys from Fasaki on the apron! The fans boo, but Long was looking at Judge and missed it.

Flesher continues, “…Losing the tag titles, solely because of Frost don’t forget, was just the catalyst I needed to dump his sorry ass for good. We don’t need losers like him in the Mag 7 and that’s why I fired him.”

Stevens: “He quit!”

Riley: “Mark is obviously delusional, if you say he was fired, then Frost was fired.”

Judge tags out to Ejiro. He leaps into the ring and returns to the wristlock to jerk Frost to his feet. He tows Frost into the center of the ring and skips off the canvas to throw his right leg over Frost’s neck and wrap his other leg around the upper torso. He slams Frost to the canvas shoulder first and the big man’s wail echoes throughout the building.

Stevens: “Fasaki fuser! Ejiro rolls him over for a pin.”

ONE!

TWO!

THRE-

Riley: “Nice slow count ref. Long is obviously on the take, Tom.”

Stevens: “The Velvet BUTT Slammer is just postponing the inevitable. Despite what he wants you to think Frost is just an idiot who isn’t smart enough to know when to quit.”

Fasaki shakes his head as he thought he had it won. He rolls the stunned Frost over to his stomach and mounts his back while reaching down to bar the elbow with both hands. He pulls back on the arm and stretches across Frost’s body to torque the shoulder.

Flesher: “Fujiwara armbar. Frost couldn’t figure out how to do that if you gave him step-by-step instructions and Xero to put it on. Hell, even Mak Francis can do a Fujiwara armbar.”

Frost yells low and long from the pain. He looks to his right to see the ropes inches away and grabs the bottom cord.

Stevens: “Frost reaches the ropes for the break. Rolling the man over those couple times put him closer that Fasaki figured.”

Flesher: “Frost can’t even properly counter the move. He has to grab the ropes like a pussy.”

Long tells Ejiro to break, but he shakes his head ‘no’ and keeps pulling on the arm. Eddy makes a disqualification count and Ejiro releases right at five and stands.

Riley: “Your expert analysis is astounding, Tom.”

Flesher: “I know.”

Frost lies on the mat with his hand still on the bottom cord. Fasaki shimmies his kneepad down to his shin and smacks the hard cartilage of his kneecap. He jumps and cocks the knee. Frost senses the grappler above him and jerks himself by the bottom rope out of harm’s way to the floor! Ejiro hits the canvas and bounces up holding his knee! Frost trips up the outside area, covered in sweat. He reaches the outside upper right corner and narrows his eyes at Flesher.

Flesher: “Now he dives to the floor. Frost is such as coward we should bring back the Yellow Dog gimmick for him.”

Frost stalks to where Tom is perched and the Superior Ones turns his head around just in time to come nose to nose with the man. Tom does a double take and then twists his face into a scowl. “Why don’t you get back in the ring and take the loss so me and my boys can go drinking.”

Frost can be overheard through Flesher’s headset. “I don’t trust you out here. I don’t want you out here.”

Stevens stands, seeking peace. “C’mon Frost, get in the ring. Long is counting you out. You don’t want to lose that way.”

Flesher stands from the table and moves forward. Frost takes a couple steps back to give him space. Flesher grins as his gaze goes past the man to the apron…

where Judge Mental flies off with a double axehandle to the shoulder! Frost plummets to his knees! Long goes ballistic and Hearford pulls Frost up by his short hair and shovels him into the ring with a hand on his tights.

Stevens: “This is ridiculous! He’s fighting three men.”

Riley: “No one made Frost come over here. Tom was just sitting in on commentary. Frost has no one but himself to blame for that one.”

Hearford retakes the apron and makes the tag. He steps through the ropes and proceeds to stomp on the bad shoulder.

Flesher: “I didn’t do anything, Stevens. I’m going to get a restraining order on that punk.”

Judge finishes with a boot to the crown of the skull that sits Frost straight up. Hearford leans down to cinch a full nelson and drags the big man to his feet with much effort. He makes sure to put extra pressure on the right shoulder and then bends his knees for leverage. He throws Frost over with a full nelson suplex! He bridges for a pin!

ONE!

TWO!

THRE-

Frost’s body slumps to the side and Judge loses the bridge.

Stevens: “Near fall off the full nelson suplex, but Frost was just too heavy to hold for the pinfall.”

Hearford stands while bringing Frost with him by the sides of his head. Judges turns Frost around and crosses his arms over his throat in a straightjacket hold. Frost grimaces from the pull it puts on the shoulder.

Stevens: “Hearford looks to be going for the Capital Punishment! It’s all over if it hits.”

Flesher: “When it hits.”

Before he can attempt to lift him, Frost spins out of the hold! He holds Judge’s hands to keep him at bay and delivers a kick to the gut! He folds in half and Frost grabs a facelock to snap off a floatover DDT in one deft motion!

Stevens: “Frost counters and both men are down!”

Riley: “The champs are just playing with him, nothing to worry about, right Tom?”

Flesher: “Of course not, this is in the ba…”

Another strange pop fills the auditorium and cuts Flesher off. The camera whips around to catch the SWF World Champion, Taylor Nicholas Thompson, striding down the ramp!

Flesher: “What the hell is he do…”

The sentence is left dangling as Flesher rips off his headset and trots to meet Taylor. Hearford dives to tag Ejiro. Frost tries to stop him, but it’s too late. Ejiro bounds into the ring and takes Frost’s wrist to whip him into the ropes. He flies off and straight into a spinning heel kick that connects to the bridge of the nose! Fasaki covers!

ONE!

TWO!

THR-

Stevens: “Frost gets the shoulder up! Flesher goes to intercept TNT, obviously out here trying to even the odds a bit.”

Riley: “Flesher has a certified document to be out here. Being the World Champion doesn’t allow you to come and go as you please.”

TNT holds his arms out as if to say ‘you want a piece of me’ as the screaming Flesher approaches him. The camera picks ups snatches of dialogue, but nothing concrete. Thompson says something about “watching his back” and Tom responds with something to the tune of “laying flat on YOUR back.”

Stevens: “A war of words commences on the ramp while the battle in the ring looks to be drawing to a close. Fasaki has Frost up and tags to Mental.”

Hearford enters the ring and takes Frost’s left wrist while Ejiro takes the right. Long counts for Fasaki to leave as they whip the man to the ropes. They spin with their arms up for a double back elbow. Frost barely ducks underneath and heads for the far ropes. The fans pops as he flies off and the heels turn stunned. Frost takes to the air with both arms out and decapitates his foes with a double flying clothesline!

Stevens: “WOW! That will take the starch out of your shorts.”

Riley: “Just the last act of a desperate man.”

Justice and Rule lay flat while Frost sits up, tending to the bad shoulder. TNT and Flesher continue arguing on the ramp with no blows yet. Frost takes Ejiro by the hair and struggles to his feet. He tucks the man’s head into a standing head scissors and underhooks the arms. The fans pop, but Frost notices TNT and Flesher arguing and it gives him a moment’s pause. A moment enough for Hearford to make his feet and fire out a thrust kick to the back of the shoulder!

Stevens: “Hearford breaks up the Early Winter! Long is shouting for someone to leave the ring, but they’re not heeding his pleas.”

Riley: “So take the dq! As long as they take Frost down.”

Ejiro rises up and lays across the ropes for a breather. Hearford spins Frost around and gives him a straight right hand to the shoulder blade. Frost is paralyzed from the blast and Judge waistlocks him. With a grunt, he flips the near 300-pound monster against his chest in a powerbomb position!

Stevens: “THEY’RE GOING FOR THE OVERRULED! NO!”

Frost twists to fight free and throws all of his weight toward the ground. He whips his legs forward and Judge is sent tripping overtop of him to ram into Ejiro! They stumble into the corner dazed while Frost stands! He gets a rear waistlock on Hearford and pulls him to the center of the ring. Frost picks him up and throws him forward and down. He snags his legs and sits out to ride gravity to the mat in a wheelbarrow face first powerbomb!

Stevens: “SNOWBLIND! One of those new moves I mentioned!”

Riley: “HERE COMES FASAKI!”

Frost’s right arm tremors in pain, but he forces himself to barrel roll across the mat at the charging Ejiro. He comes up in a crouch and catches the man off guard with a heart punch!

Stevens: “TOUCH OF FROST! EJIRO IS STUNNED!”

Riley: “OH YEAH! BUSINESS IS PICKING UP!”

The camera cuts back to the arguing men on the ramp. El Luchadore Magnifico races out of the back with a chair held high! The fans shout warning, but it’s too late as TNT is blasted in the back with the chair!

Stevens: “TNT IS JUMPED ON THE RAMP! FROST DOESN’T SEE IT! HE’S GOING FOR THE EARLY WINTER!”

The camera cuts to see Frost flipping Fasaki against his chest. He blocks out the pain in his shoulder with adrenaline and determination. Frost jackhammers down with the powerbomb and rocks the ring! Hearford stirs and Long counts!

ONE!

TWO!

Hearford lunges with his hand out!

THREE!

But not in time!

DING DING DING

The fans explode with cheers. Frost lets Fasaki go and glides to the floor to escape Judge. He sees the the action on the ramp out of the corner of his eye.

Riley: “WHAT THE HELL!”

Stevens: “Frost gets a flurry of offense at the end to squeak out the win! He’s going to help TNT on the ramp!”

Funyon: “You’re winner by pinfall…FRRRRRRRRRROOOOOOOOOOSSSSSSSSST!”

The fans cheer louder as Frost pushes his pain wracked body in an attempt at a save. ELM points over Flesher’s shoulder and he stops his stomping to look back at Frost rampaging closer. The pair back up the ramp and wave Frost to come get them to the jeers of the audience.

Stevens: “Who’s the coward now, Flesher?”

Riley: “Picking your spots is not being a coward. Especially with the cavalry coming.”

Frost leans down to help TNT up while keeping his eyes on ELM and Flesher. The heels point and laugh while the crowd pops. Frost feels shadows from behind and turns…

Stevens: “FLYING KNEE TO THE FACE BY FASAKI!”

Frost slams to the ramp! Fasaki straddles him and rains down punches! Hearford grabs Thompson by his dreadlocks and goes to toss him off the ramp, but Taylor puts his hands in the man’s back and tosses him off instead! Judge flies into the guardrail with a clang and TNT jumps off to pursue. Frost gets his arms up to block Fasaki’s punches and rolls over to send both men off the ramp!

Riley: “Technically Frost gets a tag title shot with a partner of his choice now. Wonder who that might be?”

Stevens: “Your sarcasm isn’t lost on me. Neither is the heinousness of ELM and Flesher standing and laughing at the four men brawling next to the ramp!”

Magnifico and Flesher laugh joyously and fade into the background while the four men on the floor slug madly away!

Stevens: “We’re out of time, but not action! Tune into Storm to see how these, and other events, play out!”

The camera fades to black with fists and kicks still flying and fans screaming.

March 27, 2003

Q n' D, because we haven't posted real show results in ages, and hey, why not keep a good streak going? That, and I'm lazy.

Janus vs Wildchild vs Mike Van Siclen

>Wildchild is YOUR U.S. title no. 1 contender!

"The Superior One" Tom Flesher and El Luchadore Magnifico vs Deja Vu

>In a total shock to everyone, Tom and Mags win.

Michael Craven vs Neilsen of the Jungle

>Craven's return to action is spoiled by the Jungle Man!

Jay Dawg vs Fugue

>Jay Dizzog is the ICTV number one contender! Y'know, I thought the idea was to get an ICTV shot BEFORE you get a world shot. Hrm.

Frost vs Judge Mental and Ejiro Fasaki (Justice and Rule)

>Sore wa himitsu desu.

And with that, good show, card will be up soon, I hope.

SWF Lockdown - March 26th, 2003!

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